God's Bailout

Another bailout has been announced this morning, this of the automobile manufacturer's. Like the bailout of the banks before them, this bailout has been given the spin of a 'loan' - with multitudes of strings attached. Yet, with or without strings, this is a loan that will be paid by my tax dollars and yours, by those of our grandchildren, and their grandchildren after them. Bailing out unwise business practices is not cheap - and should make us all stop and count the cost that we not participate in such practices ever again.

Maybe that is why the birth of Jesus is so very much different . . . and so very ironic in the face of such bailouts: Jesus represents God's own bailout of sinful humanity, yet, the only one paying the cost is God - as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God is paying the price for our stupidity and arrogance. God is naming the value of our lives in sacrifice and grace. God is facing our creditors and paying the full cost. God, in the person of Jesus Christ and in the presence of the Holy Spirit, God pours out God's own love and abundance that we might be free. No strings attached.

What a difference between God and the government. Our dollar bills say, "In God we trust", but it is the dollar bill we want, the money we worship, the power we crave. God says, "I love you and will never leave you" and that is exactly what God does. God comes to us in Christ and is present for us forever in the Holy Spirit - allowing us freely to choose to accept this gift of life. Again, no strings attached - AND, every generation which follows is offered the same gift, with God paying the cost.

All God asks is that we share the gift, not pay the cost. Tend to each other, not hang on the cross. Serve each other, not face the crowds. Jesus stands before every Congressional subcommittee and testifies on our behalf: Father forgive them, for they know not what they do. How much more proof will we demand before we quit requiring someone else to bail us out of our poor decisions and accept our responsiblity of relationship with God as a gift from which to really live?

It is a question which demands our pondering in the face of Child born in Bethlehem. It is a question which demands an answer of our soul before we accept another dollar of bailout money at the expense of children and grandchildren.

Thank you, God, for the bailing our lives out of the abyss of our sins. Thank you, God, for the gift of Christ-Child.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Fall Harvest On The Farm Is Complete

"Fall harvest is complete on the farm." Seven words which took what seemed to be a lifetime to accomplish in their being spoken, yet the phrase is true, "Fall harvest is complete on the farm."

It was a bountiful harvest whose beginnings in the rain-filled Spring seemed nearly impossible. Planting in this area did not begin in earnest until in early June, which by most standards is nearly two months tardy. Yet, once begun, everything was planted in one fell swoop: corn, soybeans, and double-crop soybeans, that latter of which only occurs after wheat harvest and in the middle of baling alfalfa. To say the least, the Spring planting was arduous and offered little hope for the Fall harvest: To paraphrase university agronomists, 'Once beyond May 15, with most crops you begin subtracting potential yield.' June 5 was the day we started planting.

Fortunately for most of the farmers in the area, neither God, nor the weather and fields, pay much attention to university agronomists. Periodic rains throughout the Summer, with few 100 degree plus days in a row, mixed with a long-term fertility plan already in place on the farm, and blessed with expanding knowledge and use of newer seed hybrids, proved to be a combination that no university expert could predict. Harvests of corn, soybeans, milo and other more specialized crops in the area were 'bin-busters'. God's abundance for humanity was given just one more expression in the fields and labors of Southern Illinois farmers. Thank you, God.

One aspect alone, though, made the harvest prolonged and tedious, especially of the corn in this region: a wind storm in mid-September. The remnant of a hurricane absorbed on the southern coastal regions of our nation found its way to the mid-section of our croplands, flattening thousands of acres of corn and beans in just a few short minutes of severe blowing. Affecting an area reaching as far north as mid-state Illinois and swooping well into the southern reaches of Kentucky, these winds featured both straight-line force and down-draft destructiveness. Corn fields which, minutes earlier, had stood ten or more feet tall, were nearly instantly reduced to the height of an overgrown lawn. Acres and acres of crops were laid over, some broken, some churned as though pelted with hail and razors. Hearts sank, despair set in, and the grim ordering of reels for combine corn heads began in earnest. What lie ahead did not look good.

Entering the fields this Fall proved to be every bit the challenge farmers anticipated. The reels on the corn heads helped but, working through thousands of flattened acres of material, some of it splayed in multiple directions in the same field, no reel could magically make the harvest go the way farmers hoped it would. Yet, and that is a very BIG 'yet', there was a surprise waiting in the fields that few if any of the farmers could have fully anticipated: The harvest was producing better than any other 'ideal' year before. Soybean and corn yields tipped the scales with numbers far beyond what most farmers had ever seen in their lifetimes. This, with early harvest higher grain prices, proved to be the saving of many a farm family in the region. It was a blessing that waited for those who wept just weeks before. Joy comes in the morning.

In retrospect, the lavish rains throughout the Summer had been both blessing and curse: Blessing in that the crops grew with little challenge or difficulty; Curse in that the crops grew with little challenge or difficulty. Corn plants that, in most years, routinely set large tap roots on the outer base of the plant for stability and extra moisture absorption, this year did not need to, thereby making the heavily laden plants susceptible to the kind of destabilizing effects that a hurricane wind might provide. Additionally, the bounty of full soybean pods and large ears of corn proved too much for narrowly rooted plants to hold up in the face of a blowing crisis. What produced an incredible yield also made the harvest nearly impossible. Just ask the farmers who shelled corn diagonally across the fields in order to pick up the greatest amount of grain.

Talking with my brother and Dad about this phenomenon, it humbled me as to how deep God's wisdom goes. Nearly without fail across the region, the higher the yield in the individual fields, the more likely the greater amount of wind damage. Were it not for the more challenging days in our lives, we would be like the ten foot high corn plants with great big ears of grain: unstable and vulnerable to every wind that blows. Yet, it is the difficulties, the high temperatures and the dry spells, the weeds which compete, and the late planting which impedes, that make us heartier in faith, more prepared for the storm, ready to stand in the faces of the challenges before us. Without occasional hardships, there would be few who kneel in prayer. Without occasional difficulties, stabilizing taproots would not be established in the soil of our soul. Without the competition of weeds that threaten to undo all that is done, our stewardship would become lax, our attitude one of laizze-faire.

The combine is in the shed, the wagons and trucks are put away, the bins are closed and the batch drier is cleaned-up: Fall harvest is complete on the farm . . and I thank God for the lessons learned upon the lap of a very loving, very present Parent, who opens our minds to see that not everything we pray for (in a very protected and challenge-less life) is necessarily good for us. Make me, O God, open to your every wisdom shared that I might walk in all your ways.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Book You Must Read

In the cold of a day marked by ice and flying snow, the love of God in Jesus Christ fills me in a whole new way.

Yesterday afternoon I purchased a copy of the book, The Shack, by Wm. Young - and finished reading it this morning. I cannot recall a book, a story, a truth, which so captured both my attention and my soul. Already this morning e-mails have been sent to scores of colleagues encouraging them to treat themselves now, in the waning days of Advent, to the heart-warming, faith-filling challenges found within the pages of this fantastic story. Bold enough to deepen the meaning of Christmas, The Shack is a provocative experience which bridges human experience and Divine Presence in such a manner as to lead the reader into the fullness of holy ground.

Remove your shoes and listen. Open your heart and hear. That still small Voice is speaking anew in a manner the humblest among us may understand: God loves you.

This is my Christmas gift to you: The Shack will challenge your most stayed understandings while embracing your deepest desires for the Holy.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Season of Caution

Ice and snow on the roads have slowed me down. Careful not to speed up too quickly, nor to have to brake too suddenly, I have entered that season of the year which is not found in any calendar. I have entered the season of Caution.

Caution is what makes us assess the route taken before leaving the garage. Caution is that which causes us to stockpile emergency supplies, both in our cars and in our homes. Caution demands that life not be lived 'pedal to the metal', but at a rate of speed respectfully aware of the dangers at hand. Caution urges attentiveness to the landscape and readiness in the soul. Caution heightens perception and attunes decisiveness.

So little do we enjoy the season of Caution that we throw our very last dollars at it with scatterings of salt and calcium chloride. So derided is the notion of such a season that some will end up in ditches and fields, cursing the ride which placed them there and praying for Caution in others to come and save them. So despised are the behaviors Caution elicits, some are moved to never leave their places of security, demanding others to serve them and still others to act on their behalf. Caution is not perceived to be a joyful season, rather one to be feared and dreaded. Yet, Caution is that one season which, when wholly observed, is holy and sacred in its own right, for Caution is a Rite, a season of delicious, delicate liturgies causing our souls to slow, even while our hearts beat with urgency.

Caution gives us back the Day that we need no longer fear the night. Caution opens to the believer the gates of Paradise, even as the very gates of Hell are closed forever. Caution inspires thought and pondering, while deepening prayer and meditation. Caution allows time and space for words with meaning, and meaning for actions. Caution is a gift from God that is unlike any other gift - and was never meant to be a season through which one might skip.

