In the Days of Life

In the days of life between here and There
God’s love has guided the way,
Held always by Heaven’s Spirit
Every night is lived as day.
We cannot imagine our world
Outside the salvation history of God,
For before we were, God was,
And after we will be, there still is God.
Human life arrives and passes away,
Kingdoms totter and fall,
Armies ride into yet another battle
And come face to face with a wall:
The one enemy they cannot conquer
Is, in fact, the one that limits them,
Death holds it sway in a mortal world
Severing mother from child like a limb.
Yet, all of Pharaoh’s armies
And all of Caesar’s men,
Proved what God knew from the beginning,
The tomb shall be empty in Him. DCW

It Never Ceases to Amaze

It never ceases to amaze . . .
The time we give to celebrating a holiday,
While limiting the Child to the margins of our minutes;
The generosity we pour into cash registers,
And the poverty we display at the Stable;
The miles we will travel to see lights that fail,
And the Light which continues to shine in our darkness of soul.
Thanks be to God
Whose Gift of Love
Comes for the least among us
In spite of us. DCW

Thinking of Advent

“Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
Matthew 25.13 NRSV
As a child, I never thought it odd that Santa Claus came to our home on Christmas Eve while we were attending services at church. The Wagner Farm in rural Southern Illinois, just like all the other homes around us (I was sure), was early on Santa’s route. With all the flying around the earth that Santa had to do and with all of the homes into which he had to take gifts, I was just glad that we were early on his schedule and not late: I just couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up with no gifts under the tree, waiting to see when and if Santa would show up! Santa’s ‘early’ arrival at the Wagner home was a blessing for which I have always been grateful, because it saved me having to grow up as an anxious child. I know it is hard to believe, yet, there it is: Some semblance of sanity is granted for a lifetime when the things for which you so wait and long for to happen as a child arrive early and, thereby, shape your adulthood.
These days, Santa arrives at the Wagner home on Christmas morning. His route changed, I suppose. Yet, I am not anxious about being later on the schedule, nor I am worried that he will have the things I am wishing for on his sleigh: I know that he knows me and will not forget me, whenever he arrives.
The season of Advent has become, over the years, a time that I truly cherish, a journey I anticipate walking as we move towards Bethlehem and Christmas Joy. Much in the same way I would pour over catalogs as a child and carefully choose the items I really wanted to see under the tree delivered by the hands of Santa, now I savor the days that mark our preparation to receive the most loving Gift no-one on earth could ever have imagined. Now the days, which once seemed to drag on and on and on before Christmas Eve laughter would fill the air, seem simply to flit by, like a butterfly on the wings of a Fall breeze, coursing its way over the stalks of standing corn through which I move. Now the days fairly run into each other with increasing speed, event blending into event, night quickly following day, week rapidly engulfing week until, much too soon, that for which we were waiting is a diminishing image in the rearview mirror of another Church Year.
So, this year (like many before) I vow to slow down during Advent, this season I love. I pray to be awake as the Gift arrives, not dozing in my easy-chair worn out by ‘events’.
The need for humanity to be in control of all things is what led the early Christian Church to ‘designate’ a day on which Christ was born, that similarly minded people might gather on a singular day to observe and praise God’s Holy Name for such a Wondrous Thought. A good thing, perhaps, yet, a horrible limitation to our spiritual journey: Instead of living towards a Gift, we live towards a day, often herded like cattle towards market by cowboys with visions of profits dancing in their heads. By limiting God’s Gift of Life to arrival on a specific day, we narrow the field of focus and lessen our responsibility to always be attentive. Jesus tells His disciples, “Keep awake . . . you know neither the day nor the hour.” Important words spoken to children lounging on the couch near the fireplace waiting for Santa to arrive, certain as to how and when ‘it’ will happen.
This year I vow to slow down during Advent, the season of blue, the color of the night sky. I’m not sure when He will happen, I just know He will, so I will slow down and stay awake, ready to receive the Gift. I know that He knows me and will not forget me, whenever He arrives.

Have a blessed Advent and a Joyous Christmas!

If The Painter's Pallet

If the painter's pallet

Could contain the hues

Of Fall's transitions

Among the trees,

Would artist's brush

Bespeak the subtleties

Of Divine revelation

Once hidden in

Summer's majesty?

I Walked In the Woods Today

I walked in the woods today

As timber floor takes on Winter coat

From trees, whose shaded visage,

Gives way to glorious sky.

I walked in the woods today

And, there, journeyed

with God.

Hugs

Our youngest son, Ched, played his last high school soccer game yesterday evening. It wasn't expected to be their last, but they lost in the Sectionals to an area team. A great game, but a lousy outcome for our team. As he walked off of the field, he headed towards his mother and me. Hugs are very much a part of our family: we share them when we meet and we share them as we part . . . and any time in between, just for good measure.

Ched hugged his mother, then he walked over and hugged me. No words, just a hug.

Our youngest son. His last soccer game. A hug as he walked off of the field for the very last time. Those images stayed with me over night then, this morning as he came out to the kitchen to make his breakfast, he gave me a 'good morning hug'. Again, no words, just a hug.

It was at that moment it occurred to me:

"You can never count hugs, only treasure them."

In the course of life we never know when hugs will diminish or cease all together, making the hugs we receive all the precious. Whether walking off of the soccer field, in the kitchen for breakfast, meeting after a prolonged absence, as seeing each other on a daily basis, the hugs we share are our gift to each other to bind us up in strength and love till next we hug again.

It would have been nice to win the game, but I would never trade the hugs of our children for a game that would soon be forgotten. Thanks for the hug, Ched.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Return

My brother, Larry, and I dug up the potatoes the other day. We had managed to plant fifty pounds of Kanabecs between rains late last Spring and now were harvesting the fruits of our labors. It wasn't a huge crop, maybe five bushels or so, but the real reward for me was our labor together.

Larry and I used the garden plow that both our father and grandfather had used in planting the garden. With that old plow, we plowed the rows to plant the potatoes and, at the end of the season, we opened the potato-laden ground to reveal the harvest. As we each took turns pushing the plow from one end of the rows to the other, the sweat and effort gave way to stories of days gone by. Picking up and brushing off the potatoes to be taken to the 'bin' where they will be kept until eaten was the picking up and brushing off of family traditions, both of feeding the family when 'bought food' was not the common thing on the table and of laboring side by side with someone you love.

In this day and age when we are likely to return items to a store, return videos when watched, return newspapers for recycling, return from a trip, or return calls to a client, the once a season moment of digging potatoes together is a gift that will never be able to be returned. For, just as we remembered all those days of our ancestors working the ground in quite similar ways, what transpired on that early Autumn day was a blessing which worked its wonder far beyond the earth which provided our bounty. Not to be returned are the hearts which were touched in love through shared labors, a gift of grace from a very loving God.

