Pastor Don's Corner

Our National Anthem

2011-12-01T16:41:00.003-06:00

Last night I was privileged to lead the singing of our National Anthem before the final Lebanon Thanksgiving Tournament game of the evening. Though I have sung our National Anthem many times in similar circumstances and venues, something last night was very different . . . and to be honest, I find myself at a loss of words to explain it. Maybe it had to do with the nearness of the U.S. flag in the gymnasium, or maybe it was the number of folks who, indeed, sang along, or maybe, even as I was singing the words, I was hearing them for the first time all over again. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that, as I was singing, I saw not only the stars and stripes, but also my brother, Larry, who served in the Army in Viet Nam, and my Uncle Del who flew as a gunner in B-17's in WWII and was shot down, surviving the Nazi death marches, and my friend, Dave Harrison, who is a retired AF 'boomer' in tankers, and Nancy's Uncle Ched, who served in the Army and lost his life in WWII in France, and our own son, Ched, as he now attends the AF Academy.
People close to my heart whose lives have included or, in some cases, have been eternally defined by their service to country, commitment to the flag, and a deep respect of our National Anthem are the very ones whose images I felt near, as the words and music filled the gym, uniting us all through the years. It wasn't spooky, it was emotion-filled, memory-comforting, even challenging - and when I sat down to continue the announcing I was shaking, my hands having a hard time holding the microphone. What is it about our National Anthem that it inspires and cajoles us so? What is it about the flag that tugs at the very fabric of our heart and soul? What is it about those who serve which demands our greatest of respect, our deepest of admiration?
Pondering on those who do not rise when a flag passes by in parade, on those who do not remove their hats when our National Anthem is sung, or who won't place their hand over their heart when the Pledge of Allegiance is spoken: it is their Constitutional right to do so. Yet, after last night's experience, I am coming to understand and believe that those who have little investment - have even less commitment. The deeper you are in the trenches, the more the battles mean, whether it regards our country or the church.
Make of this moment what you want but, now more than ever, I am coming to value and reverence the sacrifices of martyrs and saints of every generation who knew not only what their rights were, but gave of themselves to defend the rights and liberties of others. For faith, for country, for all who serve, I am grateful - and pray I never forget the cost they have paid, nor turn away from my responsibility to do the same that all might know life . . . much as the Christ of our faith has taught us.
Blessings on the journey, Pastor Don

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to A Wedding

2011-08-24T09:21:00.006-05:00

"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles." Matt. 15:10b-11 NRSV

"A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago."
I know that sounds like a set-up line for a joke, but it isn't . . . or wasn't supposed to be. Nancy and I were invited to attend the wedding of friend in Springfield, Illinois in late July. Upon driving up to the historic downtown Presbyterian Church, I realized that many of the other attendees ahead of me were pulling into the parking lot just South of the church which was clearly marked as belonging to the neighboring Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. Yet, without much thought to it, we parked where others were parking and made our way toward the site of the wedding. Nearing the street where we were to cross, a man came out of the Presbyterian Church announcing to those who could hear, "The Pastor just received a call from the Lutheran Pastor, and if anyone attending the wedding leaves their car in the Lutheran Parking Lot it will be towed during the service." Nancy and I just sort of laughed at the irony, but quickly agreed that she would continue on into the church and I would go back and move our car to a nearby parking garage and meet her in the church later.
Meanwhile, an alarm, which proved to be false, had brought the local Fire Department to the steps of the Presbyterian Church and all of the early arrivals among the guests and wedding party had to be evacuated while it was checked out. Returning from the parking garage after moving our car, I joined Nancy on the steps of the church as wedding guests were, again, being seated. From behind us a rather loud conversation about the 'parking issue' was being held by two men when one of them asked, "Is that a Christian church?" To which the other replied, "Oh, no! That's a Lutheran church!"
The whole crowd on the steps fairly erupted in quiet laughter at both the truth and the irony of what had been spoken, the paradox of which was deepened by the realization that, clearly, neither of the men really understood the significance of what had been stated.
"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles."
The easy targets for wry humor in this story are the Lutheran Pastor, who made the reported telephone call about towing cars from the wedding, and the two men who knew so little about mainline Christian churches that neither really understood 'Christian church' and 'Lutheran Church' could be one in the same. Yet, the deeper incongruity lies, not in the story as it is told, but in the heart and soul of nearly everyone else on the steps: for in our nervous laughter at the expense of others is the quiet, undeniable realization of our own culpability in such behaviors. Every one of us has 'ordered cars to be moved' and every one of us has asked the question or given the answer which, in making no sense, told a significant truth about ourselves.
You don't see yourself in this? Remember you are Baptized in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. You are named as a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a member of the Church universal. Then, remember too . . .
• the times you haven't been charitable about 'that person' who sat in your seat in church;
• the times you haven't been understanding of the child who makes noise in worship;
• the times you didn't like the new hymns;
• the times you gossiped about your neighbor;
• the times you could have offered your hand to a stranger, but turned the other way;
• the times you might have welcomed someone to your table, but didn't;
• the times you said, "I'm sure glad we don't do that here!";
• the times you could have offered forgiveness, but instead held the grudge;
• the times you could have given a few bucks to one in need, but chose not to;
• the times you said, "We have never done it that way before.";
• the times you might have guided the visitor to the sanctuary for worship, but figured they find their own way . . . after all, there are signs everywhere;
• the times you complained about all the hand shaking and hugging in worship;
• the times when you thought 'passing the peace' was just that: passing it on to someone else so it would be their problem now;
• the times you could have offered a ride to your neighbor's children or even your own grandchildren to get to Sunday School, then thought, "Well, it's not my job.";
• the times you thought, "They aren't really in financial need, they just need to plan better";
• the times you could have walked with someone through their tears, but didn't want to deal with the emotions;
• the times you could have stood with Christ in the garden, but ran away from your fears of talking about faith issues;
• the times you could have offered understanding to another, but chose to give them a crown of thorns;
• the times you might have loved the lost, but claimed you didn't have time;
• the times . . . . well, you get it . . . the list if fairly inexhaustible.
At one time or another, we have been either the Lutheran Pastor or the two men on the steps OR in the crowd who stood nearby nervously laughing and said nothing at all about the injustice of any of it. Sometimes, the harshest words spoken are those which are never spoken at all.
"Is that a Christian church?" is right up there with, "Are they really Christian?", "Do Christians really behave that way?", "Is that how Christians really talk?" and "If that's what it means to be a member of the Church or be Christian, then I don't want anything to do with any of it!" It is all a part of the language of the world as it regards the community of the Baptized: Do our words defile or glorify? Do our hearts embrace or reject? Do our actions reflect Presence or absence? And, as Pilate stands before Jesus in the Praetorium once more, with the crowds shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!", will you be found at His side or hiding behind the comfort of your closed doors, closed minds, and convenient traditions? Will you order the stranger off the parking lot of your existence? Or, maybe, like I did, laugh at the joke which was never meant to be a joke, and walk away thinking yourself above the fray of another's spiritual wonderment?
A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago . . .
And Jesus said,
• "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?)
• Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
And early on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb and found it empty. God has declared the Truth of God's Word through Christ and the Spirit. What is the truth we declare to the world concerning the Lord of our faith? The words we live reveal the truth in our soul. Somehow, it's not so funny anymore.

In Christ's service, Pastor Don

Getting the Settings Right

2011-07-27T08:39:00.008-05:00

In talking with Matt on Sunday evening, he shared with us that in one of his conversations early in the morning a friend had directed him to the 'Mamas and Papas', and their hit, "Monday, Monday"on YouTube. The song found a place with him, so much so that he set up a 'Mamas and Papas' radio station on Pandora and listened to that genre of music all day long.

Having grown up in the generation of the Mamas and Papas, I wasn't sure whether to be glad that Matt had finally 'come to the light' and is now savoring the sounds of 'real music' or get depressed that Matt didn't know that 'Monday, Monday' was a great way to start the week long before he found the video?! Either way, whether the proud father of an emerging music aficionado or a father licking the wounds of his battered pride, my mind started mulling on the whole notion of Pandora and the implications of genre focused music in our daily living.

In an attitude of complete transparency, even as I write these words, the music of the "Wondrous Love" radio station is playing on Pandora on my laptop. I set up that station with the hope that the music played would reflect the hymn "What Wondrous Love Is This?" Instead, I found a rich, varied and eclectic mixture of music that spans generations of hymnody and delves deeply into the diverse genre of cultural and religious experience, often the ready fodder of musical expression. This type of music quiets my soul, stills the busy calendar and focuses my heart on that which is important for the day . . . which brings be back to Matt, "Monday, Monday", and Pandora.

Wouldn't life be better if we could just 'program' what we wanted to hear, what we wanted to see, what we wanted to smell, taste or touch? Wouldn't life be easier if we didn't have to put up with the commercial distractions, the music we didn't like, and the announcers or commentators to which we didn't want to listen? Wouldn't life be more manageable if choices were categorized, if daily decisions could be 'streamed' like satellite radio, and our moment to moment options could find resolution in genre rather than specificity?

Pandora Radio on the Internet hints, in and of its own name, the dichotomy which flows just under the seemingly tranquil surface in opening the box which is Pandora: When you get everything you want and everything you want is exactly the way you want it, how long will it be before 'everything you want' becomes all that you know? Though I'm fairly certain Matt had no idea what his simple Monday evening comment would evoke in my thinking, what he evoked touches much of where we are as a people, as a nation, and as a world: So much time is spent 'getting the settings right' in our lives, making sure that everything we want to hear, see, touch, smell and taste is exactly the way we want it, and that all else is shut out from our daily experience, that we give up the flavor, the wonder and the joy which is the diversity of God's creation. If all animals were giraffe's, if all days were sunny, if all leaves were green, or if all music was the Mamas and Papas, where would be the richness, the sensuousness, the depth of awe in a Black Lab, a rainbow or Bach?

Republicans cannot bear listening to Democrats, just as Democrats won't tolerate the voice of Republicans, even as the Tea Party believes theirs is the only accurate song. The Middle East sees Western cultural aggression, just as the West paints the Middle Eastern desire for sovereignty in tones of religious orthodoxy, and the Far East benefits from everyone else's growing economic debts and military weariness. Christian traditions are denominationally split by the very sacramental practices Jesus instituted to make God's children one, community congregations are divided by 'who's in and who's out' and by 'who's right and who's not', and neighborhoods make distinctions by color, race, economic viability, sexuality, and the employment sector you are in. And, everyone turns to the Pandora station they want to hear, certain little else will meet their needs . . .

Just for the record: Jesus wasn't Christian, nor did He spend all His time in Nazareth, nor would He ignore the lepers, nor would He not feed the hungry, or visit the sick, or tend to the naked, or welcome the stranger, or free the imprisoned. Jesus was not Catholic, nor Protestant. Jesus instituted sacramental living as the way to come to faith, not as a sacramental hammer to batter folks into obedience. Jesus is God's expression of God listening to all the world's music, to hearing all the world's children, and to meeting all the world's needs, not just the ones which agree with God. The Christian tradition which does not reflect the Christ of our faith is neither Christian, nor a tradition, it is just another station on the radio.

You and I might like listening to Pandora, yet in the moment that Pandora Radio becomes the paradigm of our living, life is lost and the freedom we enjoy has become our Master.

Listen to Pandora Radio as one way of experiencing the fullness of all that God offers in the world, not as a way of escaping it. Listen to Pandora as one way of focusing, not as the only way be being. Listen to Pandora as a way of opening the ongoing history of music, not as a way to get stuck in it.

Matt's right: "Monday, Monday" is a great song by the Mamas and Papas. Yet, if we ignore "That Sunday That Summer" by Nat King Cole, we will have missed the rest of the week's music. 'Getting the settings right' in our listening does not mean getting stuck on just one station. Savor all that God is creating and, in so living, God opens us to savor even more.

