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