Caution teaches us to measure our steps, whether to Bethlehem . . . or Jerusalem. Caution opens our ears to hear His words, whether from a Mount or mounted upon a Cross. Caution peals from our eyes the scales of blindness which could not understand earthly faithfulness pointing towards heavenly Lordship. Caution bids our faith to delve into the Word which matters in a manner which moves the Bible from coffee table decoration to kitchen table reading. Caution gives us the heart reason to believe life is more precious than all the things we can accomplish - and nobility of purpose anchored in the Noble One who walks the way with us.

Caution may not be a season marked on the calendar, but it is a season of the Lord requiring our attentive participation that we not miss the very gift of Life itself, Life born in an expected place and time along the way.

Tend to the season of Caution in these hallowed days of Advent.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Ten Days and Counting

We are ten days journey from Bethlehem and I strain my eyes towards the horizon, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the One who is to come. I long for a vision of salvation that neither, the repetitive playing of carols on the public airways, nor all of the 'old Christmas specials' being shown on television, are quite able to fulfill in any meaningful fashion. I seek not the cleverness of our culture, but the humility of God emerging from a stable; not the gaudiness of Hollywood, but the simplicity of a carpenter and a maiden acting in faith, whatever the outcome; not the lavish explanation some self-righteous Biblical scholar offers of 'how it really probably happened', but the common Word of God upon the common lips of God's children singing with the angels of another age a 'Gloria' no earthly choir could manage.

I yearn for deliverance and God's zeal for life . . . and I look to a Baby, the Christ-Child, to lead me home.

The economy may continue to tank, the housing market may long be stagnant, wars and rumors of wars may fill the pages of newsprint, and jobs may become even more hard to find, but in my heart of hearts I believe the Promise,

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian. For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this." (Isaiah 9:2-7 NRSV)

I believe the 'Zeal' of the Lord is just over the horizon and it is up to me to take the initiative, to show a bit of gumption, to display just a trace of faith, and move towards the light of the star which shows the way. Maybe if more people believed in the Zeal of the Lord, there would be less zealots on the earth to distort the Vision. Ten days may not seem to be such a long time to wait, yet it is a journey which will demand our all.

The 'Zeal' of the Lord is waiting with Baby fingers to touch our lives. The 'Zeal' of the Lord is coming. Believe.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Mulling on the Flat Places

I have been blessed to spend a few precious days at the Wagner farm this Fall helping with harvest. The soybeans ran well and were relatively easy to combine, but the corn, on the other hand, as a result of the severe winds of that Sunday in September, the corn has been a challenge. Every corn field on our farm was affected to various degrees: some stalks were slightly bent to severely bent from the force of the wind, others were/are nearly flat on the ground. Corn harvest has been slow and tedious, yet highly productive. Even given the wind damage, the corn crop is running very well . . . which got me to thinking.
From the road, many of our corn fields might be considered a disaster by those unacquainted with what plants and modern genetics have the capacity to accomplish. Soon after the winds of the storm blew through, I was one of the skeptics who voiced concern what those ‘flattened fields’ would ever be able to yield. Yet, though haltingly harvested, today those wind whipped fields are bringing forth yields which are baffling to even the most seasoned of farmers. God is proving a point: There is something good which can come from Nazareth.
From the poverty of hard labor and slim returns, from the lives of a lowly maiden and a humble carpenter, from the hard-crusted community of an ethnically persecuted people, from the fields of peoples livelihoods laid low by the fickle winds of oppression and politics, God introduces an unexpected and bountiful response to the cynicism of this world’s experts and leadership. There, in the small village of Bethlehem, God speaks a new word of Hope into a despairing attitude. There in the darkened skies above the world’s fields of fear and hurt, God’s angels sing of Courage and Healing, born in abundance in a place of little notice. There along the byways of passing privilege and power, in the heart of flattened dreams and crushed anticipation, God births New Vision and Realized Presence in the unexpected yield of a Holy Baby where no-one, no-one expected any good to emerge.
Is it any wonder that the shepherds were the first ones to hear and take notice? Should it surprise either you or me that, while darkness covered the land and deep darkness the hearts of the people, God placed a magnificent star above the Savior’s birthplace, boldly proclaiming a Mercy never before known, a Grace riding on the waves of gossamer angel songs, piercing the prevailing winds of withering drought and disease with Light above Light, an Answer to Prayer? Have we become so accustomed to hearing the Story of God elevating the Harvest in the planting of the Son, that our own expectations of anything being made different this year in His coming are little higher than the flattest corn? Our lives little more than rote holiday behaviors exercised on an annual basis in the hopes that others might not notice the lack of depth in our soul?
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,” says John the baptizer in the Gospel of Mark.
Today is an incredibly wonderful day to see with God’s eyes the potential in those flattened places of our lives. Today is an opportune time to consider with God’s heart the abundant yield that waits to be harvested in those surprising places. Today is an excellent day to ‘Prepare the way of the Lord’, prayerfully expectant of God to bring forth from the birth waters of struggle new Truth, new Life, and new Faith.
I pray you and yours a blessed and bountifully powerful Advent and Christmas. God is entering into the lives of those who are ready and, through the birth of God’s Son, Jesus, the storm’s devastations are rendered new meaning. Come, see the Son, and there find Life Abundant.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Prayer

Measure each day God allows you
By the sacred value God sees in you.
Savor each moment God grants you
In the knowledge God loves you.
In the seeking of God
Comes wisdom.
In the living of God
Comes life.
Therefore, measure life
By the sacred wisdom
Of God's love for you
Shown in Christ.

Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Our Family Is Growing

Our family is growing.

This last weekend our middle son, Raymond, exchanged his covenantal vows of marriage with his long-time sweetheart, Kara. As the day wound to a close and the DJ silenced the music, as the table decorations were collected and the bartenders cleaned the last of the glasses, as the staff of the reception hall stripped the table cloths and stacked the chairs, and as we moved flowers and decorations into place for loading into our cars and vans, it struck me just how blessed we are to witness our family growing in such fantastic and wonderful ways.

Just hours before as Nancy and I escorted Ray up the aisle in preparation to receive his bride, my eyes welled with tears of pride and joy in the choices our children are making. Ray and Kara had chosen to have both of their parents escort them down the aisle, not just the traditional father-of-the-bride, they had chosen to include as many of their family and friends in their wedding as possible, they had chosen to fill the service of worship with beautiful voice, organ and string music, they had chosen to 'take their stand together' before God with those closest to them in attendance, and they had chosen to make the worship environment one of beauty and peace with all sorts of flowers, grains, and greenery spilling into the sanctuary. Kara and Ray, not above any others, but certainly displaying their own priorities and confidences, chose to become a particular family in their own right in a manner which best extends their own sense of family: inclusively, lovingly, caringly, carefully, intentionally, fully, faithfully. Certainly, what Ray and Kara are becoming is something of a mirror image of the homes in which they grew up, but, more importantly, what they are becoming is a mirror image of the One in whom they continue to mature and grow. They are children of God first . . . and have chosen to live that truth together in the world we share . . . and as parents, we are blessed to be witnesses to the choices they are making.

I pray for them God's richest blessings of faith and perseverance on the journey. I pray for them patience and understanding with each other. I pray for them prosperity and success that exceeds any checkbook balances. And I pray for them peace and joy in the love of God which they share in each other's arms. I pray for them a father's prayer that the Father watch over them continually.

Our family is growing . . . in wisdom and appreciation of God's goodness and abundance as evidenced in these two children and the choices they are making. May God grant us all the courage of our convictions to grow so well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

'Just' Prayer

With all due apologies to those who choose to use the word, 'Just', in prayer as though it is the spice of life, 'STOP IT!'

If you are praying for 'just living', with the emphasis on justice, okay. But, if you continually utilize the phraseology of, "God, we just ask this . . . ", or, "Lord, we just praise your Holy Name . . .", please, either be bold enough in prayer to ask and praise fully and completely or utilize another word occasionally, such a 'simply' or 'humbly'. The falseness of intention and/or the lack of time really spent thinking through what it is your heart is in conversation with God about fairly oozes out into the ears of those who deeply desire to be praying with you. As one who has many, many occasions to be in prayer with people from every walk of life and denominational bent, the word, 'just' is becoming a stumbling block precisely because I really try to pray with you - and find myself hitting the 'just' wall over and over and over again. "We just this," "We just that", "I just this", "I just that", "The world just this", well, you get the picture.

I have no doubt that there is a deep intention of wanting to be humble before God in prayer, but isn't the very fact that you are going to God in prayer at all a pretty profound statement of humility? Do you pray to everything or everybody? No. You are daring to approach the Throne of God, hat in hand, and talk with a friend . . . or at least that is what Jesus tells us we are to do. "I call you friend", says Jesus. "When you pray, say, 'Abba . . .", which in the Greek is an intimate expression of Father, probably more closely associated in the English language with 'Daddy'.

How powerful would that be if our private, as well as our public, conversations with God would begin, "Daddy"? 'Daddy, I love You. I don't 'just' love You, I love You.' 'Daddy, I am grateful for the beautiful day of which we are allowed to be a part. I am not 'just' grateful, Daddy I am profoundly, unabashedly, grateful.' The difference, at least in my ears, is the difference between being invited into an intimate relational conversation that is full disclosure from the very beginning and being asked to stand at the door while someone else takes care of business for me.

