Of Stoves and Salvation

November 24, 2014

So far, the house hasn't blown up. That's good. The fireplace job is officially finished. Another slithering through the crawl space, brushing cobwebs out of the way, tossing mummified starlings off to one side, while I screwed the brackets holding the gas line in place. That crawl space is fast becoming my man-cave, except it's not a fun place to be. Shutting off the gas valve, unscrewing the old supply to the furnace, adding a T to the new stove, and putting it all back together gives plenty of opportunity for error, which could prove to be tragic. I tightened every fitting, tested every joint. No leaks.

It took awhile for the gas to make its way through the line to the stove, but finally, I hit the piezo and the pilot lit. Smelled terrible as it burned off whatever chemicals are in the ceramic logs. A twist of the valve, the burner ignites, and I am a happy man. But when it hit its set temperature and shut down, it shut down the pilot as well, and wouldn't restart.  The troubleshooting guide indicated three possibilities, none of which I've had time to test yet. I am going to win this fight! I haven't gone to all this trouble to be defeated now, although at times I do have to ask myself where I laid my brain when I decided to start this whole affair. All this to say, I am thankful for the warm day today. Last week was cold and snowy, yesterday the temperature hit sixty, today in the mid fifties, but everything drops down to seasonally normal thirties tomorrow. I was able to have the furnace out of commission for a couple hours without freezing the entire house, so even if the stove doesn't yet work, the furnace still does. And tomorrow, I will, too.

This whole affair is to me, a picture of our salvation. Before I even began, I knew the end result I wanted. I have the resources and the determination to get there, even though the project took me in some unexpected directions and detours. It has been at times frustrating and disappointing, but the end is in sight, and I WILL get there! I wonder what God thinks about all the detours and disappointments I've given him over the years. He had the end in mind before time began. The Bible uses an interesting phrase in this regard. It says Christ was crucified "from the foundation of the world," meaning that our salvation was no afterthought, not some sort of divine whim. I didn't foresee all the problems that were hiding in the shadows, but God knew from the beginning the missteps, betrayals, foolish choices I would make, and yet he dove into this business of salvation anyway. He sees the end product, and is determined to get me there. Even if my fire dies and I can't get it started again, he can...and does. So tonight I am thankful for this recalcitrant fireplace, if only because of the lesson in life and grace I am able to glean from it. And besides all this, the house is still standing.

Old Dog, New Tricks

November 23, 2014

Tearfully, we offered our prayers and blessings, and said our farewells this morning to Matt and Kelly, who are headed to new work opportunities in West Virginia this week. This makes three young families Park has lost in the last four months. Goodbyes are always hard, even when they are the result of good things happening in people's lives. Maybe they are especially hard then. Those who leave in anger are not usually blessed with tears.

The music chosen by our worship team was especially moving today, surging forth in spontaneous praise, followed by pastor Joe's inspired preaching. Challenged again by his passion for Christ and for people's salvation, I couldn't help but give thanks for God's having given him and his family to Park church. We've lost three families, but in that same time period, there have been so many new people coming that I am struggling to remember everyone's names. I've been told that usually when there is pastoral transition, attendance dips as people loyal to the former pastor drift away, but we've seen just the opposite; attendance just keeps rising, to the point where we are looking to add parking space and trying to figure out how to accommodate all the new kids we have running around.

In some ways, it's an odd feeling to not be a part of the innermost workings of the church. Conversations I once would have had with my son and secretary are now playing out with Joe, who has his own ideas of how things ought to operate. It may feel odd, but at the same time, I feel like a little kid who has somehow wandered into a magical world where toys and candy are piled up all around, waiting for me to sample. There has hardly a day gone by when I don't give thanks and pray for this man.

This morning, Joe was talking about our need for children's space, being careful to let people know how much we treasure their bringing their kids to worship. He made sure everyone knew that childish noise in worship was a blessing to be celebrated, not an interruption to be shushed. As the 11:00 service began, little Ethan, age 2, ran up the center aisle, grabbed a piece of the communion bread, stuffed it in his mouth, turned and ran back down the aisle. Joe's only comment was, "Wouldn't it be great if we all had that same eagerness to come to the table to meet Jesus?" It surely would, Joe. It surely would.

Last week I missed worship at Park. I was preaching for another pastor friend, and didn't get in on the invitation our pastor offered. Monday evening when I came for men's Bible study, I noticed the altar was covered with little folded slips of paper. This morning, I found out why they were there. Joe had asked people to write out the name of someone God placed on their heart and in their lives; someone who needed to know Jesus. They were committing to praying for this person, and to speaking to him or her about Jesus. Today, that invitation was extended to those who may have missed it last week. I am so glad for the grace that gives us second chances. I've needed it so often, and today, I was given another one.

