February 28, 2017
Time was, when people of different opinions could talk about things without resorting to shouting matches, ad hominem attacks, or physical altercation. People would actually listen to each other; imagine that! It seems those days are gone for good. Whether it's the political arena, academia, or sometimes even in religious settings, the ability and willingness to debate, to listen, or to compromise is a relic of a bygone era.
One of the reasons for this is our eagerness to elevate our position to that of ultimate reality. When we do that, we cannot afford to lose, and when that happens debate descends into argument, and often, to violence. I'm no Marxist, but it seems to me that a lot of this behavior follows the money. With federal dollars attached to everything from researching the reasons dogs bark to financing sex change operations, the ordinary stuff of life takes on an importance beyond reason. We cannot afford to lose, lest we lose the money. I know that sounds somewhat cynical, but it's how I see it.
Ideally, in order for people to come together, there will be a win-win scenario. Fact of the matter is, this rarely happens. The scales are weighted to one side or the other, at least in people's minds. So if we are to come together, one of us has to lose, even if it is ever so slightly. The greater the issue, the greater the disparity grows. Reconciliation is difficult business. We humans seem to prefer to live by 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,' even if it results in all of us winding up blind and toothless.
In my Scripture reading this morning, I came across the great Pauline statement that, "through Christ God reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation...For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 5:18-21). Tucked in the middle of this great declaration of reconciliation is the means by which it is made possible: God didn't count our sins against us, but took them upon himself. They didn't just disappear; in order for us to be reconciled, God deliberately allowed the scales of justice to be tipped away from himself, taking the punishment we deserved and giving us the life we didn't deserve.
Reconciliation always works that way. It's the only way it can work. In some segments of the Black community are calls for whites to give reparations for the legacy of slavery. But how can that bring reconciliation? It only trades injustice today for the injustices of yesterday. Somewhere along the way, whether it be racism, economics, bigotry, or any other class of inequality, someone has to have the courage and the confidence as did Martin Luther King, Jr., to stand up and say, "I'll accept the inequality so there might be the possibility of reconciliation." The word for it is 'forgiveness,' and apart from it, there will never be reconciliation, in public or private life. Whenever I insist on getting all the good I want no matter what the cost to another, the foundation is laid for division, at home, at school, at work, or in public life.
The difficulty in all this is that it is the offended who must start the process. God didn't wait for us to say, "I'm sorry," before sending his Son to die in our place. We sinned against him, and he took the initiative to reconcile us. It is ever thus. I am grateful that he did so, and long for the day when we follow that example here on earth. I believe it can only happen when we first receive his forgiveness. In that divine forgiveness and there alone, is found the strength and willingness we need to offer it to others. With divine forgiveness, maybe we can forgive each other and learn to talk again.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Monday, February 27, 2017
Sunshine
February 27, 2017
If you live in San Diego, you wouldn't understand. Someone told me a few years ago that San Diego is the sunniest city in the country. If you live there, I plead with you: don't take it for granted! We Western New Yorkers have to ration our sunny days like a man walking in the desert rations water. This morning's dentist appointment meant a half hour drive through the countryside in the brilliant morning sunshine. The bright blue of the sky formed a stunning backdrop to shades of green and brown in the fields and forests, while all was punctuated with the occasional red brick or grey, yellow, or white paint of the houses along the way.
Later in the early afternoon, a walk along the creek that surrounds our yard added the sounds and smells of the day as I meandered through lingering snow and matted leaves from last year. As the afternoon wore on however, the clouds started to settle in, cooling the air and obscuring the sun. The cooling effect wasn't limited however, to the air. The atmosphere cooled, too. The day was not as inviting as it had been mere hours before. Such is the effect of the sun upon earth, body, and soul. I cherish these infrequent sunny days. We don't have the luxury here of squandering them, which is perhaps one reason we don't watch too many movies. Wasting sunshine is an almost unforgivable sin, so we refuse to hide inside when there is even a hint of it to be found. I'm grateful today for the momentary encouragement I saw this morning, but also to know that while the beauty and warmth of the sun may be fleeting, that of the Savior is not.
If you live in San Diego, you wouldn't understand. Someone told me a few years ago that San Diego is the sunniest city in the country. If you live there, I plead with you: don't take it for granted! We Western New Yorkers have to ration our sunny days like a man walking in the desert rations water. This morning's dentist appointment meant a half hour drive through the countryside in the brilliant morning sunshine. The bright blue of the sky formed a stunning backdrop to shades of green and brown in the fields and forests, while all was punctuated with the occasional red brick or grey, yellow, or white paint of the houses along the way.