The human endeavor may never find its way back to God's original Eden, but every so often, God's Eden appears in sacred places and memory serves to guard us against casually returning that which makes life new again, generation after generation. May my greatest return to God be with such fullness of love in my life.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Love Never Ends

“Love never ends.”
I Corinthians 13:8a NRSV

Picking tomatoes in the garden yesterday, this scripture kept swirling around in my thoughts. Love never ends. . . .kind of like tomatoes when in season, except that tomato season ends. Zucchini season ends. Cucumber season ends. Pepper season ends. Sweet corn season ends. Potato season ends. Love never ends.
Unlike the produce gardeners are renown for dropping into the lap, onto the porch, or in the car of the unsuspecting recipient, love is not given to another because we have an abundance from which to be freed. Rather, love can only be given in proportion to the recipient’s willingness to receive. If completely, then completely; if not at all, then not at all. I can love someone with all my heart, soul and mind, yet if they do not wish to receive my love, I cannot slip it into their lap, drop it on their porch, or slide it into their car. It is the anomaly God created in us as God created us in God’s image: God gives us free will. You might be able to leave a bag of vegetables at my front door and retreat into the night without my having consented to receive them, but you cannot leave love at the door without waiting for an answer.
Love never ends. It is an apt description of God: God chooses to love and to be known in love. Love never ends. So the question is not about God’s choice regarding God’s relationship with you: Love never ends. The question is whether or not you will choose to receive God’s love . . . and at what level.
The presence of Jesus in our world is God’s statement of how far God will go that we know the fullest extent of God’s love for all of humankind: I will come and stand at your door and wait for your welcome embrace, says God. Some receive and welcome such intimacy, some slam the door in the face of such boldness, and others nail it to a cross that they not have to face such offers ever again. Incredible! Yet, regardless of how any of us react, Love never ends. Don’t believe it? Look at the empty tomb.
God has just enough love for you, just as you are. I don’t love any of our children because of what they might do for me or how they make me feel in any given moment. I love our children because they are of me. I love my wife because she is of me. I love my friends because they are of me. I cannot no more deny them than I can deny myself, a concept which did not originate in me, but in the One in whom I am capable of love. Love never ends.
Picking the last of the cherry tomatoes and stopping to brush it off a bit, then pop it into my mouth, I savor the delicious sweetness and juiciness of God’s love for me. That I not hunger, God’s love provides. That I not know thirst, God’s love provides. That I not know only bitterness, God’s love provides sweetness. That I not know want, God’s love provides plenty. Love never ends . . . and I fully receive that gift in the moment I extend it to another, standing with them as they choose to receive or not, as God stands with us.
There is a big difference between handing someone a sack of tomatoes and saying, ‘Here’s some of my leftovers,’ and slicing a juicy tomato and handing a half to another and saying, ‘Let’s share this together’. Taking time and sharing space may not be our long suits, but it is what God does with us. Love never ends.
Just some love from the garden which I would share with you.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Anniversary Thoughts

As of today, Nancy and I have been married for thirty-three years. Thirty-three years, three sons, two daughters-in-law, and two grandchildren later, it seems that there is still much more to learn about love and marriage. Yet, of these things I am reasonably certain today:

• Love is a gift of God;
• Creation with the capacity to love also has the capacity to begin to see God;
• Love cannot be possessed, neither can it be forced upon another;
• Love is that which allows the heart to perceive the perfection in another;
• Creation with the capacity to love also has the heart to forgive the imperfection in another;
• Love believes in the fullness of unity God places within all things;
• Love hopes for the completeness of soul God intends for creation to share;
• Creation with the capacity to love also has the soul to dwell in unity without distinction;
• Love cannot be extinguished;
• Love will not be forgotten;
• Creation with the capacity to love also has the mind to remember and bear Love's light;
• Love lives beyond human years;
• Love underlies all human undertakings and wisdom;
• Creation with the capacity to love also has the humility to perceive love's eternal nature;
• Love never ends.

It is not a lot that I know about love, but what I know of love I share with you. That Nancy has within her the capacity to love me for so long, in all of my imperfection and weakness, only deepens the faith I have in God to make strong and tender the love I pray to share with her into whatever future we may journey. Praise God for the simplicity and splendor of love, ever unfolding before us, in us, and through us, like the opening of a lily on Easter morn!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Vacation Days

What is it about vacation days that makes them fly by at something nearing the speed of sound? I am nearing the end of a second week of vacation and, suddenly, this morning realized that there are only four days left for me to 'relax' before getting back to the work-a-day world of ministry.

Don't get me wrong, I love the ministry to which I am called. I am one of the very blessed people of the world who have the privilege of doing every day what it is that they love to do, which by definition means that I do not have a 'job' but, rather, a 'vocation'. Yet, the thought of only a few days left before re-immersion in ministry leaves my head spinning and my heart wondering if it was all just a dream. It also makes me wonder if I have allowed the ministry, that vocation which I so love, to cloud over and make dreary the days I have been given to serve the God of my life.

The institutionalization of religion oft clouds the depth and wonder of faith. The mundurnity of the day-in, day-out paperwork, service preparations, occasional services, visitations, networking, and oversight of staff while serving in a solo pastorate, makes long and sometimes monotonous the time we are given to proclaim the wonders of Jesus Christ. Not that every day has to be a walk in the park, but it gives me pause in my life when I realize that so few of my days are a walk in the park with the Savior of my life or, for that matter, in the love of my family. Time spent on the mountain, in a place apart with Jesus and family, should not be the exception in our days, but the rule. When the joy of God's calling in my life becomes the burden, I have missed the mark of loving obedience to the Christ of my faith and have, instead, given myself over to, " . . . the powers and principalities of this world" (to paraphrase the Apostle Paul).

I cannot believe that God has created the world and all the wonders therein to become the ball and chain of humanity's existence. Neither can I subscribe to the notion that Jesus ever intended discipleship to become a loathsome experience. The Christ of our faith, the God of our salvation, the Spirit of our soul, calls humanity . . . you and me . . . to live the delicate dance of self-giving and self-realizing in the midst of shared journey with others. Too much time spent in either dimension deadens the joy of our time in Christ and extends beyond our reach the nearness of the Kingdom Jesus gives His life that we might know.

Four more days of vacation . . . and a lifetime of wonder in Christ. That is the balance I pray to keep, so that at the end of my days I not be found praying more for the 'peace of eternal rest', than anticipating the ongoing joy of life in my Savior.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Dead End

Dead

End

This is the sign which appeared at the end of a cul-de-sac, the entry of which meets up with Main Street in Culver, Indiana. Not an unusual sign by any stretch of the imagination, certainly one utilized in most towns and cities across our nation. Yet, what makes this one sign stand out in a way others like it cannot mimic is the fact that the employees of the City Street Department of Culver chose to post the sign next to Bonine Funeral Home.

Granted, the sign was posted at the point where Culver's Main Street makes a 90 degree turn to the East - and to proceed straight ahead means that you enter a very short cul-de-sac serving two homes and the garage of the funeral home, still, posting a Dead End sign literally next to Bonine Funeral Home gave no end to all sorts of quips and smart-aleck remarks to be endured by Jim Bonine, the proprietor of Bonine Funeral Home.

I was prompted to recall this sign, posted twenty years ago in my ministry, when I was recently asked, "What is an appropriate age for children to go to a funeral home?"

First of all, is there some sort of aura around ministers that make them the experts on how people will react in a funeral home, regardless the age? Secondly, what is it that we fear children might experience in a funeral home? Death? Life? Questions? Grief? It's makes me wonder.