The Heart of the Matter

2011-07-20T15:28:00.001-05:00

Pastor Don's Corner . . .
"As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103.13-14
Recently, I was told the story of a home fire in which the father got the wife out, then went back into the blaze to save his young son. Both father and son were lost in the collapsing building. The person telling it recalled the event in tears and with startling clarity given the time which had passed since the event, yet there are some things which happen in our lives which seldom ever leave the depth of our heart's capacity to recall.
Case in point, the current heat and humidity which our region is experiencing: It seems a bane to most yet, for many, it inspires the blessing of memory, reliving the days gone by when air conditioners weren't the norm and families still got by on the grace of screened porches and fans. The number of such stories being told expands exponentially as the temperature goes up, as does the vivid recollection of summer evening neighborhood games among kids and visiting among neighbors. (Author, Phillip Gulley, refers to those days as 'Front Porch' memories and attributes much of the decline in the current culture's civility to the fact that few people have 'front porches' and/or don't sit on them, choosing rather to dwell in air conditioned comfort and isolation.) Amazingly to me, what people recall most in such stories is not the heat, but the feelings of the heart which still evoke an emotional response today. Who knew that a fan in a window or a game of Relievo or cicadas in the trees or a parent's voice calling children home late in the evening or the quiet buzz of neighbors visiting along the dusky street, could bring to mind such joy and peace? "I remember the heat and drought of '57 . . . . we didn't have much, but we had enough . . . . and what we had we shared." The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
A man tells me his wife left him for another man whom, she believes, can give her more than he ever could. Hot tears stream down his face as he wrestles with relocating his life, his residence, his way of being, his love, and his care for their children, yet in the midst of it all, the thing most clear to him is how much he still loves her - and how wonderful their years together were. To him, infidelity is not the issue, his continuing love for her is. His heart remembers only the good and those memories serve to insulate him from the pain she is inflicting upon him, as the heat of the day increases and the home of their marriage collapses around him. His soul won't give in to despair, neither will his heart forget its way.
Some may say such is the way of self-destructive living - and they may be right. Yet, is not this the same sort of behavior for which we pray of God? God, rush back into the fires of my own making and save my life before my world collapses around me! God, remind me of the days when I prayed in the cold of a winter's night for the heat of a summer day and the joy associated with such a day! God, love me beyond my infidelity to you and tend to me even when I have offered my life, my time, and my riches to another! Answer me when I call, O God, for You are steadfast in love and, though my living does not reflect it, it is You my heart remembers, it is You for which my soul longs!
The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
To give oneself for the life of another, to remember with joy the blessings of a better time, and to linger in remembrance of love for consideration of one who chooses no longer to love the way you do: Are these not among the gifts of God come to us in Jesus Christ? Thank you, God!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Fire In the Family

2011-06-29T16:14:00.003-05:00

Pastor Don's Corner . . .
* Pastor's note: Before anything more is written, I must confess that my mind and heart are heavily weighed down by the fire in the home of Rhetta Newsome and her son, Kevin. Standing with Kyle and Paula and Kevin as the Lebanon, O'Fallon and Sugar Loaf Township Firemen did their work quickly and well, there just are not adequate words for the feelings that were carried into the sky on the wisps of smoke that once were the wood and fiber of the Newsome home. Watching Rhetta's gentle tears and listening to her low moans of grief, then tending to the scene with Kevin, Kyle and Paula as it became clear that the fire was arson . . . and knowing that heaven's angels had been watching over Rhetta and Kevin, keeping them from harm, brings me to this moment in a both a grateful and a pensive prayer mood. As Kevin said it, "This was personal." Every tire on every car Kevin had on their lot had been flattened. An accelerant had been used on multiple sites on the property. Someone(s) had been intentional about sending a message.
Now it is imperative that the community send a message on behalf of the Newsome's and everyone like them: No more! This behavior will not be tolerated. This lack of respect for the property and livelihood of others will not be overlooked. This lack of basic human concern for the welfare of others will not be ignored. Not here, not there, not ever. No more!
Just as it takes a village to raise a child, so it takes a community living justly to ensure justice. If the burning of the Newsome home does not motivate the Lebanon community, and communities just like us around the world, to live towards a higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, expecting of each other that higher plane of faith, behavior and responsibility, then every home, every life is in jeopardy, for what 'that someone(s)' said today is that neither life, nor property matter: "Only what I want, what I believe, and what I think I need matters. And, I will do anything I want, to anybody I want, to get that point across." That, my friends, is base terrorist behavior - and this terrorist is not across the sea.
I am not advocating vigilante justice. I am advocating a faithful Christian expression of life lived well, as a disciple of Jesus Christ who, by the way, did not turn away from injustices, but squarely faced them in the eye and addressed them from the Mount, the Praetorium, and the cross. This is not a yearning for justice which is for the weak of heart. It is a way of life which demands our all.
That said . . .
As I sat before my computer this evening after spending the day with the Newsome's and prayed God's guidance before opening my Bible, I could never have anticipated what text my Bible would open to:
"Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times."" (Matthew 18.21-22 NRSV)
"Forgiveness?!", I thought. "Great. Nice text, Lord. Next you'll want me to talk about loving my enemies and really putting my faith on the line. All that nice writing about justice in the community just before this, then Your Spirit leads me to this text in Matthew about forgiveness. What's up with that?"
Then I looked up the word translated as 'forgive' in the Greek, did a word study and began to understand a bit more of what the Lord was pointing me towards. The word in the Matthew text translated as 'forgive' is "ă-phā'-sō", meaning "to send away, dismiss, suffer to depart". So, essentially, Peter is asking, "Lord, another member of the church sins against me, how often should I send them away, dismiss them, or suffer them to depart?" Forgiveness, in this context, is not about saying, 'Everything's okay' and forgetting about it. The kind of forgiveness Jesus talks about in this text (and the following story about the unjust servant) is about not carrying the issue with you, thereby giving the offender continued power and influence over you. The king who set the unjust servant free sent him away out of pity, then, later re-jailed the unjust servant for not showing understanding towards another who owed him money. Forgiveness, in this context, does not forget the trespass, but chooses to dismiss the offender, rather than continue to be consumed by the offense.
So, what is it we pray for when we ask God, " . . . and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors . . ."? Do we pray for God to forget our sins? Do we pray that God doesn't notice our sins? Do we pray that God will just forgive our sins? Are we praying to 'make a deal' with God about our sins, according to how we forgive the sins of others? Are we praying that God's sense of justice just overlooks whatever it is that we do? Are we praying for the courage, the will, the faith to forgive others as we pray God forgives us? And, if all is forgiven, where is the justice in this, either for ourselves who offend or for those who offend us? What of justice for God? What is justice before God?
In the Matthew 18 exchange between Peter and Jesus, then again in the following parable about the unjust servant, we need to note: to forgive does not mean the indiscretion, nor the debt, disappears. Rather, the one offended, the one to whom the debt is owed, extends pity over punishment, dismissal over imprisonment, choosing to send away - over dealing with them day after day. Forgiveness, then, is more about the one doing the forgiving than it is about the one being forgiven. The debt owed, the sin committed, speaks loudly enough to the community on its own.
To forgive is to intentionally choose not to give power, nor time, to the one who is unquestionably guilty. Sin's verdict has its own justice and guilt its own punishment. Yet, to forgive is to step away from being the one forced to carry the bad behaviors of others and claim freedom in the simple act of moving on. Forgiveness is to cast off the burden another has placed upon you in favor of the freedom God offers in living justly and equitably with others. Forgiveness is about the one sinned against - and the choices they make. Accepting forgiveness means to live out of the newly found freedom one has been given, extending that 'relief' to another and choosing, too, to live differently.
All that said, forgiveness is hard work, hard work indeed. We are a people skilled in seeing the speck in another's eye, yet boorishly slow in recognizing the log in our own. It is easy to tell others what they need to be forgiving and how they need to live as a people forgiven, yet is it an agonizing trek towards becoming personally forgiving and living as one forgiven of far more than we could ever imagine.
This particular night, I am finding it very hard to even consider forgiveness of those who have done such damage to the Newsome's home, livelihood, and lives, still, I am not sure how far or how long I want to carry those who did this to them. I'm not certain I want them to have that much power, nor am I certain that forgiveness is mine to offer. What I am certain of is that friends of mine are hurting through no fault of their own . . . and I am angry and hungry for justice on their behalf. How forgiveness fits into all of this is something I will have to pray about for a time, even while praying God will find forgiveness in God's heart for me.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Truth and Lies

2011-06-01T10:53:00.007-05:00

"Our town is a quaint little town with little crime and no prejudice whatsoever." "When someone in our family speaks, everyone listens. They have to, there are so many of us!" "I don't have the capacity to be prejudiced. I believe in live and let live, no matter how wrong they are." "I said to her, "I don't care whether you are Catholic or Christian, you just need to go to church somewhere!"" "I believe in God and all that . . . I'm just not so certain God believes in the Church. So, I'm not gonna put my time in there until I know it matters to God." "I'm a Democrat because I can't stand Republicans!" "I'm a Republican because I can't imagine being a liberal Democrat!" "I'm going to wait out the downturn in the economy until my unemployment runs out." "So far I haven't been able to find a job that meets my salary requirements." "I'm overqualified for hourly jobs and underqualified for management." "If it weren't for all the *%@#* (__fill in your favorite category here __), the world would be a better place."

These are just a few of the statements people make to me on a fairly regular basis. It is the world as people see it through their own lens, their own context, their own experience. It is what people choose to believe, to embrace, to advocate. They are the 'truth and lies' of our daily experience.

Why is it easier to believe the lies of generalization than to deal with the truth of particularity? i.e., " . . . there's no prejudice in our town." Does the truth frighten us so much that it is simply safer to speak a lie than to be forced to wrestle the truth in our own life? What do we protect by putting responsibility for . . . whatever . . . on someone or something else? Our honor? Our pride? Our values? Our morals?

Is it simply easier to believe that the Republicans, or the Democrats, or the Catholics, or the Protestants, or the Muslims, or the (name the ethnicity), or the (name the race), or the (name the trade union), or the (name the government agency), or the (name the government program), or the (name the legislator), or the . . . whomever, are responsible for all the issues which daily journey with us than to glance in the mirror of personal choices and own our participation in the outcome?

Is there truth in the lies? Yes. Are there lies in the truth? Yes. Everyone tells the story from their own perspective . . . and nearly everyone is telling exactly what they believe is happening. But, does that grant license to polarize the conversation with our belabored certainites? Only if we fear discerning a truth we can't handle more than living a lie we can manage.

"The mind of fools is in their mouth, but the mouth of the wise is in their mind." Sirach 21.26 It's something to be remembered the next time you hear the words, " . . . and I'm telling you the truth!"

Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth and the life." Let us measure our words, our way, our truth and our lives by the measuring stick of His life.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

When I Have An Extra Moment

2011-05-31T16:07:00.011-05:00

I have a nagging suspicion that, when my days on this earth are over, the headstone my wife and children will place where I am laid to rest will simply read,

Rev. Dr. Donald C. Wagner

"Finally, an extra moment to . . ."

An extra moment to read the books lined up on my shelves; An extra moment to do the writing I've always imagined I could do; An extra moment to play golf with those folks who have been persistent in inviting me; An extra moment to go hunting with my friends who know my passion; An extra moment to get caught up on the correspondence with family; An extra moment to get the Wagner family cousins together for a reunion; An extra moment to see the plays and musicals I have always wanted to see; An extra moment to see the world through Ross Brewer's eyes as I listen to all of his wonderful travel stories; An extra moment to work on the garden I always knew I could grow; An extra moment to landscape our home; An extra moment to build the home of my dreams, in the place of my dreams; An extra moment to listen to Christine Brewer sing; An extra moment to do mission trips; An extra moment to work at disaster relief; An extra moment to plant flowers; An extra moment to savor the music of jazz greats like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Sadao Watanabe; An extra moment to visit with my Dad, Melvin, and his wife, Dorothy; An extra moment to visit with my brothers and their families; An extra moment to visit with my wife's family; An extra moment (or two or three) to work on the farm; An extra moment to cherish our children, Matthew (Bethany), Raymond (Kara) and Ched, and our beautiful granddaughters, Mary Cailin, Ava & Norah; and, especially, An extra moment to delight in the love of my life, Nancy.

Notably missing on such a list are: An extra moment to write another liturgy; An extra moment to preach another sermon; An extra moment to attend another meeting; An extra moment to raise money for another worthy project; An extra moment to get caught up on paperwork; and, An extra moment to make sure my calendar is up to date.