Later in the early afternoon, a walk along the creek that surrounds our yard added the sounds and smells of the day as I meandered through lingering snow and matted leaves from last year. As the afternoon wore on however, the clouds started to settle in, cooling the air and obscuring the sun. The cooling effect wasn't limited however, to the air. The atmosphere cooled, too. The day was not as inviting as it had been mere hours before. Such is the effect of the sun upon earth, body, and soul. I cherish these infrequent sunny days. We don't have the luxury here of squandering them, which is perhaps one reason we don't watch too many movies. Wasting sunshine is an almost unforgivable sin, so we refuse to hide inside when there is even a hint of it to be found. I'm grateful today for the momentary encouragement I saw this morning, but also to know that while the beauty and warmth of the sun may be fleeting, that of the Savior is not.
Sunday, February 26, 2017
I am the LORD
February 26, 2017
Ask my wife; I can be somewhat dense at times. I guess God knows this about me too, and about most people as well. There's really no other explanation for the wording of the text. Leviticus is what the name implies; the amplification of the Ten Commandments of Exodus 20. It is the laws and regulations by which God's people were to live. Admittedly, it can be pretty dull reading, but buried within its pages are gems of exquisite beauty. Chapter 22 verses 30-33 highlights one of them. In these four verses a single phrase is repeated four times: "I am the LORD," once with the qualifying phrase, "who sanctifies you, who brought you out of the land of Egypt."
Critics often see the Old Testament Law as the means ordained for us to be brought into right relationship with God, but that is a complete misunderstanding of it. In this particular text, God tells his people how they are to offer their sacrifices of thanksgiving, adding that they are to be careful to observe his commandments, especially to honor his Name. Twice he links his Name with their obligation to obey his commands, but the last two mentions of the Name are attached to what God himself has done. He rescued his people from slavery and then separates them unto himself from all other peoples. His Name is connected not only with his demands, but also with his mighty acts of salvation on behalf of his people.
Forty eight times in Leviticus God identifies with his people, claiming this special relationship with its demands, but also with the amazing fact of his having chosen them. There have been plenty of times in my life when I felt pretty insignificant, pretty powerless to make a difference in this world, a failure and a disappointment to myself, others, and to God. But God, our God, delivers us from sin and despair, sets us apart from everyone else, reveals his Name to us, and does the impossible: he makes us holy. I may be insignificant; I may be powerless; I may be a disappointment, but nevertheless, because of Christ, I am chosen, and though powerless in and of myself, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, because with God, nothing is impossible. This God, my God...our God delivered us from sin, and is actively making us holy as he molds us into the image of his Son, our Savior. May the Name of the LORD be praised forever!
Ask my wife; I can be somewhat dense at times. I guess God knows this about me too, and about most people as well. There's really no other explanation for the wording of the text. Leviticus is what the name implies; the amplification of the Ten Commandments of Exodus 20. It is the laws and regulations by which God's people were to live. Admittedly, it can be pretty dull reading, but buried within its pages are gems of exquisite beauty. Chapter 22 verses 30-33 highlights one of them. In these four verses a single phrase is repeated four times: "I am the LORD," once with the qualifying phrase, "who sanctifies you, who brought you out of the land of Egypt."
Critics often see the Old Testament Law as the means ordained for us to be brought into right relationship with God, but that is a complete misunderstanding of it. In this particular text, God tells his people how they are to offer their sacrifices of thanksgiving, adding that they are to be careful to observe his commandments, especially to honor his Name. Twice he links his Name with their obligation to obey his commands, but the last two mentions of the Name are attached to what God himself has done. He rescued his people from slavery and then separates them unto himself from all other peoples. His Name is connected not only with his demands, but also with his mighty acts of salvation on behalf of his people.
Forty eight times in Leviticus God identifies with his people, claiming this special relationship with its demands, but also with the amazing fact of his having chosen them. There have been plenty of times in my life when I felt pretty insignificant, pretty powerless to make a difference in this world, a failure and a disappointment to myself, others, and to God. But God, our God, delivers us from sin and despair, sets us apart from everyone else, reveals his Name to us, and does the impossible: he makes us holy. I may be insignificant; I may be powerless; I may be a disappointment, but nevertheless, because of Christ, I am chosen, and though powerless in and of myself, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, because with God, nothing is impossible. This God, my God...our God delivered us from sin, and is actively making us holy as he molds us into the image of his Son, our Savior. May the Name of the LORD be praised forever!
Saturday, February 25, 2017
Firm or Flabby?
