First Robins

I heard them this morning, the first robins of the season! Spring can't be far away! A robin's song is the precursor of better days ahead, warmer mornings and longer hours of sunshine. A robin's 'hop' upon the lawn in search of those ever elusive worms is, in my eyes, the dance of joy before the Throne of God. Theirs is the cacophony of hope which fills the warming air as the last of Winter's frost ebbs slowly from the ground. Theirs is the epiphany announcement of new life around the corner. Theirs is the prophetic voice my ears have been longing to hear, without even knowing it until I heard it today. Who knew a robin's song could mean so much?!

Yet, I shouldn't be surprised that it was such an exciting moment, though my kids say it doesn't take much to excite me these days, really, these last days have been darkened days on the journey. Lent + nearly every day and night with meetings, worship and/or practices + the current economic woes of our area, not to mention our country + funerals, visitations, counselings, worship planning, and trying to figure out staffing issues + not nearly seeing my family as much as I would like + not getting to take days off nearly as much as I should + cold, icy, snowy, cloudy, dreary days = the NEED for a robins chorus on a Friday morning in March. "I need Thee, O, I need Thee . . ." has had a great deal of meaning in these last days.

Then add to all of that the incredibly ironic, even oxymoronic actions of the IRS in launching an investigation into the United Church of Christ's welcome of one of our denomination's own, Senator Barak Obama, to our 50th Anniversary Celebration, and who, by the way, was invited long before he threw his hat into the ring of potential presidential candidates. If that doesn't make a persons head shake . . . and what makes it so incredibly ironic, even oxymoronic, is that it was one of the predecessor United Church of Christ congregations in the early history of this nation who encouraged and facilitated the Boston Tea Party, which was a stand against King George's taxation . . . and now the IRS is 'investigating' the UCC, nine months after Obama addressed the General Synod of our denomination, never once indicating to the UCC that there was even a question until the investigation was launched. It is a dark Winter's day for our government which behaves in such a bullying fashion, and it is a dark day in Jerusalem all over again as the Church, the body of Christ, is put on trial by those who fear its voice in shaping the world in a different manner.

But, for today, the robins song is not lost on this soul on the Lenten journey. I suppose an expression of appreciation should be extended to the IRS from the UCC for the timeliness of its working and for the manner in which this process is being conducted, for in so behaving the entire Christian community is being given a radically powerful reminder of the political environment in which Jesus lived and died.

As the robins song heralded a new beginning in the stone rolling away from the tomb, so we, too, would be well served to listen and take heart. Governments only have power in the things of this life and, truth be told, they probably do not have as much power as they think. God has the last word in all things and, in Jesus, God's Word is Life. The Lenten season is near its conclusion, Easter is around the corner. Let us thank God this day for the robin's song which hearkens our souls to the celebration of life found in the simplest of reminders.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Meals With Family

I was blessed to sit down at lunch today with family. I had to have the car serviced which required me to drive past my Dad's home on the way to the dealership, so I called ahead to inquire if there might be room at the table for me. How sweet the words when I heard, "Of course there is!"

Chili, crackers, cheese, celery sticks, and (drum roll please) homemade coffee cake, still warm from the oven. Oh, my God! What a feast!

Yet, as good as the food truly was, being in the company of family with which to share the meal meant more than any particular type of food on the table. 'Family' is who sees us through. 'Family' is who causes us to laugh when reasons to laugh are few. 'Family' reminds us to take ourselves a little less seriously and to celebrate God's life in us more intentionally. 'Family' are the ones who hug us into wholeness and hold us close in prayer, even while encouraging us to explore on our own and find God's will at work in our hearts. 'Family' are the ones who can tell us all the stories of the past, while nurturing us to make our own stories into the future. 'Family' is who catches us when we fall and who stands beside us as we jump into new beginnings. 'Family' are the ones who make room at the table, even if it means 'stretching' the soup so everyone has enough. 'Family' is who we are together in God when all the other delineations between us are put to rest. 'Family' is God's gift from birth till death and in birth beyond death.

When we are created in the image of God, we are created to be 'Family'. Maybe that is why the Body of Christ, the Church, means so much to me . . . and why I have such a hard time getting my head around any expression of the Body of Christ, the Family of God, that does not hold being 'Family' dear, as they turn children or outsiders away from the Table, or deny the Christianity of others who come from different traditions, or do not welcome sisters and brothers who haven't been baptized in their specific tradition. Such behaviors spit in the face of the One whose life, death and resurrection make all of us one family from the beginning of time.

If we are not one Family, then we are not God's Family.

That does not mean we always get along, or that everybody has to believe exactly the same thing in the same way, or that everyone is going to do everything with the same expressions, but it does honor and hold as incredibly sacred that, when everything else is said and done, we are of one Blood: His. We are born of one Water: His. We are of one Body: His. It is only in the magnificent Love of God that the Spirit is able to work such wonders . . . and it is only in the sinful willfulness of humanity that such wonders can be turned into shambles.

I am glad there was room at the table for me at lunch today, for it reminded me of our corporate call as 'Family' to ensure a place for all God's children. Maybe that is why, when the church bell rings, it so reminds me of a big dinner bell: It's time to gather around the Table and be the Family God birthed us to be from the beginning. It is time to be intentionally on earth as we pray it will be in heaven: one Family, forevermore.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Isn't It Interesting?

All of the congregations of the United Church of Christ were notified yesterday that the Internal Revenue Service has launched an investigation to determine if Barak Obama's address of United Church of Christ General Synod last July in Hartford, Connecticut, put the denomination's tax exempt status at risk. Something about this 'investigation' seems horribly, horribly wrong.

The United Church of Christ made it abundantly clear at the time of the General Synod that Obama's presence was as a member of the United Church of Christ addressing being a person of faith in a very public forum. Obama, by any and every standard, did an outstanding job of being a member of the United Church of Christ speaking to his own faith family. Period. Anyone is welcome to go to http://www.ucc.org/ and check out both the speech and the setting in which it was delivered. It was not a campaign speech, nor was it about influencing political directions. It was about being a person of faith in a very public, very intensely political, forum. All of the 't's were crossed and all the 'i's were dotted, legally, before the event ever got out of the planning stages. That said, oddly enough, now that Obama is emerging as the Democratic front-runner, the tax-exempt status of the United Church of Christ is coming into question. One might imagine that such an investigation is tacit confirmation of, both, his political status and the the UCC's perceived role in the faith he proclaims.

Maybe it is just the timing, maybe it is the manner in which such an investigation is launched, but it surely appears to this political lay-person that the Internal Revenue Service is acting, or being used, in a less than appropriate manner to question both the candidate and the denomination from which he hails. One has to wonder.

One also has to wonder why all of the candidates 'worshipping' in the various individual churches, with all of the back-slapping and obvious pandering for support, does not bring nearly every denomination, not to mention lots of local congregations, into similar question . . . or is that somehow different. Regardless of the impetus for this action, it smacks of election year politics, and it is a game of hardball that will cost a lot of people a lot of money with which to defend, what was from the very beginning, a homecoming for Obama with his own denominational family. If such appearances and speeches are no longer acceptable, all candidates best take heed.

The State is speaking - and if Protestants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, or anyone else thinks this is acceptable speech - or is cowered by the I.R.S. because of the weight they are capable of swinging about with such ease, then the United States has far deeper issues to address than a soft housing market. Yet, the good news is this: such was the very face of opposition that Jesus faced in His time and His is the example the Christian community follows.

One has to wonder whose agenda is being served in this action . . . but, as my Dad has often said when you are wondering what prompts people to behave the way they do, remember, "It all depends on whose ox has been gored." See where the blood is on the ground and you will likely see the source of the concern and fight. Isn't it interesting?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Birthday Greetings

I called a very good friend of mine this morning to wish him, "Happy Birthday!" Though at the moment I happened to call he was working, he called back a bit later while on break and we had a few moments of really good conversation. Steve lives about 350 miles from here and we don't talk with each other nearly as often as we would like, but when we do talk, it is a bit like taking a drink of a cool, clear stream on a hot August day: Refreshment like no other! No matter how long the span between calls or visits, our friendship is such that we pick up where we last left off - and we are good for each other, which is a gift of God.

