Anticipation

I want you to imagine for a moment that you are a kid in your parents garden and are just about to pick the first ripe tomato. I want you to imagine picking that tomato which is red, ripe, and succulent, dropping from the vine into the palm of your hand as though it was meant to be there. Then imagine carrying it into the house, into the kitchen, gently running some cool water over it just to wash the remnants of dust from the skin. Then, now get ready for it, imagine bringing it up to your lips, feeling the tomato skin stretched tightly over the delectable contents inside, tasting its flavor without ever even biting it, smelling its wonder just under your nose as, nearer my God to Thee, comes that first bite of heaven's goodness. Then, just as you are ready to receive heaven's goodness as your own, imagine your mom or dad taking that red, ripe, succulent tomato out of your hand as they tell you that you are not old enough to receive of it, that you aren't old enough to understand what sacrifice God has made for you to taste of God's goodness, and that you haven't studied enough to perceive the inherent meaning of really tasting heaven in quite that way. Then imagine being sent out of the kitchen to play in the sandbox, while all the other adults in the neighborhood, including your older brother, who just called you a 'stupid snot' as you exited the kitchen, sat down at the table and divided the tomato you had just about tasted and ate it themselves, silently reminding you how unprepared, unworthy, and unready you were to even be there watching.

Then, tell me how that differs from what we do when we do not allow children to the Table of grace set by Christ.

Jesus says, "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and do not hinder them, for to such as these belong the kingdom of heaven", and, "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me", and, "If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea." Yet, in the name of 'rightly practiced' faith and tradition, many in the church look Jesus in the face and say, 'Not until they are ready by our standards.' Tell me, where does it say in the Gospels that the disciples understood what it was they were doing at that Last Supper? Tell me, where does it say in the Gospels that the Sacrament of Holy Communion is only for those who are ready? And, who among us are ever ready, ever fully understanding, ever spiritually qualified to sit at that Table?

Yet, we treat the youngest among us like second class citizens, like marginalized lepers in the community, like unclean outsiders, offering them a smell and a look at the Table, a blessing of condescending grace, and feed the adult right behind them. Who died and made us lord of the Table?

It is one of the holy mysteries of the Church that I am not sure I will ever understand, but then, I am grateful I belong to a tradition that is not bound to such traditions. I like eating ripe, red, succulent tomatoes with which God has blessed our earth because, when I was a child, I was offered one at the table and in the garden by those who loved me and wanted only the best of God's abundance for me. How can we ever do any less with the holy, sacred nature of the Body of Christ with the children of the Church?

It is certainly something on which to ponder.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Sweet, Sweet Sunshine

Lord, remind me of this May day when the sun was shining so brightly everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Remind me of this day when, in the 100 plus degree heat and 90 percent humidity of August, I cry out to you in the midst of the foul moods such days foster. Remind me of this day when there are no more strawberries to be picked and no more lettuce to be cut. Remind me of this day when the radishes are all pulled up and the roses have no more blooms to share. Remind me of this day . . . that I never forget your steadfast love every day.

I picked a heaping handful of plump red strawberries from our patch this morning, stopped by the big red and pink roses and drew in a delicious breath of air, then pulled a few pulled a few radishes from the garden, before putting up the vine supports along the fence for the watermelons and cucumbers. As much as I have groused about all the rain, the vegetables and flowers seem to have made the most of it, shooting up and sending out early blossoms, being fruitful while there is an ample supply of moisture with which to create fruit. God is good. All the time.

It is a gift we are given, you know, this life we live, and all God asks is that we walk with God in a spirit of thanksgiving. Giving thanks, instead of carping all the time, is the difference between really understanding and worshipping the One from whom all blessings come, and feeling like we have a right and entitlement to only the best of what there is to be offered. It is the difference, I think, between believing there are Third World countries which are underdeveloped, and walking with our Maker in one world where all people are regarded equally and resources are shared equitably. It is one thing to pick a handful of strawberries, take them in, wash them, cut them up, and serve them to your family . . . and quite another to take them in, wash them, take some to a neighbor who has none, then share with your family the bounty of a generous spirit AND wonderful strawberries, feeding two families and God only knows how many souls.

So, God, remind me of this day in late May the next time I forget to stop and count my blessings. Remind me that I never forget the Source of all blessings and continually share them every day. Remind me that I, too, may be a faithful reminder to others who walk this way with me. In Jesus' name.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Praying In The Rain

How many times have I heard it said, "Farmers are never satisfied. It's always either too wet or too dry. It's never 'just right'."? Well, my friends, on the 27th day of May in 2008, more than 12 inches above average rainfall, with few fields in this part of the country planted with anything, and hay crops cut in anticipation of the predicted 'sunny weekend' that was to come this last Memorial Day weekend now laying in water . . . it is too wet. There isn't a farmer who isn't thinking it, and quite a few are saying it, yet not a one utters those words or thinks those thoughts without wondering if the weather will remember how to do any of this come late July and August when the heat of the sun is doing its' worst and whatever crops they are lucky enough to get into the ground will be struggling in the throes of summertime stress. It is, as they say, " . . . the nature of the beast." Farming is a struggle in the best of years, but add to that the huge amounts of rain we have seen in this part of the country, coupled with record high petroleum costs, seed costs, fertilizer costs, and spraying costs, then add to it more than a few of the farmers have contracted a goodly portion of their anticipated Fall 2008 harvest in order to take advantage of the high grain market prices this Spring, I will guarantee you, there is a lot of prayer going on right now. Just like the old saying, "There are no atheists in foxholes or emergency rooms", likewise, there are no atheists among farmers, especially when the tide is, literally, rising. Everybody is praying to Somebody.

More than a few of my folks have chided me about getting on the 'hotline' with the 'Big Fella' and 'saying a good word or two' on their behalf, but something within me already knows that God hears their voices loud and clear . . . and probably a whole lot clearer than God would ever hear my voice praying for them, because they are crying out from the depths of their being and such are the prayers God hears first. The Bible is filled with such stories. Though it is incredibly important for the entire faith community to walk with and pray for anyone who is in distress, it is all the more important for the person in distress to trust God personally with that distress. Faith is a big thing with God. Always has been, always will be.