Last night, Linda and I ordered pizza for supper. We had both put in a long day, and she didn't want to do any more cooking than she was already doing in preparation for the baby shower today. At 5:15, I headed down to the Witch Kitch to pick up our supper, and  while doing so, ran into an old friend I hadn't seen in some time. He used to come to our 6:00 service, even playing in the band, until his life was turned upside down. When his marriage collapsed, so did he. He was sitting at the bar nursing a beer and a shot when I greeted him. With an ear to ear smile, he began to talk of those days, and how he missed us. I invited him to come back to worship, but neglected to invite him to come back to Jesus. Joe reminded me this morning not to settle for a partial invitation. My friend needs Jesus. I need to be the one to remind him, and welcome him back. He's not the only one. I ended up with four names on my slip of paper, and have my work cut out for me this week.

Did I remember to say how grateful I am for our pastor? He is teaching this old dog some new tricks, and it is exciting to be challenged. Retirement isn't the end of the road; it's just a bend in it, and for this old preacher, it's leading to new adventures. To God be the glory!

Amnesty, Political and Spiritual

November 22, 2014

Just the other day, our president by executive order granted amnesty to millions of illegal immigrants, otherwise known as "undocumented." He's threatened to do it for months; I guess he feels he has little to lose, since he cannot run again. I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, our perennially porous southern border has been allowing people in for years, and often those who come are willing to do work and take jobs no one else is willing to do. A friend who used to come to our youth group wrote a  book a couple years ago called "Farm Hands," about migrant workers in his area. He decided to shadow various migrant workers, attempting the same jobs they were doing day in and day out. Turns out, the large vegetable farmers in his area advertise in the local papers for laborers, and get no responses except from the migrant workers. On rare occasion, a US citizen will show up, but they don't even last a day. It's backbreaking, grueling work, and only the migrants seem willing to do it, even at more than minimum wage. They were at first reluctant to talk with my friend, wary lest they be reported and deported. Over the course of a summer, he did all sorts of work, reporting that at the end of a day he was so tired and sore that he couldn't even pick up his two year old daughter.

That's one side of the story. The other is the long wait and red tape people endure to come here legally. For them, illegals are cutting in line, reaping social benefits, taxing the system while they do their best to jump through the hoops to citizenship. To listen to all the buzz that floats around this issue, loosening our immigration policy is either the most compassionate thing to do, legitimizing adults and children who have been contributing to our society for years, or the most foolhardy and unfair approach we can take, threatening to overwhelm the system with people ready and eager to live at the expense of the rest of us.

Personally, I've listened to the arguments, and tend to come down on the side of doing things according to established law, and I am concerned with our president's penchant for unilateral executive action that bypasses Congress. Nevertheless, that word "amnesty" intrigues me, and I wonder if I am not like the laborers in Jesus' parable who  were bitter towards the latecomers who received the same wages as they who had worked all day. At the least, I am grateful for the amnesty God gave me when I didn't deserve it, inviting me into his kingdom and family when I was not only an alien, but an enemy, giving me all the rights and privileges of citizenship to boot. There was no way I could earn that citizenship, but God deliberately made the borders porous, so I could come in, and he treated me as a native-born. I'm sure there are Christians who are essentially freeloading off Jesus' generosity, but I'm not responsible for them. It is mine to take what God has given me and do the best I can with it for his glory. I am grateful to be able to do just that.

Easy to be Grateful

November 21, 2014

Today's project consisted of lining the firebox of the living room fireplace with cement board. Since I'm installing a gas log set, there was no need to remove the old steel box that is rusting away at the bottom but firmly attached at the top. It was a messy job, cutting the board, then trimming it "in situ" where my measurements were a bit off. I'm happy to say I didn't cut any of it too small to begin with. You can always trim a bit off, but there's no way to put it back on. As my dad used to say, "I cut that board twice, and it's still too short."

I'm also quite happy to report that the old 1948 Ford 8N started right up at the first touch of the starter. It tends to be a bit cold-blooded in the winter, so this was an unexpected treat. The backblade takes a bit getting used to after plowing with a front blade, but it's worth the trade-off of ten minutes to mount versus half a day. The storm that has crippled Buffalo missed us, so the old tractor was quite adequate for today's snowfall. Every time I fire it up, I think of Gramps. This was his baby, his pride and joy. I only got to drive it once while he was alive. He was tearing down the barn across the road, and in the middle of the project had one of his back spasms that put him flat on his back. He actually gave me his blessing to hook it up to the south wall and pull it down. Knowing what he thought of that tractor, I'm still amazed he let me do it. Great memories of him with that old machine, hauling grandkids and firewood, mowing the fields, plowing his driveway. I'm not the mechanic he was by a long shot, but I have an original manual that covers just about everything except tearing it down for a total rebuild. Next summer, I really should tackle the brakes which right now are nearly nonexistent.

