Forgotten Infamy

December 7, 2019

“Forever in infamy.” That’s how FDR claimed this seventh day of December would be remembered. Forever isn’t as long as it once was; the “Greatest Generation,” as Peter Jennings called them, has all but disappeared, and with it the memory of the sneak attack that thrust the United States into the most devastating war in history. My father was one of that generation that served; he’s been gone five years now, but until the day he died, the memory of that day and the loss of so many of his friends weighed heavily upon him. Today is almost gone, and I’ve only begun to remember. 

Linda and I rose early so we could be at the Brockport Walmart at 10:00 am, joining my brother, sister, and our kids and grandkids for a shopping excursion before meeting at his home for lunch and a wrapping party. For years, we’ve been doing this, providing a Christmas for some less fortunate families and enjoying family time together with my 97 year-old mother, one of the few who still remember first hand those terrible years. Soups and chips with an assortment of dips, sub sandwiches, candy, snacks, and cookies were followed by breaking out the paper and tape. Nearly forty of us were scattered throughout the house, cutting paper, stuffing clothes and toys into boxes, and wrapping it all in roll upon roll of paper. 

Had my father’s generation failed to answer the call to duty, it’s unlikely that we would be gathering as a Christian family doing what we can to offer grace to others. The other day, son Matt took me to see the movie “Midway.” I had seen the original 1976 production of the same name numerous times, and was interested in seeing how today’s moviemakers would handle the battle that turned the tide in the Pacific.

In 1976, computer graphics hadn’t been invented. Today’s “Midway” made full use of them, with incredible cockpit point of view of dive-bombing sequences showing the pilots flying headlong into a wall of flak and artillery to drop their bomb. Walking to the car after the show, Matt and I commented on the bravery of young men flying into almost certain death because somebody had to do it. In conflict after conflict to this very day, the bravery and sacrifices of our soldiers, sailors, and aviators have made it possible for us to enjoy a day like today. My gratitude tonight goes beyond the blessings of the day to those who made, and make it possible.

Treefall

December 6, 2019

I watched it fall. Shortly before, there was a crackling sound behind me, then silence, and another crackling. I turned just in time to see an enormous oak crash to the ground; it was pretty impressive. Later, I trudged through the snow to take a closer look. It hadn’t been touched by a chain saw; it had rotted away at the base till a slight breeze was all it took to bring it down. When it fell, it took out a healthy young tree, snapping it off about eight feet high. I had walked by that same tree just a couple days ago, and hadn’t noticed anything wrong with it. This time of year, none of the trees have leaves, so its bare branches gave no sign of the inward decay. The trunk had no telltale woodpecker holes; from all appearances, it was a healthy tree.

But appearances can be deceiving. Washington Irving told the story of Tom, who wandering in the woods, found a tree with Deacon Peabody’s name on it. It was hollowed out, ready to fall with the next storm. One with the name Crowninshield had just fallen, lying ready for burning. He later learned of the wealthy Crowninshield who reportedly made his wealth by piracy, had died. Appearing healthy, these men were decayed...rotted from within.

Perhaps the roots didn’t go deep. The soil was no different for this tree than for the others surrounding it. Perhaps it was an injury—a wound unhealed that allowed infection. Whatever it was, that tree which looked so strong was felled by the merest wisp of a breeze. 

It’s a life lesson. Appearances don’t count for much if the root is rotten. If my roots don’t go deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love (as Linda prays with our grandchildren), or if I sink my roots into polluted soil, sooner or later, this life’s tree will tumble. And if that isn’t bad enough, when an old tree falls, it often takes out young, healthy trees. Too often we’ve seen young believers whose faith has been shattered by the fall of a Christian they had looked up to. None of us are immune to root rot, so I listen thankfully to the lesson of the trees and pray that my roots go deep into Christ.

Coaching

December 5, 2019

Leadership makes all the difference. Pastors who have a clear vision, who tend to the foundational matters of faith, who know how to encourage people, and are willing to risk everything for the Gospel, almost inevitably lead growing congregations. Conversely, those who are just doing the job, who don’t pay attention to sound teaching, who lord it over others, or who play it safe, end up with shrinking and dying churches. 

In the military, soldiers outnumbered and under equipped have often been victorious over larger and better equipped adversaries when they have outstanding leadership. In the American Civil War, president Lincoln found his superior forces stymied again and again by Confederate armies markedly inferior in manpower and armament. Until U.S. Grant, the Union forces were commanded by inferior generals who played it safe, while Robert E. Lee took risks. When politicians tried to cashier Grant, Lincoln said, “I can’t afford to lose him. He fights.”

Tonight, we watched our granddaughters play non-league basketball against a school many times the size of Panama. In both JV and Varsity, they nearly doubled the score against a team with nearly three times as many players. The Panama girls aren’t naturally more talented than the girls of the other team. But they are better coached, and that made all the difference. 