When I was a child, growing up in the rural Marissa, Illinois area meant that: 1) you were related to nearly everyone in the area; 2) even if you weren't related to them, you or your parents knew nearly everyone in the area; and 3) you learned very early in age that death is just as much a part of life as living itself is. Mom and Dad did not have the luxury of dropping us kids off at some sitter's home while they went to pay their respects to grieving families at Finger Funeral Home. Each of us boys were 'properly attired', told to behave ourselves, were packed into the car and driven the 10 minute drive to the funeral home, unpacked from the car and arranged in chronological order, then followed Dad and Mom through the visitation line offering appropriate condolences for our age. Once the formalities were over, we kids sought out other kids our age in the back room of the funeral home and played games while the adults hashed over the tragedy before us. When things were going really well, or when our parents expected to be a long time at the visitation, we kids were given a couple of dollars each and allowed to go next door to the movie theatre and catch the latest flick on the big screen. Secretly, I think, most of us kids prayed for long visitations, not that we wished any ill-will on any of our favorite relatives, but a long visitation for our parents meant the treat of a good movie for us kids - and, yes, this is back in the day when a movie theatre was a place where you didn't have to worry about what might happen to your children. The Mars Theatre in Marissa was a safe place to be when one was tending to the issues of death next door.

I don't recall ever having issues with death or of having to go through a funeral home when I was a young boy - and I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that my parents never made it an issue. Like the farm on which I was raised and the cattle for which I cared, human life on this earth is not forever. The pastors in the church we attended every Sunday kindly reminded us of that on a regular basis: "Keep your heart right before God for you never know when your day to stand before God will occur." The 'farm kid translation' of which is: Behave! Tomorrow might be your day to be shipped out with the old cows to market! (Crude, but accurate.) It has just never bothered me, nor has it ever occurred to me that life on this earth is permanent.

Maybe that's the issue of the Dead End sign posted next to the funeral home: for too many people today, the sign states an accuracy with which they are incredibly uncomfortable. Crude jokes and smart-aleck comments mask the underlying truth of what is known and understood about death, which is what prompts the question of pastors about at what age it is appropriate for children to attend visitations in the funeral home.

In the moment we begin to attend to the eternal nature of life in God, the transient nature of life in this world is shaped with a far different meaning, robbing the Dead End sign next to the funeral home of its power. Perhaps if parents spent more time talking with their children about the wonders of life and the power of the One who gives life, they would find themselves less perplexed about the questions of death and the timing of adolescent visitation to death's presence among us.

The Dead End sign was removed a mere couple of weeks after being erected, mostly because the funeral director grew quickly tired of the harassment he was receiving every time he stopped by the local restaurants for coffee, prompting him to request of City Council that the sign be removed. Yet, I cannot help but wonder if folks in town, after smirking at the initial irony of the sign's location, didn't want the Dead End sign taken down as well. Sometimes irony prompts deeper questions of ourselves than we are prepared to answer. Better no sign at the end of the street than one which might provoke our children to ask what it means.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

To Hear Our Children Call Out, "Papa!"

“And you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”
Ezekiel 37:13-14 NRSV
For several years now I have had the extreme pleasure of hearing it, of being the recipient of it, of savoring it, of cherishing it every time our granddaughter, Cailin, said it: “Papa!” With that one simple word, she extends her arms up towards me with the clear and expectant desire that I should pick her up and kiss her, twirling her around in such a way that the world stops spinning around us. Ah, the wonders of being a grandfather!
But, yesterday, something new happened. Our youngest granddaughter, Ava, did the same thing she had observed her older sister doing. She held up her arms to me and said, “Papa!” With a whoop of delight I scooped her into my arms and twirled her around till she giggled and I nearly dizzily fell (Children are soooo much better at the spinning than adults!). Ava made my day in the same way the rising sun warms the Springtime earth, just by toddling towards me, arms held open wide and voice finding joy and expectancy in saying, “Papa!”
Then I wondered, ‘Can it be any less exciting for God than it is for me?’ Every time a child holds their arms up to God, every time a child trusts their happiness and welfare to God, every time a child looks into God’s face and without doubt or hesitation says, “Papa”, can God be any less full of happiness? Can God be any less full of laughter?
There are so many ways that we live each day exempting God from our journey: Prayers without meaning; Choices without prayer; ‘I can do it’ attitudes; Belligerent, foot-stomping tantrums of self-certainty; Lack of hospitality for the stranger right next to us; Trust in tradition over seeking the movement of the Spirit; Religious fervor without regard to the actual need of faith; and the list goes on and on. Yet, God remains faith-full, standing at the threshold of our heart’s home, listening closely for that moment when, out of the blue, we turn to God, hold up our arms and say, “Papa!”
For moments such as this, the grave is opened. For moments such as this, the dry bones come together. For moments such as this, hope overcomes despair. For moments such as this, the Spirit comes into our lives and nothing remains the same. In God’s grace and love, we are given a home not built with human hands and the land yields a bounty of joy inconceivable in human imagination.
“ . . . then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord,” are more than just words at the end of a prophetic text. They are the embodiment of life breathed, promises fulfilled, and decisive action taken on our behalf, all that we might know the wonder of God . . . twirling us around in the midst of the stars with Child-like giggling filling the heavens.
“Papa” is the apocalyptic pronouncement of God’s people coming home for the very first time all over again – and the Spirit’s affirmation that there is Good News to share in every age. Thanks be to God for a granddaughter’s innocent glee!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Memorial Day

The first thing I noticed driving into my hometown yesterday were the flags. On every power pole, on every block, at about a forty-five degree angle beginning at about six feet off the ground, was stationed 'The Stars and Stripes' or, more appropriately stated, an American Flag. Approximately three feet by four feet in size, the flags along the mile of Main Street which is Marissa, Illinois, were an impressive reminder of the reason for the celebration, which was Memorial Day. Driving through town, hurrying to make it to the Memorial Day Service being held in the Marissa Cemetery at the Veteran's Memorial, all of the flags passing by my windows in rapid succession, first some on the left, then some on the right, got me to thinking about the lives, dreams, and visions they represented.

Are there enough American Flags flown in the United States of America on Memorial Day to signify every person who has died in defense of our country? Can there ever be enough? I was a History major in college, but never thought of it this way. If you began counting from the time the United States was being settled by the immigrants, not to mention the Native Americans whose lives were lost defending the land against the invasion and aggression of the immigrants, how many people's lives have been lost in defense of our country? Can we ever really know? How many lives are lost yearly in covert operations whose code names and assignments we can only imagine? And what of the lives lost in support of those who do battle, those whose places in the annals of history are in places like a coal mine in Marissa, a farm field in Darmstadt, or a factory in Belleville? Are there enough flags to go around?

Pulling into the cemetery, I quickly realize the service has begun early due to impending inclement weather, so I bring my car to a quiet stop not too far away, and walk up just in time to hear my father-in-law complete the Invocation. Following his prayer he introduced the keynote speaker, the Mayor of Marissa, Jerry Cross, who is an old friend of mine from my High School years. Jerry spoke on many of the 'traditional themes' of Memorial Day, but the one thing that most caught my attention was when he said, "I have never worn a uniform in defense of my country, but my son has served in the United States Marines." He then went on to detail how his appreciation of what is offered up for our liberties, what is suffered for our freedom, and what is endured for a lasting legacy of the pursuit of happiness, has greatly deepened because of what his son and his Marine comrades have taught him.