Some have suggested that God is 'trying them' with this weather. Yet, if you believe that, then you have to also buy into the notion that God is trying the folks in Myanmar, or China, or Iraq, or (you fill in the blank), like it is some sort of Holy Game with God. If that were true, then why send Jesus to show us that, in fact, 'God With Us', Messiah, is with us in everything that is part and parcel of our living? Granted, the wet weather we have been enduring is very trying, but then, so was the dry weather of last year, and the cold snowy weather of last Winter, and the drought in the Plains States, and the fires in the Western States, well, you get the picture. We don't get to pick and choose who gets tried one year and off the hook the next: God's creation is an ongoing, dynamic creation of which we, too, are part. If the weather doesn't behave the way we think it should, maybe it is because the weather is a better indicator of human nature than we would care to acknowledge, so pray for grace and mercy in all things . . . even with the weather.

Most of all, pray. In season and out, pray. Wet year and dry, pray. Good crops and crop failure, pray. Cloudy days and sunny, pray. When you feel most alone and when you are surrounded by those who love you, pray. When you are ready to give up and when nothing could ever stop you, pray. On the tractor in the field or changing the oil while water runs down the gutters, pray.

Maybe the question isn't, "What will God do about this?", but, rather, "How much do you trust God in the midst of this to see you through, no matter what?" You want predictable, get a job on an assembly line. You want to work as a direct partner with God in stewarding the earth and all its untold, unrevealed resources for others, pray. Only the best of friends can trust each other with everything . . . and, I think, God is big enough, true enough, and proven enough a Friend to us all that you can even trust God with your biggest frustrations, doubts and angers. Just don't forget to listen for God's response. Sometimes, it is the still, small Voice that most surprises us when we are waiting for the big dramatic changes. Sometimes, the stone is simply rolled away from the door of the tomb while the world rushes by unaware.

Some say the prayers which are never spoken will not be heard, yet even then, I'm not so sure. God is funny that way: Before a word is spoken, God has heard it and considered its' meaning. So, may God hear the farmers as they cry out in the midst of these waters of tumult. So may God hear us all.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Ava Isabel

"Ava Isabel, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. May God bless and keep you always, Ava Isabel, child of God, disciple of Christ, and member of the Church." This morning in worship I was blessed to say these words while placing water upon the head of our youngest granddaughter - and my soul was moved. Could it be that, as Jesus commissioned the disciples to "Go . . . baptize . . . and teach . . ." (Matt. 28.16ff) he already knew what a powerfully humbling and spiritually lifting sacrament Baptism would be, especially when celebrated in the life of one so close to your heart? Could it be that Jesus foresaw the family connectivity the very act of baptism would inspire in all of humankind? That the sacrament would engender a radically new way of thinking about all of God's people as being of one human family? That, in Christ's simple command, God was opening a window to understanding how intimately and completely God cares for each of us? That as a 'Papa' holds his granddaughter and utters those profoundly moving words of Jesus, that all of us are drawn even closer to God's own feeling of compassion as God's holds us in the palm of God's hands and loves us into new life?

In walking Ava through the congregation and introducing the newest member of the Body of Christ to all of her new brothers and sisters in faith, reminding them how dependent she would be on them to tell her the stories of faith and to walk with her in all of life's celebrations and struggles, the sound of a rushing wind could be heard in my ears. Pentecost all over again. Tongues of fire, the Light of the Spirit, dancing on the heads of all God's people. The Gospel being spoken in the languages of all who were present as I took a light from the Paschal Candle and lit Ava's Baptismal Candle to remind her always of God's Light alive in her life. Her eyes looking trustingly into mine as, in the crook of my arm, grandfather tears sealed what God's Spirit was already doing.

Handing Ava to her mother, Bethany, I looked at her older sister, Cailin, and saw the tears running down her face. Taking the towel used to wipe off some of the excess water from Ava's head at baptism, I offered it to Cailin, who promptly buried her face in it. "Are you going to be alright?", I asked. Handing the towel back to me, Cailin nodded her head and simply said, "I'm just so happy."

And that is exactly how I feel this night, so happy. Happy for the love of God embracing all people in mercy and grace. Happy for our son and daughter-in-law who take seriously their faith and the faith of their children. Happy for the congregation who made their vows of support and care for Ava - and in so doing, reminded themselves of their own baptismal journey. Happy for Nana and Papa who are so incredibly blessed in the many ways God is at work in our family. And, happy for God, for surely God must be slapping God's knee and laughing out loud with the joy that a Parent has when child takes hold of their hand, tightly grasping it as though never to be let go.

This night I pray God's happiness for Ava Isabel, the newest member in the Body of Christ. As God's ongoing history of salvation has been expressed in every generation of humankind, may you, Ava Isabel, always dwell the steadfast love of the Lord, allowing God's Light in you to shine brightly that all the world would come to receive God's grace as you have been so blessed to do. This day, in the wonder of God's mighty Wind, this Papa has seen God's Light all over again. Thanks be to God!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Perseverance

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith . . ." (Heb. 12:1-2a)

The Illinois High School Athletic Association holds the State Track Meet at Eastern Illinois University in Charleston, Illinois, each year. Nancy and I left our home at 6:00 a.m. in order to be in the stands when Ched ran one leg of the 4 X 800 (A team of four runners each run 800 yards, or approximately 1/2 mile, passing a baton between runners). Though they qualified to go to the State Track Meet, Lebanon's team of which Ched is a part did not advance to the Finals, yet, the day was not a total wash out, so to speak. There were five weather delays caused by thunderstorms in the area, resulting in the meet last nearly 3 1/2 hours longer than it should, but throughout the course of the event we were privileged to see some pretty amazing young athletes test their abilities on the field of competition and be witnesses to God's ongoing work.

