Strange

April 30, 2019

He was a rather distinguished-looking gentleman, about my own age, judging from his grey hair and closely-clipped beard. When we struck up a conversation in the waiting room, the conversation quite naturally turned to work. “You must be retired,” he said, to which I responded that he was partly right. He asked, and I told him my profession, which caused a slightly lifted eyebrow. “Really? I was a pastor, too. Baptist. Where’d you go to seminary?” When I told him, he said, “I know it. I went to seminary not too far from there.” He gave me his name, which sounded strangely familiar, but when I told him mine, his eyes widened. “We attended the same church and you once had my wife and myself over for dinner.” 

When he moved back to the area to be near family, there weren’t any pastoral opportunities for him, so he did his ministry as a corrections officer in one of the area facilities. He knew of Park church and that I had been there for an unusual length of time for a Methodist pastor. It was soon time for my appointment, so we shook hands and parted company. 

Who’d have guessed? An ordinary day suddenly made extraordinary by a blast from the past and our common faith in Christ. It just goes to show; you never know who you’ll meet at the audiologist’s. 

St. Augustine

April 29, 2019

By almost any measure, I have it pretty easy. Neither I nor any of my immediate family are facing imminent trauma. We are healthy, reasonably functional, living in relative peace and prosperity when compared with most of humanity past and present. There are certainly momentous issues of our day that will likely affect my children and grandchildren more than myself, issues about which I pray, but also about which I can do little else. Our society is increasingly polarized, its institutions are collapsing, and I hear people pronouncing doom and gloom all the time.

Then I remember St. Augustine, bishop of Hippo (354-430 AD). He lived in North Africa during the time when the old Roman Empire was collapsing. People were afraid then, just as they are now. They could not imagine anything surviving the invasions of the pagan hoardes from the East; all that was familiar to them was being destroyed right before their eyes. As is usually the case, it wasn’t really the invasion from the outside that spelled the doom of Rome; it was the moral collapse from within. After generations of decadence, Rome was unwilling and unable to defend itself, hoping somehow that appeasement would save them. Sound familiar?

In response to all this, Augustine penned one of his most famous works in which he actually spoke of and compared two competing world views—that of his contemporary society, and the vision of a completely different order which he called the “City of God.” It is a lengthy tome, not light fare by any stretch of the imagination, but it framed the fear of his generation in an entirely different manner. The destruction of Rome, he argued, didn’t signal God’s abandonment of his people, but his establishment of an entirely new order of life based on the Gospel.

We are in desperate need of an Augustine today. It is all too easy to limit our vision to the things we see happening all around us; things over which we seem to have little control. The forces of evil are rampant, those of good seemingly powerless. But like St. John the Divine whose Apocalypse or Revelation was a banner of hope and a shout of triumph in the face of 1st Century withering persecution, Augustine has much to teach us. We would do well to drink deeply at the well of his wisdom and ponder the Revelation of John not as some science fiction escapism tale for a future generation, but as Almighty God’s pronouncement of judgment upon the powers of this world, and the victory of our Lord Jesus Christ over that which appears to be winning today. Jesus Christ is Victor, not just in some far off time and place, but right here and now. For that, we should all give thanks!

Easy blessings

Family blessings can come in unexpected ways. We are blessed to live within walking distance of all three of our children, and of all our grandchildren who are still living at home. Granted, that proximity can be challenging at times; as I’ve often said, in relationships, difference plus proximity equals heat. But it also has its advantages; we are able to be involved in our grandchildren’s lives in ways most grandparents never imagine. Today, a family emergency necessitated our having a couple of our grandchildren overnight. We are not only able to keep them, but to get them to school in the morning. Without even having to adjust our own schedules.

It’s truly a blessing when it’s easy to be a blessing.

My List

April 27, 2019

One of the problems I have with daily putting down in print the things for which I am thankful is the fact that most days are so filled with activity that it’s usually dark before I can even stop to reflect. This morning, Linda and I drove to Grove City College to hear our granddaughter speak to about a thousand prospective students and parents. She had been asked to be one of two student presenters, and did an outstanding job with both content and presentation. 

After the presentation, we drove home, had a quick lunch before I settled in to preparing lessons for when I next go to Cuba. It took me the rest of the afternoon up to suppertime, after which I worked some more on them. I’ve also been working to locate some previous lessons I had put together, but so far, to no avail. So here it is, nearly bedtime, and I’ve given precious little thought to gratitude. I’ve just been working. 

I suspect most of us live in a similar world. It’s not that we want to be ingrates; we just put our heads down and push our way through life. We aren’t necessarily dissatisfied or complaining; we’re just forgetfully busy. So tonight, I give thanks for that busyness, for stuff that is always on the list, needing to be done. When the last item on that list is checked off, it’s probably time to check out, and I’m not ready for that yet. My list keeps getting longer. I’d say it’s a sort of job security, only with life, but I know it doesn’t work that way. Someday I’ll hear God’s call; it may be soon, or it may be many years from now. I just hope when it comes, there are still things on my list. If there are, I just might leave that list in my will. 

Archie

April 26, 2019

You can see it in his eyes. 