God hears every prayer. I have no doubt of that, in fact I truly depend on that for my own soul. What truly remains a mystery to me, though, is what becomes of our prayers when the pattern of our words, or a particular word, comes to mean more than the spirit in which they are spoken. When 'just' becomes the crutch or connector for a sentence, rather than a spiritual commitment to walking in love with the One who desires to share our every thought and experience, does our praying become 'just' 'simply' the babbling of so many words in a hope to stimulate some sort of effect in the listeners around us? I don't know, for I do not know the hearts of those who 'just' pray all the time, but I do know I want to pray with you, even as I am praying for you now, with what small reserve of words with which I am blessed.

God hears every prayer . . . and I am praying that God's Justice not strike me down for desiring more than 'just' praying. But, most of all, in the Spirit of prayer, I pray you keep praying. I pray we all keep praying, no matter the words we use . . . for we need to speak our prayers more than God needs us to utter them. In so doing, the door is opened for the Spirit to enter and who knows what transformation may occur in that moment. It 'just' may change the world.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

If We Got What We Deserved

Sunday morning, about 8:30 a.m. CST, Hurricane Ike struck the St. Louis region of the country. The media was quick to show the downed power lines, broken trees and flood waters, all part and parcel of such a powerful storm. Yet, what the media missed was just beyond the lens of their cameras in the rural areas home to 'not enough people to make it worth sending a film team'. Had they overlooked the flattened fields of corn, beans and milo, the flooded fields of rice too deep in the water to be recovered, and hay too tattered to be of value. The unblinking eye of the camera focused on the property loss with which the greatest number of people could identify and empathize, sharpening the images of hunters caught in trees by waters overtopping levees while blind to the farmer just down the road on bended knee weeping for what never will be harvested . . . and never will be eaten by man, nor beast.

One of folks who walked through the door this morning lamented, "They [the farmers] just didn't deserve this, especially this year after such a rough Spring." And, in my opinion, they are right, but it got me to thinking: What is it that they, or we, really deserve? And, if we received what we deserved, what would the unblinking eye of the camera record of the outcome? Would anybody be interested? Or, would it fit in that broadest of categories of, 'No-one even noticed'?

What if we received what we deserved? What if you received what you deserved?

We are told in the Bible that the Father sends, "rain on the just and unjust alike." (Mt. 5:45b) Can the winds and waters of a hurricane be far removed from this teaching? Or the grace offered at the door of an empty tomb?

It just got me to thinking . . . and praying for those caught in disasters not of their making. I pray, not that we get what we deserve, but that we live, regardless of our situation, deserving of God's most abundant grace in spite of what we deserve.

It is just something to ponder.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Leaping for the Waters

Our Black Labrador puppies love to lap water from the hose before it ever reaches their watering bowl. I cannot tell you why they like it, but they will come running from wherever they are in the yard just to get a shot at drinking from the hose - and it is one of the funniest things I have seen in a long time. Literally hopping up and down on all fours, each puppy tries to lap the water closer to the end of the hose than the other one can reach in a competition of sorts, the end result of which is that one or both of them collide in mid-air trying to reach the source of the water and both of them inevitably end up nearly immersed in the water bowl itself which lies at the feet of their competition.

It made me wonder when last I was the one trying to get closer to the Source of the cooling, cleansing waters of Life, when last I was so taken by attempting to reach the Source that I gave no care as to who was watching or what sort of laughter I was giving to others in my efforts. It made me wonder when it was that the kind of 'puppy-like' behavior which now gives me such joy to watch became something that I didn't like to do. It made me wonder if I valued the waters of God's presence and sought them out with the eagerness of puppies or regarded those waters as being my right and available whenever I deigned to give God a bit of my time to lap from the bowl at God's feet.

I wondered. So might you.

I think I am going to go outside and splash in a few water puddles and leap towards the sky to catch the rain on my tongue. Wash me, O God, inside and out, from all that makes 'being proper' more desirable than being close to the Source of the Water. See me as a puppy in faith, always ready to lap up your Love and walk with You on the journey.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Changing Times

Political change is happening, whether we vote for it or not. It has something to do with race and ethnicity, it has something to do with gender and experience, it has much to do with the economy and the environoment, and it is uniquely tied to our place in the global community . . . and, it has nothing to do with the upcoming elections. Political change is the inevitable ongoing result of the human endeavor to exercise power and dominion. Whether such an exercise is charitable and compassionate or greed-filled and cold, it is still an ongoing endeavor and what is transpiring at this moment in history is just another chapter in our nation's peculiar history of political change. What is different is who is involved and what brand of change they are seeking.

I have just listened to a few folks tell me how much their particular political party and candidates are going to do to change our nation's current condition for the better. They have promised me the moon and are taking aim on offering Mars, if only I will pull the lever or mark the ballot for their vision of heaven on earth. I wanted to hurl, mainly because the ones who were speaking were addressing me like I was an uninformed alien who had never exercised the franchise to vote, but additionally, because the rhetoric they were using was not language of their design: it was the Party Line and they knew for every one or two like me they would offend, a dozen others would buy it hook, line, and sinker. It made me wonder what we are becoming.

I regularly tell my congregation to "Vote! How you vote and for whom you offer your support is between you and God, but don't ever come to me and begin a political discussion without the clear expectation of me asking you, 'Did you vote in the last elections?' Because, if you didn't vote in the last elections, you have no right to complain - and, if you did not vote, I will not listen to your rant, however qualified you think yourself to be." It has become something of a mantra within our faith community, but it has also become the basis for folks from all walks of life to begin asking the hard questions of our nation's leadership, the very leadership those who voted (and, in some ways, those who didn't vote) placed in the position to exercise power and dominion over them, regardless of their political affiliation. Truth be told, if we don't like what it have in our nation's capitol, maybe it is because those who pulled the lever or marked the ballot in the last elections didn't do their homework in vetting the individuals they supported. To blame the politicians for their misbehavior and odd judgement is way too easy, for it takes the voting public off the hook for the choices they make. Truth be told, too, most people don't want change. They want their personal and economic world to be stable and their imagined societal entitlement immutably protected against anyone and anything that might shake the precarious boat that their dreams, however large or small, ride upon . . . and, in most cases, they will vote for the candidate that most audaciously claims they can do just that, often despite a blatant history of non-performance.

The change I am looking for in our current political environment is not one that any particular political party can begin to yield or, for that matter, would even pursue, for the changes that I am seeking in the economy, in our cultural values, in issues of ethnicity and race, in the environment, in the vast arena of global injustices, and even in the systems themselves, is a change in 'ownership'. I passionately believe that in the moment in which the American people own the outcome of the political process, at whatever point it is, with whatever leadership of whatever political party is in power, such an ownership by the voting public will require of the voting public themselves that they, individually and corporately, accept responsibility for the outcomes of all decisions made and carried out in their name. In such an environment, candidates to political office would be to blame for the exercise of poor judgement only insofar as they truly represented the poor judgement of the people themselves. Thus, all people, common citizens and leadership alike, would be pushed towards avenues of sound decision-making with an understanding of accountability and consequence, rather than settle for the back-roads of the old boy, 'same-old, same-old', process which consumes so many well-meaning folk who rely uniquely upon finger-pointing to save their hide.

Maybe it is a Utopian hope, sort of like hoping that parents, all parents, would accept responsibility for the behaviors, words and actions of their children, whether on the streets, in their homes, or in their schools. Yet, if we don't dare to hope for such changes, even begin working for such changes, then are we not condemning ourselves to the history that others write for us in the annals of our time on this earth? Isn't this, in fact, what God does in sending Jesus? God is so convinced that the human condition is salvageable and redeemable that God sends God's own Son, God's own investment in the hope of change, to lead others to own their faith choices on the journey. Resurrection is God's announcement of a change in outcome: Live in the integrity of the faith God has in you and even death cannot stop the change towards new life.

I am not content to have others write the changes which are to happen in the current political environment and I pray you are not, either. Change is inevitable, but what changes are in the best interest of the human community? Of your community? Of my community? Pray on it. Work for it. Own it. Dedicate the journey and the outcome to God.

It is the kind of transformational change which just might move us beyond the tiredness of political debate and one-upsmanship. It is a living of our faith in God while moving through this world. It is claiming our identity that we might not forfeit our soul to those who do not know our names as does Christ. Thanks be to God for the hope of change.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Baptismal Lessons of a Computer Crash

Ten days ago, our congregation's computer tech was busily working at my computer trying to find a way to speed up the rate at which the computer did its tasks. Suddenly, one of the applications flashed a note that there was an update available which needed to be downloaded. Without a second thought in a trusted program, he clicked the 'Start' button for downloading the update - and, in seconds, maybe even milliseconds, my computer was 'infected' with a fatal virus. Gone, kaput, finale, finished, wiped out, fade to black, crashed and burned . . . all describe in some small way what happened to all of the programs on my computer, along with all of the articles, letters, worship services, and information I had saved over the years. The old joke about Jesus and Satan having a computer contest which Jesus wins because 'Jesus saves' came to mind, along with a wry twist, 'But I wonder if Jesus also backed up?' A few individual items were backed up, but most were not and my contacts list fizzled away with the dump. So, today begins a new day.