Hmmmmm. It is not the number of flags you fly, but that you fly the flag. It is not that every life is marked with a flag, but that every flag is marked with life.

As Jerry completed his comments and the Honor Guard fired their salute, the trumpet sounded 'Taps', allowing the notes to drift across the marble of the Veteran's Memorial then out and through the graves of the saints, the soldiers whose names are etched deeper in the hearts of those attending than any stone mason could etch into tombstones. Tears flowed without shame as my gratitude for deliverance by the hands of others could find no more fitting tribute for their sacrifice. Looking up from right in front of me with eyes also flowing with tears, our granddaughter, Mary Cailin, asked me for my handkerchief. A bit surprised, but not wanting her to feel awkward, I said to her, "It's all right, Cailin, Papa's crying, too. We have a lot for which to be thankful." To which she responded, "I remember."

I remember. Every flag is a beacon, every flag is a remembrance. Every flag is a person, every flag is a nation.

If our seven year old granddaughter is capable of such remembering, maybe there is hope for the rest of us. In counting the flags, in counting the cost, in counting the lives, remember the past and become part of the future. For in failing to remember we are condemned to the past, and in failing to become part of the future we give it over to others.

My deepest thanks to all the Veterans, living and dead, whose sacrifice allows such pondering and whose love of Nation inspires mine.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

On the occasion of our youngest son's 17th birthday

In all of God's creative imagination and wisdom, children must bring to God the wry-est of smiles. My mother repeatedly said to me, "I hope your children grow up to be just like you so that you will know what you have done to me!" and, as God would have it, mothers have a way of getting just what they want . . . . . . our children and grandchildren are all perfect, each in their own way, just as is their father. (I am mentally pausing here to let the laughter subside of those who really know me.)

Today is the 17th birthday of our youngest gift of God's perfection among us, Ched, and I cannot let the day pass without saying what is on my heart to him:

My dearest Ched,

I remember the day in May, in South Bend, Indiana, when you were born. We should have known immediately what an interesting journey we were in for with you when, after cutting the umbilical cord, the nurse took you to a scale to weigh you and found you to weigh only about four pounds. The nurse knew the scale was wrong and took you to another scale to weigh you and found you to be healthy and robust at over seven pounds . . . . and you have been living by a different set of scales ever since.

Some people measure life by awards on the wall and, though surely you have already amassed a number of them, you have never been one of those who use such a measuring stick. You have always measured life by the wide diversity of friends around you, the pleasure of listening to music you really like, offering a helpful hand as needed, the pursuit of knowledge which interests you, and the accumulation of wisdom which makes you a better person in the world. Don't ever stop measuring life in such wonderful ways!

Some people believe that being the youngest in the family means that you must have had to grow up in the shadow of those who are before you. Unfortunately, people stuck in such beliefs reflect more of their own challenges than a understanding of who you are. They have never met you. You have never been one to dwell in the shadows of your brothers, you have been (and are) far too busy in the sunshine of God's Light in your life to worry about the shadows others cast. You are as intrigued by the light of the sun as you are curious about the twinkle of the stars. Your life is an undimmed expression of faith, joy and hope, all wrapped up in the tenderness of one who exercises great expectations of what God has yet to reveal in you and through you. You are your own unique light of God in our world and I simply love watching what you are doing to dispel the darkness of the present age.

Some people say that being the youngest of three boys, all who have gone through the same school system, means that you are always having to strive to be better than your brothers were in school. It brings tears to my eyes as I think on how all three of you boys have been your own person throughout your educational and extra-curricular years. As your older brothers before you, you have cut a wide swath in the educational arena, taking the hardest courses, challenging the toughest teachers, and earning the highest grades possible, not because someone else set the standard for you, but because you set high standards for yourself. Equally, on both the field of play and on the stage of group activities, you have earned the respect of advisor and teammate alike in your tenacious capacity to work hard, not only for the sake of personal growth, but for the sake of whole. You do not find it necessary to diminish others in your striving to shine, for you understand the brightness the whole of humanity might offer if everyone works together - and I am humbled by your gracious nature.

Some people say that, at 17, you have a whole lot to learn and little of substance to offer. I say that, at 17, yes, you do have a whole lot to learn, but you, my son, have a substantial wealth of maturity, faith and wisdom to offer all of the 'some peoples' in the world. You have spent 17 years in the fishbowl of a pastor's home, the parsonage or manse as some would call it, and have had to deal with more people with issues of domestic violence, death notifications, hospital emergency calls, marriage crises, non-payment of rent, need for medicine, transients, complaints about the pastor, concerns about the church, and older adults just needing someone to talk to, than anyone would ever, could ever, believe . . . . and always you have treated the ones in need with respect, love and care. Your simple acts of hospitality to the stranger have never made you better than them, but have always made you companions with them in the twistedness of life's journey and, believe me, most folk would rather have a trustworthy caring companion on the journey than all of the well-meaning substantive advice in the world.

I am so proud of you - and of who you are becoming. None of us are the finished product of what God intends in us, but you, at 17, are well on the way. Just as no race in the track meet will ever completely define you, neither will any one event or day contain all that you will become in God. What matters is how you run the race, the tenacity with which you persevere, your capacity to be a gentleman on the track as well as off, your faith in the God who is with you in every step, and your attention to those with whom you share the challenges before you.

We are blessed that you are our son, just as we are blessed with your older brothers. God has made each of you in that most peculiar and particular way which identifies you as one of God's own: Your eyes reflect God's love. On this day I am grateful for all of the basketball games, the soccer games, the track meets, the golf games, the days in the pool, the hours of talking, the projects worked on together, and the times our family has shared laughter and challenge. But, most of all, I am simply, tearfully, joyful that I am blessed, that we are blessed, to call you 'son', for like the Son before you whose actions led His Father to announce from heaven, "With you I am well pleased!" so, too, you are rising from the birthwaters to do what you are gifted to do in God's creation and that is most pleasing to me.

I love you, Ched. Happy 17th birthday!

Dad

Stephanie

“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” II Corinthians 12.9a NRSV

