Ordinary

 September 8, 2020

The larger part of the Christian liturgical calendar is devoted to what is called “ordinary time.” The special seasons of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Eastertide, and Pentecost run approximately from late November to mid-June. The rest of the year is ordinary time.

I think it’s fitting. We love special seasons, celebrations, those moments that break up the monotony of day-to-day living, but the reality is, for most of us, life is largely ordinary. We celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, mourn at funerals; perhaps we look forward to the beginning of baseball, basketball, hockey, football, racing, but day by day, the bulk of our lives are spent doing ordinary things—going to work, cleaning the house, mowing the lawn, doing the dishes, raising children. Even if we go out to eat every Friday night, the regularity of these activities renders them pretty ordinary.

Ordinary gets a bad reputation. We shun Lake Wobegon, “where every woman is beautiful, and every child is above average.” We are told we must exceptional, but deep inside, most of us know we are unique, just like everyone else. If very few rise to the pinnacle of their respective fields, why do we fret about being ordinary unless it means for us that we live lives unnoticed and unappreciated. This is not to say we shouldn’t work hard and strive to be the best we can be, but rather to not overlook those days when nothing seems to happen, when it feels like we’re spinning our wheels, when illness or circumstances have conspired to seemingly put you on the shelf for a time. God is at work in ordinary time, too.

Doing Life Together

 September 7, 2020

Yesterday I wrote about the blessings of living in a small, rural village. Today I experienced it all over again. Our kitchen cabinet doors were installed with screws not adequate for the work, so I went down to the village Superette/hardware for some longer ones. On the way out, I ran into Tommy, who plows the church parking lot in the winter. When he asked if we wanted him again this year, I told him to call our pastor, but that I would also talk with him. Small town casual talk that’s part of the glue that holds the community together.

Later at our annual Labor Day bash at my son’s house, I put out the word that I was looking for someone with a bigger chain saw than mine to chunk up the tree we had taken down last week. Linda and I had cleaned up the brush this morning, and were ready for the next step. Three young men volunteered on the spot to help. I told them I’d let them know when we were ready, but before we even got home, pastor Joe was in our yard, chainsaw in hand. An hour later, it was all done. 

Joe often speaks of Park church as family, where in his words, “we do life together.” At times, it can sound a bit jingoistic, but tonight he personally breathed life into his words. I neglected to get photos, but am no less grateful for this man who walks his talk in very real and practical ways. Our village may be small, but the hearts are not. As the Scripture says, “The lines have been drawn for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16:6)

I Wonder

 September 6, 2020

I often wonder how city apartment dwellers spend their time. Yesterday, most of the day was spent helping my son wire the bedroom he is remodeling for his daughter, with a memorial service for one of the matriarchs of our church in the middle of the day. Today, worship in Sinclaiville at 8:30 followed by preaching at 9:45 in Cassadaga morphed into a quick lunch before heading back to Cassadaga for a memorial funeral service. Linda and I were able to catch a favorite TV show before going to her sister’s for our annual Labor Day weekend corn roast.

We have a tree down beside the house that needs the brush to be cleaned up and the logs sawed up. I have to finish pointing the rock chimney where the old mortar is crumbling, and the stonework in our entryway need to be sealed. My motorcycle blew a fuel line last week, so that needs replacing, along with much-needed general maintenance. The lawn needs mowing, I have a variety of indoor projects, and before long we’ll be canning applesauce and grape juice. 

Through the winter I’ll plow the driveway, bring in firewood, and tackle the indoor work. But I still wonder...when one lives in an apartment where the maintenance is done for you, where there are no big chores to be done, when one doesn’t own a vehicle that needs to be maintained, what do people do with all their time?

I’ve talked with urbanites who cannot imagine living where the only stores in town is a small grocery/deli/hardware and a Dollar General, where at night you can hear the howl of coyotes, and you have to drive for an hour or more to see a real play. For me, I cannot imagine living where instead of the creek laughing over the shale in my backyard, I hear the constant honking of traffic; instead of the whine of a chainsaw from the villager who cuts firewood for a living there is the chatter of gangs shooting at each other. Tonight we listened to the peepers singing in the trees as we sat around a campfire. We live a blessed life, surrounded by family and friends, bathed in the grace and mercy shown us in Jesus Christ, and I am deeply grateful that God placed me here in this sleepy small village so many years ago. 

A Good Heritage

 September 4, 2020

Our daughter Jessie is the executive director of Options Care Center, the local pro-life pregnancy center. This year, due to COVID, their annual Walk for Life is online and digital, which means that people can sign up online to support the walk, and those participating will walk individually or perhaps as family groups, taking photos and submitting their tally of miles and dollars raised. 

Yesterday, she announced that at the Center’s last board meeting, the president of the board challenged her to a fundraising contest—Board vs. Director and volunteers. The gauntlet having been thrown down, Jessie accepted the challenge, and I am signed up as a sub team leader under her. So I am inviting you to join me by giving what you can, either as a fixed sum, or at a per mile rate.