This got me to thinking about the book of Hebrews and how the author encourages the Christian community to remember that there are always grandstands of supportive people rooting you on in living the faith which is inside you, so get on with it! Quit coming up with every worn out excuse for why you can't do what you have been birthed to do and set your eyes on Jesus that you might persevere in the race you are given to run.

It seems so simple. Yet, in the course of things, someone always manages to make it a competition - and rather than run for the sake of doing what we are birthed to do, we get caught up . . . and often left behind . . . in competing to do better than everyone else what only we ourselves can uniquely do, a fatal compromise of God's vision for us. The author of Hebrews never suggests that Christianity is a competition, rather, living the faith is our very nature. Running the race of faith is our journey. Perseverance is our call to stay focused on our faith and Christ stands at the finish line of our life to receive those who complete the course.

It is not a race against, but a journey towards; not competition, but an event of a lifetime.

The author of Ecclesiastes notes, "Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the skillful; but time and chance happen to them all." (9:11) Today, in the 300 meter High Hurdles, a young man from a nearby community raced from near the back of the pack to lead all the hurdlers as they came into the last two hurdles. He tripped on the last hurdle and fell hard less than six feet from the finish line, allowing the number two person to win. He quickly picked himself up and, literally threw himself across the finish line, doing so in such a rapid motion that he was not the last one of the nine hurdlers to finish the race, yet, neither was he the first. He took his eye off the goal. Maybe he dared to look at the cheering crowd, maybe his ear heard the excited voice of the announcer, maybe he took his eyes off the top of the last hurdle, we will never know, but this we do know: "Time and chance happen to them all."

Listen to Christ and keep your eyes on Him. Run the life you have been given, with all the faith, enthusiasm, courage, and perseverance you have in you . . . letting the outcome in the hands of the One whose hands are scarred in preparing to receive you home. You may trip, you may fall down, it may even hurt when you hit the ground . . . so, tell me, as a disciple of Jesus Christ, what makes you think you should have it any easier than your Master/Coach? Take the offered hand of Jesus and get up, brush yourself off, determine what happened, and strive to move on stronger and more focused towards God's goal before you. Not one of us knows what next might happen to any one of us, so make the most of this moment you have to run the race and run!

All God's saints in heaven and on earth are cheering you on to do what you are birthed to do, so do it . . . and God's Spirit be with you on your way.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Bruce

It is the birthday of my brother, Bruce, and I just hung up from talking with him this morning. He lives in Independence, Kansas, and we live in Lebanon, Illinois, and now, many years after our 'growing up together', we are probably closer and more caring for each other than we ever were when we shared the same room as boys. What is it that gives us the capacity to see the members of our family more clearly at a couple of hundred miles of distance than when they sat shoulder to shoulder with us at the kitchen table? What is it that time clarifies and distance focuses?

Bruce, the youngest of four boys, was always the one who loved electronics. Mom and Dad purchased a Radio Shack 'do-it-yourself' radio kit for him one year and the rest is history. He flourishes in his work with Garmin at the Cessna Airplane Corporation in Independence and has become so skilled in what he does that he often has the opportunity to teach others how to do it. And I am incredibly proud of my 'little brother' . . . .

There is an old German saying, "Too soon old, too late smart." which is a painfully accurate paradigm for many of the relationships we have in this life. Too soon we reach an age where we look around ready celebrate life with the ones who mean the most to us . . . and too soon we realize that the ones by whom we are surrounded are not the ones who mean the most to us. The most intimate and meaningful of family relationships are often sacrificed on the altars of 'Making It On My Own', 'Getting Away From This Place', and 'Success Will Never Happen Here', and, when all is said and done, years and miles have accomplished much more than we anticipated they would and we are left with the hollowness of occasional visits and birthday telephone calls. Oddly enough, for many, it is just like their relationship with God and their sporadic Sunday visits with their Creator . . . . leaving us to wonder if remediation and healing will ever be possible.

The presence of Christ gives us hope. Across the miles and years, God extends God's hand of love to embrace our directions and bridge the chasm of self-perceived unforgiveability. In the power of the Holy Spirit, God applies the twin balms of mercy and grace to our broken lives and, like the father of the Prodigal Son, welcomes us back into the home where, really, in God's heart, we have never, ever left.

I love Bruce more today than he knows . . . and am so proud that he is my brother. Miles and years have clarified how much more I need him in my life than he needs me, which could be said of each of my brothers, and that is very humbling. Yet, isn't that the point? Too soon we get old and, just as the notion begins to pierce our thick skulls that we need family, too late we get smart and realize family is no longer close at hand . . . . and we stand at the end of the road looking across the fields at the home of our childhood wondering if ever we can return.

Thanks, Bruce, for taking my call this morning and I do truly pray you a very happy birthday. You may never be as old as me, but I pray you are many times smarter than me long before you become my age. I am blessed that you and I are family, no matter where age and life leads us.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Church Signs

The congregation with which I am blessed to be in ministry made an intentional move to proclaim the Gospel to the masses driving by our facility every day by installing a 'Church Sign' near the highway about ten years ago. Thousands of folks drive by our sign every day and every week I strive to share a unique theological perspective on the world. Sometimes the sign messages are better than others, but seldom are they ever a copy of another sign. In my heart, using a Church Sign message that others have seen or read in a book or heard from someone else is akin to standing at the pulpit on Sunday morning and reading some other Pastor's sermon: at best, plagiarism, and at worst, unfaithful. Using the messages of others without even attempting to discern God's word for this place, time and context, is limiting the power of God to be relevant in the lives with whom I am called to serve.

