It's Time to Get Up!

"It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, you just have to get up!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, get up any-way!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!"

(sung quickly and to the tune of Reveille)

With songs like this and many others like it, I woke up our three boys each day for school. Swinging open the door to their rooms, often intentionally singing off key and as loudly as I could, these moments came to be as much dreaded as they were anticipated by the boys. When I didn't wake them up 'abruptly', it wasn't unusual for one of them to find me and ask if I was alright. Seldom did any morning go by that the boys wouldn't seek me out at the dining room table where I had already gone to eat breakfast and read the paper, give me a big 'good morning hug' and an 'I love you" before heading on to get their breakfast ready and their day started . . . . and, this morning, Nancy reminded me that I wouldn't have to sing to the boys anymore. They have all left home.

I had mentally noted the end of this particular, peculiar tradition on Wednesday, June 23, the day Ched left for the Air Force Academy, yet this morning as Nancy headed off to teach, the reality hit home and the silence of the 7:00 a.m. hour resonated loudly. The doors to their rooms were already open, their beds were neatly made, and the incredible stench of athletic shoes has long ago dissipated from their closets. Much like the teacher who retires in May, yet doesn't really experience retirement until the school year reconvenes, I had seen this coming, but couldn't anticipate how it would feel. Today I know and my heart aches for their laughter, chastisement, hugs and voices. They are each on their journey.

Though I would never wish any of them back to the rooms of their childhood for a moment, I do miss having 'our boys' at home, bringing to mind the words of Genesis 2 echoing across the generations to my heart today (as Adam first sees Eve, created as she was from one of Adam's ribs): "This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." (2.23a NRSV) There is something deeply connective beyond the brick and mortar of residence and geography which binds our souls together and causes us to care and long for each other, regardless the time or place. What began as just Nancy and me became three times deeper in the birth of each of our sons. How much more is that so for the God who births us all?

Last evening, as I held our newest granddaughter, Norah Caroline, in my arms and felt her tiny fingers squeezing mine it was as if she were assuring her Papa that the connection continues, the flesh and bone of family is deepened, the heart of life itself pulses even more vibrantly. Though tears may flow in the morning for songs no longer sung, laughter and hope fills the evening in the breath of a baby cooing assurance, the gift of the One who knows our days.

My prayer for you, as for each of our sons and their children after them, is that you know both, the fullness of a home resounding with, " . . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." and the bittersweet awareness of silence echoing in the hallways as that which is 'of you' seeks their own future in the presence and goodness of God. Traditions may change, habits are meant to be broken, patterns of living will be transformed, but that which is of us will remain in us as a gift of the Father who knows all the children as, ". . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . .". Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Superman

++Author's note: As many are headed to colleges and vocational training in these days, it seems appropriate to re-print this article from 'Pastor Don's Corner' of the St. Paul UCC "Caller", September 2004. I pray those parents who read this find it helpful in pondering the deeper feelings of your child maturing - and that those children reading this,trying to understand their parents in these days, will find some measure of patience and peace with those who love them so.
In Christ's service,
Pastor Don


Pastor Don’s Corner . . .

Superman has left the house.
We took Raymond to the University of Kansas last Sunday and helped him move into his new room. Six round trips of about a quarter mile each way to bring all of his earthly possessions to the dorm, then up five flights of stairs with each load, joining with about a thousand other students and their parents (just in his dorm building) to set up a new way of life uniquely designed to last only nine months. Somehow, there just must be a correlation between the nine months of pregnancy and the nine months of the school year, but right now I’m just too tired to think about it.
We were ready to make this trip, after all it is the school of Raymond’s choosing. It is his dream, his ambition to play basketball for the KU Jayhawks and to get a quality Division I College education . . . so, Nancy and he sorted for weeks through a lifetime of accumulation and storage to cull it all down to what would fit in our Explorer for the trip to Lawrence, Kansas. Necessities were determined, addresses were changed and people were notified, a computer was purchased, a telephone plan was laid out, and a transition was made ready. We left on Saturday afternoon for the five and a half hour journey so that we would be fresh for the move-in on Sunday morning.
Tearful good-byes and good-lucks were exchanged between Raymond and a multitude of relatives, friends and well-wishers, and promises were made on every front to ‘keep in touch’ or, as in the case of his big brother, requests were made for tickets to KU basketball games (There’s nothing like a Rock Chalk Jayhawk Basketball game!). But, just the same, I knew I was ready to ‘drop him off’ and ‘clear another one out of the house’ and had told an unknown number of people exactly that . . . and was ready to do so as though it wouldn’t make any major difference in my life until that moment in the Explorer when he asked me for the fobs off of his key chain.
You see, Raymond has been driving the Explorer pretty regularly and one of the Explorer key chains was his to use. Raymond had placed two Superman key chain fobs on his key chain and everyone in the house knew that was ‘his’ set of keys. Knowing that we were not leaving the Explorer in Kansas for him to use, Ray turned to me while we were driving down a Lawrence, Kansas street and said, “Since you are taking the Explorer home, why don’t you give me my Superman fobs for my key ring here at Kansas.”
And, don’t ask me why but, with those few words it suddenly hit me, Superman has left the house and Metropolis will never be the same.
This young man who grew up in three different towns in eighteen years, whose super-powers include impersonations, telling jokes that can make the dourest person laugh, caring more and deeper than a person his age should know how to, a passion for basketball that is matched only by his passion for the Christ of his faith, and a solid belief in family and love . . . this young man who may not be faster than a speeding bullet, nor mightier than a powerful locomotive, nor ever leap tall buildings in a single bound . . . this young man, like his older brother before him and his younger brother after him, has my heart. And, like every parent who loves their children, I believe he will make the world a better place to live, will be able to address the evils of our generation, and give men, women and children of every background a reason to hope and smile. This man of steel is human and may make his share of mistakes, but I know his heart is in the right place and his passion for Christ and others will see him through every crisis. He is our son and, though I hadn’t known it until that moment, to me he will always be Superman.
And Superman has left the house.
As Nancy and I drove the five and a half hour trip back to Lebanon, and as I struggled with this huge lump of parental joy and sadness in my throat, and as tears streamed from sunglass covered eyes, my thoughts turned to God . . . and to just how God does it with each one of us. I mean, think of it, God is the ultimate parent: God births every one of us into life, gives us roots to grow, space to spread out, a place to know we are safe, is always putting food on the table, is constantly encouraging us to follow our passion in faith, and assures us that, when we are ready, our wings will carry us swiftly and strongly onward. God knows the path will not be easy, that dreams are often shattered by the cruel fist of a reality that is mediated by others, and that the choices we make would not always be the choices God would make. Yet, God sets us up for success anyway and sends us forth in love and joy.
I wondered: as God drives away from the ‘dorm’ of our new journey, is it as hard on God as it was on us, to watch ‘Superman’ walk away across the heat soaked asphalt parking lot, a mere mortal preparing to engage in cosmic combat? Do the words that God hoped to say just before leaving get stuck in God’s throat the way mine did? Is God grateful for the opportunities that God’s children have, all the while secretly hoping that they will not wander out in those opportunities and forget they have a home to return to? Is it possible that God sets us up for success, freedom and self-reliance, all the while praying that we will know that we will never fully outgrow our need for God and God’s love and care? . . . . . . Just how hard was it to drop Jesus off in Bethlehem and watch him grow up to walk all the way to Jerusalem? And, if God has it this hard, what makes us think it should be any easier for us here today?
Maybe we should take our cues from the One who defines parenthood for every generation: Superman has left the house, but he will never leave the home of our hearts. Whether his journey takes him to the heavens above or the earth below, our love goes with him, above him, below him, around him and through him. Metropolis may never be the same again, but it will always be profoundly better for his having been with us for a while.
Fly high, be strong, strive for justice, truth and mercy, and know that we wait with the world in breathless anticipation of what God is yet to do in you, through you, and with you, Superman.