It made me pause and wonder how often I do that to God . . . you know, not call as often as I should, even when I know that the conversation will do my heart and soul good. I wondered if the 'stumbles' and 'issues' of life weren't, sometimes, just God's way of getting God's Name on my calendar, as Steve's name and age (He is much, much older than me!) is on my calendar, so that I would take the time to call and be in conversation. I pondered on the notion of how many times God has placed calls to me and I, after checking 'Caller I.D.', just let it go to the answering machine because I didn't have the time at that precise moment to talk . . . . . and I wondered what would happen if God started doing that to me.

Of all the gifts God gives us, friendship, true friendship, is of the greatest value, for in God's expression of friendship with all creation, we have come to know the fullness of God's commitment to our friendship through Christ. Maybe that is why I can count true friends on one hand, while acquaintances are numerous: few will go as far as to love me, especially when I am the most unlovable. I pray I am counted as 'friend' to many, but most of all to God, and this day I give thanks to God for Steve, for he reminds me of rich I really am in the company of the One who befriends us all. Thanks, Steve!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

No More Death Marches

I had the distinct honor this morning of officiating the service celebrating the life of one of my uncles, Uncle Del. Uncle Del was a veteran of WWII, a member of the 9th Army Air Corps flying missions out of England. On his 31st and final mission before being sent home, the B-26 on which he was the radioman, suffered a direct hit near the coastal town of Te Havre, France, going down in the English Channel. He was able to parachute out and was picked up by a German patrol boat, was taken was questioning on the coast, then loaded into a railroad boxcar with other prisoners, and sent to Eastern Prussia to Stalag Luft 4, a P.O.W. camp in what is now Poland. Thus began, in Uncle Del's words, " . . . a year of hell . . .", a year of imprisonment and, finally, forced marching as the Nazi's tried to keep the mobile prison population ahead of the advancing Allied Forces. In Uncle Del's words, when he and a couple of the other prisoners realized they were being marched in large circles until they fell over dead or were unable to go further, they escaped, being hidden in the barn of a German farmer until they could make it back to Allied lines. Bottom line, unlike so many like him, Uncle Del did come home and, now, some 63 years later, he is Home for good.

From where I am, upon returning home to his family, Uncle Del made a conscious decision not to participate in any more death marches. No more decisions were going to be made by others who didn't care if he lived or died. No more marching with others in charge who, themselves, were escaping an enemy they could not conquer. No more waiting for death to do its grisly work while footsteps taken reflected only the oozing blood of his battered soul. No more death marches, only steps toward life and Home.

It makes me wonder how many of us today are highly offended by the notion of such death marches, unable to comprehend how any human being could inflict such cruelty on another human being . . . and, yet, unwittingly do the same things to ourselves and others through the thoughtless decisions we make each day. It really makes me wonder.

I wonder how many are on circular death marches, driving daily to jobs which barely pay the cost for the gas that it takes to make the drive. I wonder how many are on circular death marches, financed by easy credit which encourages a debt load that would sink a ship at credit card interest rates which are, in and of themselves, inhumane. I wonder how many are on circular death marches, believing deliverance is just around the next bend of federal or state economic relief incentives, buying into the political rhetoric of their personal financial security always being someone else's responsibility.

I wonder how many are on circular death marches, purchasing productive ground to be covered with the asphalt and concrete of progress, while children worldwide die for lack of enough to eat. I wonder how many are on circular death marches, driving luxury SUV's and cars plush enough to live in, while demanding the government come up with alternative fuels cheap enough to maintain their opulent lifestyle without having to forfeit any of their advantages. I wonder how many are on circular death marches, buying into the emerging 'green movement' as a way of reducing our nation's dependency on oil rich countries, while resenting the very people who grow the alternative fuel sources as not doing enough to keep the cost of food and related byproducts as economical as before they were being used for fuels.

If one dares to ponder long enough, at one time or another we are all a part of death marches: some are doing the marching and some are forcing others to march for them, but all are part of the circular pattern of unchanging demands for more from life, while offering less to life from the very giftedness God has placed in each person. Jesus breaks the vicious cycle in a profound expression of faithfulness to God - and was crucified for it. Many want change, few want to be changed . . . and the death march goes on.

The empty tomb offers hope for Life, for a journey lived upon a path which leads to Home, not just to the same old places we have been before. Like survivors of a war we did not start, but of which we have been a part, it is ours to choose whether or not we will escape the death march's cruelty and seek out Home on a path with One who loves us, or stay where we are, waiting for death to claim us and grant sweet relief from that we would not leave.

I will miss my Uncle Del, but I am glad for him that he is Home, his march over, his claim of Life complete. I am grateful he escaped the enemy and, in so doing, lived to go forward in life as the Author of life intended. I am grateful, too, that in his escaping the circular death marches he lived to tell the story that others like me might screw up the courage to make a break for Life, as well. It is a Life lesson not lost on those with ears to hear.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Third Sunday in Lent

Today's Gospel text of John 4.5-42 invites us into an encounter between Jesus and a Samaritan woman at Jacob's well (read Genesis 33:18ff for Jacob's story of settling there). Jacob's well: a place of wiping off the sweat of fear and trepidation and living into hope for a new future. Jacob's well: a deeply placed testament to the power of undeserved grace and mercy settling the soul and opening the heart. Jacob's well: the witness to the power of human reconciliation and a humbled restoration of right relationship with God and brother. Jacob's well.

There we find Jesus on a trip through the Samaritan territories seeking refreshment: God's Life welling up to new life at Jacob's well. There truth is told in ways the Samaritan woman never imagined she would ever be worthy to receive, much less able to understand: Eternal waters rushing over the sides of the well and washing earthly life with baptismal newness. There the woman's thirst is quenched and her water jug is left standing empty: Reconciliation and restoration of relationship have found new beginnings as the woman runs to the very community from which she is shunned to share the Waters which cannot be contained. God's well.

God's water is poured out as Jesus' words wash into the soul of the Samaritan woman: She who thirsted much for righteousness and mercy . . . received mercy and acted in righteousness. God's water mingles in the muddy mess of human existence and births new life in joy and excitement: She who was declared unclean by a community whose laws advocated for her exclusion is radically included in God's new community as one of the first to know Messiah: God's Living Waters flow in the 'I am' of Jesus' compassion for the woman's predicament, and we are allowed the hearing of the community as her words proclaim, "Could this be the Messiah?" God's Water knows no bounds of ethnicity or race: She who leaves her jug lying at the side of the well declares the economy of a God who lavishes forgiveness on those who voices cry out in confession and seek God's healing. God's well for all.

You can stand there and be skeptical or you can hear her voice and run to meet Him. You may choose to disregard the word of this tainted woman you may choose to enter into the Word of the One declared 'Blessed' before all of humankind. You may receive Him on her word or choose to receive Him in His word in your heart. Yet, know this: Regardless of the choice you choose, God's life welling up to eternal life at the walls of Jacob's well cannot be stopped, for Jacob's well has always been God's well, and God has chosen the better part of Life.

Jesus says, "Come unto me, all you who are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Must it be on your terms? Or are you ready to drink deeply of God's Waters for you on God's terms? No matter which way you turn, you have chosen. Choose to turn to the Well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Sign for the Week:

ALL THE TECHNOLOGY

TO MAKE LIFE EASIER

CANNOT MAKE LIFE BETTER.

WALK WITH CHRIST

Melting Snow

Finally! The temperature is above freezing and the ice and snow are melting away. Water is coursing the street in front of our home like a series of small rivers overflowing their banks, while the bare concrete of the sidewalks peeks through to see the sun above it. Even if only for a day or two, the relief shows on faces of those I have seen today, as though the hope of their lives is somehow intricately tied to the emerging signs of Spring we see today.