So, this morning, I changed the sign for the week to come and, more poignantly, for the weekend at hand, which is Memorial Day weekend. The sign this week reads,

BEFORE CAMPING, COOKING

& BOATING, THANK GOD FOR

THE VETERANS WHOSE LIVES

HAVE MADE IT ALL POSSIBLE

Nothing flashy, nothing particularly catchy, and nothing new in the heavens above or the earth beneath, but original to the thousands who will, in the days ahead, parade their campers, RV's, boats, and weekend outing supplies past the worship home of our congregation on their way to Carlyle Lake to 'celebrate' a long weekend. Being grateful to God is not a new perspective but, for many who drive by, it will be the only invitation to remember 'why' we have a long weekend that they will hear . . . . and, for many more, it will be one of the few invitations to prayer they will hear at all. If half of those who go by read it, and half of those think about it, and half of those do it, then there will still be a thousand or two prayers of thanksgiving offered to God for those who have left their giftedness and talents on the battlefields of the world that, in freedom, we might go where we want, do what we want, and say what we want . . . . even blog what we want.

Their ongoing sacrifice is not lost on me as I write these few words a day. Among those for whom I continue to give thanks to God for their service are the members of the congregation I serve who continue to serve here and abroad for the liberties we enjoy. Freedom and liberty are not entitlements, either from God or from man, they are gifts whose purchase continues to be paid by those who believe the cost is worth the investment. Wonder as I might about how that investment is being appreciated by the millions whose presence on this earth reflects a greater degree of amnesia regarding the history into which they are born, than an appreciation of the environment which they enjoy at the cost of others, still, when I think of it from God's viewpoint, whom among us can ever fully appreciate the freedom into which we have been born through Christ?

So, the struggle continues and sign writers try to be clever while God just prays we notice. "For freedom, Christ has set you free . . . ." yet, the powers and principalities demand on earth a blood payment in every generation for that which is truly heavenly. Thank God, once and for all, Christ sets us free, a gift we should never forget, even as we remember those of this age who embody that sacrifice anew.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Opening the Soil

I spent an hour or so opening the soil of the garden to air. Strange as it may seem, the plants were having a hard time getting started because the soil was so compacted. Four inches of rain last week, followed by another inch and seven tenths, conspired to pound the surface of the garden so hard that to walk on it yesterday was like walking on a sidewalk. Solid.

No wonder the plants were of a lime green hue and 'scraggly-looking', and no wonder the leaves were starting to take on that 'curled' look: The roots couldn't breathe. The area where the garden is now located has been, since 1970 when the parsonage was built, a difficult place to grow grass because so much of the soil was 'fill' soil, lacking humus and nutrients. There is no tilth in the soil and anything attempting to find life in that area, first has to fight the compacting nature of the soil itself in order to establish a root system.

So, I spent an hour or so spading the paths between the rows, not 'turning over' the soil, just stepping the spade down as far as it would go, then pulling it straight back up. Every couple of inches, from side to side in the pathways, the blade of the spade made an incision into the water packed soil, opening the environment of the root systems to breathe and allowing the moisture to continue its movement downward. By this morning the plants were already a dark green and the leaves had begun to open up to the sunshine. It is amazing what happens to life when compacted soil is opened up, which is really not so much unlike our own lives.

Often beaten down by the expectations of our commercialized world, told that the way we look and the clothes we wear aren't up-to-date, that the cars we drive reflect the type of person we will become, that the measure of 'success' is always a goal beyond our reach unless we have just the right cell phone carrier to carry our message to those unreachable places, that our relationships will never thrive unless we are 6' 3" tall and weigh just under 175 and have the physique of a model and the personality of a cardboard box, that no matter how high we strive to go the government stands ready to assist - if we will only pay just a little bit more in taxes to help those who have no goals at all, that personal responsibility is always someone else's issue, and that no one will watch out for number one unless you are the one to make you number one . . . is it a wonder that so many struggle to survive, much less thrive? Everyday living becomes a challenge and, what otherwise should be a simple straightforward process, becomes an exercise in futility: God's law of grace and mercy seemingly overtaken by Murphy's law of inevitability (whatever can go wrong, will, and it will happen to you).

Yet, it is precisely into that moment, exactly into that most compacted place in our lives, that God steps into our struggle in Jesus. Moment after moment, day after day, life by life, Jesus opens the most tightly compressed spaces of our living to the wind of the Spirit that new life might enter. The root of our existence is exposed to the creative breath of God and life seeps in as death's door is thrown open.

Odd, how a few moments spent in the garden with a spade allows for a new vision of God, but then, isn't that God's spade at work in the tight places of my life as well? I think so, and for God's care and time I am grateful.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Sacred Are the Days

Yesterday I officiated the funeral, rather, a Celebration of Life, of one far too young to die. Today I celebrated the Holy Covenant of Marriage in the lives of two who are beginning their journey together later in life than most. Tomorrow I will lead the congregation in celebrating the Sacrament of Holy Baptism in the life of one whose first few months on this earth have been wonderfully joyful.

I was asked this evening, "How do you do it? How do you manage the shifts in emotion and intensity?", which are excellent questions except that they are directed to the wrong party. These are the questions which need to be asked of the entire faith community for, truth be told, what happens to one in the faith family happens to all and, in all three of these 'celebrations', the entire faith family will be present either physically or spiritually in prayer and, in many cases they will be doing both. This is the sacred journey of those who dare to call themselves 'Christian', for sacred are the days on this earth which we have to walk in the footsteps of Christ and many are the lives which call out to God for a presence and healing. It is the Christian community's privilege to 'be with', as Christ is 'God With Us', as sisters and brothers of every age, race, ethnicity, educational level and economic bearing, cry out under the burdens of whatever the latest Pharaohs are which are plaguing their lives.

As the hungry call out for food, so the spiritually starving call out for God. As the thirsty call out for drink, so the marginalized call out for the waters of God's sweet, sweet Spirit. As grief fills the days of those who dare to care, so the mourning find their cries quieted in the Redeemer's embrace. As the ill have their fevers cooled and their lives attended, so God's Love washes us in mercy and grace and revives our fainting hope.

In the wonder and power of all that is the best in being a community of faith, there is the Presence of God touching the woundedness of our existence and offering a healing and recovery that smacks of empty-tomb amazement. This is the sacredness of all that we are sharing in these days of emotional and spiritual challenge and this is the Gospel we are called to proclaim as the faith family embraces the 'unembraceable other' in holy compassion.