Yet, not all that is tumultuous is fatal. As a result of having to wipe the hard drive and reinstall all of the programs, my computer works incredibly faster. Items that were saved on my hard drive that should have been deleted years ago, no longer exist as a decision to be made. Programs that are no longer effective are now no longer available. My Contacts List now only includes the names of those I really need to contact. And, though at first it traumatized me, now I am able to see the gift of God such a new beginning offers.

Just as the power of the Holy Spirit works through the muddy waters of Baptism, washing and making new, so my computer has been washed in the muddy, virus-infected waters of cyber-space and, too, is becoming new. Nothing is added that really isn't needed. People and attachments that once were a part of my history, now are measured by relevancy before reappearing. Program additions that serve no purpose other than to eat up precious resources are no longer utilized. And, maybe most importantly, I have learned a hard lesson about backing up everything which is saved, a new practice for one that has become accustomed to not worrying about such trivial nonsense, after all, 'That will never happen to me.'

In God's grace we are cleansed and given a new beginning. Our eyes become privileged to seeing all of life in a new way. People and attachments that once were a part of our history, now are measured by their willingness to walk in the Way. Behaviors that no longer serve a purpose in serving God's Will are no longer practiced. And, maybe most importantly, we learn the hard lessons of backing up in faith all that God strives through Christ to save. For truly, life happens to all of us and, sometimes, the only thing that allows us to walk out of the inferno with our lives is the faith that led us into the waters of mercy in the first place.

Ah, the wonders and pitfalls of the technological age! But, thank you, God, for sharing the lessons such an age can teach.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Dreaded 'C' Word

'Cancer' is the word no-one wants to hear from the mouth of a physician. Just by its very sound, 'cancer', there conjures up images of struggle and tears, treatments and surgeries, successes and setbacks, and, sometimes, agony and death. 'Cancer'.

It is odd how sometimes things happen. Last night we received the news that a very good friend has a tumor, probably cancer, surgery might be an option, chemo is not, and now we wait for a consult. This morning I received a call from another friend who has been awaiting news on a biopsy taken last week and it was shared with me that the tumor was benign and, of what was present at the site, all had been removed.

Tears at night, joy in the morning. One facing mortality, another given a new lease on life. One not keeping food down, another ready to go out and celebrate.

It doesn't make sense, O God! We are so fearsomely and wonderfully created in the palm of Your hand, by the breath of Your being! How is it that Your creation, so imaginatively blessed, is also so frighteningly fragile? How is it that for one there is weeping at twilight, while for another the dawn brings laughter? I get the 'Life's not fair!' thing, but it is the absolute equity of the 'not fair thing' that nearly paralyzes hope itself and mutes the words of faith that my soul longs to speak in Your ear. And, if it is not cancer, then it is Alzheimer's, or COPD, or kidney failure, or a heart attack, or any of a multitude of other human maladies. Yet, most sadly, were it not that loved ones so close were in the eye of the storm, I probably would not have noticed, have so deeply felt, so dearly cried out, so passionately sought Your response . . . until that moment when some physician somewhere spoke one of those words with my name attached . . . and my cries for others would become cries for myself. O God, hear the cries of a little boy upon Your lap looking to dry his tears in the embrace of Your love . . . . AND ANSWER ME! Answer us all! Speak in terms that overshadow the deafness of our isolation and pierce through the coldness of our exiled living. Tear apart the curtain of the Temple from top to bottom, just one more time, that my soul would find its rest in the surety of Your will being done . . . in spite of our human weaknesses. Roll that stone away from the tomb all over again that my eyes might see afresh the wisdom of trusting You through the night-time of our grief, that the dawning of the day would be birthed in the joy of women running with Good News to share. O God, O God, O God, blessed be Thy name in all the earth! And blessed are those moments that usher us into Your presence with longing in our hearts and trust in our souls. Here, O God, I begin to ponder more deeply, maybe even understand more poignantly, "Not my will, but Thine be done" upon the lips of Jesus. As He speaks, so I try to live. Forgive my unbelief.

The challenge of cancer, I think, like challenges named by so many other names, is not to try so hard to find the answers to the eternal questions of 'why' and 'how'. Rather, the challenge is to trust the questions themselves to the understanding of God who, in Christ, walks through the shadows of the valley with us, inviting us to experience the cacophony of morning's first light seen through the eyes of the One who throws open the doors of the grave. So, my prayers will find their root on this summer's afternoon . . . . just as soon as the tears cease their flowing and the pangs of heartache ease their tugging.

On the journey with you,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

He Came Home Stronger

Our youngest son, Ched, went to the Boy Scouts Florida Sea Base for a week of high adventure camping. He snorkeled among the reefs of the Florida Keys, fished, took pictures of sharks and lived without fresh running water or 'facilities' for the entire time . . . and loved it.

As he stepped off of the Metro Link train which brought our local contingent of Scouts back from the airport, I had to stop and catch my breath: Where was the 'boy' we had taken to that same station a short time before? There standing in front of me was a young man, bronzed by the sun, rippling with muscles that had seemingly, overnight, become larger and harder, and whose confidence and abilities made him a leader among his peers.

Looking on, I watched as he grabbed his large duffel bag and slung it over his back, taking a few steps to extend his hand and offer his thanks to the adult leaders with the group. His companions at the Sea Base, gravitated towards him, laughingly sharing stories, promising to keep in touch, and waiting until he acknowledged each one by name and a handshake. With two large strides he moved from them to wrap me in the biggest of bear-hugs a son could offer his father, telling me how much he missed me and, without worry of his nearby peer's opinions, added how much he loved us all.

I walked with Ched from the platform of the station to my car, every step driving deeper the understanding that the 'boy' was becoming a 'man' . . . but just not any man, he is becoming a man of God who values others as God values him. Thus, the handshakes and the words of appreciation to his leaders. Thus, the stories with his camp-mates and the importance of their names on his lips in parting. Thus, his willingness to unashamedly hug his dad and, before those with whom he had shared so much that week, also share with them what most is valued in life with his family.

Maybe that is why each of them stopped and waited until he walked and talked with them in leaving. Maybe that is why he fairly glowed, even in the late evening's fading light, as he moved from train to car, from childhood to adulthood. Maybe that is why I am left pondering the transformation: It happened in the twinkling of an eye - or maybe it just seems that way to a father who has shared so many steps along the way with his sons that I had long taken for granted that which few are ever privileged to witness: a child of God maturing, growing stronger, in the stature of one who walks in faith.

Something inside of me isn't sure I am nearly as ready for the changes Ched is undergoing as he is, but then, is any parent ready for such changes?! What was it that God was thinking of the Son as Jesus stumped the teachers in the Temple? As He gave sight to the blind? Or spoke the words of the Sermon on the Mount? What is it that God thinks of all God's children as they find their legs of faith and walk in the strength of the Lord?

Where the strength of the Lord takes Ched, I do not know, but of this I am glad: I am glad it is the strength of the Lord that leads him and that in all which is before him, I have been allowed this moment in time to see God's light shining in him. Thank you God for such humbling gifts.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Gifts

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me, I didn't go looking for them."

I had stopped in the country near our farm to visit with my aunt when two beautiful, but severely malnourished black lab puppies came running up to me from the nearby field. I didn't know whose they were or from what direction they had arrived, but figured the folks at the neighboring farmhouse might know and, after finishing the visit with my aunt, I picked the two bony little puppies up (quietly chastising the owners who had paid these two so little care) and carried them towards the house. Upon ringing the doorbell at the front door, a voice sounded from the side of the house, "Their yours!" Turning, I saw a fairly good-sized older gentleman heading towards me and I replied, "No, they're not mine. They just came running up to me on the road while I was visiting with my aunt. I figured I was bringing them back home."

"Heck, no!" he said. "While my son and I were watching the flood waters go down from the rain the other night, these two and two more just like them, four in all, came meandering along the creek looking for something to eat. All four are females and none of them had eaten well for quite a while. We gave them a couple of hot dogs from my frig and, after deciding they had probably been dumped, my son took two of them to his house . . . a friend of his will take one and he'll keep one . . . and the other two are what you just put down on the porch. And, they are yours! I'm leaving in two hours for Sturgis, South Dakota, for the Harley gathering and, I probably should take them to the pound, but I'm riding a motorcycle, so . . . if you don't take them, they'll probably just have to fend for themselves."

This guy had no earthly idea that just a month or so ago, I had talked with Nancy about beginning the process of searching for another black lab to replace our beloved Licorice (our first black lab) who had died about three years ago. I justified the suggestion by pointing out that our collie, Trajan, was all alone and needed company for those long days when we were both at work. Nancy, just looked at me and rolled her eyes and said, "We'll think about it", which I took to mean we would discuss it later. I recently found out what she really meant was, 'I could think about it all I wanted, but given that she did most of the work with the dog in terms of grooming and vet visits, it really wasn't going to happen until the Cubs won the World Series.' (Which is the Christian way of saying, It will be a cold day in _ _ _ _!)