Stephanie is one of those folks in your life that you can count on one hand: a friend. I use the word “is” because, like friendship itself, she will always be with me in my heart and because, like faith itself, she is a gift of God extending throughout eternity. Last week Stephanie passed from this life into life eternal following thirty years of life with Multiple Sclerosis, M.S. Multiple Sclerosis did not define Stephanie any more than did Stephanie define Multiple Sclerosis. Rather, however such things occur, Stephanie and M.S. found themselves to be traveling companions in life’s ongoing journey, a relationship through which Stephanie opened the door for God to embody grace and strength in midst of a world consumed with defining her life, and others like her, as either ‘a cure’ or ‘a casualty’. In Stephanie, God’s power to transform weakness into perfection had little to do with ridding her body of M.S., yet had everything to do with the sufficiency of God’s grace to shine through Stephanie’s life every day of her journey, a delineation which empowered Stephanie to be such a good friend to nearly everyone who knew her. To spend time with Stephanie was to know God is at work redeeming a sinful and difficult world – and to know that God is thus engaged in the life of humanity is to experience the fullness of God’s grace - which is sufficient to see you through any challenge, even the challenge of M.S.
I first met Stephanie twenty-six years ago when she served as one of my Supervising Teachers at Marissa High School where I did my Student Teaching while in college. Stephanie, then recently diagnosed with M.S., taught Special Education and saw her own diagnosis, not as an impediment, but as an opportunity to more intimately touch the lives with whom she worked. Understanding the importance of students to see themselves as responsible for their choices and making choices which are responsible, Stephanie modeled such choices in the manner through which she walked the walk with M.S.: Stephanie’s life would not be defined by a diagnosis, but by the God with Whom she met every challenge.
This is not to say that Stephanie was ‘perfect’, but as the Scripture proclaims, “ . . . power is made perfect in weakness.” Stephanie exercised the fullness of her humanity as she met God face-to-face and questioned God about M.S., both about her having it and in its very existence. Stephanie wrestled with her faith, not in God, but in her own capacity to see her journey through. And Stephanie pondered how such a disease could claim the capacity to shatter family ties in spite of her personal determination to keep everyone together. “Nothing is easy, but I know that God is with me always,” she would say – and I would bow my head in humble wonder as she, again, taught me what it means to be a faithful friend. Truth among friends is absolute and absolute friends are always in Truth, God’s Truth.
Stephanie’s death in this life wasn’t unexpected, but what has been a delightful lesson in faith has been in how death is overcome by life: tears are dried by laughter; grief is eased with the embrace of friends; absence is addressed by community; questions find their answers in God’s unending Presence; and Easter is announced over and over again in the perfection of a stone rolled away from the door of the tomb. True friendship lives eternally, even as Christ lives for you and me.
With the Church living towards the celebration of Pentecost at the end of May, Stephanie reminds me that God’s Holy Spirit births and nurtures grace sufficient to meet every challenge, whether it be the challenge of crowds of people who question and dispute the Good News of Jesus Christ there in the city of Jerusalem on that first Pentecost or the challenge of a diagnosis that the medical community pronounces with the solemnity of a death sentence. God’s Holy Spirit is sufficient for the words needed to speak Truth before power. God’s Holy Spirit is sufficient for the strength necessary to meet the adversaries and adversities. God’s Holy Spirit is sufficient to give grace in relationship, forming and reforming communities of intimate, trusting friendships which will endure throughout the ages. Of such Spirit is the Church birthed in power and of such Spirit has Stephanie lived her life into life eternal. May God’s power be made perfect in each of us as our imperfections live into, and depend fully upon, the grace of God for sufficiency in each moment of Pentecostal witness. Like the disciples before us in every age, the question is not whether we will have the opportunity to be a friend in Christ through Love, but rather, how we embrace in the Spirit our times of challenge to be the witness, the apostle, God intends us to be in the breath of the Spirit.
May we find it within our souls to live with the faith of Christ and the graciousness of the Stephanie’s among us, whatever our lot may be, that the Holy Spirit of God breathe life and vitality into all our days and the Church be made alive again and again in the perfection of True Friendship that comes only through Christ our Lord.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Good Friday

I just returned from the Community Good Friday Stations of the Cross service which was attended by approximately 30 people. Granted, it was raining, and there was visitation for a prominent woman of the town who had died, and there was a funeral for another gentleman of the community who had died, and some were at yet another funeral of the father of a woman in town, and the firemen in town host a fish fry on Good Friday evening each year and were getting ready for the fry - but, I know there were not 3,500 people at all of the other events. There were 30 people who attended the Community Good Friday Stations of the Cross. 30 people.

Yet, it was in the midst of the 30 people, in the midst of the liturgy, in the midst of the "O Sacred Head Now Wounded", that it occurred to me that this Good Friday was very much like that first Good Friday on which Jesus was crucified: People were dying and dead; People were going to visitations and funerals; fund-raisers were going on around Jerusalem; market places were open and people were buying and selling; visitors to town had absolutely no idea of what was going on; and others chose just to stay at home and ignore the hubbub of the crowds. What is a 'really big thing' to devoted Christians - is just another day in the life of the world for everyone else. Jesus on the cross is pivotal only to those who recognize their need for His deliverance. Jesus on the cross is central only to the existence of those whose life and soul are intertwined with God's own will and desire for humankind. To all others . . . it is just another day in the city. Though they may all show up in three days for Sunrise Services, what already is gone is the moment which gives birth to Easter.

In retrospect, 30 people at the cross on Good Friday probably isn't such a bad turnout. Lord only knows how many others have turned and gone away from such a scene through all the intervening years. Maybe thirty is the new holy number this year, for 30 dared to stay. It is something to ponder as, in writing this article, the clock strikes 3:00 pm, the ninth hour.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Trained to Save

Nine of us spent a couple of hours training yesterday, updating our CPR and AED accreditation, keeping current in the skills helpful in saving lives. It was an afternoon which flew by quickly, partly because the material being covered and the skills being practiced kept all of us focused, but, mostly, because our trainer was interesting, fun-loving, and supportive of our efforts. Our trainer, Bobbie Duffie, is one of God's very special servants, possessing a smile so warm it is believed to contribute to global warming, and with a command of knowledge and application of wisdom that allows her to give great hope in a very troubled world.

When Bobbie walks into a room as an instructor, it is clear that she does not see 'students' in the conventional sense of the word, she sees 'life'. Bobbie has the unique capacity to see beyond young/old, rich/poor, black/white, male/female, large/small - and articulate that vision in her partnering with others to bring life to people and places in the throes of struggle. Bobbie sees God at work in God's children and embodies that insight in her approach to training: God blesses each woman, man and child with unique gifts in differing packages and it is her blessing to help folks to unwrap their giftedness for the sake of others. Is it a wonder students gravitate towards her, that people seek her out, that her life is rooted in medicine and training, that God's Life in her becomes her life breathed out into others?

It got me to thinking about Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem on the foal of an ass, as prophesied in Zechariah 9.9, and what it was that He saw as folks welcomed Him into town. Would those who loved His smile as He welcomed the children into His lap, also love the things He was about to teach them about faithfulness to God? Would those who considered themselves 'privileged' to be His chosen disciples still be so 'up' on the notion after they saw what those who hated Him would do in the days ahead? Would the ones who came running to Him for healing and insight as He walked into their villages and towns, still be running towards Him as He is is lead out of town with a cross upon His back? Would the ones who were quick to ask Him for life to be restored, be equally as quick to restore His life when once Pilate asked them who to save and whom to condemn? Would those who loved Him for His works as He touched them, still love Him for His works when the world crucified Him as untouchable?

Central to understanding Jesus as Son of God is the old cliche, "He is comfortable in His skin." 'Jesus is comfortable in His skin' is more than some erudite saying, it is the truth of His very identity: He is comfortable as God's Son, which is His only mission. He is to live in full relationship with God, no matter where He is, no matter with whom He comes in contact, no matter their response. To live so boldly and comfortably is to live the faith God has in us to walk in fullness of covenant with God. How others receive His comfort, how others receive His skin, is their choosing. Some will nail His comfort and skin to a cross, others will partake of Him and choose to walk with Him.