Really, the Pastors are the lucky ones, for they are the ones called of God and privileged to observe God doing what no mortal could imagine as the celebrations of life are shared at whatever juncture they occur. Pastors may carp and complain about all that they have on their plate, but of all they have on their plate, it all pales in the face of the One who, from the Table of Sacrifice and Victory, extends the plate of Body and the cup of Blood and prays, "That they may all be one."

Thank you, God, for the sacredness of these days and the humbling moments of service which refresh our understanding of Who is truly at work in the hearts of those which call out to You.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Each of Our Children

Last night Ched, our youngest, reminded me how blessed we are that each of our children are unique, loving, gifts of God.

I grew up the third of four boys, always having to hear how well my older brothers did in school, how well behaved they were in church, how talented they were in singing, and how hard working they were on the farm. Now, looking back, I can only wonder how much harder it was for my younger brother, Bruce, as he had the additional burden of a third brother, me, in the equation. Though I doubt that any one of our friends, teachers, or relatives meant anything burdensome to come out of their comments, still, it often felt like I was growing up in the long shadows of my much more admirable brothers. Being the tallest of the boys did not figure in the diminutive scaling of abilities which seemed always to plague my efforts at individuality and I promised myself that I would never allow that to happen to any of the children blessed to my care.

Though I cannot guarantee that Ched hasn't had the same yoke thrust upon his shoulders, being the youngest of three and all three having gone through the same school system, still, he has managed to express his God given individuality and wonder in the choices he is making and the ways he is maturing. I was reminded of that last night as he walked across the gymnasium floor to receive the Sophomore Student of the Year Award. He is coming into his own on his own terms and others, peers and teachers alike, are affirming his choices.

All three of our boys are gifts of God and each of them is blessed differently. I am humbly proud of each and give thanks to God for allowing me to share some time with them on the journey of their growing into God's vision for them. Though all three are very different individuals, all three are also very much the same in their priority to family, their passion to excel, in their enjoyment of all things wondrous, in their care for others, and in their faith in God. Some of all of that, I hope, comes from the environment in which they grew up, but I am not so arrogantly wired as not to understand that much of it is who they are choosing to become. They are the emerging product of their Creator's vision . . . and Ched the soccer player, Ched the runner on the track team, Ched the studier, Ched the trumpet and tuba player, Ched the Model United Nations member, Ched the Saturday Scholar member, Ched the musical cast member, Ched the National Honor Society member, Ched the Bell Choir member, Ched the Senior High Youth member, Ched the Eagle Scout, Ched the friend, Ched the disciple of Christ, Ched the son . . . . Ched is expanding the Creator's vision in the way only he is able.

When most he might have been shadowed by his brothers, he is choosing to stand in the Son with them. When most he might have been burdened by their legacy, he is choosing to join in the Harmony of their voices. When most he might have been bitter about being last, he allows the Spirit within him to say how best he is the original in God's eyes. He is becoming his own person in the grace of the One who continues to breathe new life into us all . . . and I am awestruck at the sight.

Lest you think I see our sons only with rose colored glasses, I must confess that our children, like most others, see and create their own share of havoc. It is, as my mother always prophesied, "God's way of bringing things full circle." Yet, as I pray my life is not defined by others in the mistakes I have made, so I pray the individual giftedness our children is remembered long after their errors have been forgiven and forgotten. As I pray for myself, so I pray for them and us all: that God's grace lingers in our memory long after our memory has entered into God's grace. Thank you, Ched, for being who you are and who you are becoming, and thank you, too, for allowing me to share the journey with you in love.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Church Sign of the Week:

THINK ABOUT HUNGER,

THEN TELL US AGAIN WHY

A FARM IS WORTH MORE

AS A SUBDIVISION.

Signs of God's Grace

It never ceases to amaze me the number of folks who feel it is their 'duty' to keep me up to date with the 'good Christian work' which needs my attention: the deaths, the separations, the arguments, the drinking, the drugs, the cheating, the bad business deals, the sick, the dying, those who are sick of others, and those who wish their lives away. It is all there, in the midst of the rotating door of a Pastor's Office, in oft felt genuine concern and in the occasional need to be in the middle of the juicy gossip, there is the conversation everyone trusts me to keep confidential, otherwise known as the 'good Christian work' of the Pastor.

Sometimes, it makes it very difficult to see the obvious signs of God's grace abounding in our world and, sometimes, it makes it downright impossible. Which leads me to wonder when the last time was that someone stopped by my office or called me on the telephone just to let me know that they had just quietly observed a spectacular sunset, or that a neighbor had just blessed them with some particular kindness, or that they had received a glowing report from the doctor, or that their children are wonderfully adjusted even in spite of their busy schedules, or that the person they had married some years ago just told them how much more in love they were, or . . . well, you get the idea. Those are the conversations to which a Pastor is seldom privileged, because that kind of news just isn't as juicy. Or, is it?

God makes me stop in my tracks with a bright dawning morning and my awe is incomprehensible. God makes me blush with wonder at the sight of newly emerging plants bursting forth from the soil. God makes me giggle in joy at the sound of geese flying in formation far above the earth moving in their annual migrations. God brings my hands together in a prayer of thanksgiving in the simple gift of family gathered around the table sharing stories and laughter in daily travels. God fills my heart with good news when a doctors report is negative and health is being restored. God affirms the faith in my soul when my wife tenderly takes my hand in the midst of the crush of humanity and reminds me I am not alone. To me, this is the juiciest of news, the most insightful of moments, the depths of God's heart being made public.

It is a telling truth when television news broadcasters pat themselves on the back for sharing one bit of good news in the midst of an hours worth of sadness and oppression. It is a revealing notion that the consuming public would rather hear of the salable bad news which will worry them through the night-time of their living, rather than be uplifted for the daytime of their life. It is a moment to mull in my life when, in the moment of receiving some bit of difficult news, I am ready to drop everything else to go attend to the issue . . . . and when receiving some bit of good news, I will continue what it was I was doing until it is done before I do anything in response. Which makes me wonder who is conditioning whom?