It’s a symbiotic relationship, though. If a player is not coach able, refusing to listen or work hard, nothing good will come. But when a coach knows how to inspire, to build confidence, to do the foundational work of the game, the team can soar far beyond expectations. We witnessed that tonight, and it was beautiful to see.

As Christians, we have a life coach par excellence. There is no better than Jesus Christ, for he is the One who created us, in whose image we are recreated by faith. There is no excuse for sloppy teamwork or uninspiring living. We have a life Coach whose vision and game plan is without equal, and even though it often seems that we are outnumbered, we are never outclassed because we are never out coached. I am grateful tonight for the example of outstanding coaching I witnessed, and for the life lesson in it, to be a better coach myself because I have been coached by the best.

Burying Friends

December 4, 2019

When I started out in ministry fifty years ago, one of the first funerals at which I officiated was for a stillborn infant. Linda and I were newly married, and the parents of this precious baby girl were about our own age. It was not an easy start. If there was any saving grace to it all, it was that we had only known this couple for a year or two; we hadn’t had time to forge the deep bonds of friendship that make these events so difficult. However, most of the people I buried were old; it wasn’t hard to rationalize that they had lived their lives and it was their time to go.

Fifty years later, I’m not burying old folks; I’m burying friends—people I’ve known, loved, and worked beside for nearly forty years. I don’t like it. Some might say it’s because in burying them, I have to face my own mortality. I don’t think that’s the issue. My mortality looms before me with increasing clarity with each passing day. I have no trouble grasping the fact that there are far few years ahead of me than are behind me. And while I have no desire to leave this world before my time (and hope that time is years in the future), I’m not afraid of it. 

What I don’t look forward to is saying goodbye to friends and family. I don’t like it when they leave the world (and me) behind, and I don’t like the prospect of leaving behind those I love. Parting for me is not sweet sorrow. It is sorrow, plain and simple. But it is not without hope.

The Gospel is crystal clear about the future of those who claim Christ: we will be with him, and it will be good. Many of the details are disputable; we don’t know what we’ll look like, but we know we’ll be recognizable. We don’t know how God divvies up rewards, but we know he will judge rightly. When I say, “we know,” it’s a knowledge born of faith, not of scientific certainty (which is not always as certain as we think). I have not seen with my eyes the risen Christ, yet I believe in his resurrection, and its derivative, my own. Although it is a matter of faith, I can declare that this faith has changed my life. It’s quite possible that much of what I believe about the afterlife is not quite true, but I know it’s true that without Christ, my life would be far different than it is, and it wouldn’t be good. But my life IS good because confessing and following Christ has brought me a goodness I would not otherwise have known. So if life with him is as good as I know it now, being with him in greater measure after death will be even better. 

In the past seven months, I’ve buried two dear friends. No doubt, there are more to come, and though I don’t like it, I cannot escape it. It is the way things are in this fallen world we call home. The Good News is that this is not our final home. We look to a new heavens and a new earth, a place Jesus has been preparing for us for the past 2,000 years. Considering that it only took seven days to make this one, that one should be a beaut! Best of all, Christ promises to gather all his children around his table, at which will be no empty chairs.

Options

December 3, 2019

Giving Tuesday is almost over. I had never even heard of it till this year when my daughter told me about it. She is the new executive director of our local pro-life pregnancy center, and had registered Options Care Center of Jamestown, NY with the organization. Right out of college, she began teaching high school English, doing so until she decided to be a stay at home mom to her three children and pursue her writing of young adult novels. 

Last year when the director of the local pregnancy care center retired, the organization’s board encouraged her to apply for the position, and the rest is, as they say, history. Most parents are proud of their children, and properly so. I am not only proud, but humbled by her dedication and organizational ability, and thankful that she chose to serve the community in what is an increasingly contentious field. Tonight I am thankful for the woman, wife, mother, and leader our daughter has become, for her passion for the unborn and their mothers, and for the privilege of helping her reach her Giving Tuesday goal for the center.

God’s Will

December 2, 2019

In Acts 16, Luke tells us that when Paul was on his second missionary journey, he twice attempted to go east, but was “forbidden by the Holy Spirit” (Verses 6 & 7). On another occasion, Paul wrote that he had been hindered from visiting the church in Rome, without indicating whether this was the work of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:22), but in 1 Thessalonians 2:18 he clearly states that his inability to visit the Christians there was due to the hindrance of Satan (1 Thessalonians 2:18).

So when is a wrench in our plans the work of the Holy Spirit, and when is it the work of Satan? The success or failure of our plans is not an accurate measure of the will of God. Paul determined to go to Rome where he was later executed. Stephen and James were executed by Herod, while Peter was set free by an angel. Two bad outcomes to a single good one—not a very helpful way of determining God’s will. 