Not missing on my first list are: An extra moment with God; An extra moment with Jesus; An extra moment with the Spirit; or, An extra moment in the Body of Christ, the Church. All my moments, regardless of activity, are rooted in such holy relationships: They were before I was born and will be after I am long gone. Thanks be to God!

I have observed with great interest folks around me who seem always to have the time to do whatever it is they want to do. It seems their pace is slower, their countenance more relaxed, their demeanor more intentional AND I am forever bumping into them with smiles on their faces and laughter on their lips. They are so disgusting!

Maybe, when I have an extra moment I can be like them . . . but then, will I be able to be who I am called to be? Gifted to be? Led to be?

Does my life still have meaning if I am not getting everything done? If I'm not toiling 24/7/365? If I am not meeting everyone's expectations? If, even for only a moment, I don't give a thought to making sure everyone else is happy (which I don't always do anyway!)?

I am quite capable of preaching a pretty good sermon about taking Sabbath rest, about caring for the soul as well as the heart, and about putting the important things in life first. Yet, listening to that sermon . . . well, maybe I will give that some time when I have an extra moment . . .

Let's just pray I find it before I have eternity to ponder what that extra moment might have been!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Lessons to Learn on Memorial Day

2011-05-30T19:02:00.009-05:00

May 30, 2011 is Memorial Day in the United States of America, a day established by law as a time to remember those who have made the supreme sacrifice of life to defend and preserve the freedoms and liberty enjoyed by the citizens of our nation. Too, this particular Memorial Day is one I pray I will never forget.

As is our family custom, we gathered at the Marissa Cemetery, Marissa, Illinois, near the Veterans Memorial where the Memorial Day Service is held at 11:00 a.m. each Memorial Day. My wife's father, William Norton, Sr., arrived just a few minutes prior to the service, parking his car as close as he could to where the service was to be held. Bill has a hard time 'getting his air' these days and long walks are no longer a part of his regimen, so he was especially grateful for the lawn chair we brought so that he could closely observe the events of the day.

An Army Air Corps veteran of WWII, trained as a tail-gunner in the B-17, Bill has attended and participated in these services for 60 years, never missing one, and he was not about to miss this one, though today he wouldn't be participating as in year's past. His health just wouldn't allow it.

Still, when the colors were advanced to the area, with assistance Bill stood, saluting. Near the end of the service, when the colors were presented, the riflemen volleyed their salute, and the bugler played Taps, Bill stood, saluting, his left arm firmly held by his oldest grandson, our son, Matt, who had his hand over his heart. Bill's health couldn't hold him back from that. Love of country, commitment to defense of our liberties and freedoms, respect for others who have given so much, and understanding of citizenship, all combined in that one moment, that one tin-type picture of grandfather and grandson, saluting the flag as they honored the memory of so many fallen in service to country . . . and I wept. I couldn't help it.

In an age of instantaneous communication and 4G equipment, one man spoke volumes to our nation about patriotism in simply standing when the flag approached, never touching a cell phone or computer. In the midst of rampant cultural concern for political correctness, one man stood saluting what makes such conversations possible. In the milieu of backyard grilling, holiday camping trips, shopping center sales pitches, and relief at having a 'paid day off work', one man stood at attention, supported by a grandson and surrounded by his family, honoring the dead while reminding the living of the cost for such freedoms.

Some accost the American Public Education System for not teaching enough of what children today really need. Yet, after viewing today's events, I would suggest that what children in the United States of America really need begins, not in the classroom, but in the home; not at a computer or cell phone, but with their parents; not in expecting entitlements, but in accepting responsibility; not in claiming the rights of freedom, but in participating in the works of liberty; and not in wearing the stars, bars, and colors of our flag as a fashion statement, but in giving of self as a citizen of the nation to what those things mean, both in our history and to our future as a country.

It is not cliche to stand at attention when the flag passes, nor is it inappropriate to sing the words of the National Anthem as they are played: It is what the flag means and what the words evoke in us that causes us, as those before us, to willingly give the last measure . . . or risk losing it to those of other nations who will.

One 86 year old veteran taught our Nation a lesson today and I am humbled to have been there to witness it. Thank you, Bill, for your continuing service to the United States of America. This Memorial Day, we remember and we will not forget.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Writing Is a Luxury

2011-05-27T15:40:00.005-05:00

Sometimes it seems writing is a luxury -

and I am a poor man standing at the showroom window looking in.

For a person who grew up not liking to sit at a desk and do his homework, in my middle years I find myself strangely, even ironically drawn to the miraculous turning of the English language and time spent crafting story and image. It's not a easy craft, either to learn or practice, nor is it an art to be splashed upon the waiting canvas of convention. Rather, at least for me, writing is a gift to be opened slowly, savoring the design of the wrapping, the intricate tying of the bow, and pondering the intention of the giver. To spend a moment of my life allowing my mind to wander, my heart to ponder, and my soul to express faith, is to dive deeply into my origins for, indeed, the God who created me, created me in God's own image. So, to express something of that image is to utter a word of God's own activities through me and that notion alone gives me pause. The fingers of a poor man handle the luxury and sacredness of the word - and I dare not drop it.

Nor can I turn away from it.

Long before the advent of the printing press, before the time of monkish labors over copied text, before scrolls bore the perspiration of those who made them from papyrus, or stones reflected the articulation of chiseled idea, the word existed. Story shaped experience, even as experience found life in the telling, and in the hearing of the word new perspectives found their genesis, and narrative formed community. Cultures chronicled the best places to fish and the right times to plant. Yarns around the fire became legends shared with the young - and the word established the parameters of race and ethnicity, poverty and power, wholeness and despair, triumph and failure, even life and death.

The authority of the word was not in and of itself, but in the reverence it commanded as a gift of the Word from whom all things come. Thus, even today, to misuse a word is to abuse the Word and to render the gift as little more than a tool of manipulation. Similarly, to ignore the word is to deny one's own existence and to forfeit the luxury set in our hands.

Thus, I find myself once again moving from showroom window to cluttered desk, endeavoring with trembling lips to articulate that which is yearning to be known, that which is emerging to be seen, the One who is Word before all words. I pray for the Word in you, as well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Psalm 30 & Auschwitz-Birkenau

2011-05-27T15:34:00.002-05:00

"You have turned my mourning into dancing: you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever." Psalm 30:11-12 NRSV

Recently, in doing research for worship, I came across a YouTube video that instantly stopped all other work. The video is of modern day snow covered railroad tracks leading into the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Oswiecim, Poland, with the voice of Alex Jacobowitz reading Psalm 30 in the original Hebrew. The paradox is stunning and the dichotomy haunting.
Only those who survived such horrors can speak with legitimate and poignant understanding of Hebrew scriptures being recited in places of such deep darkness. Yet, as the words, "O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" linger on the screen against the background of the train tracks, Auschwitz-Birkenau and Jacobwitz's own footsteps slowly fading away in the snow, even a person such as I am bowed in utter disbelief and disdain, heart scored by the searing hot knife of guilt and horror.
How could such a thing happen? How could our 'civilized' world allow it to happen? And, happen not once, not twice, but millions of times? How is it that brick on brick could be laid knowing that human flesh would fuel the fires of the furnaces being built? How could rail be placed against rail knowing that the trains traveling these same tracks would carry a cargo of sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, neighbors and friends? How could poisonous gas be offered instead of a drink of water? Or the glut of human greed transform race into a curse, rifling a dead man's pockets to be sure no treasure is lost? How does moldy, worm infested bread and lice ridden rags become the acceptable standard of hospitality? Or the demands of slave labor in abhorrent conditions the acceptable practice?
My mind cannot comprehend it. My heart cannot condone it. My spirit cannot fathom it. Still, someone's mind did comprehend it. Someone's heart did condone it. Someone's spirit did fathom it . . . and the collusion of the three tried to silence the voice of God's people. Like nails through hands and feet, power and arrogant self-righteousness propelled hatred and prejudice through the soft-tissues of God's defenseless children, burning those one who could not be controlled, yoking those would not otherwise submit, and piercing with derision those who would not die.
Still God's Word echoes in Auschwitz-Birkenau. Generation after generation rises up from the ashes of this world's conceit and announces praise of the One true Master. Generation after generation speaks for the silenced, releases the enslaved, and brings hope to the forgotten. Generation after generation tears up the tracks, even as they tear down the ovens and dismantle the camps. Generation after generation announces the praise of God, whose Word is final and whose Life is complete.
"O Lord God, forever will I give you thanks" is both Doxology and Benediction in the liturgy of a people who believe that God, indeed, will turn mourning into dancing and remove from their backs the sackcloth of grieving that they might be clothed with joy. If such a faith can be lived, can be claimed, can be spoken to the powers that be in the name of 'I AM', then who are we in this age to live less prophetically, less faithfully, less fully? "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning." Ps. 30.5b May the Word of God keep you into every morning.

God vs the Sheen's of the World

2011-03-29T16:50:00.002-05:00

"I want you to go to your window, I want you to open it ... I want you to join our chant: winning, winning, winning ..."

copied from MSN.com, 03-29-11: Charlie Sheen regarding recent allegations leading to being fired from CBS

In twenty-two years of ministry, I could never have imagined leading a newsletter article with a quote from Charlie Sheen yet, here it is. Self-proclaimed as 'clean' and 'never more in charge of his faculties', possessing 'tiger's blood' in his veins and a 'vision for the future' in his mind, Sheen is taking on CBS and anyone else who dares to challenge his persona, his wealth, his position, or his life choices. Sheen perceives himself as being 'more' than an ordinary person, he perceives himself as something of a god, with god-like qualities, never-to-be-questioned, never-to-be-doubted, always-to-be-admired. For Charlie Sheen, and all of the other Charlie Sheen's of the world, the world is their tromping ground, their place of pleasure and provision with other 'mere mortals' scrambling to meet their every need, whim and desire. 'Responsibility to others' is little more than a catch-phrase of vocabulary words spewed upon backside-kissing hangers-on who desire to service the position more than the man, the sum of whom, once the money or the fame - or both, run out, will move on to the next 'up-and-coming, rising star' who will care for them, more than they care for themselves.

Seem harsh? Maybe, yet such are the qualities continuing to be possessed by, and possessing, those who treasure themselves above all and at the cost of all. Such was Caiaphas, the high priest, and Annas, his father-in-law. Such was Pilate and Herod of Rome. Such were those who worshipped them and those who tended them. Such were those who incited the crowds in Jerusalem in those fateful days and such were those who drove nails through hands and feet. Such were those who ordered the door of the tomb be sealed and guarded and such were those who persecuted the Apostles who remained.

Identifying threads of commonality between Sheen's behavior in current times with that of folks who lived at the time of Jesus might be something of a stretch, but then again, is it so hard to see those same threads of commonality coming out in the Church itself throughout the ages? In the names of the Inquisition, the Crusades, and the dogmatic controversies which have polarized generations of believers, even into the current generation regarding sexual orientation, AIDS, and birth control, those who proclaim " . . . winning, winning, winning . . ." are united with those who say, "In the name of Christ, death to the heathen." In one way or another, the goodness of God's creation present in each one of us is distorted beyond recognition by the emergence of a narcissistic bent, requiring the world to bow at the feet of those who deem themselves to be god, while countless souls suffer and die like Lazarus, with dogs licking their wounds, or like Jesus, with guards casting lots for his cloak. Where does it stop?

The boorish behavior of the powerful, the rich, the deluded and the self-absorbed stops, not where humanity can stop it, but where God says it will stop: at the door of an empty tomb. When, according to the Gospel of John, Mary Magdalene, herself scorned and reviled by many, yet loved of Jesus, came to the tomb of Jesus early on the third day and saw the angels sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, what she witnessed first-hand is what crystallizes hope and faith in the heart of the believer. In the Risen Christ, God announces God's power, even over death, subjecting the tyrants of every age to a judgment they could never pronounce: LIFE! Easter is God's gift of grace to the world, that all who fear and despair might run to the window and shout to the world, "He lives! He lives! He lives!" and know the true meaning of 'winning'.