Maybe if Pastors were more attentive to the signs of God's grace so, too, would be the people. Maybe we both need to remind each other of that which is subtly, yet powerfully important for our spiritual health. It shouldn't be lost on any of us that the only ones noted as being present for the birth of Christ were some shepherds and Wise Men, yet when He was crucified the whole city showed up to watch. Hmmmmmm.

It is something on which to ponder.

Watching for signs of God's grace,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Myanmar, China, Missouri: Common Ground

As of this morning's news, Myanmar continues to count the dead with the numbers already exceeding 28,000 even as the world waits to assist with the living, China's Sichuan province and extended territories are digging out from the effects of a 7.8 earthquake, sorting through the rubble of schools and hospitals, unsure of the total casualties and injured, as Seneca, Missouri, sorts through the remnants of a tornado that left at least 22 dead and many more severely injured. In taking in all of the related information on each of these world events, it made me wonder how God does it: how God can listen to the voices of all God's children in all these places in all these catastrophes; how God can respond to every prayer and every petition; how God can reach out in tenderness to the mourning while those seeking healing cry out in a loud voice still; how God strengthens the rescuer and gives peace to the caregiver; and, how God does it everyday.

I am hearkened back to the words of Exodus in the Hebrew scriptures as God speaks to Moses at the site of the burning bush with the words, "I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them . . . ." (Ex. 3.7-8a) The God we worship, the God of all creation, is not a God removed, but a God present, a God in the midst of our shared experience. What transpires in Egypt does not stay in Egypt, any more than what transpires in Vegas stays in Vegas: God observes, God hears, God responds. This cannot be lost on any of us today.

In the same way that the Egyptians had a choice in how to treat the resident alien among them, whether to enslave or to embrace, to execute justice or to execute for just us, to extend or withhold mercy, so the world community is in the position of expressing God's care and compassion in every situation. What happens in Myanmar happens to my sisters and brothers. What happens in Sichuan province happens to my sisters and brothers. What happens in Seneca, Missouri, happens to my sisters and brothers. Regardless of geographical boundaries, governmental figureheads, and physical and financial limitations, you and I are the hands of faith reaching out in healing, the balm in Gilead if you will, to our extended family in need, wherever they may be. It isn't some sort of test that God has devised to see how we will respond, it is the course of nature and our journey on this earth together . . . and we have the free will whether to pray or be silent, to extend assistance or withhold mercy, to love in spite of differences or to spite the differences with apathy. It is a faith choice whether or not we will live on common ground or die in our separate certainties.

God has already announced God's Good News in being present for those who are the most marginalized, the deepest in pain, the farthest from home, now it is ours as to how to live that Good News. God hears every cry and our ears hurt with the sound of all the voices. God sees the pain and we are tempted to avert our eyes in horror from the sight. Yet, God's community will only be built when life reaches out to life, transcending every barrier and living every prayer.

It is easy to wonder how God does it, for that makes everything God's issue, God's responsibility, God's worry. The more difficult question might be in whether we fully believe that God is God of all humankind. For, if that is what we truly believe, what answer will we give when asked why we did not share when others were in need. Truth be told, tomorrow may be our turn to cry out and what will be our hope then?

It is something to think about when pondering what God is doing in the midst of that which is both good and difficult in life. As Christ teaches: God is already giving God's answer, the question is not of how God responds, but how we choose to be in God in our response.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Remembering Mom

This is one of those days that I could really use a 'Mommy hug'. You know the kind of which I speak: It is the hug that warms you when you stayed outside so long you can't feel your fingers; It is the hug that comforts you when your beloved pet dies; It is the hug that protects you from the taunts of siblings; It is the hug that reminds you how unconditionally loved you are; It is the hug that heals anything that might ail you, including scraped knees and elbows; It is the hug that sees you out the door with the words, 'Have a good day', as you first go to school, and it is the hug that welcomes you in the door when time and others have moved you beyond the walls of her safety; It is the hug that assures you when others are questioning your direction; It is the hug that strengthens you when you take on that new challenge; It is the hug that reminds you that 'there is no place like home'; It is the hug that sends you out with confidence to start your own home; It is the hug which began long before you were ever birthed into this world; It is the hug of umbilical knowing that embraces you with compassion in the tough days of growing up; It is the hug that wraps you in truth; It is the hug that demands the truth from you; It is the hug that dries your tears; It is the hug that lets the tears flow in peace; It is the hug that only a mother can offer and it is the hug which makes the world a better place.

Preparing for this coming Sunday's Pentecost Sunday Worship, with a Service of Word and Sacrament and Rite of Confirmation, the fact that it is Mother's Day is not lost on me. I miss my 'Mommy hugs'.

I have been blessed with rich memories of a wonderful Mother whose life is as vibrant in my heart today as it was in the moments she gathered me into her arms at every turn and, for that reason, not only on Mother's Day but, on every day, I give thanks to God for sharing her wonder with our world. I am convinced that such blessings are directly from God, whether we receive them from the one who carried and birthed us or from another who was/is to us as a mother, it is God who sets the example of nurture before those who are 'motherly'. In the ways we are embraced by those who are mother to us, we are vividly reminded of our connection to God, who has labored and birthed us in the birth waters of Baptism, who sets the Table by which we are fed, and who wraps strength and tenderness around all our days in the wisdom of One who both knows and understands what it means to have all of humanity suckle for that which gives Life. We are blessed by a Mothering God in those whose mothering reflects an intimate embracing of who God is in whom they are becoming.