So, I called Nancy on the cell phone to 'ask her opinion of what I should do'. If you listen to Nancy tell the story, I sounded like a little kid in the toy store on Christmas Eve, though I thought I was rather reserved and contemplative. Either way, a few short minutes later, two 9 or 10 week old black lab puppies were on the front seat of my car on their way to their new home in Lebanon, visa via the veterinaries clinic in the nearby town.

Their names are Mulligan (taken from a golf term meaning, 'A free second chance') and Birdie (simply because she is a 'bird' - into everything) and they are quickly making it clear that they are an answer to prayer . . . . maybe not Nancy's prayer, and not exactly what I was thinking about, but clearly an answer to a prayer for Trajan. He has more company now than he really appreciates, frequently looking at me like, 'Are you mad? Do you have any idea what these two are capable of wreaking in this household? What happened to my quiet time?'

Sometimes, God has a way of answering thoughts, suggestions and prayers in ways that we are quite simply incapable of imagining . . . and Mulligan and Birdie are two of the latest examples God's great sense of humor. Other than getting up through the night every 3 hours to let them out so that they will become kennel trained by Fall, they have been a ray of sunshine for all of us in our family . . . . gifts of a very loving and knowing God.

Nancy tells our friends with a wink of her eye that I somehow engineered all of this and fabricated an elaborate ruse to make it all happen, but deep down, she knows I will never vary from my original story and she will only fall more deeply in love with these two beautiful dogs with every passing day.

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me. I didn't go looking for them." That's my story and I'm sticking to it! (Thank you, God, for the gifts with which you surprise us!)

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Sabbath Morning

There is a place in Northern Indiana where heaven touches earth at that space where crystal clear waters meet the sky. There is a time in all of God’s creation when the singing of angels is echoed in the lapping of waves upon the beach and gull cries are the envoys of praise before the throne of our God. There is a measure of goodwill and peace in that moment where sunshine sparkle presents the cry of the loon in velvety whispers of joy lifted to God. There is in the heart of creation a momentary hush of adoration as the singing of the Wren finds its harmony in the distant honking of Canadian Geese whose course of flight carries them above the unfolding spectrum of God’s holy visage below. There is a sanctuary, a place of holy offering before the Lord our God, whose name is Lake Maxinkuckee, whose spring fed waters flow with crystal clear assurance of forgiveness and grace and whose depths cool the troubled soul.
Though I am fairly certain there are other places on earth where God makes such visions manifest for other eyes to behold, I am not in those other places, in fact, I cannot imagine my soul being capable of taking in more than God opens before me this day – and I am humbled before God. In the quiet of these moments, in the sunshine sparkles across miles of tree-lined shore, in the lapping horizon where water’s edge meets wave’s journey inward and outward, and in the rising steam of earth cooled waters lifting their song of joy to the blueness of skies above, there in hallowed tones of wonder God is blessing the Sabbath, not to be a burden of obligation but, to be an opportunity for reverential dance before the ark of God moving over the face of the earth.
Receive my prayers of thanksgiving and joy, O God, and make me keenly aware of every morning’s gifts, the bounty of which You never hide, yet we but seldom stop to view.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Innocence

From the patio of our rented condo on the beach of Lake Maxinkuckee in Northern Indiana, I watched a girl about the age of 5 or 6 playing in the sand about 40 feet away. Suddenly, the door of an adjoining condo opened and closed and another young girl shyly walked out towards the beach. The face of the first girl simply glowed when she spotted the second girl walking out towards the beach and, without a thought about who was watching or what the ramifications might be, she jumped up and went running toward the second girl, nearly hollering at her in her eagerness, "Would you come play with me?" The face of the second girl became like a beam of light from a lighthouse in the recognition that anyone would want her company and, nodding her head, her laughter fairly danced across the waves of the lake as she took the hand of her new found playmate and they raced toward the toys at the edge of the water.

Seem like an idyllic scene out of some sort of play? It was real life this morning as I drank my coffee in the cool, slightly foggy morning skies of Culver, Indiana, and what made the moment all the more poignant was the fact that, quite apparently, while both of the girls were strangers to each other, there on the beach with no-one to tell them differently, they were both wayfarers sharing a common journey. That one was Caucasian and one African-American mattered nothing to either, for there on the beach they were both just two little girls seeking companionship on the beach with toys to share and stories to build. There on the beach, there was no history, no political correctness, no barriers to overcome, no prejudices to deal with, no economic differences to overcome, and no-one around to tell them 'yes' or 'no'. There on the beach, if even for only one moment in time, there was only two little girls who saw in each other a companion with which to celebrate time on the beach in the middle of the world's busy-ness and preoccupation with success. There on the beach I watched the world painted with a different hue and texture and, in the lives and wonder of two little girls, was allowed the sacred privilege of observing with God's eyes the way humanity was designed to be from the very beginning: As one.

I do believe in my deepest heart of hearts that prejudice is a learned behavior, that hatred towards others who happen in some way to be different from ourselves is a deeply held loathing of something in ourselves, and that the capacity to see 'color' in others is the inability to see God in anyone. I have grown up in a world deeply divided over issues of color and have observed the pain felt by those against whom discrimination's work is propagated. I have listened to vile racial epithets rolling off the lips of people of all colors against others whose lives they do not know and whose journey they have never shared. I have watched as, with impunity, one brother stepped up the ladder of cultural achievement over another brother, never offering a hand of assistance or showing any remorse at having stepped on the other's hands to get there, all because 'color', in whatever circumstance, allowed for some sort entitlement and 'race' was the trump card of permission. I have stepped into those inequities calling for justice and bear still the scars of those battles, while at the same time gaining friends whose names and lives I can call upon, not because I am owed anything, but because in the shared journey we have drank deeply of our oneness and are moving beyond the teachers of differentiation.

There on the beach of Lake Maxinkuckee in the early morning light of this day, I have been given a gift from a very loving God, for I have been allowed the holy mercy of hope in the vision of what God intends in our birthright from the beginning of time. If only this new lesson can be taught by two little girls who are the most unlikely of teachers, and if only that lesson might be learned by a world overly certain there is nothing new to learn. Only God knows and only God can tell, but maybe, just maybe, a new day's dawning has much more to do with children's innocence in play than it has to do with adult arrogance at work.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Broken Toes

I missed the last step on the stairs to our basement yesterday morning and took a tumble, managing somehow to break two toes on my right foot. It was one of those moments when, though not intending to, I found myself 'speaking in tongues' as I slowly found a way to stand back up. Trying hard not to over bend them, yet wanting to find out how badly they were broken, I tried flexing all of the toes on my foot, finding that these two particular toes simply stayed straight and hurt all the more as I applied pressure to them. So, knowing there is really nothing that can be done about broken toes other than taping them to an adjoining toe for support, I slipped into my most comfortable flip-flops and continued my work, figuring the pain would ease as the day wore on, which it did.

A broken toe has an amazing way of bringing into perspective all that a person does, for there is very little which is not affected and given a wince of pain the more mobile one becomes. Up and down the stairs, walking in the garden, kneeling in prayer, even just pulling your feet up under your chair as you sit and read the Bible or the daily papers, all combine to remind a person just how incredibly careless it is to miss the final step on the staircase . . . and how long they will have to pay for their carelessness. Purple toes and ongoing pain have the unique capacity of reminding one just how much we take all that we are able to do for granted.

By the grace of God, each of us are remarkable creations, each a distinctive expression of God's goodness and imagination, however gifted or challenged. Each of us, too, have the capacity to reflect that goodness and live into God's will for our lives or simply consider life itself to be the gift and go on our own merry way without regard for the One who made us. In that context, my broken toes spoke to my soul, for they called me to value each step taken in a whole new way - remembering to be more careful about the things which cause me to stumble and fall and to be more attentive about where it is that I place my feet in the course of the daily journey. That one is able to walk at all is a privilege, so that carefully walking with the Creator becomes a sacred trust. In those moments when we so take for granted the capacity to walk that we stop looking where we are going, the fall will be great and if all that is broken is our toes, then we are very, very lucky.

Such are the lessons Israel and Judah learned in the faith journey with God in the years of the kingdom. Such are the lessons the Jewish nation learned as Jesus walked the earth and brought into perspective all that was being practiced in the name of faith. And, such are the lessons of which the Christian community is reminded in this day and age. Our God does not take our steps in faith for granted, so why should we.