So I pray today for those whose names I do not know, yet whose lives are cataclysmically affected by the freezing nature of bigotry, hatred, prejudice, and greed of our world. I pray for children whose bodies starve for food while their leaders bicker over power. I pray for lovers beaten by their lovers, yet who go back for more because they lack the strength, the hope to do anything differently. I pray for politicians whose primary interest is in the outcome of primaries, not the people they are called to serve. I pray for employers whose bottom line approach to business slices the bottom line out of their employee's livelihood. I pray for people whose skin color has made them the target of fear, hatred, and distrust, when all they were born into the world to do, all they ever hope to accomplish, is to live the life God created them to live. I pray for the people whose sexual orientation has made them the object of scorn, judgement, and loathing, and pray that they are better able to live as God's kingdom people than those who ridicule them in the name of God. I pray for peace in the lands whose life has known only warring, and I pray for justice in the lands whose life has known only peace. I pray for those who mourn and for those who sit with them, that the comfort they seek be the assurance they receive. I pray for those who are the victims - and for those who are the victimizers, for those who are the oppressed - and for those who are the oppressors, for surely, at one time or another, everyone is one or the other, and all stand in the need of God's grace and mercy.

I pray for warm days in the midst of Winter's chill, if for no other reason than to remind me to pray in thankfulness to the One from Whom all blessings come. In so praying, may we remember those less fortunate, those stuck under the Winter's ice praying for the Sun to melt their pain away. Come, Lord Jesus, be Thou our Guest.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Snow Days

I remember praying to God for snow days when I was in school. I prayed for those days when the sleds and toboggan would be taken down from the walls of the equipment shed and the runners 'shined up' for serious sledding on the hill which ran from our home towards the creek, an eighth of a mile away or so. I prayed for those cold winter days when the pond was so frozen over we could skate on it, with ice deep enough the occasional fish would be frozen fast into the heart of it. I prayed for those days when snow, cold and ice were the gifts of a benevolent God who heartily believed children were birthed just for the fun such weather afforded them.

Then I became an adult.

Oh, I still pray for snow days, but for much different reasons. Now I pray for a day or two when the office is quiet and I have the time to get caught up on my work. Now I pray for enough snow, late enough in the night or early enough in the morning, so Nancy will receive that blessed phone call from above (her School Superintendent) announcing that there will be no school today and she not have to make her 30 mile drive one way before receiving the news. Now I pray for enough snow to warrant using the snow blower (the bigger the boys, the bigger the toys), so the snow shovel can stay hanging on the wall of the garage. Now I pray for the snow, cold, and ice, so that our family has a few moments together to be a family, without all of the schedules, events, and expectations that are a part of our 'normal' routine. Now I pray for snow days that I might attend to those jobs which Nancy has quietly set aside for me on such days - and which I have managed to put off for as long as I humanly dare.

But, there is still a bit of the child in me.

When a snow day is called, I lounge over the paper with a cup of coffee. I dress warmly and open the sidewalks around our home and at the church. I wander over to our neighbor's home with the snow blower or shovel and make sure her sidewalks and steps are open - and enjoy lingering in an unhurried conversation. I like to take a running start and slide down the parking lot, hearing Nancy's shouted warnings, much like my Mother's before her, and disregarding them in the glee of reckless abandon. I love to stand in the snow and let it accumulate on my clothes and face, reaching out with my tongue to 'taste' a few of those pure white morsals. I delight in the quiet of a snow day, in the stillness of traffic which cannot move quickly (though I am fairly certain the drivers do not share my delight), and in the sound of the crunching of winter's wonderland beneath my feet.

Most of all, a snow day is an unexpected holiday: a gift completely undeserved and full of glee and surprise in its arrival. A snow day is blessing, a grace shared with many, and a mercy touching my heart in its sacredness.

Snow days do not come without cost and many are the folks who have to clear the roads for traffic and who do not have the latitude to enjoy them. For those folks, I am eternally grateful, and it is only now that I am a father that I can begin to fully appreciate what snow days meant for my parents, when we kids were at home and didn't have to go to school. Still, I pray for snow days, for in praying for snow days I find myself praying for time unfettered, laughter released, and the peace to ponder beyond the schedule. One might argue that it would be easier just to regularly plan 'days off' to do all of those things, but I know myself and I know I would find a way to fill all of the time of a regular day off so that it would be little more than the days I am at work.

So, for today, I thank God for a snow day. In the holiness of its arrival, I have been filled to overflowing with joy and memories. In its purity, I can see my life once more in the way God sees me all the time - and am reminded to aspire to God's vision always. Enjoy the snow days!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Changing Face of Farming

In the Winter of the year is a good time to assess the changing face of farming. The trees and shrubs have lost their foliage and farmsteads are visible to the passerby on the roads. Increasingly, more homesteads are present in rural areas, but less have equipment sheds big enough to house anything more than a lawnmower or hobby tractor. Increasingly, old homesteads have barns which are leaning or being taken down, indicating fewer farmers are tending to animals as a part of their operations. Increasingly, all that is left of old rural homesteads is a few trees clumped together at the end of a road, far back from the highway, while new homes appear in close proximity to major thoroughfares.

Many want to live in the country, few want to be rural. Many want to have their own space, few want to be very isolated from civilization. Many want to remember the farming roots of their family, few want to engage in that kind of work. For all of the romantic notions that exist about 'having a place in the country', few want . . . or can afford to make their living in the country, so today approximately 1% of the American population strives to feed everyone else. That, my friends, is a true minority. And, the changing face of farming is reflecting the strain.

As I drive along our rural highways, I wonder: How many more 'country homes' will be allowed to be built by folks who have no stake in rural living, other than removing a few more acres from active food production? How many more farm families will be displaced by subdivisions and cash payouts for acreage which will disappear under the cold darkness of asphalt and concrete? How far will we be able to stretch the American farmer's ability to produce, while at the same time exponentially reducing the number of available acres on which to produce the very food we need? How much are people really willing to spend to live in the country?

As the face of farming changes in rural Amercia, I suspect we will find the answers to many of those questions as the price of agricultural goods goes up in correlation to declining supplies of available acreage on which to grow them. I suspect, if not in our generation, then in our children's generation, the economy of greed and atmosphere of personal gratification is going to come face-to-face with the reality of not having enough to feed all of the non-farming families. Then, whose 'inalienable rights' will be on the chopping block? Those who take the risk and expend the dollars and energy to produce the food the world needs in order to exist? Or, the those who hunger for that which they do not labor . . . and thirst for the water which they do not draw?

One percent versus more than ninety-nine percent . . . the odds are not in favor of the minority. Maybe that is why the sacredness of the rural landscape is already being sacrificed on the altar of self-righteousness. Sound bitter or sardonic? It's not . . . it is realistic. Take a look around as you drive through the new subdivisions in your area - and imagine the crops which will never grow on those lands again.

Not unlike the Native Americans before them, the American farmer is rapidly disappearing. They are holding on by the fingertips, trying to exercise their right to life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, tilling the soil that all may eat, while the vast majority of the American public shoots the last of the buffalo, exercises eminent domain in acquiring properties for 'progress', and expedites corporate growth with tax advantages at the expense of the very individuals who represent, congressionally and legally, little more than a bump on the rural road. I pray for the children who will inevitably inherit the folly of our 'right' to own our personal space in the world, without having to have a plan in place of how to serve or feed anyone but ourselves at the table of God's gracious abundance.

The face of farming is changing rapidly and I wonder how long we will be able to view that changing face before we are forced to look away in shame. Farmers, the ones who purchase everything retail, sell their product wholesale . . . and we who expect everything at wholesale prices are retailing our future to the highest bidders, including the very soil needed to grow the stuff of substance for life. Such scenery is not the prettiest I have seen in my travels, but it is the truth of our existence on display before our eyes. I hope we have the stomach to see the changes which are happening, and the heart to change what is happening before our stomachs are starving.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

New Roads To Drive

Driving new roads is an adventure. Seeing where the twists and turns will take you, viewing countryside that, until now, had been inaccessible, and being a part of going where few have yet to go . . . that is the 'fun' of driving a new road. Today I was blessed to drive a new road.