I see it in my wife, the mother of our three children and grandmother to two, even as I saw it in her mother before her: Mothering is not an accident, it is the accumulated intuition and active participation in all that is God. Those who aspire to be something more than 'the old lady' in their children's lives are the ones who walk with God with a high regard and respect for who God is. Our mother's knew it and now Nancy lives it and, therein, is the grandest gift: As much as I miss my 'Mommy hugs', I am blessed to receive one every time I think of her, every time I remember her blessedness, every time I see it embodied in my own wife and her tenderness towards our children, and every time it is lived in the mothering of Bethany . . . who is teaching it to our granddaughters: A 'Mommy hug' is best remembered when it is passed on in love.

Thanks Mom, for all the 'Mommy hugs' and all the lessons of love that you shared by who you were and are for me still. Thank you for making God so real and, God, thank you for making Mom so much like You. In the gift of a loving wife who is a awesome Mom, God you pass the gift on to those who are yet to come. I see it in her eyes and feel it in her arms. May Your gift of blessed 'Mommy hugs' flow through every generation.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Science Class

All this work on the farm lately has gotten me to thinking about the science of modern day agriculture . . . and of what science must have been like in Jesus' day. On the other hand, how would you have liked to have been in science class with Jesus? How hard must that have been? What science project could you have done that would have competed with Jesus doing, "The Hydroponic Dimensions of Dividing the Red Sea", or "The Case for Elongated Necks: Defending the Creation of the Giraffe", or maybe the ever popular, "Redefining Life in Light of Death's Defeat in Resurrection: Lazarus, An Ongoing Project"? And we are so proud of ourselves when we genetically modify a seed to make it drought resistant. Who is it that has power over the drought and the rain? You got it, the kid in the back of the class whose mother thinks He is a prodigy: Jesus. And, what kind of a 'Teacher's Pet' do you think He was . . . inviting the instructor home for dinner just to show how sight can be restored to a blind man by mixing spit and dirt together and rolling it up in your hand and pressing it into his eye sockets?

Just where do scientists believe the very art of their discipline originated? While they are arguing over Big Bang and Evolution, God is at work designing and birthing a star. While they are patting themselves on the back for the creation and launching of a telescope that can 'see' beyond our galaxy, God births skill and surgical giftedness which affords the blind to see and the deaf to hear. While scientists balance the genetic arguments of cloning, God is at work making millions of originals which each are uniquely distinctive.

What is hard core, test and proof, scientific study and research to humanity today is, to God, yesterday's considerations. Science is humanity's way of beginning to approach the 'how' of God's 'been there and done that'. Science is our avenue to understanding, not an end in itself, which might explain why one of my favorite "Far Side" comics is that of God as a scientific 'chef', with the world in a sauce pan and a beaker posed in God's hand, ready to pour into the pan an ingredient which is labeled, 'Jerks', and the caption reads, "Just to make it interesting." The trick, I think, is in being an observer to the process and not the ingredient in the beaker.

Science on the farm today begins with a humble appreciation of the One who gives the soil, the rain, the sunshine, and the seed. 'Hard Science' is rooted in the awe of knowing that anything we might conceive of doing to 'improve' the genetics, messes with the intent of the original and, as scientific theory holds, 'For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.'

I am grateful for all that science does in advancing food sources, medicines, and life itself, I just pray that we do not get so caught up in being God that we forget who God dynamically continues to be . . . and the equal and opposite reaction to our actions destroy the good which has been achieved. Thus, the best personal quality any scientist might hope to embody is that of the One who is the original Scientist: humility. Humility says, "Good" when looking over all creation at its' completion. So when will 'Good' ever be good enough for us? God only knows.

In all that is God's science for you, I remain

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Life At An Angle

The first time over a field in the Springtime, especially since we haven't moldboard plowed for ages, is usually at an angle. Working a field at an angle, whether with a disc, a heavy field cultivator, or chisel plow, opens the ground in a new way and reduces drive wheel compaction from working a field the same way every time you drive across it. Working a field at an angle is also helpful in allowing the water paths which occur throughout the year to find new ways of flowing, reducing erosion and increasing percolation of the rains which (hopefully) will follow. One side benefit that few farmers will publicly acknowledge is that working the fields at an angle is an effective way to reduce 'end of winter waistline bulges' which have grown in direct proportion to the number of months since last the farmer was in the field . . . but, that is topic for another day. Suffice it to say, working fields at an angle the first time over them in the Spring isn't always the easiest thing to do: It is not easy to 'draw a straight line' from one end of the field to the other when you are doing it at an angle (and you know that every other farmer that drives by is keeping mental tabs on how well it is done); and, if you are working at an opposite angle to the angle with which you worked the ground for the last time in the Fall, what the 'up and down' of the tractor doesn't do to you from one end to the other, the 'side to side' will. Working fields at an angle is not for the feint of heart.

Yet, that is exactly what Jesus did in His ministry: He worked the fields at an angle. He observed how faith had been compacted by religion, with heavy burdens being driven over it the same old way year after year until those who were called of God to care for the human family became so stiff-necked they couldn't even begin to imagine doing anything different, regardless of the vision or the benefit. Jesus saw the erosion of hope, the washed away mercy, and the windblown barrenness of unoffered grace, all wearing away the very soul of the people God's love was sent to save. The big waistedness of those who consumed the good the land had to offer at the expense of those whose labors fed the presumed landlords of the Temple did not miss His eyes either. Jesus saw all, then He put His hand to the task and turned God's community in a different direction: He worked the fields at an angle; He invited the people to an alternative vision; He stewarded the planting with a new determination. He regarded His work as holy . . . and the ground He walked, and the people with whom He journeyed, as sacred. His words aerated the soil of belief. His touch opened the hearts of God's children that the Spirit could percolate and nourish. His care for creation changed the landscape of the human endeavor for life abundant. His life, death, and resurrection charted the course of a new way of working the fields, from one end to the other, regardless of the ride on the way.

I am grateful for Jesus the Farmer, the Steward of human faith and community. The Church would be well served to listen, even today, for the lessons He teaches calls us to work the fields at an angle: Not just for the sake of being different, but for His sake to be dynamically transformative in doing God's will wherever we are. It is who He is and it is who His disciples are striving to become in His grace. Thanks be to God for Life at an angle.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Moving Day

Today Raymond is moving out of our home. He and his fiance, Kara, have purchased a home not far from here and a truck has been rented to transport his accumulated possessions to their new setting. For those of you keeping track of such things, Raymond is moving in now and Kara will move in after they are married.