Through my bi-focal lens I have been looking down a bit more carefully as I ascended and descended the many steps in our home, hopefully ensuring I will not re-injure what has already been broken and, after some mulling on the events of the day, so will I try to be more careful in how I walk in each moment with God. A couple of broken toes is pain enough to bear, if only for a few weeks. I cannot imagine the ongoing pain in God's foot when we fail to watch what we are doing and break covenant with God as though it were not our own to tend. It is certainly something of which to be aware as we walk the walk in the Spirit of God's presence, seeking in our own lives to avoid the pain of broken toes . . . and bruised souls.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Smell of Corn Pollenating

It is said that one of the human bodies strongest senses is that of smell - and that the sense of smell is intimately tied to our capacity to remember. All it takes for me to think of Grandma Wagner is to smell bread or coffee cake baking and all it takes for me to think of summers past is the smell of corn pollinating.

Driving along our Southwestern Illinois highways last evening, the air was ripe with the smell of corn pollen. Many of the fields have tasseled and the dark green company of stalks are nearly all sporting two immature ears of corn, the silks of which are pushed out to receive of the tassel's gifts. Now, for many, this time of the year is reason to stay inside near the air conditioner breathing air which has been filtered many times over, recognizing that such natural events do have the possibility of being brutal on those with allergies. Yet, for those of us who thrive in such conditions, this is the time of year that, not only can you hear the corn growing, so abundant the soil moisture and summertime heat, but you can also smell the corn doing what corn does so well, 'producing', and outside is the place to be.

The smell of corn pollinating, in my memory, is the smell of mid-summer joy: It is the smell of long summer days and humid evenings play; It is the smell of farm chores being completed and summer spare time spent in the pond; It is the smell of long walks with Dad along the field roads of our farm, checking the progress of the crops and listening to the stories of the development of our family farm; It is the smell of homemade ice cream being churned with the hand-cranked ice-cream maker on the front steps of our home, being made with cream skimmed from the top of our milk tank after milking was done; It is the smell of bicycles racing along the country roads of our neighborhood as my buddies and I raced each other around the country block; It is the smell of hay being ready to bale and straw already put away in the barn; It is the smell of cow feed and the nearing Winter's challenge to prepare months in advance; It is the smell of humidity and heat mixed with an invigorating splash of faith and hope to produce anticipation of what God has yet to reveal of God's own abundance; It is the smell of sitting on the front porch of our home listening to Mom and Dad sing to each other in the dark evening's coolness while gliding together in their love; It is the smell of brother's and friends playing hide and go-seek in the lengthening shadows of our farms many barns and nearby fields; It is the smell of contentment, the likes of which I continue to yearn for today, but find only completely embodied in the memories of my boyhood. For me, corn pollinating still remains the smell of sensuous rural living, accented by the hand of God brushing over the canvas of my life in strokes and hues of laughter, music, good food, hard work, family, faith, and friends.

Though my prayers are with those who suffer greatly in this time due to the high pollen counts in the air, my fervent hope is that the smell of corn pollinating lingers for a long time to come. It quiets my soul and strengthens my heart, while taking me back to where I want to go in God's own good time for me. May you be so blessed to smell and remember with such joy.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Garage Door Trials

For the last couple of weeks one of our garage doors has been working 'cock-eyed' (another form of the word, 'crooked'): One side seems always to hang up as the door raises and the other side won't settle as it closes. Yesterday one of the long springs on the opener broke, releasing cable and door to settle in a fashion that would not allow movement until I took the time to replace it. Today, I replaced both long springs and found the original problem which I had not been able to identify before: The other spring (the one which did not break) had shifted enough on the eye bolt attaching it to the mounting that it was not completely stretching out, thus causing the garage door to work in a 'cock-eyed' fashion . . . which is also what probably caused the other spring to break. And, I thought as sweat poured out through every fiber of my clothing while working in the hot, humid garage, isn't this a lot like the faith community.

As long as everything and everyone is contributing to the success of the whole, the mission and ministries work smoothly and without a glitch. Yet, let one of the workers or one of the ministries start slowing up in their work while others about them continue at the pace set for completion and, all of a sudden, things become very 'cock-eyed'. The edges begin dragging, complaints like squeeking garage door wheels start resounding at every opportunity, outsiders start commenting on the strange sounds that emminate from the gathered community as the very fabric of the faith family begins to stretch and tear, then, finally, a cable breaks, a family leaves, a ministry folds, and mission abruptly stops. Nothing is to going to be accomplished until time is taken to strip the works down and the offending issues are dealt with, even if it means completely replacing the old and beginning anew. In my mind, it has something to do with the unwise practice of placing new wine in old wineskins: Sometimes you just have to say, 'No more.'

Well, the springs are replaced, the main rail is realigned and attached with new anchors, and the door works like new. That everything is working quietly and efficiently appeases the old German ethos in my heart, but that everything is working together gives me hope that God, in Christ, is at work doing the same with all that is squeeking and balking in the way the Christian community struggles to work together.

I pray a spring doesn't have to bust and the whole thing be thrown out by the Master Carpenter before we get the message, but then, maybe that is the best thing which could happen. Sometimes we have to be completely out of order before we are able to allow God's Spirit to fix what needs to be addressed. Sometimes we need to remember it is not, "My will be done", but "Thy will be done". Praying for 'on earth as it is in heaven' for us all as I go from one project to the next, I remain,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Squirrels Ate My Sweet Corn

Nancy and I came home last night only to discover, by way of a corn husk lying in the driveway, that the squirrels in our neighborhood had raided our sweet corn patch. Nearly every ear in the patch was partially opened and the kernels of corn eaten as far as it could be easily accessed. I was distraught and angry. "How could they? They waited until the very day the sweet corn was ready to be harvested and then raided the patch before it could be enjoyed by the ones who planted and tended it. How could they?" If I had a gun in my hands in that moment I think I might have started squirrel season a bit early this year. Nancy was a bit more philosophical about the whole thing and suggested to me that the sound of a shotgun going off in town might disturb the neighbors and probably wouldn't be satisfying enough to justify the end result - and reminded me that the squirrels were only doing what squirrels do . . . . to which I thought, 'Well, if I disposed of the squirrels wouldn't I only be doing what people do with pests?'

The initial shock departed and reality set in as, at 8:30 in the evening, we began to harvest what remained of the sweet corn crop. We put everything into paper sacks and brought it into the kitchen for processing, finishing our work around 10:00 p.m. It wasn't exactly the way we imagined our weekend ending, but then again, it wasn't exactly the way we imagined enjoying the fruits of our labors either. Still, the process gave me more than a few moments to ponder what had transpired in light of our relationship with God . . . and I think I will have to give the squirrels a break.

Isn't God's grace much like the sweet corn in our garden? We haven't labored over it. We haven't planted it and tended to it. We haven't sweated over the pounding it has taken from the many storms of life. We haven't brought it to the sweetness of its maturity. Yet, just when it is the most ready and we are the most hungry, there we are, standing at the end of the row with our fork and knife in hand, the butter bib tied around our neck, and our mouths salivating, ready to be first in line to get 'what we want and deserve.' What must God think of us? How tempted is God to be angry with us for our deceptive and less than honorable ways of getting what we want without ever having to make any of the sacrifices necessary? How easy would it be for God to 'lock and load' when we show up begging for the delectable nature of God's grace? And, how full of mercy and wisdom is God in receiving us anyway and understanding our weaknesses and foibles?

When I think upon Jesus as the sweet corn of God's planting among us, when I think upon my deepest need for His forgiveness and care, and when I think about the many ways I have yearned to receive of that for which I did not labor, I am incredibly humbled and repentant of my ways. I may not agree with what the squirrels did to our sweet corn patch, but I am glad they made me think upon my own dependency upon God's abundant nature. Maybe I just need to find a way to put the squirrels to work in the garden so that what they eat will seem more 'earned' than 'stolen', but if I do that, what will God require of me?!

It's something to ponder upon as I pick pieces of sweet corn out from between my own teeth.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Cattle On A Thousand Hills

Psalm 50, verse 10, records the words of God in this Psalm of Asaph: " . . . . for every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills." Driving through several hundred miles of Southern Missouri hills, I had a lot of time to ponder these words, for Southern Missouri hills are filled with trees and pasture lands.

At first, though incredibly beautiful and breath-taking, the hills disoriented me for the lack of 'life' as I know it. I kept looking for fields of corn or fields of beans. I craned my neck searching for alfalfa fields or evidence of wheat stubble, but regardless of the direction I turned, none was to be found. Southern Missouri is not like the Southwestern portion of Illinois where we reside. There are thousands of hills and ten thousands of cattle and horses. There are goats and chickens of every imaginable breed. There are dusty towns with gravelled roads and gossamer lakes teaming with fishes of all kinds . . . but it is not like the land from whence I hailed, nor is it the land I imagined it to be. So what is it?

It is God's land and these are God's people. Graced with an abundant and verdant beauty the likes of which the plains of Illinois could never comprehend, Southern Missouri is surrounded by the lush vistas of rolling forests and spring-fed streams, the kind of which are the plumb-line photographers seek for magazine and calendar photos.

It is God's land and these are God's people. They are like me in that they breathe the air that I breathe and walk the earth that I walk, yet their experience of life is so remarkably different that, in the traversing of only a couple of hundred miles, the earth they walk is hardened stone under foot and, what is shadow of crop lines in this area becomes shadow of tree lines and creek banks in theirs.