It's Time to Get Up!

2010-08-16T08:30:00.014-05:00

"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 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 in the mor-ning!

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

2010-08-13T09:21:00.002-05:00

++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

2010-08-09T10:40:00.009-05:00

"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

2010-08-06T11:26:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-27T17:24:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-23T16:37:00.003-05:00

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

2010-07-22T13:07:00.007-05:00

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

2010-07-20T10:57:00.008-05:00

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

2010-07-19T16:35:00.010-05:00

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

2010-07-17T14:27:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-16T09:55:00.006-05:00

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

2010-07-15T14:52:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-14T16:09:00.005-05:00

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'

2010-07-13T08:54:00.006-05:00

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

2010-07-12T17:54:00.006-05:00

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

2010-07-12T10:13:00.011-05:00

"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?

2010-03-24T11:19:00.003-05:00

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

2010-03-21T22:18:00.007-05:00

"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

2010-02-22T12:54:00.002-06:00

“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

2010-02-04T09:30:00.003-06:00

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

2010-01-27T14:26:00.001-06:00

“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

2010-01-10T19:54:00.008-06:00

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

In the Days of Life

2009-11-20T17:41:00.002-06:00

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

2009-11-20T17:36:00.004-06:00

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

2009-11-20T11:37:00.002-06:00

“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

2009-10-21T14:45:00.005-05:00

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

2009-10-21T14:38:00.004-05:00

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

2009-10-14T22:26:00.005-05:00

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

2009-09-25T16:10:00.003-05:00

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

2009-08-27T09:59:00.001-05:00

“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

2009-08-14T16:11:00.004-05:00

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

2009-08-05T09:45:00.003-05:00

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

2009-07-29T10:08:00.004-05:00

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!"

2009-05-28T09:18:00.001-05:00

“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

2009-05-26T21:08:00.004-05:00

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

2009-05-18T15:02:00.006-05:00

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

2009-04-30T14:54:00.001-05:00

“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

2009-04-10T14:46:00.004-05:00

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

2009-04-05T18:24:00.005-05:00

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

2009-03-25T12:07:00.003-05:00

““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

2009-03-25T07:58:00.005-05:00

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

2009-03-24T18:28:00.006-05:00

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

2009-03-23T15:43:00.005-05:00

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

2009-03-17T20:56:00.011-05:00

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

2009-03-16T20:57:00.009-05:00

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

2009-03-10T14:52:00.004-05:00

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

2009-03-01T20:08:00.005-06:00

'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

2009-02-24T20:41:00.005-06:00

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

God's Bailout

2008-12-19T11:16:00.004-06:00

Another bailout has been announced this morning, this of the automobile manufacturer's. Like the bailout of the banks before them, this bailout has been given the spin of a 'loan' - with multitudes of strings attached. Yet, with or without strings, this is a loan that will be paid by my tax dollars and yours, by those of our grandchildren, and their grandchildren after them. Bailing out unwise business practices is not cheap - and should make us all stop and count the cost that we not participate in such practices ever again.

Maybe that is why the birth of Jesus is so very much different . . . and so very ironic in the face of such bailouts: Jesus represents God's own bailout of sinful humanity, yet, the only one paying the cost is God - as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God is paying the price for our stupidity and arrogance. God is naming the value of our lives in sacrifice and grace. God is facing our creditors and paying the full cost. God, in the person of Jesus Christ and in the presence of the Holy Spirit, God pours out God's own love and abundance that we might be free. No strings attached.

What a difference between God and the government. Our dollar bills say, "In God we trust", but it is the dollar bill we want, the money we worship, the power we crave. God says, "I love you and will never leave you" and that is exactly what God does. God comes to us in Christ and is present for us forever in the Holy Spirit - allowing us freely to choose to accept this gift of life. Again, no strings attached - AND, every generation which follows is offered the same gift, with God paying the cost.

All God asks is that we share the gift, not pay the cost. Tend to each other, not hang on the cross. Serve each other, not face the crowds. Jesus stands before every Congressional subcommittee and testifies on our behalf: Father forgive them, for they know not what they do. How much more proof will we demand before we quit requiring someone else to bail us out of our poor decisions and accept our responsiblity of relationship with God as a gift from which to really live?

It is a question which demands our pondering in the face of Child born in Bethlehem. It is a question which demands an answer of our soul before we accept another dollar of bailout money at the expense of children and grandchildren.

Thank you, God, for the bailing our lives out of the abyss of our sins. Thank you, God, for the gift of Christ-Child.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Fall Harvest On The Farm Is Complete

2008-12-18T08:02:00.007-06:00

"Fall harvest is complete on the farm." Seven words which took what seemed to be a lifetime to accomplish in their being spoken, yet the phrase is true, "Fall harvest is complete on the farm."

It was a bountiful harvest whose beginnings in the rain-filled Spring seemed nearly impossible. Planting in this area did not begin in earnest until in early June, which by most standards is nearly two months tardy. Yet, once begun, everything was planted in one fell swoop: corn, soybeans, and double-crop soybeans, that latter of which only occurs after wheat harvest and in the middle of baling alfalfa. To say the least, the Spring planting was arduous and offered little hope for the Fall harvest: To paraphrase university agronomists, 'Once beyond May 15, with most crops you begin subtracting potential yield.' June 5 was the day we started planting.

Fortunately for most of the farmers in the area, neither God, nor the weather and fields, pay much attention to university agronomists. Periodic rains throughout the Summer, with few 100 degree plus days in a row, mixed with a long-term fertility plan already in place on the farm, and blessed with expanding knowledge and use of newer seed hybrids, proved to be a combination that no university expert could predict. Harvests of corn, soybeans, milo and other more specialized crops in the area were 'bin-busters'. God's abundance for humanity was given just one more expression in the fields and labors of Southern Illinois farmers. Thank you, God.

One aspect alone, though, made the harvest prolonged and tedious, especially of the corn in this region: a wind storm in mid-September. The remnant of a hurricane absorbed on the southern coastal regions of our nation found its way to the mid-section of our croplands, flattening thousands of acres of corn and beans in just a few short minutes of severe blowing. Affecting an area reaching as far north as mid-state Illinois and swooping well into the southern reaches of Kentucky, these winds featured both straight-line force and down-draft destructiveness. Corn fields which, minutes earlier, had stood ten or more feet tall, were nearly instantly reduced to the height of an overgrown lawn. Acres and acres of crops were laid over, some broken, some churned as though pelted with hail and razors. Hearts sank, despair set in, and the grim ordering of reels for combine corn heads began in earnest. What lie ahead did not look good.

Entering the fields this Fall proved to be every bit the challenge farmers anticipated. The reels on the corn heads helped but, working through thousands of flattened acres of material, some of it splayed in multiple directions in the same field, no reel could magically make the harvest go the way farmers hoped it would. Yet, and that is a very BIG 'yet', there was a surprise waiting in the fields that few if any of the farmers could have fully anticipated: The harvest was producing better than any other 'ideal' year before. Soybean and corn yields tipped the scales with numbers far beyond what most farmers had ever seen in their lifetimes. This, with early harvest higher grain prices, proved to be the saving of many a farm family in the region. It was a blessing that waited for those who wept just weeks before. Joy comes in the morning.

In retrospect, the lavish rains throughout the Summer had been both blessing and curse: Blessing in that the crops grew with little challenge or difficulty; Curse in that the crops grew with little challenge or difficulty. Corn plants that, in most years, routinely set large tap roots on the outer base of the plant for stability and extra moisture absorption, this year did not need to, thereby making the heavily laden plants susceptible to the kind of destabilizing effects that a hurricane wind might provide. Additionally, the bounty of full soybean pods and large ears of corn proved too much for narrowly rooted plants to hold up in the face of a blowing crisis. What produced an incredible yield also made the harvest nearly impossible. Just ask the farmers who shelled corn diagonally across the fields in order to pick up the greatest amount of grain.

Talking with my brother and Dad about this phenomenon, it humbled me as to how deep God's wisdom goes. Nearly without fail across the region, the higher the yield in the individual fields, the more likely the greater amount of wind damage. Were it not for the more challenging days in our lives, we would be like the ten foot high corn plants with great big ears of grain: unstable and vulnerable to every wind that blows. Yet, it is the difficulties, the high temperatures and the dry spells, the weeds which compete, and the late planting which impedes, that make us heartier in faith, more prepared for the storm, ready to stand in the faces of the challenges before us. Without occasional hardships, there would be few who kneel in prayer. Without occasional difficulties, stabilizing taproots would not be established in the soil of our soul. Without the competition of weeds that threaten to undo all that is done, our stewardship would become lax, our attitude one of laizze-faire.

The combine is in the shed, the wagons and trucks are put away, the bins are closed and the batch drier is cleaned-up: Fall harvest is complete on the farm . . and I thank God for the lessons learned upon the lap of a very loving, very present Parent, who opens our minds to see that not everything we pray for (in a very protected and challenge-less life) is necessarily good for us. Make me, O God, open to your every wisdom shared that I might walk in all your ways.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Book You Must Read

2008-12-17T15:20:00.004-06:00

In the cold of a day marked by ice and flying snow, the love of God in Jesus Christ fills me in a whole new way.

Yesterday afternoon I purchased a copy of the book, The Shack, by Wm. Young - and finished reading it this morning. I cannot recall a book, a story, a truth, which so captured both my attention and my soul. Already this morning e-mails have been sent to scores of colleagues encouraging them to treat themselves now, in the waning days of Advent, to the heart-warming, faith-filling challenges found within the pages of this fantastic story. Bold enough to deepen the meaning of Christmas, The Shack is a provocative experience which bridges human experience and Divine Presence in such a manner as to lead the reader into the fullness of holy ground.

Remove your shoes and listen. Open your heart and hear. That still small Voice is speaking anew in a manner the humblest among us may understand: God loves you.

This is my Christmas gift to you: The Shack will challenge your most stayed understandings while embracing your deepest desires for the Holy.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Season of Caution

2008-12-16T15:43:00.003-06:00

Ice and snow on the roads have slowed me down. Careful not to speed up too quickly, nor to have to brake too suddenly, I have entered that season of the year which is not found in any calendar. I have entered the season of Caution.

Caution is what makes us assess the route taken before leaving the garage. Caution is that which causes us to stockpile emergency supplies, both in our cars and in our homes. Caution demands that life not be lived 'pedal to the metal', but at a rate of speed respectfully aware of the dangers at hand. Caution urges attentiveness to the landscape and readiness in the soul. Caution heightens perception and attunes decisiveness.

So little do we enjoy the season of Caution that we throw our very last dollars at it with scatterings of salt and calcium chloride. So derided is the notion of such a season that some will end up in ditches and fields, cursing the ride which placed them there and praying for Caution in others to come and save them. So despised are the behaviors Caution elicits, some are moved to never leave their places of security, demanding others to serve them and still others to act on their behalf. Caution is not perceived to be a joyful season, rather one to be feared and dreaded. Yet, Caution is that one season which, when wholly observed, is holy and sacred in its own right, for Caution is a Rite, a season of delicious, delicate liturgies causing our souls to slow, even while our hearts beat with urgency.

Caution gives us back the Day that we need no longer fear the night. Caution opens to the believer the gates of Paradise, even as the very gates of Hell are closed forever. Caution inspires thought and pondering, while deepening prayer and meditation. Caution allows time and space for words with meaning, and meaning for actions. Caution is a gift from God that is unlike any other gift - and was never meant to be a season through which one might skip.

Caution teaches us to measure our steps, whether to Bethlehem . . . or Jerusalem. Caution opens our ears to hear His words, whether from a Mount or mounted upon a Cross. Caution peals from our eyes the scales of blindness which could not understand earthly faithfulness pointing towards heavenly Lordship. Caution bids our faith to delve into the Word which matters in a manner which moves the Bible from coffee table decoration to kitchen table reading. Caution gives us the heart reason to believe life is more precious than all the things we can accomplish - and nobility of purpose anchored in the Noble One who walks the way with us.

Caution may not be a season marked on the calendar, but it is a season of the Lord requiring our attentive participation that we not miss the very gift of Life itself, Life born in an expected place and time along the way.