February 25, 2017
Firm or flabby, which will it be? When I was a kid, Jack LaLane was the exercise guru of television. LaLane was the epitome of fitness, the vision of a Greek god with his broad, muscular chest, bulging biceps and tiny waist. Top it off with rugged good looks and a head of curly hair; I'm sure he caused many a middle-aged woman to swoon in spite of his being happily married for more than fifty years. There was just one problem: his physique were definitely not the result of his TV show routines, which were pretty lightweight. Nevertheless, his emphasis on healthy eating and healthy living were foundational for a new generation of fitness experts.
Today we have an abundance of fitness resources, from dvd's to fitness clubs and personal trainers. We spend a lot of time, money, and effort in our quest for fitness. Firm is in; flab is not. Which is why today's reading caught my eye. "[Stand] firm in your faith," Peter tells us in his first letter. Firm, not flabby. It is interesting how much we pursue firmness of body while allowing flabbiness of soul. We will spend thousands of dollars, countless hours, and enormous amounts of energy for the fitness of our bodies, while expecting that our souls can be firm with an occasional smattering of church and Scripture.
What if firmness of faith requires the same kind of exertion as firmness of body? What if it requires time, commitment, sacrifice, and pushing through the pain of training? What if it meant we had to change our diets, eschewing the empty calories of television, internet, idle conversation, and wasted investment in idle hobbies? What if it required us to discipline ourselves to forgive, to give sacrificially, to push through our fears to actually speak to someone about their need for Christ? What if it took the same kind of dedication as it takes our physical bodies to move from flabby to firm? Well, I believe it does. Tonight I am thankful for the challenges that the Scriptures continually present to me, their refusal to let me coast or rest on whatever laurels I may have. I am thankful that faith doesn't have to be flabby. We can stand firm, no matter what we face.
Firm or flabby, which will it be? When I was a kid, Jack LaLane was the exercise guru of television. LaLane was the epitome of fitness, the vision of a Greek god with his broad, muscular chest, bulging biceps and tiny waist. Top it off with rugged good looks and a head of curly hair; I'm sure he caused many a middle-aged woman to swoon in spite of his being happily married for more than fifty years. There was just one problem: his physique were definitely not the result of his TV show routines, which were pretty lightweight. Nevertheless, his emphasis on healthy eating and healthy living were foundational for a new generation of fitness experts.
Today we have an abundance of fitness resources, from dvd's to fitness clubs and personal trainers. We spend a lot of time, money, and effort in our quest for fitness. Firm is in; flab is not. Which is why today's reading caught my eye. "[Stand] firm in your faith," Peter tells us in his first letter. Firm, not flabby. It is interesting how much we pursue firmness of body while allowing flabbiness of soul. We will spend thousands of dollars, countless hours, and enormous amounts of energy for the fitness of our bodies, while expecting that our souls can be firm with an occasional smattering of church and Scripture.
What if firmness of faith requires the same kind of exertion as firmness of body? What if it requires time, commitment, sacrifice, and pushing through the pain of training? What if it meant we had to change our diets, eschewing the empty calories of television, internet, idle conversation, and wasted investment in idle hobbies? What if it required us to discipline ourselves to forgive, to give sacrificially, to push through our fears to actually speak to someone about their need for Christ? What if it took the same kind of dedication as it takes our physical bodies to move from flabby to firm? Well, I believe it does. Tonight I am thankful for the challenges that the Scriptures continually present to me, their refusal to let me coast or rest on whatever laurels I may have. I am thankful that faith doesn't have to be flabby. We can stand firm, no matter what we face.
Friday, February 24, 2017
Baby, It's Warm Outside!
February 24, 2017
The weatherman says it isn't going to last, and I for one, am glad. February 24 in Western New York, and our thermometer reads 74. It's been so warm all week that even the snow in OUR yard is almost gone. It feels good to walk around in shirtsleeves in February, but if the buds on the apples and grapes start to open, there will be an awful price to pay for a few days of Florida weather.
If the Bible hadn't said it, it would still be true that everything has its proper time. The 60's song by the Yardbirds was taken straight from Ecclesiastes: "To everything there is a season; a time to live, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to harvest..." When those times are interrupted, nothing is predictable; life descends into chaos. In war-torn Syria or Ethiopia, in Afghanistan and Yemen, the normal times of sowing and reaping have been disrupted, such basic necessities as water, electricity, heat, are irregular if they exist at all. We need regular, cyclical times if we are to function well.