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane . . .” it’s a child of God soaring to new heights. Be careful on your journeys, Superman, and know that, in the home of our hearts, you have a place and are loved always.
Love you,
Dad

Norah Caroline

"Happy is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in the Lord's ways.

You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands;

you shall be happy, and it shall go well with you.

Your wife will be like a fruitful vine within your house;

your children will be like olive shoots around your table.

Thus shall the man be blessed who fears the Lord.

The Lord bless you from Zion.

May you see the prosperity of Jerusalem all the days of your life.

May you see your children's children.

Peace be upon Israel!"

Psalm 128 NRSV

At 7:30 pm last evening I received 'that call' for which we had been waiting: "Dad, the contractions are about 6 to 7 minutes apart and the Doctor told us to go to the hospital. We'll see you there."

'That call' was Ray letting Nancy and I (Nana and Papa) know about Kara and the imminent arrival of Baby Wagner. 'That call' was a blessing of God about to make her grand entrance into this world. 'That call' was an invitation to be immersed in the happiness of the Lord, to " . . . . eat the fruit of the labor of your hands . . . ", to witness the wonder of a ". . . . fruitful vine . . . ", to see ". . . . children like olive shoots around your table . . . .", and to ". . . . see your children's children." 'That call' was to share the journey with our children as now they formally welcome their first child into the home of their hearts. 'That call' was Norah Caroline, child of God, disciple of Christ, member of the Body of Christ, whispering God's love into my ears and, like Grandfathers in every age, I turned to my wife and said, "She's coming!"

Ray and Kara had attended worship with us that morning in celebration of my birthday, after which we had sat at our dining room table and feasted on 'Wagner beef', T-bones from the farm, twice baked potatoes and salad, complimented by a Double Chocolate Chocolate Cake and lots of wonderful conversation. Though Kara appeared to have 'dropped' quite a bit, she said she still felt very comfortable and enjoyed the feast. They left around 2:00 in the afternoon . . . and that drive started the journey: about half-way home the labor pains began.

Though Baby Wagner was projected by the Doctor to arrive on August 11, I had long been telling folks I thought she would arrive on August 8 and share my birthday with me. Now, it seemed, God and Baby Wagner agreed with me . . . . yet, as always, God has a wry sense of humor. Without going into all the details, Norah Caroline arrived at 12:02 a.m. on August 9 or, for those of you into such coincidences, 08-09-10, and has her own day, her own celebration, her own integrity in God's laughter at my chagrin . . . and I could not be happier.

Kara is an amazing woman and our son, Ray, is blessed to be married to her. The two of them will be wonderful, faithful parents who will raise their daughter in the joy and wonder of God - and that shown through both of them as they tenderly cared for each other throughout the labor and delivery process. For a Grandparent, I cannot imagine a more humbling, tear-evoking, heart-filling moment than when your son walks out of the delivery room smiling and says, "She's here and she's perfect!", then gives you 'that hug' which is the final benediction to 'that call' received earlier in the evening.

Nancy summed it up best as we got into the car sometime around 2:15 in the morning after having held our newest granddaughter while shedding the baptismal tears reserved for such holy occasions: "We are so blessed and Norah is such a gift of God." We offered a prayer of thanksgiving, then pulled onto the highway, each swimming in the baptismal waters of our gratitude and love for what we were privileged to see and adore.

Norah Caroline joins her cousins, Mary Cailin and Ava Isabel, in declaring the power and imagination of God - and promises, I'm sure, to give us all a run for our money, but I could ask for nothing more. "Happy is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in his ways . . . . your wife will be like a fruitful vine . . . your children will be like olive shoots around your table . . . . May you see your children's children." And if someone as simple and human as I can be so much in awe of new life, how much more is God delighted in what now is birthed for the world to see?

God bless you Norah Caroline! You are far more than your parent's daughter or your grandparents granddaughter: You are an ongoing announcement of God's Covenant, God's vision for all that can be in faith, hope and love. May your days be filled with all the joy I feel in this moment and, yet, so much more, that in your time you may sing the ancient song of the Psalmist and savor the meaning of the words, pondering them in your heart as well.

In the praise of God: Abba, Son and Holy Spirit!

Papa

Thank You

Two simple words never carried such meaning and resonated in my heart with such power as when I heard Ched say, "Thank you."

We had traveled to Colorado Springs and the Air Force Academy to see Ched advance from 'Basic' to 'Cadet' in rank on Acceptance Day and it was an impressive parade and event. Four thousand Cadets marching across a rain soaked parade field, a U-2 fly over, the Air Force Academy Band playing stirring marches, a legacy class ('74) presentation of 'Contrails' to Outstanding Cadets representing their squadrons and then, of course, the presentation of shoulder boards to the newly 'accepted' Cadets. It was the first time we had been able to be with him since we dropped him off at the St. Louis International Airport on the 23rd of June - and those have been long weeks and days. For two hours we delighted in being with him as, first, the Commandant and Flight Commander of his Squadron attached his boards, then as we walked with him to his room, ate with him at a picnic we provided, and enjoyed the company of his newly-made friends and colleagues. Time seems never to have flown so quickly.

Then, with about 25 minutes to go before he had to report in, he and I carried the few items he could have in his room the half mile, up hill (no kidding), back to the dormitory, while Nancy, Ashley and our friend, Harvey Haynes, cleaned up the remnants of the repast. On the way he and I just talked 'talk', the kind of father/son stuff that only happens when no-one else is around . . . and the kind of which you will never hear in such an article as this, if for no other reason than it is sacred talk, much like the prayers we speak to God. It was a holy moment. Yet, it wasn't in that talk that it happened.

No, it happened as he escorted me back across the Terrazzo, back to the place where he would have to return to his dorm as I would move on towards our car. It happened at the door where our journeys would divide and it caught me so unexpectedly: This strong young man in blue, with newly attached shoulder boards marking endeavor and accomplishment, turned to me and gave me the biggest hug and whispered, "Thank you." He stepped back from me, then embraced me again and said, "I love you. Thank you." Oh my God, what a humbling moment!