Tend to the season of Caution in these hallowed days of Advent.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Ten Days and Counting

2008-12-15T15:37:00.006-06:00

We are ten days journey from Bethlehem and I strain my eyes towards the horizon, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the One who is to come. I long for a vision of salvation that neither, the repetitive playing of carols on the public airways, nor all of the 'old Christmas specials' being shown on television, are quite able to fulfill in any meaningful fashion. I seek not the cleverness of our culture, but the humility of God emerging from a stable; not the gaudiness of Hollywood, but the simplicity of a carpenter and a maiden acting in faith, whatever the outcome; not the lavish explanation some self-righteous Biblical scholar offers of 'how it really probably happened', but the common Word of God upon the common lips of God's children singing with the angels of another age a 'Gloria' no earthly choir could manage.

I yearn for deliverance and God's zeal for life . . . and I look to a Baby, the Christ-Child, to lead me home.

The economy may continue to tank, the housing market may long be stagnant, wars and rumors of wars may fill the pages of newsprint, and jobs may become even more hard to find, but in my heart of hearts I believe the Promise,

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian. For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this." (Isaiah 9:2-7 NRSV)

I believe the 'Zeal' of the Lord is just over the horizon and it is up to me to take the initiative, to show a bit of gumption, to display just a trace of faith, and move towards the light of the star which shows the way. Maybe if more people believed in the Zeal of the Lord, there would be less zealots on the earth to distort the Vision. Ten days may not seem to be such a long time to wait, yet it is a journey which will demand our all.

The 'Zeal' of the Lord is waiting with Baby fingers to touch our lives. The 'Zeal' of the Lord is coming. Believe.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Mulling on the Flat Places

2008-11-24T16:02:00.003-06:00

I have been blessed to spend a few precious days at the Wagner farm this Fall helping with harvest. The soybeans ran well and were relatively easy to combine, but the corn, on the other hand, as a result of the severe winds of that Sunday in September, the corn has been a challenge. Every corn field on our farm was affected to various degrees: some stalks were slightly bent to severely bent from the force of the wind, others were/are nearly flat on the ground. Corn harvest has been slow and tedious, yet highly productive. Even given the wind damage, the corn crop is running very well . . . which got me to thinking.
From the road, many of our corn fields might be considered a disaster by those unacquainted with what plants and modern genetics have the capacity to accomplish. Soon after the winds of the storm blew through, I was one of the skeptics who voiced concern what those ‘flattened fields’ would ever be able to yield. Yet, though haltingly harvested, today those wind whipped fields are bringing forth yields which are baffling to even the most seasoned of farmers. God is proving a point: There is something good which can come from Nazareth.
From the poverty of hard labor and slim returns, from the lives of a lowly maiden and a humble carpenter, from the hard-crusted community of an ethnically persecuted people, from the fields of peoples livelihoods laid low by the fickle winds of oppression and politics, God introduces an unexpected and bountiful response to the cynicism of this world’s experts and leadership. There, in the small village of Bethlehem, God speaks a new word of Hope into a despairing attitude. There in the darkened skies above the world’s fields of fear and hurt, God’s angels sing of Courage and Healing, born in abundance in a place of little notice. There along the byways of passing privilege and power, in the heart of flattened dreams and crushed anticipation, God births New Vision and Realized Presence in the unexpected yield of a Holy Baby where no-one, no-one expected any good to emerge.
Is it any wonder that the shepherds were the first ones to hear and take notice? Should it surprise either you or me that, while darkness covered the land and deep darkness the hearts of the people, God placed a magnificent star above the Savior’s birthplace, boldly proclaiming a Mercy never before known, a Grace riding on the waves of gossamer angel songs, piercing the prevailing winds of withering drought and disease with Light above Light, an Answer to Prayer? Have we become so accustomed to hearing the Story of God elevating the Harvest in the planting of the Son, that our own expectations of anything being made different this year in His coming are little higher than the flattest corn? Our lives little more than rote holiday behaviors exercised on an annual basis in the hopes that others might not notice the lack of depth in our soul?
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,” says John the baptizer in the Gospel of Mark.
Today is an incredibly wonderful day to see with God’s eyes the potential in those flattened places of our lives. Today is an opportune time to consider with God’s heart the abundant yield that waits to be harvested in those surprising places. Today is an excellent day to ‘Prepare the way of the Lord’, prayerfully expectant of God to bring forth from the birth waters of struggle new Truth, new Life, and new Faith.
I pray you and yours a blessed and bountifully powerful Advent and Christmas. God is entering into the lives of those who are ready and, through the birth of God’s Son, Jesus, the storm’s devastations are rendered new meaning. Come, see the Son, and there find Life Abundant.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Prayer

2008-10-22T20:54:00.002-05:00

Measure each day God allows you
By the sacred value God sees in you.
Savor each moment God grants you
In the knowledge God loves you.
In the seeking of God
Comes wisdom.
In the living of God
Comes life.
Therefore, measure life
By the sacred wisdom
Of God's love for you
Shown in Christ.

Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Our Family Is Growing

2008-10-08T09:02:00.007-05:00

Our family is growing.

This last weekend our middle son, Raymond, exchanged his covenantal vows of marriage with his long-time sweetheart, Kara. As the day wound to a close and the DJ silenced the music, as the table decorations were collected and the bartenders cleaned the last of the glasses, as the staff of the reception hall stripped the table cloths and stacked the chairs, and as we moved flowers and decorations into place for loading into our cars and vans, it struck me just how blessed we are to witness our family growing in such fantastic and wonderful ways.

Just hours before as Nancy and I escorted Ray up the aisle in preparation to receive his bride, my eyes welled with tears of pride and joy in the choices our children are making. Ray and Kara had chosen to have both of their parents escort them down the aisle, not just the traditional father-of-the-bride, they had chosen to include as many of their family and friends in their wedding as possible, they had chosen to fill the service of worship with beautiful voice, organ and string music, they had chosen to 'take their stand together' before God with those closest to them in attendance, and they had chosen to make the worship environment one of beauty and peace with all sorts of flowers, grains, and greenery spilling into the sanctuary. Kara and Ray, not above any others, but certainly displaying their own priorities and confidences, chose to become a particular family in their own right in a manner which best extends their own sense of family: inclusively, lovingly, caringly, carefully, intentionally, fully, faithfully. Certainly, what Ray and Kara are becoming is something of a mirror image of the homes in which they grew up, but, more importantly, what they are becoming is a mirror image of the One in whom they continue to mature and grow. They are children of God first . . . and have chosen to live that truth together in the world we share . . . and as parents, we are blessed to be witnesses to the choices they are making.

I pray for them God's richest blessings of faith and perseverance on the journey. I pray for them patience and understanding with each other. I pray for them prosperity and success that exceeds any checkbook balances. And I pray for them peace and joy in the love of God which they share in each other's arms. I pray for them a father's prayer that the Father watch over them continually.

Our family is growing . . . in wisdom and appreciation of God's goodness and abundance as evidenced in these two children and the choices they are making. May God grant us all the courage of our convictions to grow so well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

'Just' Prayer

2008-09-17T20:50:00.002-05:00

With all due apologies to those who choose to use the word, 'Just', in prayer as though it is the spice of life, 'STOP IT!'

If you are praying for 'just living', with the emphasis on justice, okay. But, if you continually utilize the phraseology of, "God, we just ask this . . . ", or, "Lord, we just praise your Holy Name . . .", please, either be bold enough in prayer to ask and praise fully and completely or utilize another word occasionally, such a 'simply' or 'humbly'. The falseness of intention and/or the lack of time really spent thinking through what it is your heart is in conversation with God about fairly oozes out into the ears of those who deeply desire to be praying with you. As one who has many, many occasions to be in prayer with people from every walk of life and denominational bent, the word, 'just' is becoming a stumbling block precisely because I really try to pray with you - and find myself hitting the 'just' wall over and over and over again. "We just this," "We just that", "I just this", "I just that", "The world just this", well, you get the picture.

I have no doubt that there is a deep intention of wanting to be humble before God in prayer, but isn't the very fact that you are going to God in prayer at all a pretty profound statement of humility? Do you pray to everything or everybody? No. You are daring to approach the Throne of God, hat in hand, and talk with a friend . . . or at least that is what Jesus tells us we are to do. "I call you friend", says Jesus. "When you pray, say, 'Abba . . .", which in the Greek is an intimate expression of Father, probably more closely associated in the English language with 'Daddy'.

How powerful would that be if our private, as well as our public, conversations with God would begin, "Daddy"? 'Daddy, I love You. I don't 'just' love You, I love You.' 'Daddy, I am grateful for the beautiful day of which we are allowed to be a part. I am not 'just' grateful, Daddy I am profoundly, unabashedly, grateful.' The difference, at least in my ears, is the difference between being invited into an intimate relational conversation that is full disclosure from the very beginning and being asked to stand at the door while someone else takes care of business for me.

God hears every prayer. I have no doubt of that, in fact I truly depend on that for my own soul. What truly remains a mystery to me, though, is what becomes of our prayers when the pattern of our words, or a particular word, comes to mean more than the spirit in which they are spoken. When 'just' becomes the crutch or connector for a sentence, rather than a spiritual commitment to walking in love with the One who desires to share our every thought and experience, does our praying become 'just' 'simply' the babbling of so many words in a hope to stimulate some sort of effect in the listeners around us? I don't know, for I do not know the hearts of those who 'just' pray all the time, but I do know I want to pray with you, even as I am praying for you now, with what small reserve of words with which I am blessed.

God hears every prayer . . . and I am praying that God's Justice not strike me down for desiring more than 'just' praying. But, most of all, in the Spirit of prayer, I pray you keep praying. I pray we all keep praying, no matter the words we use . . . for we need to speak our prayers more than God needs us to utter them. In so doing, the door is opened for the Spirit to enter and who knows what transformation may occur in that moment. It 'just' may change the world.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

If We Got What We Deserved

2008-09-16T20:29:00.002-05:00

Sunday morning, about 8:30 a.m. CST, Hurricane Ike struck the St. Louis region of the country. The media was quick to show the downed power lines, broken trees and flood waters, all part and parcel of such a powerful storm. Yet, what the media missed was just beyond the lens of their cameras in the rural areas home to 'not enough people to make it worth sending a film team'. Had they overlooked the flattened fields of corn, beans and milo, the flooded fields of rice too deep in the water to be recovered, and hay too tattered to be of value. The unblinking eye of the camera focused on the property loss with which the greatest number of people could identify and empathize, sharpening the images of hunters caught in trees by waters overtopping levees while blind to the farmer just down the road on bended knee weeping for what never will be harvested . . . and never will be eaten by man, nor beast.

One of folks who walked through the door this morning lamented, "They [the farmers] just didn't deserve this, especially this year after such a rough Spring." And, in my opinion, they are right, but it got me to thinking: What is it that they, or we, really deserve? And, if we received what we deserved, what would the unblinking eye of the camera record of the outcome? Would anybody be interested? Or, would it fit in that broadest of categories of, 'No-one even noticed'?

What if we received what we deserved? What if you received what you deserved?

We are told in the Bible that the Father sends, "rain on the just and unjust alike." (Mt. 5:45b) Can the winds and waters of a hurricane be far removed from this teaching? Or the grace offered at the door of an empty tomb?

It just got me to thinking . . . and praying for those caught in disasters not of their making. I pray, not that we get what we deserve, but that we live, regardless of our situation, deserving of God's most abundant grace in spite of what we deserve.

It is just something to ponder.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Leaping for the Waters

2008-09-04T11:46:00.003-05:00

Our Black Labrador puppies love to lap water from the hose before it ever reaches their watering bowl. I cannot tell you why they like it, but they will come running from wherever they are in the yard just to get a shot at drinking from the hose - and it is one of the funniest things I have seen in a long time. Literally hopping up and down on all fours, each puppy tries to lap the water closer to the end of the hose than the other one can reach in a competition of sorts, the end result of which is that one or both of them collide in mid-air trying to reach the source of the water and both of them inevitably end up nearly immersed in the water bowl itself which lies at the feet of their competition.