The forecast is for a cold front to be moving in overnight. I hope so, for the sake of the buds, and for we who too often take our food for granted. It magically shows up on the shelves of our supermarkets, we buy it, take it home, put it in refrigerators and on shelves, rarely thinking of what our lives would be like if those times of planting and harvesting were interrupted. The apple trees were planted long ago, as were the vineyards, but they depend on the continuing cold weather. So do we, so I've had enough of this balmy stuff. Bring on the cold!
The weatherman says it isn't going to last, and I for one, am glad. February 24 in Western New York, and our thermometer reads 74. It's been so warm all week that even the snow in OUR yard is almost gone. It feels good to walk around in shirtsleeves in February, but if the buds on the apples and grapes start to open, there will be an awful price to pay for a few days of Florida weather.
If the Bible hadn't said it, it would still be true that everything has its proper time. The 60's song by the Yardbirds was taken straight from Ecclesiastes: "To everything there is a season; a time to live, a time to die, a time to plant, a time to harvest..." When those times are interrupted, nothing is predictable; life descends into chaos. In war-torn Syria or Ethiopia, in Afghanistan and Yemen, the normal times of sowing and reaping have been disrupted, such basic necessities as water, electricity, heat, are irregular if they exist at all. We need regular, cyclical times if we are to function well.
The forecast is for a cold front to be moving in overnight. I hope so, for the sake of the buds, and for we who too often take our food for granted. It magically shows up on the shelves of our supermarkets, we buy it, take it home, put it in refrigerators and on shelves, rarely thinking of what our lives would be like if those times of planting and harvesting were interrupted. The apple trees were planted long ago, as were the vineyards, but they depend on the continuing cold weather. So do we, so I've had enough of this balmy stuff. Bring on the cold!
Thursday, February 23, 2017
The Un-Celebration
February 23, 2017
It's nothing to be ashamed of, but it's still in my best interest to keep some of the details to myself. So I'll just cut to the chase. Today is my wife's birthday, and we are celebrating by me going to my bass lesson in Fredonia while she heads in the opposite direction to attend a basketball game in Panama. We will cap the evening's festivities by having three of our grandchildren over for the night. In case you haven't noticed, we know how to party!
A few years ago, going two different directions on our birthdays would have raised questions about priorities, but one of the benefits of being married for nearly 47 years is that we've gotten beyond that. We know what the priorities are: the grandkids! But to appease the romantics who might chance upon this little article, I'll put your minds at ease with a bit more information: I took her to lunch at one of our favorite spots, the Liberty Grill in Fredonia. We had barely sat down when the cook came out to wish her a happy birthday. He is a young man she had in her special ed class years ago, and had seen her birthday notice on Facebook. They talked for a bit, and we started on our lunch when the waitress came up and asked if I weren't Rev. Bailey. That can be a loaded question, but she looked friendly enough, so I answered in the affirmative, whereupon she said that she had attended the funeral at which I officiated yesterday, and complimented me on it. It was to say the least, an interesting birthday luncheon.
So there you have it; a Bailey birthday celebration. It's about as ordinary as you could get, but that's the point. After so many years together, every day is a celebration of love and commitment. The mountain peaks are still fun, but they aren't necessary to prove our love. The fact is, there is nothing to prove, only to demonstrate, and that is an every day activity. If it were not so, we wouldn't be celebrating this day together (more or less, anyway). But we are, and for that, I am thankful today.
It's nothing to be ashamed of, but it's still in my best interest to keep some of the details to myself. So I'll just cut to the chase. Today is my wife's birthday, and we are celebrating by me going to my bass lesson in Fredonia while she heads in the opposite direction to attend a basketball game in Panama. We will cap the evening's festivities by having three of our grandchildren over for the night. In case you haven't noticed, we know how to party!
A few years ago, going two different directions on our birthdays would have raised questions about priorities, but one of the benefits of being married for nearly 47 years is that we've gotten beyond that. We know what the priorities are: the grandkids! But to appease the romantics who might chance upon this little article, I'll put your minds at ease with a bit more information: I took her to lunch at one of our favorite spots, the Liberty Grill in Fredonia. We had barely sat down when the cook came out to wish her a happy birthday. He is a young man she had in her special ed class years ago, and had seen her birthday notice on Facebook. They talked for a bit, and we started on our lunch when the waitress came up and asked if I weren't Rev. Bailey. That can be a loaded question, but she looked friendly enough, so I answered in the affirmative, whereupon she said that she had attended the funeral at which I officiated yesterday, and complimented me on it. It was to say the least, an interesting birthday luncheon.
So there you have it; a Bailey birthday celebration. It's about as ordinary as you could get, but that's the point. After so many years together, every day is a celebration of love and commitment. The mountain peaks are still fun, but they aren't necessary to prove our love. The fact is, there is nothing to prove, only to demonstrate, and that is an every day activity. If it were not so, we wouldn't be celebrating this day together (more or less, anyway). But we are, and for that, I am thankful today.