That I was only on the new road for approximately ten miles didn't make a difference. That I was on the new road did make a difference, for you see, really, I am not much of a new road type of person. I like the old familiar roads, the ones where you already know that there is a big pothole just over the rise, the roads whose twists and turns are predictable on those foggy nights, the roads which have a comfortable feel to them as the miles click on the odometer. My kids would tell you, I think, that most of my life is a 'familiar road' kind of life, that 'Dad is quite capable of seeing all sorts of new things every time he drives the same old roads . . . all you have to do is ask him', and that, in the crunch of everyday living, the familiar roads are the kind of places I can retreat to for quiet and personal time.

Yet, every once in a while, it is good for us to drive new roads, to be disquieted by the unfamiliarity, to exist on a higher plain of attentiveness. Every once in a while, it is good to hear different sounds, to be challenged to be a better driver, to have to pay attention to the signs along the way. Every once in a while, new perspectives have to be a part of our living or we risk driving into the sunset of parochialism on the same old roads our ancestors traveled without ever having been in the position of determining our own course of direction.

Are we incapable of having an original thought? Of listening in a new way? Of going on a new course? Are we condemned to the sins of the past because we refuse to be responsible for the actions of the present age? Is our future simply a redriving of the same old roads which enslaved our ancestors? Are we free to claim God's grace? To travel on new roads of understanding? To chart a new direction . . . without fear of damnation?

Jesus is a 'new road person'. In walking the old roads in faithfulness to God, He freed us to walk new roads in responsiveness to the Divine Intention for all people. His counter-cultural approach to faith opened the interior country of new directions as He unapologetically celebrated life with the marginalized and downtrodden, while 'passing by' the old roads of conventional wisdom and tradition. In showering grace and mercy, healing and compassion, acceptance and vulnerability, in the teaching and welcome of the people on the sides of the roads, Jesus reprinted God's maps of salvation in Living Color: He fulfilled God's law in choosing a new road in the Spirit.

Maybe it is time to take new roads more often, in my life and in our lives together. Maybe it is time to travel with Jesus the more uncharted roads of faithfulness. Lord only knows, the roads with which we are most comfortable threaten to take us the farthest away from God's love, going nowhere in a hurry. God keep us on new roads of traveling with Jesus, that the destination we reach is the one You intended all along.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Church Council Meetings

Our Church Council Meeting just concluded and everyone has gone home, except me. I remain here in my office to ponder the afterglow, to pick up the last vestiges of church 'business', to tend to remaining items of ministry . . . and to thank God for the good people of the Church Council.

Now, I know what some of you ministers are thinking - and I am fairly certain most lay folks believe it, too, but I haven't gone looney, nor am I seeking some sort of pat on the back: I am absolutely, incredibly grateful to God for the folks with whom I am blessed to share ministry in this place and time. They are, every one of them, a gift of a very loving God.

In fairness, there are times that God's 'gifts' to ministry in the church are sometimes gag gifts or mystery gifts, but always they are gifts . . . and don't Church Council's sometimes think of their pastor(s) in the same way?! Yet, this particular group of folk have quickly gelled, have found God's Spirit in each other, and celebrate God's expression of faithfulness which is 'in' the other. This Council, not unlike Council's before them or Council's which will come after them, this Council is a unique blending of those very same folks Jesus called to follow Him in ministry and all of the saints throughout the history of the Church: They are God's gift. They are who they are and God is using them in particular ways for God's will to be accomplished, for the Kingdom to be made manifest, for Christ's love to be shared with others.

Yes, I am certain that there are some folks who serve on Church Council's who believe themselves to be God's gift to humanity, but that is a far different expression of 'gift' than I am intending here. These particular folks are living articulations of the word, 'blessed', as Jesus used that word (sometimes translated, 'happy') in the Sermon on the Mount: They are humbly filled with joy because God is with them in their living. The Greek word is 'Makapioi' (using English letters for Greek letters) or 'makarioi', an expression of a sense of happiness in understanding that the very presence of God is with a person in whatever portion of life they are journeying. With these folks, such truth emerges in the way they regard each other, their sacred trust as leaders in the church, and, most importantly, who they are as disciples of Christ.

I am blessed to be their Pastor, for they are far better examples of Christ's Presence among us than any Sunday sermon I could ever hope to preach. They 'get it' . . . and they 'live it'.

My prayer for you this night, in the presence of the God who births us all to be a light unto the nations, is that you be a blessing to others. Rather than wonder why other people aren't a blessing to you, concern yourself with so living in faith that, when you walk out of the room, the Pastor who remains after the meeting will be thanking God for having shared even a few moments with you. If we all so live, 'makrioi', blessed will be our world . . . and night will become as day - for the glory of the Lord will shine throughout the land.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Second Sunday of Lent

"The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." (John 3.8 NRSV)

It is a windy morning, the rains have poured down through the night and the temperature is higher now then when we retired last night. In the words of my people, "This can't be good." Time and experience combine in such statements of understanding, the weather is a good teacher and the folks around here are apt pupils.

This day, in the prescribed lectionary text of John 3:1-17, a Pharisee named Nicodemus comes to Jesus trying to clarify what it is he 'knows' and what it is he does not 'know'. Jesus manages to completely change the context by opening the scriptures and their meaning to Nicodemus is ways his teachers of the law never could. Like a fresh wind of the Spirit, Jesus unexpectedly blows through all of Nicodemus' preconceived notions and traditions and opens him to epiphanies he could have never imagined receiving as he made his way to Jesus that night.

Isn't that, at least in part, what we pray for each time we enter the sanctuary in worship. It is not, it can not, always be purely about being comforted or made comfortable with life as we are accustomed to experiencing it: Sometimes we really need, need, to pray for the Spirit to rush through our hearts, our souls, our comfort zones, and disquiet the easy answers, the traditional ways, the pat responses.

Like the warming breezes of a Winter's morning, Jesus opens His arms to those who dare to receive His embrace. It may be a scary and troubling step to take, especially when we cannot be certain where the winds of the Spirit will blow in birthing new life, yet it is a step every one of us must take if we are to live in the life with which God blesses all people. Sometimes where we are 'just doesn't feel right', sometimes the winds blow with incredibly force and intention and we are given grace to see what the winds of the Spirit are birthing. Regardless, we are invited to live in the inbetweenness of the already, but not yet, of the Kingdom among us, walking with the One who shows the way, trusting in the One through Whom the Spirit blows.

Walk in the Spirit this day and revel in the changing winds of God's mercy and grace for you.

Church Sign for the Week:

When violence is the

means of expression,

pain

is the only word heard.

Reflecting on Violence

Virginia Tech, City Hall of Kirkwood, MO., Northern Illinois University . . . in the collective conscience of folks in this region of the world, these places and events in recent days are unified by one horrid reality: violence. Webster's Dictionary defines violence in these terms: 1a "exertion of physical force so as to injure or abuse b: an instance of violent treatment or procedure" (p. 1297 Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary, (c) 1973).

Whether it is the discharge of a firearm, the detonation of a bomb, the beating of a spouse or child, the misuse of law for personal gain, racial or cultural discrimination, religious persecution, or the disenfranchisement of civil rights from people who differ, bottom line: it is all violence - and violence holds as a basic tenant of its ethos the claiming of power by the devaluing of life. Power over another is gained by eliminating their life; Power over another is achieved by beating them into submission; Power over another is garnered by denigrating another's integrity with false accusations; Power over another is claimed in removing their personal rights: Violence becomes an end unto itself, so much so, that the one imposing the violence will only forfeit the power they have gained when an even greater violence is exercised upon them. Violence begets violence.

Some would say that guns are to blame, others say our wide-open media culture is to blame. I say a culture which promotes the acceptability of violence is to blame. Yet, assigning blame will always be the easier response, just as violence will always find a way to express itself, a tool to do its bidding. The harder task is finding and exercising viable and ongoing paths to peace and mutual valuing of life. Don't believe it? Consider Christ who walked the way of valuing, even loving, all of life. Those who imagined their security and power threatened by Him, eventually had Him crucified. Violence imposed upon Him that power could be claimed from Him. Violence.