It made me wonder when last I was the one trying to get closer to the Source of the cooling, cleansing waters of Life, when last I was so taken by attempting to reach the Source that I gave no care as to who was watching or what sort of laughter I was giving to others in my efforts. It made me wonder when it was that the kind of 'puppy-like' behavior which now gives me such joy to watch became something that I didn't like to do. It made me wonder if I valued the waters of God's presence and sought them out with the eagerness of puppies or regarded those waters as being my right and available whenever I deigned to give God a bit of my time to lap from the bowl at God's feet.

I wondered. So might you.

I think I am going to go outside and splash in a few water puddles and leap towards the sky to catch the rain on my tongue. Wash me, O God, inside and out, from all that makes 'being proper' more desirable than being close to the Source of the Water. See me as a puppy in faith, always ready to lap up your Love and walk with You on the journey.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Changing Times

2008-09-03T08:00:00.003-05:00

Political change is happening, whether we vote for it or not. It has something to do with race and ethnicity, it has something to do with gender and experience, it has much to do with the economy and the environoment, and it is uniquely tied to our place in the global community . . . and, it has nothing to do with the upcoming elections. Political change is the inevitable ongoing result of the human endeavor to exercise power and dominion. Whether such an exercise is charitable and compassionate or greed-filled and cold, it is still an ongoing endeavor and what is transpiring at this moment in history is just another chapter in our nation's peculiar history of political change. What is different is who is involved and what brand of change they are seeking.

I have just listened to a few folks tell me how much their particular political party and candidates are going to do to change our nation's current condition for the better. They have promised me the moon and are taking aim on offering Mars, if only I will pull the lever or mark the ballot for their vision of heaven on earth. I wanted to hurl, mainly because the ones who were speaking were addressing me like I was an uninformed alien who had never exercised the franchise to vote, but additionally, because the rhetoric they were using was not language of their design: it was the Party Line and they knew for every one or two like me they would offend, a dozen others would buy it hook, line, and sinker. It made me wonder what we are becoming.

I regularly tell my congregation to "Vote! How you vote and for whom you offer your support is between you and God, but don't ever come to me and begin a political discussion without the clear expectation of me asking you, 'Did you vote in the last elections?' Because, if you didn't vote in the last elections, you have no right to complain - and, if you did not vote, I will not listen to your rant, however qualified you think yourself to be." It has become something of a mantra within our faith community, but it has also become the basis for folks from all walks of life to begin asking the hard questions of our nation's leadership, the very leadership those who voted (and, in some ways, those who didn't vote) placed in the position to exercise power and dominion over them, regardless of their political affiliation. Truth be told, if we don't like what it have in our nation's capitol, maybe it is because those who pulled the lever or marked the ballot in the last elections didn't do their homework in vetting the individuals they supported. To blame the politicians for their misbehavior and odd judgement is way too easy, for it takes the voting public off the hook for the choices they make. Truth be told, too, most people don't want change. They want their personal and economic world to be stable and their imagined societal entitlement immutably protected against anyone and anything that might shake the precarious boat that their dreams, however large or small, ride upon . . . and, in most cases, they will vote for the candidate that most audaciously claims they can do just that, often despite a blatant history of non-performance.

The change I am looking for in our current political environment is not one that any particular political party can begin to yield or, for that matter, would even pursue, for the changes that I am seeking in the economy, in our cultural values, in issues of ethnicity and race, in the environment, in the vast arena of global injustices, and even in the systems themselves, is a change in 'ownership'. I passionately believe that in the moment in which the American people own the outcome of the political process, at whatever point it is, with whatever leadership of whatever political party is in power, such an ownership by the voting public will require of the voting public themselves that they, individually and corporately, accept responsibility for the outcomes of all decisions made and carried out in their name. In such an environment, candidates to political office would be to blame for the exercise of poor judgement only insofar as they truly represented the poor judgement of the people themselves. Thus, all people, common citizens and leadership alike, would be pushed towards avenues of sound decision-making with an understanding of accountability and consequence, rather than settle for the back-roads of the old boy, 'same-old, same-old', process which consumes so many well-meaning folk who rely uniquely upon finger-pointing to save their hide.

Maybe it is a Utopian hope, sort of like hoping that parents, all parents, would accept responsibility for the behaviors, words and actions of their children, whether on the streets, in their homes, or in their schools. Yet, if we don't dare to hope for such changes, even begin working for such changes, then are we not condemning ourselves to the history that others write for us in the annals of our time on this earth? Isn't this, in fact, what God does in sending Jesus? God is so convinced that the human condition is salvageable and redeemable that God sends God's own Son, God's own investment in the hope of change, to lead others to own their faith choices on the journey. Resurrection is God's announcement of a change in outcome: Live in the integrity of the faith God has in you and even death cannot stop the change towards new life.

I am not content to have others write the changes which are to happen in the current political environment and I pray you are not, either. Change is inevitable, but what changes are in the best interest of the human community? Of your community? Of my community? Pray on it. Work for it. Own it. Dedicate the journey and the outcome to God.

It is the kind of transformational change which just might move us beyond the tiredness of political debate and one-upsmanship. It is a living of our faith in God while moving through this world. It is claiming our identity that we might not forfeit our soul to those who do not know our names as does Christ. Thanks be to God for the hope of change.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Baptismal Lessons of a Computer Crash

2008-09-02T09:07:00.005-05:00

Ten days ago, our congregation's computer tech was busily working at my computer trying to find a way to speed up the rate at which the computer did its tasks. Suddenly, one of the applications flashed a note that there was an update available which needed to be downloaded. Without a second thought in a trusted program, he clicked the 'Start' button for downloading the update - and, in seconds, maybe even milliseconds, my computer was 'infected' with a fatal virus. Gone, kaput, finale, finished, wiped out, fade to black, crashed and burned . . . all describe in some small way what happened to all of the programs on my computer, along with all of the articles, letters, worship services, and information I had saved over the years. The old joke about Jesus and Satan having a computer contest which Jesus wins because 'Jesus saves' came to mind, along with a wry twist, 'But I wonder if Jesus also backed up?' A few individual items were backed up, but most were not and my contacts list fizzled away with the dump. So, today begins a new day.

Yet, not all that is tumultuous is fatal. As a result of having to wipe the hard drive and reinstall all of the programs, my computer works incredibly faster. Items that were saved on my hard drive that should have been deleted years ago, no longer exist as a decision to be made. Programs that are no longer effective are now no longer available. My Contacts List now only includes the names of those I really need to contact. And, though at first it traumatized me, now I am able to see the gift of God such a new beginning offers.

Just as the power of the Holy Spirit works through the muddy waters of Baptism, washing and making new, so my computer has been washed in the muddy, virus-infected waters of cyber-space and, too, is becoming new. Nothing is added that really isn't needed. People and attachments that once were a part of my history, now are measured by relevancy before reappearing. Program additions that serve no purpose other than to eat up precious resources are no longer utilized. And, maybe most importantly, I have learned a hard lesson about backing up everything which is saved, a new practice for one that has become accustomed to not worrying about such trivial nonsense, after all, 'That will never happen to me.'

In God's grace we are cleansed and given a new beginning. Our eyes become privileged to seeing all of life in a new way. People and attachments that once were a part of our history, now are measured by their willingness to walk in the Way. Behaviors that no longer serve a purpose in serving God's Will are no longer practiced. And, maybe most importantly, we learn the hard lessons of backing up in faith all that God strives through Christ to save. For truly, life happens to all of us and, sometimes, the only thing that allows us to walk out of the inferno with our lives is the faith that led us into the waters of mercy in the first place.

Ah, the wonders and pitfalls of the technological age! But, thank you, God, for sharing the lessons such an age can teach.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Dreaded 'C' Word

2008-08-19T13:57:00.004-05:00

'Cancer' is the word no-one wants to hear from the mouth of a physician. Just by its very sound, 'cancer', there conjures up images of struggle and tears, treatments and surgeries, successes and setbacks, and, sometimes, agony and death. 'Cancer'.

It is odd how sometimes things happen. Last night we received the news that a very good friend has a tumor, probably cancer, surgery might be an option, chemo is not, and now we wait for a consult. This morning I received a call from another friend who has been awaiting news on a biopsy taken last week and it was shared with me that the tumor was benign and, of what was present at the site, all had been removed.

Tears at night, joy in the morning. One facing mortality, another given a new lease on life. One not keeping food down, another ready to go out and celebrate.

It doesn't make sense, O God! We are so fearsomely and wonderfully created in the palm of Your hand, by the breath of Your being! How is it that Your creation, so imaginatively blessed, is also so frighteningly fragile? How is it that for one there is weeping at twilight, while for another the dawn brings laughter? I get the 'Life's not fair!' thing, but it is the absolute equity of the 'not fair thing' that nearly paralyzes hope itself and mutes the words of faith that my soul longs to speak in Your ear. And, if it is not cancer, then it is Alzheimer's, or COPD, or kidney failure, or a heart attack, or any of a multitude of other human maladies. Yet, most sadly, were it not that loved ones so close were in the eye of the storm, I probably would not have noticed, have so deeply felt, so dearly cried out, so passionately sought Your response . . . until that moment when some physician somewhere spoke one of those words with my name attached . . . and my cries for others would become cries for myself. O God, hear the cries of a little boy upon Your lap looking to dry his tears in the embrace of Your love . . . . AND ANSWER ME! Answer us all! Speak in terms that overshadow the deafness of our isolation and pierce through the coldness of our exiled living. Tear apart the curtain of the Temple from top to bottom, just one more time, that my soul would find its rest in the surety of Your will being done . . . in spite of our human weaknesses. Roll that stone away from the tomb all over again that my eyes might see afresh the wisdom of trusting You through the night-time of our grief, that the dawning of the day would be birthed in the joy of women running with Good News to share. O God, O God, O God, blessed be Thy name in all the earth! And blessed are those moments that usher us into Your presence with longing in our hearts and trust in our souls. Here, O God, I begin to ponder more deeply, maybe even understand more poignantly, "Not my will, but Thine be done" upon the lips of Jesus. As He speaks, so I try to live. Forgive my unbelief.

The challenge of cancer, I think, like challenges named by so many other names, is not to try so hard to find the answers to the eternal questions of 'why' and 'how'. Rather, the challenge is to trust the questions themselves to the understanding of God who, in Christ, walks through the shadows of the valley with us, inviting us to experience the cacophony of morning's first light seen through the eyes of the One who throws open the doors of the grave. So, my prayers will find their root on this summer's afternoon . . . . just as soon as the tears cease their flowing and the pangs of heartache ease their tugging.

On the journey with you,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

He Came Home Stronger

2008-08-11T14:29:00.006-05:00

Our youngest son, Ched, went to the Boy Scouts Florida Sea Base for a week of high adventure camping. He snorkeled among the reefs of the Florida Keys, fished, took pictures of sharks and lived without fresh running water or 'facilities' for the entire time . . . and loved it.

As he stepped off of the Metro Link train which brought our local contingent of Scouts back from the airport, I had to stop and catch my breath: Where was the 'boy' we had taken to that same station a short time before? There standing in front of me was a young man, bronzed by the sun, rippling with muscles that had seemingly, overnight, become larger and harder, and whose confidence and abilities made him a leader among his peers.

Looking on, I watched as he grabbed his large duffel bag and slung it over his back, taking a few steps to extend his hand and offer his thanks to the adult leaders with the group. His companions at the Sea Base, gravitated towards him, laughingly sharing stories, promising to keep in touch, and waiting until he acknowledged each one by name and a handshake. With two large strides he moved from them to wrap me in the biggest of bear-hugs a son could offer his father, telling me how much he missed me and, without worry of his nearby peer's opinions, added how much he loved us all.

I walked with Ched from the platform of the station to my car, every step driving deeper the understanding that the 'boy' was becoming a 'man' . . . but just not any man, he is becoming a man of God who values others as God values him. Thus, the handshakes and the words of appreciation to his leaders. Thus, the stories with his camp-mates and the importance of their names on his lips in parting. Thus, his willingness to unashamedly hug his dad and, before those with whom he had shared so much that week, also share with them what most is valued in life with his family.