Two photos of Archie Peck hang in the Sinclairville library. I see them every Friday when our writers’ group meets. Archie was a soldier in the United States Army who received the Medal of Honor for his actions during World War I. While serving as an infantryman in the U.S. 77th Division during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive, his unit found itself surrounded in the German lines. The unit would subsequently gain the moniker "The Lost Battalion" as a result of this incident. This was the bloodiest battle of the war involving U.S. troops. When two of his unit were wounded, private Peck recruited another soldier to help him retrieve them. The other soldier was killed, but Archie managed to bring the wounded men back to his own lines through withering machine gun fire. He later said that it was his small size that saved him; he wasn’t a big enough target to get hit. 

He later settled in Sinclairville, opening a grocery store that is the predecessor of the present day Superette. His son operated Peck’s Custom meats for years, providing part-time employment to many young men in the village, including my son. His grandson is a good friend and member of the church I pastored for many years. 

It’s the eyes though, that tell the story. In the first photo, young Archie is standing with other recruits, not yet tested in battle, not yet subjected to the horrors of trench warfare. The second photo is the one that captures my attention. He is wearing his Medal of Honor, but the smile is gone, and the eyes are no longer bright and merry. They have seen too much. 

Every time I enter the library, I see those photos and am reminded of the sacrifice of those who have gone to war on our behalf. If they make it home, they come home changed, scarred, branded in their souls. I once remarked to a friend who was in Vietnam that I at times felt guilty that I was never in the military, never did my part for my country. It was the lottery years, and my number never came up. My friend said to me, “Jim, don’t ever feel that way. Be thankful you didn’t have to go, that you didn’t have to see and do what some of us did.” I am thankful. Not only that I haven’t had to wrestle with the demons of war, but also that others did. For me. So Archie, and to all my friends who were placed in harm’s way, thank you. Your nightmares are the price you paid for our sweet dreams, and we owe you more than we can offer.

An Odd Mind

April 25, 2019

Sometimes I wonder what’s the matter with me. I’m in an online Bible reading plan shared by 70-90 others from Park church. The readings take us through the Bible, catching the highlights while skipping parts apparently deemed boring or not quite important enough. Part of the plan includes the opportunity for people to comment on what the text is saying to them. I’ve noticed as I read that the things that catch my attention are usually quite different than what everyone else sees and comments on. 

For example, today’s reading was from 1 Samuel 1 and 2; the story of Hannah’s distress at not being able to conceive, her prayers at the house of God, and the priest Eli’s chastisement and later blessing of her. The New Testament text was from Philippians 4:6-7, which tells us that prayer instead of worry is the path to peace. Those who commented on the readings commented on the Philippians text, but what caught my attention was this phrase from 1 Samuel: “Eli the priest was sitting in his place by the door.” (1:10 GNB). 

My comment was, “Often in Scripture we read of God’s servants sitting. I wonder how long Eli sat there day by day, and what he thought about as he sat. Did he pray, or talk with those who came to worship? One thing we know: he wasn’t playing games or scrolling through Facebook on his phone! With all our relentless activity what we are missing because we can’t sit still long enough for God to guide us?”

When I mentioned this interesting fact to Linda, oddly enough, she didn’t seem surprised. She even suggested that perhaps I sit too much, but I just chalk that up to jealousy; she couldn’t sit still if her life depended on it. I still think it’s worth pondering. There are precious few who have given themselves completely to being in the presence of God. We love to quote Psalm 122:1–“I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go into the house of the LORD,” or Psalm 84:10“For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God Than dwell in the tents of wickedness,” but there aren’t many of us who are actually willing to do it.

I wonder how the Church or our families might be better off if we slowed down and sat by the door of God’s house. Of course, it isn’t a panacea; Eli’s sons were undisciplined and profligate, so just sitting isn’t enough. But it might be a place to start. But in the meantime, I still wonder what’s wrong with me that I notice such odd stuff. Apparently I’m in my own little world, but that’s OK; I like it here.

Parting the Mist

April 24, 2019

Sermon preparation often feels like driving in a heavy fog. I creep along, not seeming to make any progress, when suddenly the mist parts and a great shape begins to materialize right before my eyes. It has happened so many times I’ve lost count, but it never ceases to amaze me. One moment I am despairing, the next, it all becomes clear and I find myself writing frantically, trying to put it down on paper before it all passes and fades once more into the mist. Ah, but I’ve captured it, and all is well in my world.

Sermons are not the only things that work this way. For a couple months now, two pastor friends and I have been talking about doing an event in the park across the street from the Dunkirk church this summer. We meet weekly for prayer and have prayed and talked, prayed and talked, but that is all. Until the mist parted this morning. 

Last week, pastor LeeCroft Clark hosted a luncheon for north county pastors to share with us the work of the Addiction Response Ministry. This has been his passion for a number of years as he has worked untiringly to serve and redeem those lost in the fog and despair of drug and alcohol abuse. At the meeting, a paper was passed around for us to give contact information. I took a photo of it and contacted the pastors who signed it, inviting them to our prayer and planning meetings. This morning, we doubled our attendance, and after prayer we talked about the possibility of working together to minister to kids throughout the summer. Next week I’ll be contacting the city officials for a permit for a kickoff celebration involving at least four area churches! 

I’m sure pastor Clark didn’t have a summer kid’s ministry in mind when he spoke to us last week, but God has expanded his vision beyond what he saw to include these kids. Perhaps we can be instrumental in preventing someone from taking that first step down the road to addiction. We never know when we start what the journey will bring, but I am grateful that when we persevere, sooner or later the mists part and we see the shape of good things to come rising before us.