Forgiveness of the perpetrators of violence is only one step, the harder hill to climb is establishing a culture of peace and mutuality, for few if any want to be mutual, especially if it means the sharing of advantages with others deemed 'less valuable' than they. From a Christian perspective, the end of this world's preoccupation with violence begins in the waters of baptism as God's grace is received - and continues for a lifetime as the gifts of the Communion Table are celebrated remembering Christ's body and blood given for all that none should ever again succumb to the violence of degredation at the hands of this world's petty rulers.

As we weep for the victims of violence, let us also be clear that we not contribute to the violence in the ways we behave towards and with each other. The violence of this world may never fully be eliminated, but it will not be addressed locally until each of us rejects it personally. For life, Christ gives us life. Violence is not a claiming of life, it is damning of the value God assigns to all life in the very presence of the cross and an empty tomb.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Valentine's Day Thoughts

Nancy and I have been together since I was in the 8th grade and she was in the 7th grade, with only a few short moments apart in our dating years. We have been married nearly 32 years. Our secret to success? She is the most patient person on earth . . . well, maybe not the most patient person, but certainly the most tolerant person . . . . well, maybe not the most tolerant person, but certainly the most persevering person . . . . well . . .

You get the point. Nancy and I have shared 'a lot of water running under the bridge' in our years of marriage, yet the one thing that has remained constant is our love for each other. Love for each other does not expect the other to be perfect, but continues to love in spite of, and sometimes because of, the imperfections. When we said to each other, "For better or worse" we had absolutely no idea how those words would be tested. Yet, love has made us both more patient with each other. Love has made us more tolerant with each other. Love has shown us the value of persevering when others might have quit. Love has seen us through.

Maybe that is a part of what the Apostle Paul was thinking when he wrote the 13th Chapter of First Corinthians. Paul undertakes the difficult task of imaging God to people who were quite accustomed to all the gods of the culture and the one way Paul had come to know God, the one way Paul knew others would come to know God, and the one way Paul was certain others would be able to differentiate God from all the other gods was 'Love'. Paul articulates God with a word picture of Love, and Love never ends.

In all of the moments that Nancy had every reason to walk out the door, love kept us together. In all of the days when Nancy had every reason to question where my call was leading, love kept us walking together. In all of the trials through which our marriage has had to struggle (and through those I'm sure are still before us), love is the final word.

Want to know God? Ponder the depth, width, height and fullness of love as you have been privileged to experience it . . . then ponder this: as great as love is on this earth, it is only a shadow of the love God has for all people. If what I am experiencing in this life (in the love of my wife for me) is just a foreshadowing of the fullness of God known to all in love, then my human mind will simply never be able to fully comprehend God, for love that great defies human understanding.

On this Valentine's Day, I am in love with a woman whose love for me I cannot hope to equal, so I strive to walk with her that I grow forever towards her heart which beats so strongly in binding us as one. For me, Nancy is more than a 'spouse' or 'helpmate', which are quaint colloquialisms of a provinical Christianity, she is my love, a gift of God with whom I share the journey and through whom I am privileged to see our Maker. As deeply as I am in love with her, I pray the God of all love fills your heart even more abundantly with the love of one with whom you may spend all your days as joyfully.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

I Sang With Michael

Tonight was the Wednesday Midweek Lenten Study on There Is Power In Forgiveness. One never is quite sure whether such Lenten discipline offerings will be well received or easily ignored. This one, at least for the first week, has been well received.

What was one of the greatest gifts of the evening, though, was Michael. Michael is 6 years old, attending with his sister who is in Confirmation (and for whom these mid-week gatherings are mandatory) and his mother. While all of the grown-ups watched the DVD and discussed the place of forgiveness in their own life experience, Michael listened. In the midst of folks identifying what forgiveness means to them (in one or two word descriptions), Michael held up his hand and offered that, to him, forgiveness is like 'flowers'.

The 'Lily of the Valley', (aka, Michael) opened forth in that room and the fragrance was fairly intoxicating and delicious. For a moment, forgiving and being forgiven had something to do with flowers blossoming and sharing their beauty in the gentle breeze of a springtime afternoon. Smiles broadened and knowing laughter graced our lives as the Spirit spoke through the child in the midst of Jesus' disciples.

Were that not enough, at the end of the evening, as we prepared to sing a hymn written to the tune, Tallis' Canon, I asked for any one of our choir members to help me lead the group in singing the hymn in a round, which the Canon allows. Some were sick and coughing, others looked down at their feet, others seemed to be screwing up their courage, when a little voice piped up from the center of the room, "I'll help you, Pastor Don!" as Michael made his way towards me.

"And a little child shall lead them . . ." is the text that sprang to mind. Adults have to study forgiveness and ponder whether or not they want to give that whole notion of vulnerability any serious space in their lives. Six year old Michael, flower opening fully and powerfully, jumped right in with his voice, his love and his grace. 'God With Us' is Jesus, the Child born in Bethlehem. 'God With Us' is the child who leads them . . . leads them home in the wonder of God's forgiving grace through Christ.

We may not be able to muster the courage to speak our flowers of forgiveness and shower the world with our songs of praise, but God's Presence in Michael revealed to us the way in this evening's gathering shadows. He may feel like he 'got to help Pastor Don', yet, from where I am, I am humbled and privileged to have had the opportunity to sing with Michael, for surely he is one of God's special angels among us.

Want to see forgiveness and hear its voice? Look at the flowers and listen to the Child sing.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

They Died of Cellinear's Disease

Picture something with me for a moment: three cars in a row, each speeding faster than the one ahead of it, all trying to make a left turn on a red light, all of them sliding a bit to the side towards the oncoming traffic which now has the green light, and all of the drivers with their right hand up to their ear holding the cell phone so they can continue conversing while (essentially) breaking every law they can in the hope of not being killed while making an illegal turn.

That is, in fact, what I just witnessed at an intersection 3 miles from here. Ironically, I was on the way back from making hospital calls and I was stopped in the Eastbound lanes, while the Northbound lanes advanced on the green light. I am the first car in the Eastbound lanes, so I have the perfect vantage point from which to watch events unfold as these three 'drivers' (and I am using that term very loosely) put everyone in the intersection at risk. I watched the Northbound light change from green to yellow to red. None of the three drivers were in the intersection when the light went red, but all three made it very clear by their speed that they were not going to stop at the intersection either. Only by the grace of God and the astute understanding of the lead Southbound driver did all three make it through the intersection without an accident. Which got me to thinking . . .

I wonder how many people are arriving at the pearly gates with their cell phones still held to their ear? I wonder how many of them arrive at St. Peter's desk casting irritated glances at him while hollering at their phones, 'Where the hell am I that I'm not getting a signal here?!' I wonder how many people step out of the line which goes into heaven because they 'have to finish their conversation'. I wonder . . . how many people are dying of 'Cellinear Disease'? I wonder, too, how many people are being killed by others who have Cellinear Disease?

I know, Cellinear Disease isn't a 'real' disease, because some physician hasn't diagnosed it, but I believe it to be real because I see it every day! I see cell phones figuratively 'stuck' in the hands and on the ears of an ever increasing number of our society, far too many whom share the roadways with me. Many of the same people who brutally complain about having to breath the second-hand smoke of cigarette smokers are the ones who inflict their boorish cell-phone etiquette upon the rest of the driving public, as though their choices of behavior on the road have no consequences in anyone else's life. I've got a newsflash for you: 'If the conversation is that important that you have to have it while waistdeep in rush hour traffic, pull off the road and have the conversation!' I do not want your viral infection of Cellinear Disease to keep me from arriving home safely. There are enough other hazards in life, enough other perils on the road, to keep my attention without having to watch for someone behind the wheel and on the cell-phone . . . with no discernable amount of gray matter in-between.