In comparison, CPR and AED training is seemingly far simpler, yet, upon further review, equally daunting. Bobbie embodies in training what Jesus teaches us in entering Jerusalem: You cannot be anyone else except who God created you to be. All else and all others are beyond your control. Do what you are gifted to do. As Jesus taught those with eyes to see and ears to hear what is faithful and just in walking the walk of faith before God, even unto death upon a cross, so Bobbie has been blessed to teach others how to give life when death looms near. The one major difference: It is Jesus' life which gives Life eternal. His skin given for all. Bobbie knows that and lives her life pointing to His. Maybe that is why she is so effective as a trainer: She is comfortable in her skin, living for His Life that others may have life.

It is amazing what God can do with a good teacher, especially when they live for the Teacher.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Hard Questions On the Journey

““Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.” (Mark 16:3b-4)

The question of the women on their way to the tomb is a question that seems to be reappearing in many conversations these days. “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” is being culturally translated into: Who will help me get a job? Who will help me feed my family? Who will help me with the cost of medicines? Who will help me with my rising power bills? Who will help me sort out my life? Who will help me with my parents who are aging into children? Who will help me with my children who are aging into teenagers? Who is it that cares about me, besides me? What difference does my life make any more? Which way do I need to turn to find peace? Will there ever again be the notion of security in my life? Who will roll away the permanency of dying and death that seems to encompass my living?
Three women on their way to Jesus’ tomb, on their way with spices to anoint the dead, ponder the harsh realities of their situation: None of the men ‘dared’ come out of hiding for fear of those who crucified Jesus; Women are practically invisible in a patriarchal society; Jesus is very, very dead; They had watched Hope be crucified on a cross; They had observed the victory of hatred and animosity; They knew the size of the stone, the mass of power and prejudice, which sealed the Good News of God in a tomb; They knew they could not move the stone; They knew they would have to have help; and, They knew they had to go take care of their friend. They are caught in an untenable situation: Go to take care of their friend and hope someone would help them or stay at home and allow the stench of death to consume the One they loved. They couldn’t stay at home, but neither did they have an answer as to who might be bold enough to help them.
Answers to the hard questions of faith and life are seldom found in the privacy of safe places. Just as the answer to “Who will roll the stone away . . . .” was revealed at the site of the stone and the tomb itself so, too, are the answers to the hard questions of our time most likely to be revealed while on the journey. Well we are able to name ‘death’ and the causes of ‘death’ in our lives: Joblessness, homelessness, bankruptcy, depletion of retirement investments, failure of stock market investments, the housing market, the auto market, AIG, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Rod Blagojevich, Illinois Legislature, Washington D.C. politics, rising taxes, lowering services, and the list goes on and on. But, are we willing and able to journey with our Friend, Jesus, in the face of death and meet the One who rolls the stone away? Are we believing enough, maybe even doubtful enough yet seeking a wonder, to walk out the doors of the locked rooms – in which we tuck all our insecurities and ‘knowledge’ away – to seek the answers only God can give? Or are we so wrapped up and invested in the perceived ability of government “ . . . to deliver us from evil” (words of our Lord’s Prayer) that we are incapable of recognizing deliverance coming from any other source?
Not to move out of our safe places to walk with Jesus is granting unto death another victim. Not to move in extending friendship to the One who comes to deliver us is to accept the paralysis of fear as the norm for life. Not to move towards God’s resolutions in our lives, even while pondering the hardest of questions, is to give victory to a stone whose only function is to seal death in place. Get up! Move towards God’s Easter for you! Go out! And, in the midst of your questions, be ready for Good News to be delivered from heavenly places! Death is no more!

Who is rolling the stone away for you?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Rainbow Messages

As the storm rolled through, as the rains washed the earth, the sun began to emerge from under the western edge of the cloud layer and, there in the still-blackened eastern skies, a rainbow burst into being. Vibrant, bold, and audacious, as if shouting to the world, "See, I am still here! I have not forgotten my word! Out of the storms of your living, remember My Presence and know I am with you!" Then, as if the first rainbow were not enough of a reminder, there appeared a second, no less brilliant rainbow, echoing the message of the first. Awestruck and humbled, the Biblical words of Genesis reverberated through my heart, "This is my covenant with you." God makes covenant. We make promises.

Covenant always begins in God, for the Creator of all things is the Source of relationship, the Hope of a mutual journey. Humanity's best effort in responding is to God's covenant is not to make another covenant with God, but to live God's covenant with integrity. It seldom fails to amuse me as congregations, conferences, denominations, even commercial industries, take up the covenantal language, making covenant with God and others as though they have the creative, steadfast chutzpah of God to keep covenant as God keeps covenant. It is a presumptuous, even perilous step to take in tossing out covenantal language in the same way Morton tosses out salt: It loses its power and authority in the same way salt loses its taste when the only point of origin which can be claimed is the frailty of humanity.

God throws a rainbow in the sky and says, "Look! I remember My word and keep My covenant with you!" then, underscores the proclamation with a second, no less wondrous rainbow. Who among us would even dare to try copying God's claim? Rainbow messages are profound statements I pray my humanity never forgets to heed and live, for in living God's covenant with me I am blessed to walk with the God who speaks the covenant into being from age to endless age.

Here's to living Rainbow Messages!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

I Sat For a While With An Old Friend

I sat for a while today with an old friend as she waited with a patient spirit for death to come. It has been a slow and agonizing journey, often fraught with vast periods of loneliness and longing. Friends who swore they would always be there, were for a while. Friends that promised to write and keep her up to date, faltered after a few weeks. Acquaintances who whispered sweet words of 'thoughts and prayers', quieted their thoughts and offered few words months ago . . . and my old friend has only the occasional visit of a child who rarely has time, the gentle tendings of hospice personnel and the vigil of a pastor who has been embraced as a friend.

If you were to begin counting your 'breaths' from the time you are born to the time you die, how many would you breathe? As I sat with my friend and watched her shallow breathing, I thought of the birth of each of our children and grandchildren. Each birth somehow amazingly accompanied by that first big breath of air . . . then the cry, the wail, the siren signal to the world to 'Watch out! I'm ready to take my place now!' From the time a baby first breathes to the time an aging woman breathes no more, how much air is a part of the body's journey? How many times do we breathe? Watching my friend welcome her final breaths of life, a grudging acknowledgment of being tired and ready for the next step of God's plan in her life, I wondered how we will ever know when the next breath will be our last breath. Does it even matter?

From the cross, Jesus cried out, "Into your hands I commend my spirit", and he slumped into the arms of God, breathless at the end of the journey, and died. I am not aware that Jesus ever counted his breaths, but I know that he counted the breath of God's creation as holy and sacred. That we might know life, he became our life. He became our breath. He become our breathing when the world would have counted us for dead. Then, in love for each of us and not counting his breaths as precious to him, he gave us his breath for us . . . that we might breathe forevermore.

Maybe it is as simple as this: A life spent counting breaths is a life whose breath breathes no meaning, yet a life spent breathing meaning into all around is a life whose breath lasts forever.