With tears running down my face, I mumbled the words of fatherly pride and love that were, at the moment, all that I could manage, even as I told him we would see him in a month at Parent's Weekend, then I turned and headed to the steps before my emotions got the best of me. Pausing for a moment on the steps which would lead me away from him, I watched as he turned and began his walk of the marble pathway back to his dorm, the marble pathway of Doolies, and I quietly answered him through the wind, "Thank you, too, Ched."

Struggling to swallow the rising tide of emotion on the walk back to the car, the words he spoke kept echoing in my mind until, at the gate where visitors are stopped, it struck me like the lightning which had been passing through the region that day, "He is not a boy anymore." In those simple two words Ched was telling me, 'Thank you for getting me this far', 'Thank you for the faith you have placed in me', 'Thank you for your love and support', and, 'Thank you for never, ever just dropping me off anywhere.' But now, 'Thank you' also meant, 'I'm ready to be on my own.'

Oh, I know Ched will still need us for one thing or another (especially to pay the bills for the airline tickets back and forth from Denver on his times of leave), but now I also know he is at a point in his life when he is listening ever more intently to a Greater Voice who leads him on into the future God intends. Ched prays to, and trusts, God. As he held me and told me 'Thank you', he wasn't dismissing me, he was taking his place in God's future for him and owning his responsibility to follow God's call. Ched was acknowledging the love of his father as he endeavors to live into the Love of the Father. Is there anything more a father can ask?

Those two simple words have been rolling around in my heart for the last 48 hours - and I doubt that they will ever leave me, I pray they never do. Thank you, Ched, for being the man you are becoming and for the faithfulness you express in caring the way you do. May the Air Force Academy live into the gratitude you offer in your journey of life and may this father always cling to the power and transformation two words have had in him.

Thank you, Ched. I love you.

Dad

Our Boy in Blue

Saw a picture of Ched in his 'blues' yesterday, his lid squarely set upon his head, the brim of which jutted neatly over his eyes as confidently he led his flight in their march from this place to that. It was an amazing sight and one that nearly took my breath away, especially given that just a week ago we were glued to pictures of he and his battle buddies sloughing through the mud of Jacks Valley with rifles held high. I marvel at their emerging character and in the strength of heart and soul that is visibly defined in the way they carry themselves in the midst of their superior officers. What once was only dimly imagined as they stepped onto the buses of In-Processing now begins to find definition in the portrait of those, such as our boy in blue, marching out into the future God has for them . . . . and my heart swells with pride, even as tears insist on their place at the edges of my eyes.

It is a fine balance, I am finding, between joy in their accomplishments and the ongoing depth of prayer for the challenges still facing them. How closely do we mirror God in God's relationship with all of us in such things? In one moment we step out from behind the walls of our making and, suddenly, God sees us moving forward, smartly echoing the summons of those who have gone before, answering the call on every foot-fall, executing with care the marks of discipleship and finding an ease in rising to God's hope for us in God's plan. Is it in that moment that God audibly gasps with joy? Is it in such moments as these that God's own eyes shed their tears and rejoice in that which is finding color, meaning and hue in the living of each day? Is it here that God whispers God's most meaningful prayer for strength in the days ahead? Is it here that God stands with every parent on the precipice between incredible accomplishment and unforeseeable 'next things'?

I think so. I believe so or, as the scriptures tell us, we wouldn't be created in the image of God. And, to know that God stands with me in watching my boy in blue as he marches into his future in God's hands, that is confidence enough for me to smile broadly in this moment and celebrate with him, trusting his tomorrows to the One who will never let either of us go. Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Father's Prayer

What more might I ask for our son, O Lord,

than that You bless him?

This night, I ask a blessing

that I pray is not too much:

I pray you bless our son

with the Presence and Power of

Your Holy Spirit:

Not that he 'win',

but that he succeeds;

Not that he survives,

but that he thrives;

Not that he memorize,

but that he learns;

Not that he accommodates,

but that he stands strong;

Not that he be above,

but a part;

Not that he alone completes,

but that together

his Flight,

his Squadron,

achieves.

Such is the prayer of one parent,

O Lord,

in the midst of every parent

who this night prays for their Basic,

for every Basic,

who nears the end of

the Second Beast.

Bless these children beyond our ability,

beyond our capacity,

to know what to ask

or how to ask it,

for this night,

this parent,

for every parent,

remembers:

"Ask, and it will be given you;

search, and you will find;

knock, and the door will be opened for you."

And I pray your Spirit

fill the spirits of

all our sons and daughters,

that what is Basic

to the Air Force Academy

is eternal and holy

before You.

For I pray it in the name of the One

Who Is Not Overcome

by any Beast.

Amen.

A Final Sermon

A good friend, neighbor, and parishioner died this morning . . . and I am still a bit stunned by the reality of her demise. Thinking about her as I write these words, the irony stands clear: Clara has told me for years that she likes the way I do a funeral and that she always wanted me to preach her funeral sermon while she was living so that she could hear what a good person she was. Now she has passed and I am preparing the Celebration of Life, bringing bits and pieces of her story together, readying for Clara's own funeral sermon. Yet, truth be told, Clara has preached her own sermon all her life and all I can hope to do in the days ahead is remind people of the embodiment of Good News that she was among us.

Clara was known as one of those people who was a good neighbor, welcomed the stranger, gave a drink to the thirsty, fed the hungry, visited the sick, comforted the dying and, generally speaking, lived the nearness of the Kingdom. You would seldom see Clara outside her home with a Bible in her hand, but she always had Christ in her heart. You would seldom hear Clara tell others how to live, but she would always live before others as Jesus gave her grace to do. When someone felt marginalized or excluded, Clara would take them by the hand and lead them into the safety of community. When others criticized how kids today are being raised, Clara would simply involve herself with the kids and offer them another way to behave. Some people saw trouble, Clara saw life at its best. Some people complained, Clara smiled. Some people live for themselves, Clara lived for the Lord. No sermon I could ever write can adequately encapsulate the mediation of God's Spirit that Clara's life had become.

The mourning of these moments is not for Clara, she has entered the home in Heaven she has lived for here on earth. No, the mourning of these moments is for myself and everyone like me who will deeply miss this humble gift of God who has blessed our world for nearly ninety years. My mourning will be for the absence of her laughter, her delightful sense of humor, her smile and, of course, her cookies . . . her delicious homemade cookies that were her personal blessing and benediction upon those with whom she had a special relationship or had shared a unique adventure.

Tears will flow for now, but joy will come in the morning. I just pray God is ready for the adjustment Heaven will now have to make to accommodate this saint among all the angels. Most in this region will not notice her obituary in the paper, but the Church of Jesus Christ cannot help but feel the difference as this powerful part of the Body of Christ quietly takes her place in God's eternal home. Our comfort comes, not in living Clara's sermon of life, but in living the sermon of life God has made us to be, much as Clara lived hers: in faithfulness, integrity, love and hope, all to the glory of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.

God bless you, my friend, and thank you for the way you preached your life. Such sermons are custom made for the worship service of life itself and you stood in the pulpit, capably and well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

In Love All Over Again

With our youngest out of the house,

Nancy and I are learning to live together again - with just each other.