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Rudolf
February 22, 2017
"If wishes were fishes, we'd eat ourselves to death." I can still picture old Rudolf Horton leaning over the counter of his general store as he uttered those words. Rudolf walked with a decided limp due to the tuberculosis that had eaten away the ball of one thigh till it was little more than a point. Though he fought with pain every day of his life, he was tough, and determined that this was a fight he would win. When he wasn't tending his store, he would be found in one of two places, in the woods cutting logs or tending the sucker lines of his oil rigs, or in church.
I was pastor of the Alma EUB church, still in school, as green as they come, still wet behind the ears, while Rudolf was easily in his later sixties, which doesn't seem nearly so old now as it did then. I was the pastor, but people like Rudolf and Helen, old Mrs. Dickerson, and a passel of unruly teenagers were the teachers. Linda and I were there for five and a half years; our two sons were born there as we forged the foundations for a life and ministry together.
Alma was barely a wide spot in the road; a tiny hamlet at the intersection of two country roads that wound their way through the hills. Sadly, the church is closed now, but the memories are strong, as are the lessons learned there. When five and a half years later we left for seminary, I was to discover just how much they had taught me.
In my first and only preaching class, the professor asked those of us who had had some preaching experience to critique our sermons on the basis of what we had been saying about Jesus Christ and the Gospel. I started confidently, but was soon appalled at what I was seeing. I had always believed in a high Christology where salvation was on the basis of Jesus' death and resurrection, and by grace through faith alone. Working our way in was simply out of the question. However, when I reviewed my sermons, I discovered that there was a disconnect between what I believed and what I was telling people. In essence, I was telling people to just try a little harder. Ever since, I have made it a point before I preach to review every sermon with one question in mind: "Where is the Good News?" People can get good advice anywhere. We're the only ones with the Good News, and that's what people need.
Those gracious folks in Alma deserved an apology and my lifelong gratitude for putting up with me. One day when I was getting the mail (Rudolf's store was also the post office), Rudolf told me that the folks at the church considered it their mission in life to help young preachers get started. Well, they did just that for this young pastor, listening to his awful sermons and loving him in spite of them until they sent him off to greater fields of service. Mission accomplished, Alma church! Thank you. And thank God for you!
"If wishes were fishes, we'd eat ourselves to death." I can still picture old Rudolf Horton leaning over the counter of his general store as he uttered those words. Rudolf walked with a decided limp due to the tuberculosis that had eaten away the ball of one thigh till it was little more than a point. Though he fought with pain every day of his life, he was tough, and determined that this was a fight he would win. When he wasn't tending his store, he would be found in one of two places, in the woods cutting logs or tending the sucker lines of his oil rigs, or in church.
I was pastor of the Alma EUB church, still in school, as green as they come, still wet behind the ears, while Rudolf was easily in his later sixties, which doesn't seem nearly so old now as it did then. I was the pastor, but people like Rudolf and Helen, old Mrs. Dickerson, and a passel of unruly teenagers were the teachers. Linda and I were there for five and a half years; our two sons were born there as we forged the foundations for a life and ministry together.
Alma was barely a wide spot in the road; a tiny hamlet at the intersection of two country roads that wound their way through the hills. Sadly, the church is closed now, but the memories are strong, as are the lessons learned there. When five and a half years later we left for seminary, I was to discover just how much they had taught me.
In my first and only preaching class, the professor asked those of us who had had some preaching experience to critique our sermons on the basis of what we had been saying about Jesus Christ and the Gospel. I started confidently, but was soon appalled at what I was seeing. I had always believed in a high Christology where salvation was on the basis of Jesus' death and resurrection, and by grace through faith alone. Working our way in was simply out of the question. However, when I reviewed my sermons, I discovered that there was a disconnect between what I believed and what I was telling people. In essence, I was telling people to just try a little harder. Ever since, I have made it a point before I preach to review every sermon with one question in mind: "Where is the Good News?" People can get good advice anywhere. We're the only ones with the Good News, and that's what people need.
Those gracious folks in Alma deserved an apology and my lifelong gratitude for putting up with me. One day when I was getting the mail (Rudolf's store was also the post office), Rudolf told me that the folks at the church considered it their mission in life to help young preachers get started. Well, they did just that for this young pastor, listening to his awful sermons and loving him in spite of them until they sent him off to greater fields of service. Mission accomplished, Alma church! Thank you. And thank God for you!
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