Her breathing was shallow as she slept away the time. I prayed and quietly left the room. Her time for final breaths is near, but not quite here. God's breath in her is moving her to new life, yet only in God's time. I may not be able to count the breaths, but God counts the life which gives breath to others - and though her breaths may diminish in this life, Christ's breath in her will take her to Life whose very breath is the breath of God. Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

An Afternoon on the Farm

I spent yesterday afternoon with my older brother, Larry. Most days, when I go to the farm to visit with Larry, the time includes working in the fields or with some special ongoing project around the equipment. Yesterday, we just visited. Oh, we picked up a piece of equipment the farm had purchased for planting and we worked some ground in Larry and Martha's garden where we are going to plant potatoes together but, more than anything else, we just had time to visit, to be brothers, to be friends.

Have you ever had the opportunity to smell fescue grass growing in the Spring? Or to watch the robins hopping over the ground on the prowl for worms? Or to taste the succulent sweetness of newly emerging sweet clover in the lawn? Or to have a 'friendly' steer lick your arm trying to get your attention? Or have a giant of a farm dog trot along next to you just trying to place his head in your hand so that you will pet him? Or to have a small herd of cats follow you around, weaving in and out of your feet, so that you will pet them . . . and feed them? Or to watch young calves kicking up their heels in delight as they raced down a pasture? Or to visit with one of your best friends in all the world?

That is what yesterday afternoon was all about. Social psychologists might call it mental health time. Spiritualists will call it a form of spirituality in the renewal of the soul. Theologians might be tempted to label it taking Sabbath. Yet, beyond all of the framings and namings, the time I spent with my brother was time spent tending to loving bonds, much in the same way, I think, that God longs to walk with all of us.

In the midst of constant movement, constant communication, constant doing, constant planning, constant 'getting done', constant being at the beck and call of so many, time spent with the best of friends is time spent on the mountain away from it all. It is time spent with God's gracious gift of 'nearness', even 'at-one-ment'. Jesus moved away from everyone, including the disciples, to be alone with God. Jesus called the disciples apart to fill their souls with something more than laws and 'shoulds'. Jesus, in the garden, prayed earnestly to the One whom He knew always listened to every word. So, at what point is it that, on our road to 'maturation', we are taught that we don't need such things and time or when is it that we simply begin to forget how important such time really is to the holiness of our living? I'm not sure, yet, it seems that claiming such moments takes an extraordinary amount of energy purely because we have let such time be named as 'unnecessary' or 'forgotten'. God help us.

Walking with him from his home to my car after supper, under the gaze of emerging stars and sounding frogs down by the pond, we simply stopped together to take it in. "You don't get much of this in Lebanon." he said. "No," I replied, ". . . not nearly enough anyway." I think he was talking about the frogs and the wind and the trees and the smells of the country. I was talking about him.

I haven't been getting enough of time spent with one of my very best of friends . . . and it is unnerving, for if I have been so casual about the relationships which should be the most precious to me on earth, what does it say about the time I spend with my best Friend in heaven? Closing my door and starting up my car to back out of the backyard, Larry said something I had trouble hearing, so I rolled down my window to hear him say again, "I love you."

I love you, too, my brother, my friend, and thanks for reminding me of that most precious of gifts from God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

John 3:16

John 3:16

In many circles, all you have to do is say it, "John 3:16" and folks will in some manner resonate with what that text says. Others may have to hear the words, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whosoever should believe in him may not perish but have eternal life", before they remember what the text is. Yet, however these words from the Gospel according to John are articulated, they speak an intrinsic truth: God.

Some see "John 3:16" and stop at the Son, Jesus. Not a bad place to stop, except that it is Jesus who is speaking the words of the text. So, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

Some hear the words of John 3:16 and stop at the word 'believes'. Also, not a bad place to stop, except that the word, 'believes', in the context of the sentence, is being defined by Jesus as an appropriate reaction to something else towards which He points. So, again, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

I ponder on this every time I see 'the end-zone guy/gal' with the poster, "John 3:16". Do they really have any idea what Jesus is trying to get across to Nicodemus as he speaks these words? Probably not. Few do. Most just turn this into some sort of Christological statement which is followed by an announcement of Divine Judgment - of which they are the 'righteous' ones making the declaration and are, thereby, saved by the belief of their words. Yet, like the Israelites who glimpsed the serpent upon the pole in the wilderness (v. 14 refers to Numbers 21:4-9) and were healed and began to worship the serpent upon the pole so, many well-meaning Christians view the cross, experience a transformation and begin to worship the cross. It is not a bad reaction to what is happening, but it is a shallow reaction. It fetters the believer to a precipitous, even perilous existence watching and waiting for the next 'event' to happen in their lives, hoping upon hope that something will happen again and confirm what previously had been acknowledged. Heaven save us from such circular living!

Verse 17 underscores 14, 15, and 16 in one word, "God". "Indeed, God . . . " It is the love of God, it is the grace of God, it is the healing of God, it is the mercy of God, it is the faith of God, it is the initiative of God, it is God that saves the Israelites in the wilderness. The serpent upon the pole offers them an opportunity to look up, as the Psalmist in Psalm 121 alludes, "I lift up mine eyes unto the hills - from where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth." The serpent teaches them to look up and see God at work. Similarly, when Christ is nailed to the cross with the nails of power, arrogance, and pride, those who dare to look up from the stinging of the serpents upon the ankles of their lives find more than the Son, not that the Son isn't a pretty incredible sight, but they are given a vision of God which, to paraphrase the Apostle Paul in I Corinthians 13 ("Now we see in a dimly, but then we will see face to face.") is a vision of clarity, wonder and awe, limited by the human mind as it is.

"God so loved the world . . ." is Jesus pointing beyond Himself to the One who is in Him, through Him, of Him. John 3:16 is the creation story from a whole new vantage point, it is the deliverance of Israel out of Egypt with a twist, it is entering the land with a purpose, it is God defining the identity of God's people from the beginning of time, it is a statement of being . . . and that statement is God.

I'm not sure all of that would fit on a poster, nor do I believe folks at a sporting event would even care. Maybe I should be content that a witness is being made . . . still . . . Oh, well, I better trust it to God. If it was good enough for Jesus to move on after talking with Nicodemus, it should be good enough for me. There is more at stake in this world than posters and Pharisees.

John 3:16. What does it mean to you? It is something to think about, to pray on.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Kind of a God

I was asked again today, "What kind of a God lets such things happen?" (referring to the recent shooting death of a Baptist Pastor in front of his congregation) Such questions are seriously asked and require serious responses, so I replied, "The same God who allows us to enjoy this beautiful Spring day." Then I received 'the smile', the 'knowing nod of the head', and the polite, "I guess you're right", as they moved on out of my office. Clearly, the inquisitor did not receive the answer and affirmation they were seeking and, so, stayed no longer, yet, in the words of a former seminary professor of mine, Rev. Dr. Walter Breuggemann, I choose never to, " . . . be in the business of defending God. God is quite capable of making God's own case. Thank you very much."