It has been thirty years since Nancy and I haven't had a child in our home to occupy our time and attentions. When I am counseling folks who are preparing for the Covenant of Marriage, I always ask them what their plans are for children in their relationship precisely for that reason. Children are such a permanent fixture in the lives of their parents, whether they are home or away, for a child never is out of your heart and to have a child is more than a moment of birthing: it is a commitment to a lifetime of parenting. For those blessed to have children in their lives, you are never 'just a couple' again. You are always a family, however perfect or dysfunctional that definition may be.

Now Nancy and I find ourselves inexplicably becoming part of a new reality series whimsically known as 'Married, with Children, but None of Them In the Home'. It is a 24/7 program with absolutely no commercial breaks, sort of like The Truman Show, but without the hype and direction. Periodically we have a flurry of visits from children and grandchildren, but with no regular boarders, and even our refrigerator is suddenly, inexplicably staying stocked with all sorts of goodies for those evenings when I come home from the office with the munchies. Lights are magically being turned out in rooms where we are not presently doing something. Laundry is miraculously finding its way to the basement instead of laying strewn in the bedrooms. The dishwasher doesn't run for days on end because of a low volume of dirty dishes. Chip bags are actually closed with a 'Chip Clip' on them, keeping the contents fresh rather than letting the air make everything stale. There is hot water in the shower and little or no water on the bathroom floor. We can turn on the TV whenever we want and watch whatever we want . . . sometimes the channel never changes between the times we watch it (I had forgotten that happens!). Items placed on the counter for use later . . . remain on the counter until we are ready to use them. Imagine?!

Yet, even as I write of the irony of these changes, regarding the mundane as ridiculous, there isn't a moment I wouldn't gladly take back all of the differences and return to the hectic schedule of school, sports, friends, Scouts, band, and family, just to have our kids back home . . . which isn't going to happen, so I had better get over it and move on. Right? Well, the walls of our home maybe be quieter now without children there making the sounds that only children can appreciate, but Nancy and I are finding that our hearts continue to grow with love of those who still make us a family, wherever they may be. Our children are always our children, whether in our home or not, and their lives, their schedules, their interests still are our own, though now from miles away.

We begin a new journey, Nancy and I, a new experience in our relationship that we hadn't thought of until now, a part of the vows spoken 34 years ago that must have been lost in the fine print, as all over again we recover what it means to be just 'she and me'. I have always loved my curly-haired girl, my 'Sweetie', my best friend, yet I am finding in the latest turn of the chapter a new type of love, a sonnet of sorts, that only deepens what we have shared before. I cannot imagine life without children, for our kids have been, and continue to be, such blessings to us, but I am grateful to God for the moments into which Nancy and I are entering together. The days which some have termed the 'late-Summer' or 'early-Fall' of life I am coming to appreciate as the 'Savor of the Fine Wine' or the 'Wonder of the Evening'. We are learning to love all over again and I know now, as I have always known, there is no one with whom I would rather be, just she and me, setting course on a whole new sea.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Heat, Drought and Trust

Blessed are those who trust in the Lord,

whose trust is the Lord.

They shall be like a tree planted by water,

sending out its roots by the stream.

It shall not fear when heat comes,

and its leaves shall stay green;

in the year of drought it is not anxious,

and it does not cease to bear fruit.

(Jeremiah 17:7-8)

In this particular writing from Jeremiah, the Lord speaks to Judah of trust, equating the one who trusts in the Lord with a tree which perennially bears fruit, regardless the weather. Trust is what connects beyond words or actions. Trust conveys a sense of holy covenant, bound by the heart, far beyond the capacity of the head to understand.

In the heat, trees wither and die. In a drought, fruit is not produced in abundance. The head can comprehend such things. Yet, trust in the Lord, the one whose trust is the Lord, is the articulation of an alternate reality: There is no condition, adverse or otherwise, which can sever the bond between God and God's people. Where the head perceives life one way, trust in the Lord defines life differently, bringing peace.

In the wee hours of the night in our home, as Nancy and I watch the challenges and paces through which the Basics of the Air Force Academy are journeying via the AOG and WebGuy, I was reminded of this text from Jeremiah. It occurs to me that the Basics are learning to trust in a new way: to trust their gifts; to trust each other; to trust their cadre; to trust their instincts which brought them to the AFA; to trust the outcome to a plan larger than their understanding; to trust their body's capacity to endure; and to trust the AFA's chain of command - not to the exclusion of trust in the Lord, but modeling it out of profound respect of such trust.

As complicated and intricate as that may seem, such trust is profoundly simple for it does not require relinquishing one's own self to another but, rather, investing one's own self completely in the other. Ideally, the AFA puts into practice in the ranks what God expects us to embody in the world with each other: trust.

In its purest form, trust of each other connects our hearts in accomplishing a singular outcome: living for each other in a world community which glorifies our Creator or, as Jeremiah suggests, 'being fruitful'.

As the AFA strives to develop among the Basics a trust which will build a particularized community, I recognize that the trust which the AFA fosters is necessarily parochial, speaking to a world where not everyone can be, or wants to be, trusted. Pragmatically, the AFA (and all other military academies) would have no reason to exist if trust in the Lord, as opposed to trust only of self, was the faith of the many. Yet, even as God envisioned with Judah, so might it happen here: If we can just learn to trust in some small way, in some small place, in some small time . . . and practice that trust with each other, then perhaps we can learn to trust in larger ways, in larger places, in larger times . . . and become fruitful in every condition.

Trust in the Lord is something upon which to pray and towards which to live every day. As the Basics of the AFA learn something of trust with each other, I pray we all can live into the prophecy of Jeremiah for Judah, for life is found in no other way.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Prayer for the Basic Cadets

Holy God, singular Authority above all,

Author of 'the chain of command',

Visionary of freedom,

Spirit of service,

Hear the prayers of your children this day:

We pray for the Basic Cadets of the Air Force Academy

in the midst of their Basic Training.

As the Israelites journeyed through the wilderness

and trusted You for every good thing they needed,

may our Basic Cadets find, in every step of their training:

reason to know Your nearness;

strength for every challenge;

food to nourish their bodies;

camaraderie in those around them;

quality leadership in those above them;

a design of program which will build them;

a sense of accomplishment which will urge them;

and a purpose of heart which will keep them.

We pray for them a sense of unity,

a certainty of soul,

a blending of minds,

and a desire to achieve which will mark their class

as faithful to You.

We pray that their generation

will discover in justice, peace,

in mercy, hope,

in equity, life,

in giving, love,

and in serving, freedom.

We pray that the color 'red' which marks their class

will be for them the color of passion,

in pursuing their dreams,

in seeking their gifts,

in serving our country's interests,

and in lives of integrity, truthfulness, and honesty

before You.

And we pray this day, O God,

that the Holy Advocate fill them

with clearness of thought,

decisiveness of action,

tenderness in attention to those less fortunate,

advocacy for those in need,

respect for those who have gone before them,

and a desire to have their journey remembered,

not for what they have done,

but by who they have been

in relationship with You.

We pray these things

in the name of the One who has taught us to pray

in the midst of every trial,

to persevere in the face of every enemy,

and to overcome evil through devotion to You,

Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen.