It is God's land and these are God's people . . . . and, together, we make compose a subliminal symphony of extraordinary power proclaiming the wonder and majesty of God's Name. The cattle on a thousand hills, like the corn over a thousand acres, is God's - and we are the sheep of God's pasture, provided for out of the generosity of God's own holdings.

As the miles wore on and the landscape captured my heart I found myself no longer seeking the familiar in unfamiliar places, but eagerly anticipating the opportunity to embrace the joy, God's Joy, which presents itself in so many different ways and so many different expressions. I pray the journey makes me a better observer, aware of the wonder - and less intent on the mundane. I pray to see the cattle on a thousand hills . . . and there rejoice in God my Savior.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Is Being Sold?

Nancy and I took a short respite in Branson, Missouri, and attended a few of the many shows which are constantly available. It is the first time I have ever been to Branson and both the beauty of the region and the commercialism of the area absolutely astounded me. Seldom have I seen an entire region so committed to 'family entertainment' - and so skilled at affording every person there the opportunity to part with every dollar they brought - and, seldom have I been in a place so overtly patriotic. Flags are everywhere and of the shows we attended, all celebrated 'being American' and the sacrifices of our country's many active and veteran soldiers and families.

The patriotic emphasis so prevalent in this area took me a while to ponder, though I am not sure why. Maybe it was because everywhere you go in Branson everything you see is for sale . . . so is patriotic pride being 'sold' to the consuming public? Is the mere appearance of being patriotic being marketed in such a way as to offer legitimation to a very public offering which seeks as many consumer dollars as possible? Or does it run deeper?

It got me to thinking about the Church and what it is that happens between 8:00 a.m. and Noon every Sunday, not including all of the other worship and fellowship hours and times. It got me to pondering about the many ways some local, but nearly all mega-churches are becoming 'one stop shopping places for the soul', with speciality coffees, bookstores, personalized Christian identity and self-help classes, educational classes for every age, one-on-one prayer groups complete with prayer warrior partners to see you through every crisis, and pastoral services of every ilk and persuasion to walk the battle-wearied warrior through the dark night of their soul to the Joy of the morning. It got me to thinking about what is for sale - and what is being sold.

The love of God in Christ is free, but how is it that, not only do we expect the local congregation to package it all up in palatable and affordable ways for every circumstance within the faith family, but many expect it to be marketed in a way which brings in greater numbers to the pews, reducing the fiduciary responsibility of the particular individual by the many who support the ministries together. Have we forgotten proclaiming the Gospel for the sake of the Gospel or has that, too, become collateral damage in pursuit of grandeur and success?

Whatever happened to entertainment for entertainment's sake and evangelism for evangelism's sake? Some would say it takes a bit of both, rolled up together and, maybe, they are right. The crowds waiting to be seated and entertained in Branson are beyond my wildest comprehension, making it difficult to believe there is any kind of financial crunch in our country and, concurrently, the number of growing televangelist ministries continues to grow and thrive, with the airwaves becoming saturated with each of their perspectives on the Truth they market. Can it be that, in the same way patriotism both sells and inspires, religiosity also sells and saves?

I'm not sure that I am ready to open my wallet to buy the picture of the cross superimposed over a picture of a waving flag, but I am proud to be a citizen in a country that has a rich religious heritage and deep commitment to freedom, for such are the basic tenants which allow the Gospel to be proclaimed and questions to be continually asked of all that we do.

I suppose Branson will have to seek the answers to the questions of motivation that are before them in the same way the Church will have to seek the answers to the questions of motivation that are before it, for God demands answers to all our behaviors. The key, always, is why do I do what I do, for in God's eyes, that is the crucial answer. I pray I and the Church together live for the love of God through Christ Jesus our Lord and offer the same to all we meet. Anything less is just another sales pitch.

It is something to ponder in a culture where so much is for sale.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Unexpected Surprise

The other day I had the great joy and fearsome responsibility of applying anhydrous ammonia (a nitrogen fertilizer) to standing corn, a process which requires a great deal of attention to detail and orientation in the field, so I spent very little time looking around at the scenery: the acres I had to cover, the machinery I was operating, and the task at hand was quite enough to keep me occupied. Yet, as the day neared evening and the creatures of the woods began to poke their heads out of their hiding places, there appeared, near the end of a field I was working in, a deer, a big, tawny, deep-bodied deer, eating in the tall grass near the woods.

At about 200 yards, the deer appeared to be a big doe, "Probably has a fawn hiding nearby while she checks out the commotion", I thought as I neared at about a 30 degree angle from where the deer stood. Then, when I was about 50 yards out, the 'doe' raised its head from feeding and there in front of me stood a handsome 10 point buck, calmly chewing and watching me as I neared with tractor, applicator and nurse tank at a speed of around 7 to 8 miles an hour. He never moved from where he stood. He just kept chewing on what he was eating and watched me as I neared the headland, shifted down, lifted the applicator, made the turn, dropped the applicator, and shifted back up for the long drive up the field again. I was within about 50 feet of him and he never moved, his majestic, growing, 10 point, velvet covered rack, taunting me the entire time I passed by with a wonderful side-view of his deep-bodied frame and, conservatively guessing, somewhere around 200 pound field-dressed proportions. I was salivating and he could care less. He knew he was safe and he knew I wasn't stopping with that rig to watch him.

The next time down the field he had moved about 25 feet or so to a small watering hole in a ditch and was taking a drink. This time, as I shifted down, lifted up, and began my turn, I throttled down and stopped to 'count points' and watch him. He lifted up his head, looked at me, drank a bit more, then slowly began to walk to the other side of the ditch, pausing to take a bite or two of grass as he moved. It was an absolutely breathtaking and thrilling sight, and there I was, with not a bit of Mossy Oak camouflage on me, wondering where he would be on opening day when I would be ready to hunt for him. Chances are, he won't be anywhere near that ditch or that bit of woods but, then, he might. Hmmmmmmm.

As I throttled the tractor back up and eased into the next pass of applying anhydrous, I thanked God for that beautiful sight, that unexpected surprise and delight at the end of a long and tedious day, a day which was leaving every muscle in my body aching with tension and my eyes bleary from counting rows and focusing on staying straight with my rig. There, in the midst of all the strain and toil of daily cares; there, in the heart of 'getting everything done quickly and efficiently'; there, in the press to reach the goal and claim the prize: There stood God's natural commentary on all that humanity deems important - a gorgeous buck eating grass at the edge of a woods and taking a drink from a waterway. "Do I not provide for all of the beasts of the field?" I heard God ask, "So, too, will I provide for you."

I am not sure where the tears came from, but I was glad no one else was there in the tractor with me. So many times we allow ourselves to be owned, even consumed, by our need to get everything done in a particular way, on a particular schedule, and in a particular manner that no-one else can duplicate, that we miss the wonder and joy of the world around us. We are so easily lured into believing the world cannot get along without our efforts that we make the lives of those around us a living hell in building the kingdom in our own image. In this one, humble, quiet gesture, God reminded me that I am a part of God's universal vision, not the culmination of it. We are called to contribute our gifts and talents to the care and proclamation of God's Good News to all the world, not be the ultimate definition of it. That job is already taken and Jesus is quite capable of being Savior for all, thank you very much.

Pushing the extra hours to get everything done in a rain-delayed Spring planting season may make exceptionally good sense to nearly every farmer you talk to and, I am reasonably certain, God's care and rewards for those folks and their efforts is expressed in unwavering steadfast love all the days of their lives, but I do have to wonder if the end justifies the means when, in the push to get everything done, little time is taken in the heart of the farmer, God's peculiar steward of the earth, to savor the call, the vocation, to which God has called them, regardless of the weather or the conditions. It is something to ponder as the tawny colored buck of immense frame and beauty walks across the neighboring bean field disappearing from sight as he goes, again, into the woods. It is something to ponder as I push the throttle forward and focus my eyes once more on the acres which still need to be covered. Maybe that is why the tears began to fall.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Lessons on the Road

Has it ever happened to you when you were driving along, minding your own business, cruise control set, your window open, the music playing just the right song at just the right volume, that some 'lunatic' pulls out onto the road right in front of you, seemingly waiting until you were just close enough to know there wasn't enough room to safely make it, but choosing that time to pull out anyway? Then, as though putting your heart into cardiac arrest wasn't enough, and giving your reflexes a chance to prove whether or not they still work wasn't enough, and testing the drive-ability of your car with brakes fully locked wasn't enough, the person who caused all of this, seemingly, chooses to drive about ten miles an hour below the speed limit, with oncoming traffic eliminating any chance of passing for miles to come? Then, when an opportunity to pass finally makes itself available, you put on the blinker, pull out to pass, hit the gas, and begin to overtake the lunatic, only to, again . . . seemingly . . . wake them up out of their fog and have them also 'step on it' to keep you from passing, forcing you to either really get on the gas or back off and fall behind them again?