Nancy and I have been through this before when Matthew married Bethany. We have loaded up all of the boxes, moved them into a new residence, provided the tools used for hanging pictures and assembling the various pieces of furniture . . . you know the drill. Yet, each move is different. Between Matthew and Raymond, Nancy and I have participated in nearly twenty different moves already, most of which were to dorms rooms on college campuses. But, when the move is made to a 'residence' other than our own home, there is a deep stirring of permanency which gives a parent reason to pause and try to lock 'final things' in time.

I walked into Raymond's packed-up room last evening and smiled at all the exposed plaque and picture hangers on the walls. Though I have never counted them, there are in the neighborhood of thirty hangers around the room which displayed his Student of the Year plaques, advertisements from the High School musicals he was a part of, various music and athletic awards, and pictures from homecomings and proms throughout the years. His older brother has long referred to the room as 'Raymond's Shrine' and, whether that is accurate or not, it is a recording of a little over two decades of living.

Odd thing though, as I stood there last night looking at all the empty hangers naked to the world on the wall, it was as if I could still see all the pictures and plaques still there. Even removed from sight and boxed for the move, those moments in time recorded for prosperity still were present and accounted for in the order in which they occurred. Maybe moving out isn't the same as leaving . . . and, now that I think of it, the same is true of Matt's rooms in our home: though year's have passed since he moved out to begin his life with Bethany, in this parent's mind and heart, the collage of his life under our roof and in our care are still carefully preserved in the places of this parent's love.

Maybe that is the way it is with God and all God's children. We are born into God's household, grow up in God's care, achieve in whatever ways we are gifted, and hang the testimonies to our journey and explorations upon the walls of God's heart. Then, when we believe ourselves ready, we declare ourselves independent and move out into the world to make our own way, not understanding until much, much later that, no matter where we move or how far we believe ourselves to have gone, we are still very intimately bound in love and tenderness in the heart and soul of the One who has birthed us from the beginning of time. The remnants of our life are still hanging in the living memory of God's mind as God savors those moments when closely we walked together. Like the return of the Prodigal Son, that is what makes the love of a parent and the lives of their children so poignant: When lived out in the fullness of love, it makes no difference how far the wanderings or what the events, we always have a place and time to which to return, for in the Parent's heart we will never ever have departed. We are always in God's love.

Today we pack up Raymond's belongings, even as we tightly clutch to the spirit of his love and laughter which will always abide in our hearts. Though our children may move out of our home, they can never leave the depths of our soul, for as surely as we are in the Spirit of the One who has given us life, so our children will never go so far that they are beyond the embrace of our care and love. Like his brother before him, Raymond will find his way and, in God's Presence, will live the wonder of what God has in store for him . . . . and, like his brother before him, he will leave our home, but he can never leave our hearts.

Thanks be to God for the simple gift of a parent's life for there is so much to be learned, so much to be celebrated, each step of the way. It is, as 'The Lion King' aptly pronounces, "The circle of life." May God's Circle guard and guide our children wherever the Spirit leads them that they, too, may in their own time stand in the doorway of their children's lives and ponder the sacred understandings of what it means to let them leave, but never let them go.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Grease On My Hands

I have had the incredible pleasure of spending the last two days working at the Wagner farm. The ground has been working well and the planting has begun . . . finally. For me, this is Sabbath time: Time with God and time for my spirit to be renewed. Sixty and seventy hour weeks in ministry with few days or hours off over the course of the last four months now have given way to a few moments tending to the soil, to the equipment required to till the soil, and to my soul which is rooted in this Southern Illinois soil. I can tell, because I have grease on my hands.

Funny how things change the older one becomes. It used to be that I kept my hands in my pockets around the more 'edumacated' people because my hands were a dead give-away that I was a dairy farmer: There was grease and dirt in the lines of my hands that just wouldn't go away, regardless of the number of times I scrubbed them. Even though my hands were 'washed', along with the udder of every cow I prepped, still the grime of farming was a part of my identity and that grime could not be washed away. When I shook hands with folks who were the 'professionals' among those with whom we were acquainted, I was terribly self-conscious of my hands, they always told the story of what I did for a living.

Nearly thirty years later and having become one of those 'edumacated' people that so used to intimidate me, I feel myself blessed when there is grease on my hands, for it means that I have been engaged in the sacred rites of farming and/or manual labor. Some might say such a change in attitude comes with growing older, I say it comes with the twinge of maturity that reminds all of us that, too soon, we are anxious to give up those things which, often too late, we come to really value and cherish. Now I have a better understanding of and respect for those whose hands are rough and calloused, grime worn and chapped, for those are the ones whose labors are bound in the sweat of working with God, side by side . . . those are the ones upon whose labors our world depends, more than the world would ever know. More than the world could ever know.

On Sunday morning, as the elements of bread and wine are lifted up with grease marked hands and the prayers of consecration are spoken, I will be thinking of Jesus with his grime covered carpenter hands. I will be remembering them nailed to a cross of our cruelty upon the order of those whose hands seldom saw the grime of everyday labors. I will be remembering those calloused hands bleeding as his lips uttered, "Father, forgive them . . . ", as even in their prone position fastened upon the wooden altar of the cross they pronounce a final heavenly benediction. I will remember . . . and give thanks for the humble opportunity to join my hands with His in earthly labors that heavenly Good News might be shared with all.

And when the liturgy is complete, the last hymn sung and the Postlude is played, I will extend my grease marked hands to embrace the life and contributions of others hands as the faith family slowly leaves our worship home. Counting my blessings far differently today, I take my place as a servant of the One who hands were darkened from labor and strong in redemptive love, giving thanks to God for the Sabbath time which has so shaped my heart and soul . . . and allowed my hands to so resemble His.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don