Consider the Eagle

What is it about eagles that so draw us to them? Is it their size? Their power? Their ability to soar, seemingly suspended in the highest of air currents? Their acute eyesight? Their diving ability? Is it that they are so large? Is it that they are birds of prey, designed to hunt and kill, rather than feed off the scraps of others? Is it that they tend not to flock together? That they hunt singularly and live for the family? That their nests are high above in the most inaccessible places? That their soaring tantalizes the land-bound as they circle nearer the sun? That they live for such a long time? What is it about eagles that so draw us to them?

As I listen to the scriptures and consider what texts to send to our Basic Cadet at the AFA, as I stand with Elijah on the mountain away from the threats below and ponder the blowing of the wind, the shaking of the earth, a great fire and, finally, a great sheer silence and, therein, hear the voice of God saying, "What are you doing here . . . .?", it is there I begin to understand this dichotomy. Land-bound as we are, there is something in our DNA that longs to soar and admires those who do. There is within us a genetic predisposition for flight and an awe in our soul of that which flies . . . . and the eagle, both Biblically and in our current journey, opens the door of our imaginations and invites us towards a new reality.

As strong as the eagle is, its' strength is from the Designer. As high as the eagle may soar, the wind under its' wings is the very breath of God. As high as the eagle may build its' nest, the nest is no higher than the earth the Potter's Hand has shaped. As singular as the eagle may be, it is only in Relationship that young ones may come. As well as an eagle may see, what it sees is what the Maker has set before it. As long as an eagle may live, its' days are no more than what the One who births it assigns. Yet, however limited an eagle may be, still it is the romance of the eagle's life which beckons us to soar . . . and is the prayer we offer in scripture and heart for all our children and, especially in these days, our Basics.

Though land bound, soar on the winds of God. Though challenged, see with the eyes of the Creator. Though days are hard, feel the strength of the Maker in your sinews and bones. Though pushed to become a singular achievement, know the power and potential of Community and the new life it offers. Though you may feel 'out on a limb', remember Who placed the limb there on which you now perch.

Consider the eagle, then live for the Holy One who made it. For both, you and the eagle, are of God's greatest Intention.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Considering the Source

One of the things that we have always striven to articulate with all three of our boys is this: When you hear something, whatever it is, consider the source and consider where it is that you are hearing it.

For example, there is a huge difference between me saying to one of our sons, "You better shape up!" and their basketball coach saying, "You better shape up!" Yes, the words are the same, but the meaning, context and intent are far different. Were my wife to say to me, "You got the garbage today." and one of my parishioners were to say, "You got the garbage today.", my response would be vastly different to the two.

Scripture says, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." (Luke 10.27, which is one verse of a GREAT story! Read it when you have time!) In the following parable which Jesus tells, how the priest, the Levite and the Samaritan all heard the same words was one thing, but how they consider the source, where they were hearing it, and how they were to respond, were vastly different. To help the lawyer who was testing Him to understand that simple lesson, Jesus then asked him a question which required him to take the place of the man beaten and robbed along the road: "Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man . . . .?" Plainly stated, which one considered the Source and where it was being said?

In the religious community it is one thing to know the law, even the lawyer knew the law, and quite another thing to perceive the spirit of the Voice who states it. In the parable Jesus tells, the Samaritan got it, even when the representatives of the religious institution were deaf to its meaning and blind to those who most needed them to understand along the road.

In many ways, at least in my mind, the process of Basic Cadet Training in the Air Force Academy is much the same. Words like Integrity, Honesty, Truthfulness, Teamwork, Loyalty, and Responsibility have long been a part of most of the Basic's life journey to this point. Now, in this intense, highly scrutinized, carefully structured environment, each of the Basics will hear those words from a new source, consider where it is they are hearing them, what those words mean for them in the context they are in, and decide how best to faithfully respond.

To you and me, it may seem so easy, a 'no-brainer', the choices apparent. But, to the Basics, the ones who are having to do the hard work of discernment of both, the ones who speak the words and the words themselves, recognizing the heart of the matter beyond the order being given is going to be a learning process. I pray for the Basics that, regardless the ones who are in their faces today shaping them into the leaders our country needs, they will always hear, first and foremost, the Source of the Living Word from which all other words and orders are derived . . . . and that they will always remember that, though people in this life may be in your face, the God of all Creation longs only to always be in your heart and living.

Consider the Source.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Smile

The word, 'smile', never appears in a direct translation of the Bible, yet today I have seen the Holy in such an event.

For nearly three weeks, as Nancy and I have been scouring the pictures of the AFA Basic Cadet Training for our son, Ched, we had never seen a picture of him smiling. Truth is, we were beginning to wonder if he had his sense of humor stripped from him or if the cadre of his squadron were so tough he dared not hint of enjoying even a moment. Yet, yesterday, there it was: A smile! A brightness shone through the clouds of difficulty and, if only for that one millisecond, he gave us a gift. The Holy is at work and all is going to be okay. In the Bible or not, a smile reveals the nearness of God and the joy God desires to share with all, thus the gift of Jesus, the song of angels, and the stone rolled away from the tomb.

Ched's smile took me back, though, to the day he was born. All three of our sons were born by cesarean section, with the first two being in a time when father's were not allowed to be with the mother as she gave birth in this manner. Ched, on the other hand, came in a time and hospital when my presence was not only welcomed, but encouraged. I sat next to Nancy as she was given a spinal, held her hand as the doctor's quickly did their work, and then was blessed by the opportunity to hold Ched while still connected by the umbilical cord, eventually being given the scissors to sever that tangible life-link to his mother. Even remembering those moments and sharing them with you brings tears to my eyes . . . and a smile to my face, for one of the first things he did when I held him was to hold onto my little finger and give me a look that (in a father's heart) was my first smile from him.

The smile I saw today took me back to Ched's birthing . . . and the first intimate connection a father can make with their son. Mother's have it the best you know . . . taking nothing away from the hardships of nine months of carrying a child in her womb, the difficulties associated with childbirth, and then the feeding and care connected with those early months of life in this world . . . but, precisely because of the connection a mother can make with a child even as she carries it within her, a mother will forever have that instinctive, intuitive, intimate relationship about which father's can only hope. Yet, as Ched held my finger and gave me that smile that first morning of his life, even as he looked at the camera yesterday and gave me a smile, I saw the Holy Love of God and shook with laughter and joy with the connection he offered me all over again.

Okay, I know the smile wasn't just for me . . . . so allow my heart this illusion, allow this father this connection, and allow yourself to remember just when it was that first you saw the Holy in your child . . . . then returned the smile in love.

Thanks for the smile, Ched, which is your life touching mine and causing my soul to rejoice. Across the miles I can still feel your tiny fingers still clutching mine, and I pray you can still hear me whisper in your ear, "I love you."

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Learning From 'That First Call'

Last Saturday we received our first call:

Ched called home from the Air Force Academy.