As an incentive, I present my mother. She is a monthly supporter of Options Care Center, and when today we told her about the fundraising challenge, she jumped (well...almost jumped. She’s just shy of 98, and struggles to get out of her chair) at the opportunity to join in. I’ve attached a couple photos and a video of her giving her support to this worthy cause. And I am so thankful tonight to have been raised by a mother who cherishes life and taught my brother, sister, and myself to do the same. There is no substitute for a good heritage. I was given a head start in life that many do not know. Some would politicize this, calling it white privilege. I think of it as God’s grace, a gift I cannot repay, but which I can and do my best to pay forward. 

Yellow

 September 3, 2020

My nightly musings began in 2013 when I decided to focus on gratitude instead of politics. It took a year of deliberately doing so, but the following February, I woke up one morning to discover the cloud of melancholy that had dogged me for so much of my life was gone. Cloudy days still come, but usually because I have momentarily lost that focus. 

Tonight I want to revisit my gratitude journal. The listing for today is: “three things yellow.”

1.  Sunflowers. Our granddaughter came to visit today, and showed us photos of her in a field of sunflowers. She picked some for a bouquet, but with her smile and personality, she is the centerpiece of the centerpiece. 

2. Yellow pads. The newer generation is almost entirely digital. When I meet with the other pastors to outline sermons, they are pecking away at their laptops, able to instantly share with each other the edits they have made. I come with a pencil and a yellow pad. Pencil because I am constantly erasing things and re-writing. A legal size yellow pad gives me plenty of room to write, often at crazy angles, with circles and arrows that help me put my various ideas into a logical sequence. I can’t do that with a computer. I like yellow pads!

3. For dinner this evening, Linda prepared for us one of her favorite dishes: yellow summer squash, sliced, dipped in flour and fried in a pan. It is an incredible delight! 

None of these are life-changing or momentous in the grand scale of things. But most of life is made up of such small matters. People who were once close drift apart over the years when one moves and they are no longer able to share the day-to-day small incidents that pepper our lives from daily. Like grains of sand, they are tiny, but enough of them together make a beach upon which the waves break, and people find refuge from the rigors of life.

Finding Rest

 September 2, 2020

My pastor friend and fellow Cuba lover Tim Burden recently read from Matthew 11:28-29—slowly, so every word could sink in. Jesus said, “Come to Me...and find rest.” Our rest-less souls will never find rest in CNN, Fox, ABC, NBC, CBS or Facebook, and yet that is where we spend so much of our time and attention.

The devil has done a good job convincing us that we need to daily—if not hourly—keep up with what is going on in the world around us; in particular, all the craziness of politics. We believe the lie that if we miss the latest headlines, we are shirking our responsibility. We take on spiritual and emotional burdens we were never meant to carry. It makes us rest-less, and the more we watch, the more unsettled we become. Jesus has the answer: “Come to Me!” Turn off the media, shut out the distractions, and spend time with Jesus. Read the Bible slowly, prayerfully. Take time to be still...and listen. Only at Jesus’ feet will we ever find the rest for which our weary souls long. 

“Lord, slow me down. May I enter into my sanctuary, my quiet place where just the two of us can meet, face to face. I choose to ignore the clamoring of the news, the urgency of the immediate, in order to focus on the important and necessary. I know if my soul only splashes through the shallows of public discourse, I risk forfeiting the depths of your Spirit, and will end up a hollow man, filled with the emptiness of the world’s vanity. Forgive me for dancing to the devil’s tunes. Free me to live, truly live, in the vast ocean depths of your mercy and grace through Jesus Christ, the Lord. Amen.”

Blood Stains

 

September 1, 2020

For those involved in service and ministry, it’s easy to get so focused on the problems, needs, and sins of others, to the neglect of one’s own. Leviticus 8 tells of the consecration of Aaron and his sons as priests. Beautiful and expensive garments had been custom tailored for them to wear while serving. It was the best of the best—the Armani and Gucci of the day...plus!

During the consecration ceremony, something odd happened. These expensive clothes were deliberately spattered with the blood of the sacrifice, permanently staining them. Any portrayals of the high priest that I’ve ever seen omit what might have been their most notable feature—blood stains, a reminder that they didn’t serve by virtue of their own righteousness.

Every time Aaron donned the holy robes, he would see those bloodstains and know he was entering the presence of a holy God with the evidence of his unworthiness all over him. He would enter, as we should, with fear and trembling, and come out in humble gratitude to have been spared the judgment those bloody garments represented. As Christians, we are clothed in the righteousness of Christ, imparted to us through his blood shed on the cross. May we be aware every day of the price paid so we could enter the holy place of prayer.  “Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.” —Hebrews 10:22 NIV