That said, let me also clarify, I am not God, nor do I pretend to know the mind of God: My frame of reference is Christ upon the cross and the empty tomb. The God I believe in has already fully entered the fray of humanity's inhumanity in the person of Jesus. Emmanuel, God With Us, is the Divine Love of God with us, even before us, in the sanctuary as the shooter pulled the trigger. Similarly, God was already with us as terrorists chose to divert innocent passengers to their deaths at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and into a field in Pennsylvania. Likewise, God With Us walks the way of those who hunger for food while AIG executives take their million dollar bonuses at the expense of the hungry. Likewise God With Us bears up both, child and parent, as the child enters into the cancer ward for the umpteenth time to receive 'life-saving' chemotherapy. Also, God With Us carries in God's arms the family violently forced out of their home and off their land as the latest of insecure radical supremacists inflicts their will and steals that family's life and livelihood.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same God who, in the wisdom of creation, created humanity in the image of God . . . and gave humanity a very God-like gift: freewill. God didn't shoot the Pastor. God didn't pilot those planes. God didn't take the million dollar bonus. God didn't give the child the cancer, nor did God give the parents the heartache. God did not place a violent supremacist in power. Humanity did. Yet, as long as we blame God we do not have to look in the mirror of our own existence and see how we continue today to drive nails of violence, massive consumption, disease, and power into the hands and feet of Jesus. As long as we can make it God's issue, it will not be our issue - and our faith and servanthood are safely intact . . . Amen! Thank you, Jesus!

God is already at work showing us the way to justice, peace, and deliverance from wont and pain, even in the midst of life's hard lessons, but dare we look into the face of Jesus and see our own need, our own shortcomings, our own lethargic responses? Dare we face the shooter in Maryville, the terrorists on 9-1-1, the disease in the lives of the most innocent, and the rancor of extremism - and see our own complicity, our own need for mercy? Or, is it simply easier to lay it at the feet of God, expecting some sort of 'miracle' to take us off the hook, and make the 'not-nearly-present-enough-God' the aggressor . . . that we not have to concede His Victory of an empty tomb in spite of us?

Sometimes it makes me wonder.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same kind of a God who lays God's own life on the line in God's only Son, Jesus, and shows us the way towards keeping such things from happening again. Such a God is big enough to take on our complaints and accusations - and love us into new life at the door of an empty tomb. Such a God is the God of the Gospel: "The kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news." (Mark 1.15 NRSV) The nearness of the kingdom is the breath of God brushing our lives in grace - which is the kind of a God who is with us in all that happens, no matter what. Thanks be to God!

Birdie Believes She Can Fly

Birdie believes she can fly. Never mind that she is a 9 month old, 50 pound Black Labrador Retriever, she believes she can fly! If only there was a way for her to get up enough speed and improve her leaping ability! That she has yet to catch one of those pesky robins on the power lines hasn't deterred her from trying, making a walk with her something of an adventure in holding onto her leash. There is no problem with her running away, it is just a matter of holding her on the ground while she constantly jumps for the heavens above . . . and maybe there is something to be learned from her.

How often are we reminded of our limitations rather than encouraged by our possibilities? How many times have we had our own leash yanked on by someone who was telling us how stupid we were for trying to fly? How many times have we done it to others? How many times have we told our children or grandchildren, "Oh, you can be anything you like (as long as it is something of which we approve)." How many times in the Church have we made the wonder of God inapproachable to children by the weight of our sinful behaviors? How many times have we kept others down in the pew when all they wanted to do was stand up in the Lord?

"Oh, we don't do that here." "No laughing or giggling in church." "I haven't seen them here before, and they certainly don't look like they belong here." "They want to what, in church?" "A woman preach?" "Communion for children?" "We're conservative here (which is code for, 'You would never catch me doing that!')" "The preacher really should have a talk with them (which is code for 'I can't explain why I don't like it, but I don't and I don't have the brass to say it myself!)" And the list goes on and on.

We just pull on the leash and hold down the hands of the Spirit hoping upon hope that the Church doesn't get out of control and find a way to fly in new directions 'on our watch'! God save us all if Birdie would catch a robin on the wire! Next thing you know, she'd be trying for red-tailed hawks out over the pasture!

Hmmmmmmm. Maybe I need to spend a little less time holding onto Birdie's leash and a little more time building a trampoline to aid her quest. Maybe there is something for all of us to learn in the trying.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Church Meetings

'For God so loved that world that God did not create the world by committee.'

I have spent the better part of an afternoon, a Sunday afternoon, in church meetings. I attended a region-wide event, which was a great time for renewing and enjoying friendships helpful for the soul, yet, that the intent of the day was 'meeting' and not particularly 'visiting' dampened the effects of our time together. Hmmmmm.

Having been in ministry for something over twenty years now, it occurs to me that often, maybe too often, religion gets in the way of faith. 'Officialdom' becomes the standard bearer of 'what needs to be done in the name of the Church', rather than faith guiding and directing our steps. What Jesus strove, literally, to accomplish in walking and talking with his companions along the road becomes mutated by meetings to set up meetings which inform the content of meetings that address the issues raised in meetings . . . ad nauseum. Is it any wonder that the current generation is skeptical of what relevance the Church has in the current culture? While taking on the trappings of technology and espousing the language of the world-wide web in all of its many names, the Church is losing touch with its own inherent mission and language of being the handmaiden of Christ. Christ has become a sales tool, spirituality a fix for the desperate, and service projects the antidote for misplaced guilt and anxiety.

God has birthed creation and, by extension, all of humankind to be in relationship, with God and with each other. Christ fulfills the covenantal nature of that relationship by overcoming in faith all that would separate us from God and each other. The Holy Spirit hearkens our souls to trust, love and obey in building bridges of faith over the chasms of this world's darkness's which would hide the Light of God from the eyes of those most in need. The Church is birthed in the Spirit to live into Missio Dei, God's mission of reconciliation of the entire world. The Church was never intended to be the master of its destiny, nor was it birthed to enslave God's children to lives of butt-tiring, brain-numbing meetings.

The Church is the Body of Christ called, still, to walk with all God's children . . . or it is not the Church. Though no-one ever said the Church is to be perfect, that should not become an excuse for not striving to walk in Christ's perfection. Meetings should never take precedence over relationships. May God save us all from the next meeting which will be set to discuss this 'pertinent and timely issue'.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Shrove Tuesday

Televised clips of the Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans fill the airwaves of local newscasts as the culture embraces Shrove, or Fat, Tuesday and all the pageantry it entails. 'Dance today for tomorrow we shall be mourning', is given a whole new meaning as beads are thrown, gaudy and brash costumes swirl through the streets, and food and liquor are consumed in vast quantities, all because tomorrow Lent begins. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and a 40 day season (not including Sundays) of penance, reflection, fasting, and prayer begins. Quite contrary to what many newscasts will articulate tomorrow in referring to Lent as a 'Catholic holy season', the entire Christian community, the entire catholic community of Christians, will intentionally, even reverentially, join with Jesus on His journey towards Jerusalem. For many, this journey, this liturgical season of Lent, is the grounding point of faith for all that is the rest of the Christian year and, for many, contrary to what 'Fat Tuesday' may tend to indicate about Ash Wednesday, Lent is anything but 'lean'.

Lent is rich with meaning and fragrant with faithful living. Lent is flavorful in the Story and pungent with Love. Lent stirs the soul and pours out the heart of God. Lent feeds the masses with mercy and grace from the Hand of the Creator God.

The culture may love the 'fatness' of Shrove Tuesday, but I embrace passionate essence of Lent, that beautifully contemplative expression of God's meaningful faith in humanity. God Is With Us . . . and I pray we are responsive to Christ's Presence on the road ahead.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don