Field Day and Doolie Day In provided for a couple of hours in the afternoon when Basics are allowed free time (a precious commodity for Basics) to place telephone calls home. Though I cannot tell you the exact hour and minute I received his first text message (Okay, it was 2:11.37 CST!), with the words, "I will be calling in a few minutes", I can tell you what I did: I jumped up and down, calling to my wife, Nancy, "Get ready! He just texted that he's going to call in a few minutes!"

We laid my cell phone, Nancy's cell phone and our land line phone all on the family room table and waited, not knowing which phone he might choose to call home on . . . and waited . . . and waited. About ten minutes later, Nancy got up and said, "Well, it's clear that Ched's not a parent yet. He doesn't understand what saying " . . . a few minutes . . ." means to a parent. But, someday he will." Then, a few minutes later, Ched called.

What was shared in those minutes brought laughter and tears, joy and assurance, peace and challenges yet, more than all of that, what we treasured more than anything else was just the sound of his voice. Ah, the sound of our son's voice!

And, isn't that what God desires most from all of God's children? Just to hear the sound of their voices? Isn't that the message of Jesus in announcing the nearness of the Kingdom, 'God's ear has come near to hear you!'?

Maybe it has been a long time since last you talked with God. Maybe you have been 'away' and just weren't sure how to get back in touch. Maybe you thought that, since God seemed so far away, God didn't care. Maybe you felt hurt that something for which you asked didn't happen just the way you wanted. Maybe there have been so many other things piled on your schedule that taking even a few brief moments of free time to talk with God seemed like too huge a price to pay out of your personal time and rest. Maybe there has been no really good reason you haven't called, but you haven't. Still, now I know, the best gift any child can give to their parent is to give them a call and let them hear the sound of your voice.

If it is so among we who are, " . . . created in the image of God . . .", how much more is it so for the One who is God, Holy Parent of all there are?

After the call was finished, it took several minutes before I could even speak an intelligible, coherent sentence, so happy was my heart, so elated my soul. Little had I imagined how the sound of our son's voice would bless my life in those moments, little had I understood how dearly I missed hearing him every day.

I think I am going to take a few extra moments today to talk with God and thank God for the home of the Spirit which continues to shape my journey and for the love that God shows for me. Then, I am going to call my Dad and thank him for being such a good parent to me and ask his pardon for the all the days I haven't called just to check in. Funny how that works . . . without knowing it, with only a phone call, our son has given me a gift in understanding and wisdom that only experience can teach. It is a lesson I pray I never forget.

Who are you calling today?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Looking Through Pictures

For the past couple of weeks, Nancy and I have spent hours of our evenings looking through pictures. With Ched attending the Air Force Academy, we have become aware of the gift that the Association of Graduates provides through the expertise and eye of 'Web Guy', affording parents of Basics the opportunity to browse through thousands of photographs (and many videos) seeking that 'classic pose of a Basic' which tells us that our son or daughter is 'alright' and meeting the rigors of the day in BCT.

With the 'First Beast' complete and the 'Second Beast' just beginning, I found myself at the computer this afternoon perusing the pages of photos hoping to see that one which opens his day and challenges to me at home. Then, while changing the pages, it occurred to me: We are so created in the image of God! And parents are so the expression of God at work in Christ!

"But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob,

he who formed you, O Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, Your Savior."

Isaiah 43:1-3

Is not the very gift of Jesus Christ and the very Presence of the Holy Spirit God's own way of telling creation and every parent, "I am walking with you through the valley" (contemporized as 'BCT')? Does not Jesus Himself remind us of that fact when he talks about the sparrow? God watches as a mother watches her children, as a hen tends to her brood (thus Jesus' lament over Jerusalem), and as a father pauses to see what the child will do. God ponders our choices, allowing the freedom to choose, observing the journey without hindering, chiding without overpowering, soothing without smothering. God teaches both parent and child of relationship and love, of grace and mercy, of discipline and tenacity, with Christ being the powerful and profound articulation, once and for all time that, "You are never outside or beyond My Presence!"

I am grateful to the AOG and Web Guy for the glimpses of life in BCT, however fleeting and few those visions may be but, more than that, I am in awe of the God who allows simple folks like you and me to share in God's care for all of creation. In such care, God summons our hearts and faith to participate in the tending and teamwork our global family requires, while urging on our children as we watch them become the leaders of the next generation God has called them to be.

Another day, another lesson, and it is good.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

As Ched Leaves for the AFA

"God doesn't come and go. God lasts. God is Creator of all you can see or imagine. God doesn't get tired out, doesn't pause to catch God's breath. And God knows everything, inside and out. God energizes those who get tired, gives fresh strength to dropouts. For even young people tire and drop out, your folk in their prime stumble and fall. But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings ans soar like eagles. They run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind." (Isaiah 40:28b-31 The Message Bible)

Ched leaves on Wednesday. He has earned an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy and flies out from St. Louis to Colorado Springs, Colorado to begin Basic Cadet Training (BCT or 'Beast', as it is affectionately known) on Thursday. The Air Force Academy is a Division I University, boasting one of the highest levels of education available in the nation and training some of the brightest and best in our country to become Air Force Officers, a leadership core for the national defense. Ched will have access to some of the keenest minds on earth, to some of the best equipment in the world, and will participate in the kinds of training about which most of us could only dream. So, why is this lump building in my throat? Why do my eyes seem to incessantly tear-up at the slightest provocation? Why is it hard even to type these words when my heart and soul feels only such pride and wonder in whom it is that he is becoming?

I have jokingly suggested that, as a result of Ched departing our home, my greatest fear and newest avocation will be figuring out to whom it is that I have been married and living with these last 34 years, since most of that time her most common persona has been 'Mom' to our three sons. Is it the dreaded 'Empty Nest Syndrome' which is troubling me? Or, could it be deeper? Could it be that, once Ched is out and on his own and Nancy and I are at home alone together, I will no longer have anyone else upon which to blame my 'not hearing her voice' or 'not heeding her helpful directions'? Could it be that my deeper self is trembling at the notion of having to get to know myself, while blessed with having all of Nancy's loving attention focused on how I can now become the person she has always hoped I would be?

In the milieu of ponderings, Ched's oldest brother, Matthew, observes that it is a shame Nancy and I only had three sons, since each one has gotten progressively more intelligent and heaven only knows how wise our sixth or seventh children might have been. Ched's next older brother, Raymond, touches on the fact that Ched has been the blessed recipient of 'inherited wisdom' from both Matt and Ray, since Ched is very adept at seeing the problems others have had and learning from them. Truth is, both Matt and Ray are right: Ched, being eight years younger than Ray and twelve years younger than Matt, has learned volumes from them both, and the bottom line of what they have taught him is this: to be true to the gifts God has placed in him, to value family and community over all the other things which can be bought and sold, to surround yourself with people who are friends and who share common values, and to never stop pursuing your dreams.