Maybe that is why each of them stopped and waited until he walked and talked with them in leaving. Maybe that is why he fairly glowed, even in the late evening's fading light, as he moved from train to car, from childhood to adulthood. Maybe that is why I am left pondering the transformation: It happened in the twinkling of an eye - or maybe it just seems that way to a father who has shared so many steps along the way with his sons that I had long taken for granted that which few are ever privileged to witness: a child of God maturing, growing stronger, in the stature of one who walks in faith.

Something inside of me isn't sure I am nearly as ready for the changes Ched is undergoing as he is, but then, is any parent ready for such changes?! What was it that God was thinking of the Son as Jesus stumped the teachers in the Temple? As He gave sight to the blind? Or spoke the words of the Sermon on the Mount? What is it that God thinks of all God's children as they find their legs of faith and walk in the strength of the Lord?

Where the strength of the Lord takes Ched, I do not know, but of this I am glad: I am glad it is the strength of the Lord that leads him and that in all which is before him, I have been allowed this moment in time to see God's light shining in him. Thank you God for such humbling gifts.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Gifts

2008-08-08T16:57:00.004-05:00

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me, I didn't go looking for them."

I had stopped in the country near our farm to visit with my aunt when two beautiful, but severely malnourished black lab puppies came running up to me from the nearby field. I didn't know whose they were or from what direction they had arrived, but figured the folks at the neighboring farmhouse might know and, after finishing the visit with my aunt, I picked the two bony little puppies up (quietly chastising the owners who had paid these two so little care) and carried them towards the house. Upon ringing the doorbell at the front door, a voice sounded from the side of the house, "Their yours!" Turning, I saw a fairly good-sized older gentleman heading towards me and I replied, "No, they're not mine. They just came running up to me on the road while I was visiting with my aunt. I figured I was bringing them back home."

"Heck, no!" he said. "While my son and I were watching the flood waters go down from the rain the other night, these two and two more just like them, four in all, came meandering along the creek looking for something to eat. All four are females and none of them had eaten well for quite a while. We gave them a couple of hot dogs from my frig and, after deciding they had probably been dumped, my son took two of them to his house . . . a friend of his will take one and he'll keep one . . . and the other two are what you just put down on the porch. And, they are yours! I'm leaving in two hours for Sturgis, South Dakota, for the Harley gathering and, I probably should take them to the pound, but I'm riding a motorcycle, so . . . if you don't take them, they'll probably just have to fend for themselves."

This guy had no earthly idea that just a month or so ago, I had talked with Nancy about beginning the process of searching for another black lab to replace our beloved Licorice (our first black lab) who had died about three years ago. I justified the suggestion by pointing out that our collie, Trajan, was all alone and needed company for those long days when we were both at work. Nancy, just looked at me and rolled her eyes and said, "We'll think about it", which I took to mean we would discuss it later. I recently found out what she really meant was, 'I could think about it all I wanted, but given that she did most of the work with the dog in terms of grooming and vet visits, it really wasn't going to happen until the Cubs won the World Series.' (Which is the Christian way of saying, It will be a cold day in _ _ _ _!)

So, I called Nancy on the cell phone to 'ask her opinion of what I should do'. If you listen to Nancy tell the story, I sounded like a little kid in the toy store on Christmas Eve, though I thought I was rather reserved and contemplative. Either way, a few short minutes later, two 9 or 10 week old black lab puppies were on the front seat of my car on their way to their new home in Lebanon, visa via the veterinaries clinic in the nearby town.

Their names are Mulligan (taken from a golf term meaning, 'A free second chance') and Birdie (simply because she is a 'bird' - into everything) and they are quickly making it clear that they are an answer to prayer . . . . maybe not Nancy's prayer, and not exactly what I was thinking about, but clearly an answer to a prayer for Trajan. He has more company now than he really appreciates, frequently looking at me like, 'Are you mad? Do you have any idea what these two are capable of wreaking in this household? What happened to my quiet time?'

Sometimes, God has a way of answering thoughts, suggestions and prayers in ways that we are quite simply incapable of imagining . . . and Mulligan and Birdie are two of the latest examples God's great sense of humor. Other than getting up through the night every 3 hours to let them out so that they will become kennel trained by Fall, they have been a ray of sunshine for all of us in our family . . . . gifts of a very loving and knowing God.

Nancy tells our friends with a wink of her eye that I somehow engineered all of this and fabricated an elaborate ruse to make it all happen, but deep down, she knows I will never vary from my original story and she will only fall more deeply in love with these two beautiful dogs with every passing day.

"It really is not my fault . . . they found me. I didn't go looking for them." That's my story and I'm sticking to it! (Thank you, God, for the gifts with which you surprise us!)

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Sabbath Morning

2008-07-27T21:59:00.000-05:00

There is a place in Northern Indiana where heaven touches earth at that space where crystal clear waters meet the sky. There is a time in all of God’s creation when the singing of angels is echoed in the lapping of waves upon the beach and gull cries are the envoys of praise before the throne of our God. There is a measure of goodwill and peace in that moment where sunshine sparkle presents the cry of the loon in velvety whispers of joy lifted to God. There is in the heart of creation a momentary hush of adoration as the singing of the Wren finds its harmony in the distant honking of Canadian Geese whose course of flight carries them above the unfolding spectrum of God’s holy visage below. There is a sanctuary, a place of holy offering before the Lord our God, whose name is Lake Maxinkuckee, whose spring fed waters flow with crystal clear assurance of forgiveness and grace and whose depths cool the troubled soul.
Though I am fairly certain there are other places on earth where God makes such visions manifest for other eyes to behold, I am not in those other places, in fact, I cannot imagine my soul being capable of taking in more than God opens before me this day – and I am humbled before God. In the quiet of these moments, in the sunshine sparkles across miles of tree-lined shore, in the lapping horizon where water’s edge meets wave’s journey inward and outward, and in the rising steam of earth cooled waters lifting their song of joy to the blueness of skies above, there in hallowed tones of wonder God is blessing the Sabbath, not to be a burden of obligation but, to be an opportunity for reverential dance before the ark of God moving over the face of the earth.
Receive my prayers of thanksgiving and joy, O God, and make me keenly aware of every morning’s gifts, the bounty of which You never hide, yet we but seldom stop to view.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Innocence

2008-07-26T15:31:00.003-05:00

From the patio of our rented condo on the beach of Lake Maxinkuckee in Northern Indiana, I watched a girl about the age of 5 or 6 playing in the sand about 40 feet away. Suddenly, the door of an adjoining condo opened and closed and another young girl shyly walked out towards the beach. The face of the first girl simply glowed when she spotted the second girl walking out towards the beach and, without a thought about who was watching or what the ramifications might be, she jumped up and went running toward the second girl, nearly hollering at her in her eagerness, "Would you come play with me?" The face of the second girl became like a beam of light from a lighthouse in the recognition that anyone would want her company and, nodding her head, her laughter fairly danced across the waves of the lake as she took the hand of her new found playmate and they raced toward the toys at the edge of the water.

Seem like an idyllic scene out of some sort of play? It was real life this morning as I drank my coffee in the cool, slightly foggy morning skies of Culver, Indiana, and what made the moment all the more poignant was the fact that, quite apparently, while both of the girls were strangers to each other, there on the beach with no-one to tell them differently, they were both wayfarers sharing a common journey. That one was Caucasian and one African-American mattered nothing to either, for there on the beach they were both just two little girls seeking companionship on the beach with toys to share and stories to build. There on the beach, there was no history, no political correctness, no barriers to overcome, no prejudices to deal with, no economic differences to overcome, and no-one around to tell them 'yes' or 'no'. There on the beach, if even for only one moment in time, there was only two little girls who saw in each other a companion with which to celebrate time on the beach in the middle of the world's busy-ness and preoccupation with success. There on the beach I watched the world painted with a different hue and texture and, in the lives and wonder of two little girls, was allowed the sacred privilege of observing with God's eyes the way humanity was designed to be from the very beginning: As one.

I do believe in my deepest heart of hearts that prejudice is a learned behavior, that hatred towards others who happen in some way to be different from ourselves is a deeply held loathing of something in ourselves, and that the capacity to see 'color' in others is the inability to see God in anyone. I have grown up in a world deeply divided over issues of color and have observed the pain felt by those against whom discrimination's work is propagated. I have listened to vile racial epithets rolling off the lips of people of all colors against others whose lives they do not know and whose journey they have never shared. I have watched as, with impunity, one brother stepped up the ladder of cultural achievement over another brother, never offering a hand of assistance or showing any remorse at having stepped on the other's hands to get there, all because 'color', in whatever circumstance, allowed for some sort entitlement and 'race' was the trump card of permission. I have stepped into those inequities calling for justice and bear still the scars of those battles, while at the same time gaining friends whose names and lives I can call upon, not because I am owed anything, but because in the shared journey we have drank deeply of our oneness and are moving beyond the teachers of differentiation.

There on the beach of Lake Maxinkuckee in the early morning light of this day, I have been given a gift from a very loving God, for I have been allowed the holy mercy of hope in the vision of what God intends in our birthright from the beginning of time. If only this new lesson can be taught by two little girls who are the most unlikely of teachers, and if only that lesson might be learned by a world overly certain there is nothing new to learn. Only God knows and only God can tell, but maybe, just maybe, a new day's dawning has much more to do with children's innocence in play than it has to do with adult arrogance at work.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Broken Toes

2008-07-24T08:19:00.004-05:00

I missed the last step on the stairs to our basement yesterday morning and took a tumble, managing somehow to break two toes on my right foot. It was one of those moments when, though not intending to, I found myself 'speaking in tongues' as I slowly found a way to stand back up. Trying hard not to over bend them, yet wanting to find out how badly they were broken, I tried flexing all of the toes on my foot, finding that these two particular toes simply stayed straight and hurt all the more as I applied pressure to them. So, knowing there is really nothing that can be done about broken toes other than taping them to an adjoining toe for support, I slipped into my most comfortable flip-flops and continued my work, figuring the pain would ease as the day wore on, which it did.

A broken toe has an amazing way of bringing into perspective all that a person does, for there is very little which is not affected and given a wince of pain the more mobile one becomes. Up and down the stairs, walking in the garden, kneeling in prayer, even just pulling your feet up under your chair as you sit and read the Bible or the daily papers, all combine to remind a person just how incredibly careless it is to miss the final step on the staircase . . . and how long they will have to pay for their carelessness. Purple toes and ongoing pain have the unique capacity of reminding one just how much we take all that we are able to do for granted.

By the grace of God, each of us are remarkable creations, each a distinctive expression of God's goodness and imagination, however gifted or challenged. Each of us, too, have the capacity to reflect that goodness and live into God's will for our lives or simply consider life itself to be the gift and go on our own merry way without regard for the One who made us. In that context, my broken toes spoke to my soul, for they called me to value each step taken in a whole new way - remembering to be more careful about the things which cause me to stumble and fall and to be more attentive about where it is that I place my feet in the course of the daily journey. That one is able to walk at all is a privilege, so that carefully walking with the Creator becomes a sacred trust. In those moments when we so take for granted the capacity to walk that we stop looking where we are going, the fall will be great and if all that is broken is our toes, then we are very, very lucky.

Such are the lessons Israel and Judah learned in the faith journey with God in the years of the kingdom. Such are the lessons the Jewish nation learned as Jesus walked the earth and brought into perspective all that was being practiced in the name of faith. And, such are the lessons of which the Christian community is reminded in this day and age. Our God does not take our steps in faith for granted, so why should we.

Through my bi-focal lens I have been looking down a bit more carefully as I ascended and descended the many steps in our home, hopefully ensuring I will not re-injure what has already been broken and, after some mulling on the events of the day, so will I try to be more careful in how I walk in each moment with God. A couple of broken toes is pain enough to bear, if only for a few weeks. I cannot imagine the ongoing pain in God's foot when we fail to watch what we are doing and break covenant with God as though it were not our own to tend. It is certainly something of which to be aware as we walk the walk in the Spirit of God's presence, seeking in our own lives to avoid the pain of broken toes . . . and bruised souls.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Smell of Corn Pollenating

2008-07-23T14:34:00.003-05:00

It is said that one of the human bodies strongest senses is that of smell - and that the sense of smell is intimately tied to our capacity to remember. All it takes for me to think of Grandma Wagner is to smell bread or coffee cake baking and all it takes for me to think of summers past is the smell of corn pollinating.