This evening was grandkids night. They ate supper quickly and then hurried outside to play in the snow. Even Gemma bundled up like Ralphie's little brother. The house was strangely quiet with only Abi left with Meema and myself. Alex was babysitting. Right now, I'm waiting up for her. No one likes to come home to a darkened house.

It took awhile for me to resign myself to mortaring the cementboard in place tonight. It was all wedged in tightly, but I wanted to give it the extra strength of actually joining everything together, nonetheless, I didn't look forward to tackling the job at 7 pm, lying on my back and twisting like a contortionist to get everything tied in together. It's especially fun when globs of mortar slip off the trowel and land on your face. That being said, I'm glad I talked myself into doing the job tonight. I don't have to dread doing it tomorrow. The project is almost done, and just in time. Linda would not be happy entertaining the ladies she's having over Sunday afternoon with a stove in the middle of the floor. Happy wife, happy life!

I am grateful for these small blessings. When I think of the folks just an hour north of us trying to dig their way out of five and six feet of snow, and facing the thaw that is supposed to come tomorrow, with its attendant flooding and possible roof collapses, I am blessed beyond measure. Why some are hit hard while others are spared is a mystery to me. Gratitude when one has dodged the bullet is easy. It's a bit tougher when the dodging didn't work, but I'm determined to look for the blessing even when trouble comes. Alan Redpath once wrote a book entitled "Blessings out of Buffetings." We can't control the storms, but we can choose our attitude. Two years ago, I learned the value of gratitude (at 65, I must be a slow learner), and am committed to giving thanks no matter what. Today was easy. Tomorrow may not be, but grateful, I am determined to be.

Looking Forward to Growing Up

November 20, 2014

In 1939, Dorothy Sayers, an English mystery-writer, essayist, and Christian humanist, wrote an article entitled "Strong Meat," an essay on Time, in which among other things, she bemoans her culture's (in 1939!) fascination with youthfulness. In 2014, actually just a few days ago, I read it and discovered a somewhat different twist on one of Jesus' most famous sayings, "Except ye become as little children..." She comments that although children differ in many ways, they have one thing in common. "All normal children (however much we discourage them) look forward to growing up. 'Except ye become as little children,' except you can wake on your fiftieth birthday with the same forward-looking excitement and interest in life that you enjoyed when you were five, 'ye cannot see the Kingdom of God.'"

My earliest Christian training came through the auspices of Westside Baptist Church in Greece, NY. I cannot praise highly enough the thorough grounding in Christian faith, ethics, and doctrine that I received there. Pastor Ellis' preaching, Helen Beach's and Chuck Bassett's Sunday School class, Ozzie Palmer's leadership of Christian Service Brigade, coupled with Sterling Huston's and Fred Thomas' leadership of Youth for Christ, gave me a foundation that stands to this day. When I attended a liberal United Methodist seminary, it was the solid stuff of those early years that sustained me.

One thing however, bothered me, and bothers me to this day. Westside's eschatology was straight out of C.I. Scofield, whose roots were in J.N. Darby's dispensational theology with its teaching of two separate "Second Comings" of Christ, the first being the Rapture prior to the Great Tribulation where Christ whisks his people away, thus avoiding the calamity that comes upon the rest of the world. The second Second Coming is the one plainly taught in Scripture, when Christ returns and establishes his kingdom on earth, ushering in the Eternal Age.

Although I believe there are sound Biblical, theological, and historical reasons for questioning, if not completely rejecting this teaching, my real discomfort with it is the attitude of escapism that it fosters. I have lost count of the times people have said to  me when conversing about the issues of our day words to the effect of, "Well, I don't think we'll have to worry about that. I'm counting on Jesus coming and taking us away." Often these words accompany a kind of fatalistic resignation that refuses to grapple significantly with the real human issues of justice, poverty, and institutionalized sin.

Sayers' comment on receiving the Kingdom of God as a little child is telling here. It is proper for Christians to look back to the Cross as they contemplate their salvation. But how many of us look back instead to the date of our conversion, and to the glory days of the past when churches were filled and our culture supported Christian thought and morality? Many Christians I know seem stuck in their past, or are looking for an escape to a utopian future, but aren't seeing the blessing and grace of God in the here and now. To, as Sayers says, "wake on your fiftieth birthday with the same forward-looking excitement and interest in life that you enjoyed when you were five," is often lacking in Christian circles.