I truly believe the communication age is amazing and try to embrace it as completely as I can, but I draw the line at allowing others to usher me into an emergency room . . . or beyond . . . just because they can't exercise an iota of personal control or responsibility. Call me old fashioned or call me a stick in the mud, but I pray you call me when you are not at the wheel, because heaven help us both if I arrive at the pearly gates at the same time you do, with you looking at me and speaking into your cell-phone, 'Gosh, I was trying to call you, but I wouldn't have if I had known I was going to see you anyway!' God made us both smarter than that.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Few Lessons from M*A*S*H

One of my all-time favorite movies is M*A*S*H, which premiered early . . . early in my high school years. I have viewed nearly all, if not all, of the episodes of the TV series, many of them multiple times (much to the chagrin of my family), but the movie is still the benchmark of how difficult cultural and national issues can be presented through the imagination and discerning eye of the arts. The backdrop of the Korean 'conflict' or 'police action' gave the American mind and heart the language for discussing the Viet Nam conflict of which it was, then, currently a part. The embrace and mockery of military discipline, the blood and guts of young lives spilled out upon the floors of military theatres, and the volatility of human dignity and hopes fractured in places and times of intense conflict, were put on display as the world culture sorted out the costs and advantages of waging another such operation. 'Operation', now there is a word. Always another operation, hours and hours of operations, all to put back together the lives which were inevitably shredded over the pursuit of another hill, the rollback of another enemy, or the conquering of whatever it is we most feared in that particular moment. Operations resulting in more operations, neither of which resulted in much healing or tranquility, neither of which brought health or wholeness to whatever public was waging the operation in the first place. It seemed the only time one wouldn't have to anticipate another operation was when they were too sick, too battered, or too wounded from their last operation to be an assest for a 'next operation'. Then, they were sent home to find healing in the community.

All that said, I have tremendous respect for women and men of the military and am grateful for their sacrifices which allow me to write this blog without restraint. When the movie, M*A*S*H, was released, my older brother was serving in Viet Nam, and I could not see it without thinking of him. To this day he is one of my very best friends and I love him more than these words could ever express . . . which leads me to deeper prayer for those whose brothers and sisters did not, or will not, return from whatever conflicts they face in the service of their nation. It makes all the more present the candor and intentionality of purpose and need the leadership of this, or any nation, must ponder before entering the fray. For regardless whether or not it is a conflict of our own making, what M*A*S*H reminds us of is the deep and dear human price paid by the youth of our world to protect and, sometimes, expand the privileges we desire to claim as an inalienable right. Of all of the just and justifiable wars history and historians can name, the hardest battle yet to be won is the one which gives life to future generations of the world without requiring their blood to be smeared on the doorposts of their homes, slaughtered lambs for the life of their families.

Jesus, in complete faithfulness to God, was nailed to a cross for His devotion and dedication, even His love, for the good, the life, the integrity of God's creation. So convinced were the powers and principalities of the age that a slaughter of innocence was necessary to maintain the status quo of 'earned' inalienable rights, they placed Him upon a tree attempting to ensure the silence of grace, mercy and peace among the people. So great their fear that His radical inclusion would exclude their comfort and security, overturning their way of life, they rolled a great stone over the door of His tomb. So possessed by their own cleverness in dealing with this emerging grassroots movement of equity and justice in the midst of the kingdom, they missed completely the powerful nearness of the Kingdom as the Risen Christ stood with His disciples on a hill and told them to go and make disciples of all nations.

As Jesus sent the disciples out to bring healing to Gilead, to bear a balm to all the weary children of warring nations, to gather the world community in the healing and God-given gift of all-embracing love, so He sends us out in this age to take our place at His side. We are called to bear witness to God's operation of salvation, whose blood cost required by our thirstiness for power and domination, has already been paid. We are called to clean up the floors of this worlds battle field surgeries and usher in an understanding of family that has heavenly origins. We are called, by our baptism to proclaim an end to the hostilities between feuding sisters and brothers over that which was never theirs in the first place. We are called to remember in broken body and flowing blood the price at which Life eternal has been purchased, once and for all.

Some choose to call it a holy war, I prefer to consider it a sacred peace. I live and work for the day that our children and grandchildren view M*A*S*H as a relic of a bygone era, a remnant of world much changed. I pray for a world where children all know their siblings as their best friends and, in so living, embody the Kingdom for which He lived, died, and rose again.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

First Sunday in Lent

(Read Matthew 4:1-11)

Today is a gift of grace from God, it is a respite on the wilderness journey. In the midst of all the competing voices offering all the satisfaction we want, all the security we can imagine, all the power we could ever desire . . . there, in the midst of our journey, is this holy time of faith.

Today is a gift of grace from God, it is all the bread we could ever want.

Today is a gift of grace from God, it is all the security for which we could ever pray.

Today is a gift of grace from God, it is all the world to me in howling of those who desire the world.

Today is a gift of grace from God: receive it. Simply receive it - and give thanks for the gift to the One from whom all things flow.

Church Sign of the week:

Looking for Jesus online

is like taking a cruise on

a screensaver: Neither

is very satisfying.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Announcing the Games

I have the unique privilege of announcing local High School basketball over the public address system in the gymnasium. It is a joy to announce starting line-ups, what player is subbing into the game for whom, who made the shot, who fouled whom, who called time out and for how long, who will be presenting the half-time show, and the list goes on and on. The players and coaches have come to refer to the announcing as their 'home court advantage', since few others of the schools with which we compete provide full game coverage. They also fairly beam when it is their name announced for contributing in a particular way to the flow of the game. "'Calvin Haynes (fictional) for tttthhhrrreeeee . . . and the bruise."

Announcing the games also keeps me from verbally, often quite verbally, assisting the game officials with their calling of the game from the bleachers of the gymnasium. Though nearly always polite, "Are you calling the same game we are watching, sir?" "Would you like for me to schedule your next eye appointment, sir?" "Did you have any idea you were officiating a basketball game and not a boxing match when you arrived, sir?" I confess I do have a tendency to push the envelope of what is socially acceptable at High School basketball games.

Though in my heart of hearts the officials at these games are really silently grateful for the direction which I personally offer in the heat of the contest, I do understand that my example opens the door for everyone else in the gym to be equally polite and helpful, as well, and that just would be too much for any official to bear. So, I have learned to curb my comments by announcing the game, instead of being an amateur official. This allows me to focus on highlighting the positive contributions of the players without having the latitude or appropriate platform to offer constructive criticism to the officials. Oddly enough, my own parishioners have embraced my announcing the games with more enthusiasm than I anticipated - mostly, I think, because now they don't have to explain to their friends and acquaintences that, 'The lunatic in the third row is our pastor, and he is not really like that, but there is something about an orange ball bouncing on the floor and a whistle being blown that unleashs the radical in him.'

Maybe this is what local churches need to do with the folks in the pews who never see the good the pastor or the church is doing in the community: give them a microphone and make them do play by play. Put them on the floor of the contest, in the midst of every coaching decision, living in the sweat of hard work, in the gray-areas of decisions which might determine the outcome of the game. Let them sit at the scorer's table, hearing every taunt the opposing players and their fans have to offer the home team and the officials. Make them say with equal support and joy the names of their opposition as they are brought into the game - and announce their successes in the course of the game in the same manner as they announce the home team's successes. Have them make announcements for upcoming games and assist with arranging for everyone who has a 'special project' to have time to enlist the public's support between quarters and at halftime. Have them do the paperwork which is required to facilitate announcing all of the work of the team and the school in a smooth and concise manner. And, let them do all of that work, and be 'on call' for special events which inevitably occur throughout the year for which an announcer is needed, for free, volunteering their time while others are paid for doing less.

Though most, I suspect, would beg off doing it, citing their 'Moses-like affliction' of being unable to speak to large crowds without stuttering, the few who would accept the challenge might find themselves - and their appreciation for the church - tranformed. Who knows, they might even make the acquaintence of an 'official' or two that, in the past they criticized, and now in a new light, consider becoming at one with them (atonement?), even enlisting in the ranks of leadership?! Only God knows if such a plan might work.

For this avid (rabid?) fan turned announcer, I can only testify to how it has changed my appreciation for the abilities . . . and sometimes inabilities . . . of those who choose to enter the contest and be a part of the game. I am privileged to have a place in the game (in so many ways) and I am even more privileged to announce the places and contributions others make to the game as they exemplify the gifts God places within them to steward. Where are you in the game?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Mustangs

The screensaver on my office computer currently has a picture of an apple red 1970 Ford Mustang Mach I with a vintage WWII P-51 Mustang in the background. What a picture! What a pair!