Ched has learned well from his older brothers and, therein, is the emotion with which I am wrestling: The last of 'our boys' will be out of our home and on his own. The very thing we have striven as parents to prepare him for is that which causes the deepest distress in a father's heart: Flight. As ironic as it may seem, all three of our boys earned the rank of Eagle Scout because they avidly and tenaciously pursued it, and now the last eagle is leaving the nest for the United States Air Force and, though I know he will soar powerfully and well, I know, too, his flight will take him away from the reach of my arms and I can only stand with this mother on the side of the nest watching him soar, praying him safety and care. So, the ponderings and tears of this parent fall upon the Table of the Lord in prayer, praying both for that which my head understands and for that which my heart trembles to consider.

I pray that Ched continues to learn from his brothers, both of whom are carrying the lessons they have have shared with him over the years into the homes which they are establishing with their wives and children in God's care. Beyond the knowledge and skills Ched will attain in the next four years, I pray him wisdom to fly on the currents which lift him the closest to the One whose breath is the Wind itself. I pray him strength to be faithful to God and gentleness in serving Christ and his fellow human-beings. I pray him courage to trust God's Holy Spirit in trial and a generosity of spirit in offering leadership to others whose journey becomes part of his own. I pray him a greater capacity to love than I could ever express and a deeper conviction for justice and mercy in the stands he must take. I pray he never forgets where home is, while maintaining a sense of adventure in seeking God's direction for his life wherever that may take him. I pray that, in every circumstance, Ched will take his cue from Jesus Himself who always seemed to know when to take time away just to be alone with God - away from all the other voices of this world - and trusted the outcome of His immersion in this world to the Power of the One who births all there is.

Finally, I pray that this parent's pride, ponderings, joy and tears for his son, shed upon Christ's Table of sacrifice and victory, reflect the devotion and faithfulness of the Holy Parent whose tears of pride and joy caused angels to sing over Bethlehem and women to shout out in wonder before an empty tomb in Jerusalem. For it is, I believe, those 'in-between times', those times between a stable and the rush of a mighty Wind, those times between uncontrollable laughter and the lump of pride and love in the throat, those times between absolute wonder and outrageous awe, that most challenged the heart of our Parent God. Yet, was it not precisely for such times that God instructed Isaiah to speak these words to people like you and me, parents whose children are about to take flight as God's Israelite children took flight?

"But those who wait upon God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles. They run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind."

Wait upon God, Ched, wait upon God. Don't let a movement of your wings be taken without the Spirit of God to carry you. Soar beyond this parent's wonder into the joy for which God has intended you from the beginning and know that our love goes with you, as a family's love and touch always does, from age to age, beyond the bounds of geography to the places you are meant to be. Soar like an eagle in the care which only God can provide and know that our hearts fly with you.

Think Clearly. Act Decisively.

Live Faithfully.

'God Lasts.'

In the love of the Holy Parent,

Dad

Why Are You Weeping?

Pastor Don’s Corner . . .

“Woman, why are you weeping?”John 20:13a, 15a NRSV

In the Gospel according to John, this question is asked twice on the third day after Jesus’ death, both times of Mary Magdalene: Once by the two angels in the tomb who were sitting where Jesus’ body had been lain; and, the second by Jesus himself as Mary turned away from the empty tomb and saw him standing nearby.
The question, “Woman, why are you weeping?” could easily be dismissed as a rhetorical question in the face of Mary’s perceived loss in the death and, now, disappearance of her friend, Jesus. Still, that the question is repeated, first by the angels who announce ‘Good News’ both at Jesus’ birth and at Jesus’ resurrection, then by Jesus Himself as he stands near to one who knew Him well and now does not recognize Him, gives even the most casual reader of this account reason to pause. “Woman, why are you weeping?” is a question demanding personal response in this age. “Why are you weeping?”
Don’t you understand?
Don’t you see what God is doing?
After all of these signs, including Lazarus, do you still believe in death’s power?
How can it be that Rome still has such control over your spirit?
How is it that a heart can be led to freedom yet, when challenged, return to slavery?
“Woman, why are you weeping?”
This question is not just of Mary, it is addressed to the Mary in all of us: to the doubt that prevails over faith, to the despair which darkens hope, to the death which tears apart life, to the separation which rends unity. “Woman, why are you weeping?” is heaven’s question of our trembling knees and tear-streaked faces as we look heavenward and cry out for answers in the face of earthly tyrants, all the while facing the Christ of God among us, Alive, Conqueror, King.
“Woman, why are you weeping?” is an invitation to Truth, to Spirit, to New Life, from the lips of the One who shows the way.
Maybe this is why the author of John diminishes the power of death in Jesus speaking our name: “Mary!” At the sound of her name, Mary recognizes Jesus. At the sound of her name, Mary no longer weeps. At the sound of her name, what is lost is Found. At the sound of her name, what was grief becomes Joy. At the sound of her name, what was unrecognizable is now Apparent. At the sound of her name . . . at the sound of our name, Jesus announces a new community and extends His nail-scarred hand to walk with us into it.
In the nearing of Holy Week, in the imminence of Jerusalem, in the shadows of betrayal, in the shame of desertion, in the visage of a cross being borne down the streets of the city, in the starkness of death in Golgotha . . . maybe what all of us long for most is to hear our name upon the lips of Jesus calling us to life from the hell of death surrounding us every day. We weep for earthquake victims, bombing victims, abused children, abused spouses; We weep for diagnosis’ of cancer, MS, CF, Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, and even for the lack of diagnosis; We weep for children who will not grow up and for adults who never mature; We weep for a world that believes more in financing assistance of every kind than offering a hand of any kind; We weep for futures never realized and a present which overwhelms us. We weep outside the tomb while the angels and Jesus ask, “Woman, why are you weeping?” Then He calls our name and we realize we do not have to weep anymore. This is the power of Easter for which Jesus came.
A blessed Easter to all!

Your Servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

In Perspective

"Government big enough to give you everything you want is large enough to take everything you have." Thomas Jefferson

It is easier to blame the State of Illinois for failing to pay the monies owed to school districts than to face our own part in making those monies unavailable.

It is easier to blame Representatives and Senators for failing their responsibility to their citizens than to be a responsible citizen.

It is easier to have high expectations of those who debate health care reform than to have high expectations of our own health care behaviors.

It is easier to expect government to provide necessary services for all citizens than to provide necessary care for each other.

It is easier to make bricks for, and eat the meat of, Pharaoh than to follow God's leading out of slavery and trust the manna God provides.

We have the government we demand, but can we survive the government we have?