It has happened to me more than once, but it happened most recently last evening on my way back home from the farm. It was only as I finally got around the 'driver' (and I use that term very, very loosely) going about 75 miles an hour, after following them at 45 miles an hour for several miles, that I realized that the person had a cell phone to their head and was in deep conversation and driving, not with intention, but by instinct. My passing him, and it was a 'him', reminded him that he wasn't going fast enough, but it was clear in my passing him that he wasn't paying attention to his own speed either: he was talking on the phone, deeply engaged in life somewhere beyond the wheel of his own vehicle.

Once around him, he backed off his speed in direct proportion to mine and, gradually, fell farther behind as the miles clicked under our tires. At first, I was angry, then resentful, then, finally, just appalled, especially when I began to think of this encounter in terms of the church: How often is it that a person or congregation goes about the mundane nature of their living in the same old way, in the same old patterns, day after day, daring anyone to try to change them, even pulling out in front of others to make sure everyone else stayed in line behind them, regardless of how out of touch with the rest of the world they are? And, how many times have or will those same people suddenly pick up the pace when someone tired of following them pulls out to pass, putting them in a position to either go twice as fast and twice as hard or fall back in line and accept the inevitability of their own mundane place in life?

It is a paradigm which gets played out far too often in far too many places of worship over far too many things which, in the scheme of all things heavenly, really have very little affect in all things earthly. It was a part of Jesus' ministry as the various scribes, Pharisees, lawyers, Sadducee's, and political hacks, took their shots at the building momentum of Jesus' ministry as it passed through the local country side. It was a part of Jesus' teaching as He taught the thousands in the text which is commonly known as the Sermon on the Mount in' the Gospel of Matthew. It was a part of the betrayal, trial, beating, and crucifixion of Jesus recorded in all of the Gospels. And, finally, it was a part of the resurrection story recorded in all of the Gospels, as well. It took Jesus' death to gain enough momentum to pass the lethargy of power, pomp and circumstances imposed on humanity by those determined to make themselves into gods. It took a rolling stone theology to crush the self-centered, self-serving ideology of 'me-first' at everyone elses expense. It took 'Peace be with you' Christology to break down the barriers of fear which shackled even the best intentioned of disciples to 'fall in line' behaviors.

Now, I am not extolling a 'step on it no matter what the consequences' response to every 'lunatic' who pulls out in front of you, but I would suggest that you and I are not the first ones to whom it has happened, nor will we be the last. So, the essential question before each of us on the road and all of us in the church is this: Before God and all of humankind, what is to be gained by not letting up? At 75 miles an hour last night, I should have backed down and didn't . . . proving exactly what, I'm not sure. But at the speed of life, Jesus couldn't back down and didn't . . . proving we have nothing to fear in proclaiming the nearness of God's Kingdom, regardless of the 'lunatics' which pull out in front of us along the way.

Jesus makes a much better point than I do, He always does. I just hope I learn from it - and the guy on the cell phone gets the message.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

David, Jonathan, and Saul

Human relationships are often difficult, but add into the mix of human relationships the dynamic of power and all bets are off as to the eventual outcome. Here the old saying holds dizzily true, "Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Spend time in I Samuel with the stories of King Saul, Jonathan (the heir apparent in Saul's eyes), and David (the anointed of God to become King), and you will spend time in a study of power: Perceived power and real power. Saul had power he perceived allowed him to do nearly anything he deigned to do since he was King and David was coming into power that called him to do whatever God wanted him to do with God's blessing. Jonathan, Saul's son, is a man caught in-between, for he is born for ascension to the throne and wants it not - and is best friends with the man who is anointed for the throne and is being kept from it. Although there is a great deal of intrigue and shadowing of the language which occurs in the telling of the stories throughout the years, what cannot be written out of the recorded memory of Israel is the essential truth that real power belongs not in the hands of humanity, but in the wisdom of God. Saul, Jonathan, and David live that out, even unto death in each of their lives. None of them are able, in the end, to fully claim power of their own outside of that which God allows them to exercise. To pursue power for power's sake sacrifices the very life with which they seek it and the end result is loss, not gain. "Those who seek their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will gain it", says Jesus. He understood.

We are reminded by the lives of our ancestors in faith that life in God is life spent in service of God's will. Power in proper proportion will be granted to those whom God chooses that God's people be delivered and led.

Many will claim power, more will die for it, some will even have it at the expense of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of others, but none will ever possess it fully for human life cannot ever hold it eternally. We can only be momentarily touched by Power and do what we are called to do with that Power before our candle dims in the winds of time. To believe otherwise is to sell our soul on the chopping block of sadness and despair in the vain hopes that revisionist history will somehow hide our folly.

King David is hailed as the greatest of Israel's Kings, but only as he prayerfully served Power, not claimed it. Jesus is named as the King of the Jews by Pilate, not because He claimed a position of power, but because He served the Power which raised Him above all others. In the chronicles of life and life's choices, I wonder how others will view my living. As I pray to serve the One who is all Power Eternal, I pray my service is found to be in the name of the One who gives Life Eternal.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

July 4

In our morning walk Nancy and I talked about our July 4 memories. In our 'growing up years', July 4 for Nancy had much to do with activities at the Marissa Rec Area, including fishing, swimming, family gatherings, neighborhood brunches, golf, and fireworks on the lake dam. For me the Fourth of July had much to do with baling straw and hay, cultivating crops, milking cows, taking care of chores, watching fireworks at the Marissa Rec Area, and, sometimes, the treat of an ice cream cone at the local Creme Freeze. Both of us recalled the joy and wonder of fireworks shows that, by today's standards, were fairly tame, yet for us were simply breathtaking, and both of us also reminiscenced about the patriotism which abounded around us.

Folks always seemed to 'know' the reason for the day of celebration and understood, even revered, its significance. There always seemed to be a 'passing on of the legacy', even among immigrant families such as my own who came to this country nearly a hundred years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. We were raised with a deep honoring in our bones of those whose stories were passionately tied to the act of, not only claiming independence, but putting one's life on the line to stake that claim. No-one had ever to say to us, 'Take your hat off!' or 'Put your hand over your heart!' as the flag passed by, whether in a parade or in a civil gathering: Everyone did it out of pride for country and respect for those whose blood mingled with the very soil under our feet that we might freely gather in this time. There was also a deep abiding respect for those present on the land before any immigrant arrived, those who paid the price of 'being settled' by forfeiting both their rights and their lives as others pushed for the expansion of freedom. It is the paradox of this nation's history which can never be adequately explained, but should never be forgotten for, in the words of my parents, 'What goes around, comes around' and one must wonder if we are just a declaration away from such settling happening all over again and ourselves and our rights being herded away to obscure reservations over trails of tears which are our own.

Patriotism is not an inherited characteristic, it is taught by example. Many a teacher has taught many a history class which was shaped in the terms of patriotism, but no history class in any school's curriculum was ever as capable of conveying a message as that which is articulated by the actions of the very people themselves. We remembered the parade routes in which we marched in the band and the people along those routes whose hands were over their hearts and, often, had tears streaming down their faces, as the local V.F.W. or American Legion 'band of brothers' marched with prided stride, carrying 'Old Glory' before them. We remembered the basketball games and the band playing the National Anthem before the Varsity Game, when every person in the gymnasium stopped talking and every eye sought out the flag, and nearly every mouth sang the words which shaped a national identity. We remembered when the Fourth of July was, indeed, a National Holiday, when everyone had the day off and plans had to be put in place in advance for the provisions of food and refreshments for the day, because no grocery store was open, few if any filling stations were open, and no department stores were open. We remember when the words, "Red, White and Blue" automatically made folks think of the flag and the meaning of those particular colors, the stars and bars, and the purpose for their arrangement on our nation's flag. We remember when our parents talked about patriotic pride on days other than the Fourth, not because they agreed with everything that was going on in our nation or the world, but because they understood such discussions to be an important part of citizenship and exercising their freedoms. We remember when patriotism wasn't a thing of fashion, but was the stuff of conviction.

Maybe Nancy and I are just getting older and lamenting 'the way things used to be' is a part of that journey, yet, our conversation and our remembrances got me to thinking about what it is we teach our children and why it is we teach them those things. We may not be able to change the social or political behaviors of a nation of people so that we are 'comfortable' with how others perceive patriotism, but we can raise our family to hold fast to those national ideals which are the bedrock of our country. Just as such things are not inherited characteristics, neither are they entitlements to claim. Like those before us, our very lives are required in the investment of continued exercise of freedom in this country - or we risk forfeiting our freedom in pursuit of a life which is no life at all. "Choose this day . . .", said Joshua, and we would do well to remember those words.

Fireworks may never be able to tell the story of freedoms journey in this land, but they are a persistent reminder of its cost: Freedom is not cheap, nor is patriotism a given. Nancy and I were blessed that our parents understood such lessons and passed them on as a humble legacy to immigrant children in a land of immigrant dreams. Lest we so fall in love with having our own needs met that we forget our own root we, too, must teach our children and their children after them, that their memories of July Fourths past might be as vivid and joyful as ours and their hopes for the future as bright.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don