In 1975 I bought an apple red 1970 Ford Mustang Mach I with a 351 Cleveland and it would flat out fly. The Chief of Police in the town where I grew up was a friend of mine and when I showed him my 'new' acquisition, he walked around it, smiled and said, "Don't ever make me chase you, because I won't be able to catch you . . . but my Motorola will." Message duly noted. I never gave him a reason to chase me and his Motorola never had to catch me but, golly, that car was absolutely one fun, fine ride.

I sold it to another friend of mine in 1979, just a few months before our oldest son was born, because we needed to buy another car which was more 'child friendly'. To this day I wish I would have kept it and just went a little deeper in debt purchasing the second car, but then, 'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.' Today, that car is worth more than I can afford to invest, so I look at one just like it on my screensaver . . . remembering the way things used to be when I had a full head of hair . . . and a Mach I to drive.

Looking at the pictures and fondly remembering that rock-solid ride somehow allows me to forget that the 351 Cleveland engine in that particular Mach I only got 9 miles to the gallon of gas around town. On the road, 'opened up' on the Interstate, the best mileage recorded was 18 miles to the gallon. But, oh did it purr!

Looking at a congregation the way folks often do, remembering the way things used to be, the way the Christian education ministries used to be full of kids, the way people always used to flock to fellowship dinners, the way worship used to be done, is a lot like me looking at a picture of the Mach I on my screensaver: I remember what I want and conveniently overlook what I don't care to remember. A lot of people want to drive the Mach I, but not at current gas prices. A lot of people remember how deeply the throb of a 351 Cleveland sounded going through an overpass, but few want to pay the current additional tax for driving a 'gas guzzler' in today's 'green economy'. A number of people love the feel of a muscle car motoring around a curve and holding the pavement as the miles tick quickly away under the high performance tires, but few really remember the work and expense of keeping the 'high performance' high and the muscle car 'motoring' in the 1970's, when current technology wasn't available and cars seldom 'rolled over' the odometers into the hundreds of thousands of miles. The Mustang Mach I of the 1960's and 70's is an icon of an age and, though a number of people are trying to reclaim their youth by purchasing Ford's retro cars on the current market, at best they buy a dim image of what their hearts really remember about the originals.

And so it is with the church: you can buy want you want to get what you remember but, at best, you will most often have only a dim image of what your heart clings to of the past. We are called to live and proclaim the gospel in a new age - and the church is called to be with people today as Christ is with people of every age. Jesus did not call people to bow under the burden of a bygone era, He called people to live into the Kingdom of God in their current age. The Church of Jesus Christ would be well served to do the same.

Too often the Bible is being used to enslave people to ideologies that, at best, preserve the past. Jesus, the living Gospel among us, opens the current age to God's ongoing work of salvation in this time and place. It is a hard balance to keep up with, but then, it wasn't so easy for Jesus either.

I would love to have my Mach I back, but only as a show car, to remember what once was so much fun to drive - but I am unwilling to go back to it for everyday driving at the expense of my children's and grandchildren's future upon this planet and in God's kingdom. That is simply counter-cultural and counter-productive. God calls us to move forward in faith and steward the resources and gifts of our journey so, for now, I will look at the 1970 Mach I upon my screensaver and remember . . . as I live forward towards God's Gift of Love for all people in the presence and power of God's Son, the Christ of us all, Jesus. He is the Church who offers salvation for all in the future God intends and that is where I want to be.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Technological Reality Check

I have spent the better part of the afternoon working on a worship program which is installed on both my laptop and the office PC, neither of which wanted to cooperate in completing the work. It was absolutely frustrating. I felt like Charlie Brown with his kite stuck in a tree: Aaaauuuggghhhhh! One computer kept 'freezing' while in mid-program, the result of a 'codec problem', the other kept shutting down for God only knows why - and I, the technological 'keeg' (A word I invented meaning, 'The polar opposite of a 'geek'.) had no idea how to remedy the situation. So, I shut one computer down and rebooted, which I think makes me feel better more than it improves the situation, and I am waiting for professional help on the other computer from a certified 'geek'. Aaaaaaauuuuugggggghhhhh!

Yet, it has become a 'God-moment' of its own, for I now have a better understanding of the folks who come to the church in whatever place in life they are, expecting the church (like a computer) to be there, rock-solid, dependable, compassionate, caring, and loving, and always ready to equip them for the work to which they have been called . . . only to find themselves battered by 'commands' they don't understand, staring at the blue hairs of death whose pews they happened to wander into, and wondering if there is anybody 'up there' who really cares whether they live or die . . . because in the way they have been received down here nobody really gives a damn. Now, before you immediately slip a gear defending your particular faith community as being the exception to that statement, let me affirm for you: You are worshipping in the perfect faith community, filled with perfect Christians, and are on the cutting edge of becoming a perfect saint.

I am not. I am a part of the earthly community known as the Church of Jesus Christ which is as imperfect and fallible as the very body in which I reside. On a very, very regular basis we unhook our power cord from God's outlet in the Spirit, believing we can create our own charge if we just manage to build the right structure. We sacrifice God's call for smooth internal operation in Whose we are called to be by allowing a morass of viruses and competing cheap programs to occupy our time. Instead of focusing on God's Word of grace and mercy in Jesus and trusting it to be the Operating System by which our lives are shaped, we sell short our souls to cheap imitations whose unreliability crashes our lives into the rocks of our own stubborness time after time. And the rest of the world is left shaking its head, wondering all the while, "This is their God of Salvation? If this is salvation, I'll wait for the next generation of updates and save myself some heartache."

The hope of the church to which I belong is in the One by Whom we are healed and in Whom we are being perfected, Jesus our Lord: God's Geek Among Us, the Heavenly Tech Support to which we pray. It is He who knows why our lives overheat and our programming freezes up - and it is by His touch that our motherboards are healed. In His hands is our hard drive with capacity beyond our numbering and, with ever expanding capability, our RAM functions quickly and efficiently, complementing the Source from which it was birthed and to which it remains connected, one internal network forevermore. Maybe, just maybe, we will manage to reflect the Goodness of God's Technician when we continually live to fashion our lives as His, when we remember to point the cursor of our prayers towards the 'HELP' button of His gospel living and wait for His response, and when we press forward kindly, gently, warmly, tenderly, faithfully being of assistance to others as He offers assistance to all.

Maybe, in that moment, the 'Aaaaauuuuugggghhhhhh!' of the world will become 'Praise God!' upon the lips of the saved (and everyone knows that is how Jesus defeats the powers of hell: Jesus saves!) as keeg's in the faith become geeks of His faith, reflecting His glory in unending praise. Ah, maybe someday. For today, it is this keeg's silent prayer for the church as I wait for the computer to reboot again.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Change Is In the Wind

The day after Super Tuesday - and the winds of change are blowing across the political landscape. Clinton, Obama, McCain, Huckabee, Romney . . . all speak of change: change in the economic landscape; change in the political arena; change in the health care fields; change in the war in Iraq; change in the way Presidents behave; and change in how the American public is heard. Change. Everybody offers change.

Few offer or promise change in themselves.

The same could probably be said of most of us, though. When we talk of 'things needing to change', very few of us are making reference to how we will change. Talk of change is talk of how you will change, how employers will change, how the government will change, how my lenders will change, how health care providers will change, how my neighbors should change, how my family should change, how my church should change . . . . you get the picture. Change is inevitably desired in every situation, as long as the change is in someone or something other than me. "I don't need to change, but the world around me needs a bit of revamping."

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. For the next 40 days, not including Sundays, the Christian community ponders how God changes to meet our need. Truly, the steadfast love of the Lord never changes, but what does change is how God chooses to meet humanity where it is and transform our living, even change how we are to live in faith. In Jesus' journey towards Jerusalem, God journeys with all of us, face to face, calling us to profoundly understand just how deeply we are loved - and how far God will go that we would fully know are we are known. Jesus' journey to the Jerusalem is a journey of faithfulness to God, a journey of life lived in absolute faith that God's love has power over all things. So fearful are the 'powers that be' of a change in how folks understand themselves and their relationship with God, that the 'powers' crucify the Messenger. What they couldn't crucify, though, is the unchanging love of God for all of humankind, which has absolute authority over even the grave. The empty tomb is sign and seal of God's change transforming our own hard-hearted and stiff-necked living.