I for one, don't want to live that way. I remember living with that kind of abandon as a little boy, but somewhere along the way, I lost it, and even as a Christian, it eluded me for years. As an adult, I know as children do not, the troubles and worries of life, and the way life has of interrupting our plans, but I have also learned that every day is a gift from God, and I want to wring from each one every drop of life I can squeeze out of it. I simply want to grow up in Christ. Tonight, as our neighbors to the north are valiantly struggling to survive a storm of historic proportions, I am grateful for a warm home, for those who plow our roads, those who staff hospitals and nursing homes no matter what the weather. but I am even more grateful that the difficulties and challenges of life are the tools God gives me to help me grow up in Christ. I am looking forward to growing up!

Succession Doesn't Have to Suck

November 19, 2014

People were afraid it wouldn't work; we were told it wasn't going to happen; the horror stories were flying around like witches on Halloween, but we are defying the odds and the oddsmakers. Pastor Joe and Leslie and their three girls came over for dinner tonight. We invited Izzi and Jo so the girls wouldn't have to be bored. They weren't. Delightful chatter and laughs from the back room accompanied our conversation in the living room after dinner. It was a wonderful evening; it was but one evening, but is another example of how pastoral succession can work. I don't know what I would have done had my successor been someone of lesser calibre or insecure in his own pastoral gifts and graces.

Our people at Park church prayed for over a year for Joe and Leslie, long before we knew it was them for whom we were praying. Linda and I knew we would be living in the Sinclairville community and attending Park church, so we also knew how important it was that my successor be someone whose leadership we could joyfully follow. I kept telling our people that whoever followed me would be my pastor as well as theirs, and that we all needed to learn to follow his leadership. When Joe and Leslie came, we were advised to absent ourselves from Park for a minimum of six months, but Joe told me to take a couple weeks vacation and then come back, which we did.

Joe is different, and carries out his ministry differently than I did, but he is exactly the right person for Park church, with his laid-back style and his approachability. In the four short months he's been here, he has already made more inroads into different parts of the community than I did in thirty three years. Tonight we talked about Park's future growth, about the potential pitfalls and how they might be avoided. We've both seen churches grow only to suddenly crash and burn, and neither of us wants to be party to such an event here. I wish I knew the secret. I have learned a few things over the years that may help, but I've also learned that people are unpredictable, and there are social, psychological, and spiritual forces at work that we may not be able to predict or avoid. Ultimately, it is God's grace that carries us through.

All the same, I am grateful tonight for a pastor who is wise beyond his years, who is deeply passionate about the Gospel, who doesn't think it beneath him to serve and love people in ordinary and humble ways, and who knows how to honor the past while keeping his eye firmly fixed upon the future. It is easy to play a supportive role when I'm confident of the leadership that is before me. The pundits were wrong. A long term pastorate can be successfully followed if it's based on prayer and the new pastor is as quality as ours is. Tonight, I am grateful for Joe and Leslie, and for the opportunity we had tonight to share a meal and talk. God is certainly good all the time, but especially THIS time!

Skating to Christ

November 18, 2014

Winter has definitely arrived, although in spite of the storm warnings we've been seeing on the news, I woke up this morning to sunny skies and bare roads. Not so much a few miles north in Buffalo and the Southtowns; the videos and photos coming from there are pretty wild. Usually we get hammered more than they, but not this time. It's pretty cold, especially as the wind picked up tonight, just about the time I headed over to church to help Nate and Todd with the ice rink. Ice rink. That's how I know winter has officially arrived. It has nothing to do with the calendar. It's all about the ice rink. They erected the framework last week, and tonight the fire department brought four tankers of water to get us off to a good start.

This is our third year. My son-in-law Todd dreamed this up, a member of the church fronted the money, and two winters ago, we were in business. It was nearly full size, and the winter just didn't cooperate. It was warm when we first put it down, so the ground beneath it never really froze, then a cycle of cold and snow with thawing meant we spent more time clearing the snow off it than we did skating. Last year, Todd downsized by about a third, the weather stayed consistently cold, and we got in lots of ice time. I even bruised some ribs when my granddaughter checked me in an amateur hockey game. My feet went out from under me and I landed with my left arm beneath me. After a few minutes trying to catch my breath, I was back in the game, but it was about three weeks before I could move without wincing.

I am thankful tonight that the storm missed us so we could fill the ice rink. I'm thankful for the volunteers at the fire department who took extra time to deliver four tankers of water. I'm even more grateful tonight for a son-in-law who has a desire to reach our community for Christ; that's the real reason he's gone to all the trouble of setting it up and keeping it cleared off. It's an open door to the community, hopefully a small first step towards Christ. True, Todd loves hockey, but he loves Christ and the people Christ loves even more. That's something to truly celebrate on a cold winter's night!