Are difficulties God’s way of moving us in a different direction, or are they his means of testing our determination? Just because a door is open, does that mean we should necessarily walk through it? Opportunities to sin lie all around us, but that doesn’t mean we should take advantage of them. This business of determining God’s will can be a sticky wicket.

When I was a teenager, finding God’s will was a major concern in my circle of friends. Which college should we attend? Which person was God’s will for a spouse? What should have been a joyous experience of gratitude for all the possible choices before us became instead fraught with fear lest we make the wrong choice that would condemn us forever to second best. In the matter of dating, the issue was compounded. If I chose the wrong person, not only did I make a mistake and miss God’s will, but so did the girl I married. Not only that, but the individuals they were supposed to have married were suddenly excluded from the circle of God’s will. It soon became an untenable way of looking at things; one single mistake had an endless ripple effect that poisoned the whole scheme of things.

It took me awhile, but I finally came to the conclusion that God’s will is moral, ethical, and spiritual, but not personal. God’s will is clearly stated in Scripture, eg. “This is the will of God, even your sanctification, that you abstain from fornication” (1 Thessalonians 4:3). And “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you (1 Thessalonians 5:18). It can’t be much clearer than that. Nor much simpler. In everything else, God gives us freedom to choose, and wisdom to do so well (James 1:5). Instead of living in fear lest we make a choice that forever condemns us to a life of second-best, God graciously opens wide his heart and places life before us. Among other things, this means that even when I make a mistake, God has it covered. He has already figured my failure into his plans; that’s what salvation is all about. It’s as old as the Psalms. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and he shall give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4). If God is at the center, he bestows the freedom to choose and to be blessed by those choices. That doesn’t mean everything will work out as we plan, but that everything will eventually work out. 

In a world increasingly chaotic, it is comforting to know that when we orient our lives towards Jesus Christ, he takes care of the rest. That is worth giving thanks tonight.

Harvest

December 1, 2019

Although today is the first Sunday of Advent, I want to finish out my trifecta of Thanksgiving hymns. It may seem that I’m complaining about modern worship music and praise songs, but I really do like many, if not most, of them. There is some really good music and lyrics being penned today, just as in days gone by. And just because a hymn is old doesn’t mean it’s any good. Charles Wesley, the great Methodist hymn writer who gave us “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” “And Can it Be That I Should Gain,” and “Hark, the Herald, Angels Sing,” also wrote some pretty awful doggerel. I am blessed however, to have had the privilege of straddling both worlds of traditional and contemporary music. 

Tonight’s hymn is “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come.” It was written in 1844 by Henry Alford, Anglican preacher and scholar, whose critical edition of the Greek New Testament continues to be a standard text today. It is a celebration of the harvest that morphs into the harvest of souls at the end of the age, based on the parable of the wheat and tares, and the prophecies of the glorious second Advent of Christ.

1. Come, ye thankful people, come, 

Raise the song of harvest home! 

All is safely gathered in, 

Ere the winter storms begin; 

God, our Maker, doth provide 

For our wants to be supplied; 

Come to God's own temple, come; 

Raise the song of harvest home!

2. We ourselves are God's own field, 

Fruit unto his praise to yield; 

Wheat and tares together sown 

Unto joy or sorrow grown; 

First the blade and then the ear, 

Then the full corn shall appear; 

Grant, O harvest Lord, that we 

Wholesome grain and pure may be.

3. For the Lord our God shall come,

And shall take the harvest home; 

From His field shall in that day 

All offenses purge away, 

Giving angels charge at last 

In the fire the tares to cast; 

But the fruitful ears to store 

In the garner evermore.

4. Then, thou Church triumphant come,

Raise the song of harvest home! 

All be safely gathered in, 

Free from sorrow, free from sin, 

There, forever purified, 

In God's garner to abide; 

Come, ten thousand angels, come, 

Raise the glorious harvest home!

We have recently come through the harvest season, and have much for which to give thanks. Alford’s poetry urges us to lift our eyes from the cycle of earthly harvests to that coming day when God gathers his people to himself in great glory. When I was growing up, sermons about the Second Coming of Christ were common. We were urged to prepare, to make sure we were ready for that day when he shall come “like a thief in the night.” Sadly, I don’t hear that kind of preaching much anymore. We seem to be much more focused on the day to day concerns of life instead of the “pie in the sky bye and bye” kind of preaching. Oddly enough, it is those who have their eyes fixed on the horizon who do best in finding their way through life’s maze. The older I get, the more interested I am in that coming day. Maybe it’s because I’m getting closer to it, but I am thankful tonight for this old hymn that connects ordinary events of this life to the extraordinary event that will usher in the next.