Change is in the wind, but not the kind of change politicians, even the most well-meaning among them, can affect. It is the change only the Child of Bethlehem is empowered to announce: the kingdom of heaven has come near. God is with us.

Embrace the Change on this journey to Jerusalem. The Change is for you.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Party-down on Shrove Tuesday

What a hoot! 'Super-Tuesday' of the Primaries falls on Shrove Tuesday: Party-down! Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Green Party, et. al., are all pushing the 'Party' today, all in the hopes of giving their candidate the boost they need to get those all important delegate numbers which will make them the 'electable' candidate. New Orleans could never throw a 'party' like this, with the 'beads' of power, position, and success being waved around to the candidate most likely to . . . . . . . (and, sadly enough, most of them are most likely to do anything).

The paradox of it all isn't lost on even the most simple of folks like me. Yet, this could be one of the most important days in current American history. The outcome of this day has the potential to intimately affect the psyche of the world's understanding of democracy in the midst of a sagging global economy. How well we choose and how well we support those who are chosen reflects, in global terms, on where the average American stands in the workings of their government and what is currently being held as non-negotiable of our values. Today, in the American political arena, is that important.

In the congregations with which I have served, I have steadfastly maintained the mantra, "I do not care how you vote, but I care that you vote. If you do not vote, do not complain. If you do not vote, you have given the outcome, and your voice, over to strangers. If you start talking politics with me, I will ask you if you voted. If you indicate that you have not, I will walk away from your comments. In your indecision, you made a decision for powerlessness - and that is not faithful. Our forebearers sacrificed that we might fully express our faith, our values and our citizenship. We can do no less than honor their sacrifice by participating in this privilege few others in the world so fully enjoy . . . and, in so doing, we underscore our commitment to future generations to guard and protect those same opportunties for them. As my faith guides my conscientous in the voting process, so should yours. Yet, however you come to your decisions, vote. Your voice might be the one voice of sanity that preserves this Union in the days ahead. Vote."

On any given Sunday before an election, those words are spoken during the announcement time. No candidate endorsements, no political party bashing, and no parlaying the pulpit into a media opportunity. Pure and simple, we have an opportunity to vote our faith, however we choose to express that faith, and failing to do so is failing to respect and honor our Christian root. Christ did not die for the United States of America, but He did die and was raised again that all people might have a voice as equal children of the One Living God. Even death does not render us powerless, for God speaks the final word about death from an empty tomb in the Risen Christ. So why submit again to the yoke of slavery, ignorance and apathy? Why submit again to the cruelty of governments which promise a freedom government has no hope of fulfilling unless it is on the very backs, in the very blood, sweat, and tears of those whom government is supposed to serve? "For freedom, Christ has set you free" says the Apostle Paul, as he sought to empower folks to live in the power of being a part of God's coming Kingdom.

The opportunity we uniquely have in shaping the ongoing history of this particular part of the world in the simple and profound act of casting a ballot, of speaking our mind, of articulating our faith, affords us both the luxury and the responsibility of taking a stand as a particular people of God. To do otherwise is paramount to saying there is no God, there is no Savior, and we have no voice. At best it is complacency, at worst, heresey.

Party-down on this Shrove Tuesday as you exercise your freedom and vote, for tomorrow we begin the journey with Jesus towards Jerusalem, where the Romans wait to silence every voice who dares to challenge Caesar's power. As Jesus exemplifies, even one voice can change a world. Let your voice be joined with His as we walk this way in faith.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Foggy Mornings

It was incredibly foggy this morning, the kind of fog that makes people say things like, "You couldn't see your hand in front of your face" and "This reminds me of a hangover I'd rather forget" and "It's so thick, I won't be able to see tomorrow for a week". The wierd thing is, I understand every one of those statements! It was foggy, the result of the 9 inches of snow we received on Friday of last week and a warm front passing over us today raising the temperatures into the 70's, which is not a very healthy combination. Severe thunderstorms are predicted for tonight and tomorrow as the next front gets into position to bring us the chance of more snow tomorrow evening. If you don't like the weather in the St. Louis area, just wait a few hours, it will change!

One thing that remains clear, even on the foggiest of days: The steadfast love of the Lord endures forever (Psalm 136). I am reminded of that truth, rested on its bedrock foundation, as I visited with an old friend seeking consolation this morning. Sometimes our lives have a tendency to become a blur of events, with people parading through like characters playing bit parts in a game of charades, but as I listened to his story, as his eyes both twinkled and teared, as he related his own feelings of grief and hope, I was privileged to observe the holy hand of God embracing his life. Even as he spoke of cross-like feelings, abandonment, pain, sorrow, sacrifice, and isolation, he conveyed it all in the language of empty-tomb understandings, for his words were of wonderment, hope, love, gratitude, graciousness, and peace. He reminded me with the most humbling and powerful of kindnesses, by taking my hands in his and sharing prayer in the midst of his difficult day, the Son of Righteousness shines through in the hearts of those who are open to His love - and in that blaze of glory, there is no need for sun or moon, for the Light of the Lord glistens in all of creation, and all God's creatures say, 'Glory!" For this child of God whose life has been sorely tested, whose eyes see clearly in a world that most others would find painfully, frightfully, foggy . . . for this child of God, the steadfast love of the Lord endures forever and is abundantly 'Enough!' to see him through his pain.

Sometimes, I wish the weather wasn't so foggy, so difficult through which to move, so disorienting in its hold on me, yet, were it not for the fogginess of the occasional mid-winters day, we would not relish the boldness of the sun burning away the clouds of gloom. The steadfast love of the Lord endures forever (Go ahead, read Psalm 136 and ponder on it with the Psalmist!) and the Lord's witnesses in every generation proclaim that gospel, as each has ability. I am grateful to have heard those words anew today in the hands and heart of such a good friend whose life embodies their meaning, even in the foggiest of times . . . and I pray for you such revelations and epiphanies your whole life through.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Moonlight Sonata

Often, as I sit at my computer, there is music playing in my office: classical, rock, blues, ragtime, golden oldies, some Christian groups, and new age are among the genres which most often fill the walls of my 'cave' (there are no windows). Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, though, is one of those selections whose melody I most rely upon in times of grief, conflict, trial and wonderment. The Moonlight Sonata, for me, quiets, challenges, stills, lifts, washes, renews, comforts, eases, and leads to prayer. The romantic in me imagines the process of writing a sonata to the moonlight, bathed in the moonlight, looking into the moonlight, and being birthed in the moonlight. The theologian in me considers the Source of the moonlight and how the light of the moon has played a role in all of God's people throughout history. The philosopher in me ponders the function of the moonlight and how life ebbs and flows according to the amount of moonlight shining in the darkness of humanity's soul. The farmer in me smiles at the very thought of moonlight, noting the number of calves born when the moon is full, the smell of crops being harvested in the light of the moon, the 'voices' of God's creatures crying out in the fullness of the light, and the fear which is harbored when the dark of the moon is all there is to see.

All this because one person listened to his soul and wrote, Moonlight Sonata.

Which makes me wonder what would be written or spoken or prayed if I would just listen to my soul . . . if you would listen to your soul. Maybe that is a part of listening to Moonlight Sonata, as well . . . considering the one who birthed it from the depths of his conviction: What inspired him? What opened his heart to hear what music he composed? What led him to share that composition in the form he did?

In daring to spend time in the simplicity and splendor of such holy work, one is likely to find the root of one's own life, to be touched by the Holy, to be guided by the Mystery, to be comforted by the Grace, to be gifted by the Mercy, and to be used by the Peace of God's own Being. It it risky stuff, if you dare to really listen, to really ponder, to really be filled, to really be emptied, to really be accessible to God.

Beethoven, I think, chose well: He listened to his soul and wrote. I pray my life will be a composition of faithful choices, as well, humbly allowing God's moonlight to flow through it, pointing to the One from whom light emerges that all might find themselves wrapped in Wonder.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don