Pharaoh

“That same day Pharaoh commanded the taskmasters of the people, as well as their supervisors, “You shall no longer give the people straw to make bricks, as before; let them go and gather straw for themselves. But you shall require of them the same quantity of bricks as they have made previously; do not diminish it, for they are lazy; that is why they cry, ‘Let us go and offer sacrifice to our God.’ Let heavier work be laid on them; then they will labor at it and pay no attention to deceptive words.” Exodus 5:6-9 NRSV
Seldom do we hear the name, ‘Pharaoh’, anymore, outside of history classes, museums and Egypt, yet often we see Pharaoh hard at work, giving orders in our current age as he strives to obscure people’s minds with labor so hard they cannot even think. ‘Heaven forbid people have time to worship the Lord our God. Heaven forbid people have time to think. Heaven forbid people have time to spend with each other. Heaven forbid that God should have a voice in how people behave . . .’
What Pharaoh does not understand is that God will not be obscured by the manipulations and treachery of any Pharaoh in any age, nor will Heaven forbid access to any of God’s children as they beseech the One who is Holy above all. Still, Pharaoh persists in Pharaoh’s commanding, exerting insidious influence upon those who are least able to speak for themselves, willing monuments and vast empires to be built upon the backs of ‘those people’ who make many bricks from nothing at all.
You don’t see Pharaoh today, you say?
What portion of your local community’s economy has been adversely affected by the advent of major discount stores like Wal-Mart, Target, and K-Mart?
What portion of your local community’s economy has been eliminated by the exodus of neighborhood grocery stores bowing down to the presence of Schnucks, Dierbergs, and Wal-Mart?
What portion of every dollar you earn goes to pay Federal taxes, State taxes, local taxes (not that support of the government is a bad thing, but do you know?)?
What portion of your tax dollars are used to prop up a ‘free-market system’ riddled with mismanagement but in need of your bail-out ‘assistance’?
What portion of your leadership in local, State, and Federal levels, live with the same level of healthcare and cost as do you?
What are the interest rates you earn for the money you are able to save or invest?
What are the interest rates you are charged if you have to borrow money or use credit cards?
Now that we have been seduced by cheap travel and nearly every person having at least one car, how much of your income is being required pay for cars, gas, service, and roads?
How much of your insurance costs are a direct result of extravagant court settlements?
How much of your income goes to fund a union hierarchy that is meant to ‘protect you’?
How much of your income is handed to those who are able-bodied, but under/unemployed?
How much straw are you collecting and how many bricks are you making today?
The season of Lent is about reminding us that Pharaoh is not God and God is not amused by Pharaoh. Sometimes the cost of deliverance from such systems of oppression is the First-Born.
Sometimes we need to be reminded of Whose we are in the journey towards the Promised Land and at what cost has come our covenantal identity. Do not mistake this, God hears your voice and God comes to save. The question is, “Are you ready to leave Egypt?”
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Forgiveness

I was recently asked a question regarding forgiveness, which led me to offer the following observations:

Forgiveness is hard stuff, hard stuff. It is easier to ‘love the sinner’ than to forgive the transgression which has impacted our living, all of which makes Jesus upon the cross saying, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”, all the more poignant.

A couple of things cross my mind in response to your questions:
1. Forgiveness is a process, not an event.
2. Forgiveness gives you permission not to be enslaved by the choices of others.
3. Forgiveness does not mean ‘forgetting’, rather the practice extends peace in the place of anger and/or guilt.
4. Forgiveness is an acknowledgement before God of how much we all struggle with our behaviors.
5. Forgiveness is an extension of God’s grace to others, not a guarantee that they will receive it or be changed by it.
6. Forgiveness is more about the heart of the one offering it, than the transformation of the one receiving it.
7. Forgiveness has to be practiced daily, even moment after moment.
8. The more you practice the forgiveness of others, the greater your capacity to receive it from God.
9. Little that others may say of forgiveness makes it easier for you to embody it.
10. Finally, forgiveness is between you and God. Others may only receive of your relationship with God, not shape it.

Just some things to ponder on your daily journey of faith.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

My Dad's Voice

“I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.” John 10:14-16 NRSV

I recently attended the Sparta Mid-Winter Classic basketball tournament to watch our youngest son, Ched, play. Mid-way in one of the games, while rooting on our Lebanon Greyhounds, a gentleman made his way up the bleachers towards where I was sitting. Though I really hadn’t paid much attention to him as he stepped his way carefully up the bleachers, his voice calling my name quickly pulled me out of my ‘game mode’. A distant cousin whom I had not seen in quite some time, Loren warmly smiled and offered his hand to shake as he sat down then said, “When I walked into the gym I heard a voice above the others encouraging the Greyhounds and thought to myself, ‘I know that voice’. I knew it was you.” Laughingly, I asked him, “How did you know me in the midst of all the other voices?” To which he replied, “You sound just like your Dad.”
I told him not to hold that against my Dad, he’s a good guy even if I sound like him, and then moved the conversation on to mutual friends and family. Yet, his words, even today, resonated in my soul, “You sound just like your Dad.”
I really hope that Loren’s observation is true because, in my heart, my Dad’s voice is one of wisdom and faith. When I hear my Dad speaking, I listen, not because I have to, but because I want to. He knows me and I know him. To be known by others because my voice sounds like his is a blessing to me – and a challenge, for his voice speaks of the Presence of God.
Jesus invites us into a similar, yet even deeper relationship with the words, “I know my own and my own know me . . . .” and “ . . . . they will listen to my voice.”
In a world not unlike a basketball tournament setting, with competing voices resonating throughout the venue of our existence, knowing (and being known by) His voice is a gift beyond understanding. His voice is our root, our calling, our being. His voice creates and nurtures, challenges and sustains, chastises and praises, sends out and welcomes home. His voice calms our weeping and shares in our laughter, tells the Story and listens to our experience of that Story, paints the landscapes of our journey and defines the nature of our existence. His voice brings life. Others may speak the words, yet only one Voice is the Word. Others may give direction, yet only one Voice is the Way. Others may council and prod, yet only one Voice is Wisdom and Calling. His voice is the voice by which I would, both, love to be known and make known to others. His voice is the core of my being.
As much as I think my Dad would be flattered to know the pride that I feel in being known by the sound of his voice, I have to acknowledge, too, he would be the first one to point me beyond himself. That is what makes my Dad so wise and full of faith, he points me to the God whose Voice has his ear.
In these days approaching Lent, whose voice is it that has your ear? And, by whose voice are you known? I pray for you, “I know my own and my own know me . . .” is the One who has your ear, your voice . . . and your heart.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Watching A Soldier Go Home

We stood along the highway near our home and watched the procession pass through our town. This was not one of those parades you can't wait to see, it was a procession of family, comrades, and friends, all taking a soldier home. Folks standing along the highway did so with tears in their eyes, hands over their hearts, and flags flying at half-mast as the white hearse, tended to by a Patriot's Guard, made its way towards a neighboring town from whence the young man hailed. A young widow, with their infant daughter at her side, rode in a limousine pondering the days ahead without the presence of the Airman she so dearly loved.

War does not respect hometowns, family, loved ones, hopes, children, dreams, or ambitions. Shrapnel, copper-coated bullets, and other such dealers of death claim their victims with wild abandon . . . as hearts break and those closest are left to make sense out of gifts unopened, talents unused, and love silenced.

Our community exercised its grateful voice of support and consolation for those who remain as we took our places, stopping in the midst of our busy-ness to share one soldier's journey home. Yet, one can only wonder after the last flag is put away and the last fire truck turns off its lights: How many such processions will it take? How many such processions will be enough? How many tears must fall? How many hearts must break? How many children must grow up without parents . . . before we, the world collectively, listens to Micah: "And what does God require of you, O mortal, but to do justice, to love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?" . . . and answers with peace, equity and sharing.

One can only wonder as another soldier makes his final journey home.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don