Driving along our Southwestern Illinois highways last evening, the air was ripe with the smell of corn pollen. Many of the fields have tasseled and the dark green company of stalks are nearly all sporting two immature ears of corn, the silks of which are pushed out to receive of the tassel's gifts. Now, for many, this time of the year is reason to stay inside near the air conditioner breathing air which has been filtered many times over, recognizing that such natural events do have the possibility of being brutal on those with allergies. Yet, for those of us who thrive in such conditions, this is the time of year that, not only can you hear the corn growing, so abundant the soil moisture and summertime heat, but you can also smell the corn doing what corn does so well, 'producing', and outside is the place to be.

The smell of corn pollinating, in my memory, is the smell of mid-summer joy: It is the smell of long summer days and humid evenings play; It is the smell of farm chores being completed and summer spare time spent in the pond; It is the smell of long walks with Dad along the field roads of our farm, checking the progress of the crops and listening to the stories of the development of our family farm; It is the smell of homemade ice cream being churned with the hand-cranked ice-cream maker on the front steps of our home, being made with cream skimmed from the top of our milk tank after milking was done; It is the smell of bicycles racing along the country roads of our neighborhood as my buddies and I raced each other around the country block; It is the smell of hay being ready to bale and straw already put away in the barn; It is the smell of cow feed and the nearing Winter's challenge to prepare months in advance; It is the smell of humidity and heat mixed with an invigorating splash of faith and hope to produce anticipation of what God has yet to reveal of God's own abundance; It is the smell of sitting on the front porch of our home listening to Mom and Dad sing to each other in the dark evening's coolness while gliding together in their love; It is the smell of brother's and friends playing hide and go-seek in the lengthening shadows of our farms many barns and nearby fields; It is the smell of contentment, the likes of which I continue to yearn for today, but find only completely embodied in the memories of my boyhood. For me, corn pollinating still remains the smell of sensuous rural living, accented by the hand of God brushing over the canvas of my life in strokes and hues of laughter, music, good food, hard work, family, faith, and friends.

Though my prayers are with those who suffer greatly in this time due to the high pollen counts in the air, my fervent hope is that the smell of corn pollinating lingers for a long time to come. It quiets my soul and strengthens my heart, while taking me back to where I want to go in God's own good time for me. May you be so blessed to smell and remember with such joy.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Garage Door Trials

2008-07-22T14:47:00.004-05:00

For the last couple of weeks one of our garage doors has been working 'cock-eyed' (another form of the word, 'crooked'): One side seems always to hang up as the door raises and the other side won't settle as it closes. Yesterday one of the long springs on the opener broke, releasing cable and door to settle in a fashion that would not allow movement until I took the time to replace it. Today, I replaced both long springs and found the original problem which I had not been able to identify before: The other spring (the one which did not break) had shifted enough on the eye bolt attaching it to the mounting that it was not completely stretching out, thus causing the garage door to work in a 'cock-eyed' fashion . . . which is also what probably caused the other spring to break. And, I thought as sweat poured out through every fiber of my clothing while working in the hot, humid garage, isn't this a lot like the faith community.

As long as everything and everyone is contributing to the success of the whole, the mission and ministries work smoothly and without a glitch. Yet, let one of the workers or one of the ministries start slowing up in their work while others about them continue at the pace set for completion and, all of a sudden, things become very 'cock-eyed'. The edges begin dragging, complaints like squeeking garage door wheels start resounding at every opportunity, outsiders start commenting on the strange sounds that emminate from the gathered community as the very fabric of the faith family begins to stretch and tear, then, finally, a cable breaks, a family leaves, a ministry folds, and mission abruptly stops. Nothing is to going to be accomplished until time is taken to strip the works down and the offending issues are dealt with, even if it means completely replacing the old and beginning anew. In my mind, it has something to do with the unwise practice of placing new wine in old wineskins: Sometimes you just have to say, 'No more.'

Well, the springs are replaced, the main rail is realigned and attached with new anchors, and the door works like new. That everything is working quietly and efficiently appeases the old German ethos in my heart, but that everything is working together gives me hope that God, in Christ, is at work doing the same with all that is squeeking and balking in the way the Christian community struggles to work together.

I pray a spring doesn't have to bust and the whole thing be thrown out by the Master Carpenter before we get the message, but then, maybe that is the best thing which could happen. Sometimes we have to be completely out of order before we are able to allow God's Spirit to fix what needs to be addressed. Sometimes we need to remember it is not, "My will be done", but "Thy will be done". Praying for 'on earth as it is in heaven' for us all as I go from one project to the next, I remain,

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Squirrels Ate My Sweet Corn

2008-07-21T11:05:00.002-05:00

Nancy and I came home last night only to discover, by way of a corn husk lying in the driveway, that the squirrels in our neighborhood had raided our sweet corn patch. Nearly every ear in the patch was partially opened and the kernels of corn eaten as far as it could be easily accessed. I was distraught and angry. "How could they? They waited until the very day the sweet corn was ready to be harvested and then raided the patch before it could be enjoyed by the ones who planted and tended it. How could they?" If I had a gun in my hands in that moment I think I might have started squirrel season a bit early this year. Nancy was a bit more philosophical about the whole thing and suggested to me that the sound of a shotgun going off in town might disturb the neighbors and probably wouldn't be satisfying enough to justify the end result - and reminded me that the squirrels were only doing what squirrels do . . . . to which I thought, 'Well, if I disposed of the squirrels wouldn't I only be doing what people do with pests?'

The initial shock departed and reality set in as, at 8:30 in the evening, we began to harvest what remained of the sweet corn crop. We put everything into paper sacks and brought it into the kitchen for processing, finishing our work around 10:00 p.m. It wasn't exactly the way we imagined our weekend ending, but then again, it wasn't exactly the way we imagined enjoying the fruits of our labors either. Still, the process gave me more than a few moments to ponder what had transpired in light of our relationship with God . . . and I think I will have to give the squirrels a break.

Isn't God's grace much like the sweet corn in our garden? We haven't labored over it. We haven't planted it and tended to it. We haven't sweated over the pounding it has taken from the many storms of life. We haven't brought it to the sweetness of its maturity. Yet, just when it is the most ready and we are the most hungry, there we are, standing at the end of the row with our fork and knife in hand, the butter bib tied around our neck, and our mouths salivating, ready to be first in line to get 'what we want and deserve.' What must God think of us? How tempted is God to be angry with us for our deceptive and less than honorable ways of getting what we want without ever having to make any of the sacrifices necessary? How easy would it be for God to 'lock and load' when we show up begging for the delectable nature of God's grace? And, how full of mercy and wisdom is God in receiving us anyway and understanding our weaknesses and foibles?

When I think upon Jesus as the sweet corn of God's planting among us, when I think upon my deepest need for His forgiveness and care, and when I think about the many ways I have yearned to receive of that for which I did not labor, I am incredibly humbled and repentant of my ways. I may not agree with what the squirrels did to our sweet corn patch, but I am glad they made me think upon my own dependency upon God's abundant nature. Maybe I just need to find a way to put the squirrels to work in the garden so that what they eat will seem more 'earned' than 'stolen', but if I do that, what will God require of me?!

It's something to ponder upon as I pick pieces of sweet corn out from between my own teeth.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

The Cattle On A Thousand Hills

2008-07-17T11:21:00.004-05:00

Psalm 50, verse 10, records the words of God in this Psalm of Asaph: " . . . . for every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills." Driving through several hundred miles of Southern Missouri hills, I had a lot of time to ponder these words, for Southern Missouri hills are filled with trees and pasture lands.

At first, though incredibly beautiful and breath-taking, the hills disoriented me for the lack of 'life' as I know it. I kept looking for fields of corn or fields of beans. I craned my neck searching for alfalfa fields or evidence of wheat stubble, but regardless of the direction I turned, none was to be found. Southern Missouri is not like the Southwestern portion of Illinois where we reside. There are thousands of hills and ten thousands of cattle and horses. There are goats and chickens of every imaginable breed. There are dusty towns with gravelled roads and gossamer lakes teaming with fishes of all kinds . . . but it is not like the land from whence I hailed, nor is it the land I imagined it to be. So what is it?

It is God's land and these are God's people. Graced with an abundant and verdant beauty the likes of which the plains of Illinois could never comprehend, Southern Missouri is surrounded by the lush vistas of rolling forests and spring-fed streams, the kind of which are the plumb-line photographers seek for magazine and calendar photos.

It is God's land and these are God's people. They are like me in that they breathe the air that I breathe and walk the earth that I walk, yet their experience of life is so remarkably different that, in the traversing of only a couple of hundred miles, the earth they walk is hardened stone under foot and, what is shadow of crop lines in this area becomes shadow of tree lines and creek banks in theirs.

It is God's land and these are God's people . . . . and, together, we make compose a subliminal symphony of extraordinary power proclaiming the wonder and majesty of God's Name. The cattle on a thousand hills, like the corn over a thousand acres, is God's - and we are the sheep of God's pasture, provided for out of the generosity of God's own holdings.

As the miles wore on and the landscape captured my heart I found myself no longer seeking the familiar in unfamiliar places, but eagerly anticipating the opportunity to embrace the joy, God's Joy, which presents itself in so many different ways and so many different expressions. I pray the journey makes me a better observer, aware of the wonder - and less intent on the mundane. I pray to see the cattle on a thousand hills . . . and there rejoice in God my Savior.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Is Being Sold?

2008-07-15T16:05:00.006-05:00

Nancy and I took a short respite in Branson, Missouri, and attended a few of the many shows which are constantly available. It is the first time I have ever been to Branson and both the beauty of the region and the commercialism of the area absolutely astounded me. Seldom have I seen an entire region so committed to 'family entertainment' - and so skilled at affording every person there the opportunity to part with every dollar they brought - and, seldom have I been in a place so overtly patriotic. Flags are everywhere and of the shows we attended, all celebrated 'being American' and the sacrifices of our country's many active and veteran soldiers and families.

The patriotic emphasis so prevalent in this area took me a while to ponder, though I am not sure why. Maybe it was because everywhere you go in Branson everything you see is for sale . . . so is patriotic pride being 'sold' to the consuming public? Is the mere appearance of being patriotic being marketed in such a way as to offer legitimation to a very public offering which seeks as many consumer dollars as possible? Or does it run deeper?

It got me to thinking about the Church and what it is that happens between 8:00 a.m. and Noon every Sunday, not including all of the other worship and fellowship hours and times. It got me to pondering about the many ways some local, but nearly all mega-churches are becoming 'one stop shopping places for the soul', with speciality coffees, bookstores, personalized Christian identity and self-help classes, educational classes for every age, one-on-one prayer groups complete with prayer warrior partners to see you through every crisis, and pastoral services of every ilk and persuasion to walk the battle-wearied warrior through the dark night of their soul to the Joy of the morning. It got me to thinking about what is for sale - and what is being sold.

The love of God in Christ is free, but how is it that, not only do we expect the local congregation to package it all up in palatable and affordable ways for every circumstance within the faith family, but many expect it to be marketed in a way which brings in greater numbers to the pews, reducing the fiduciary responsibility of the particular individual by the many who support the ministries together. Have we forgotten proclaiming the Gospel for the sake of the Gospel or has that, too, become collateral damage in pursuit of grandeur and success?

Whatever happened to entertainment for entertainment's sake and evangelism for evangelism's sake? Some would say it takes a bit of both, rolled up together and, maybe, they are right. The crowds waiting to be seated and entertained in Branson are beyond my wildest comprehension, making it difficult to believe there is any kind of financial crunch in our country and, concurrently, the number of growing televangelist ministries continues to grow and thrive, with the airwaves becoming saturated with each of their perspectives on the Truth they market. Can it be that, in the same way patriotism both sells and inspires, religiosity also sells and saves?

I'm not sure that I am ready to open my wallet to buy the picture of the cross superimposed over a picture of a waving flag, but I am proud to be a citizen in a country that has a rich religious heritage and deep commitment to freedom, for such are the basic tenants which allow the Gospel to be proclaimed and questions to be continually asked of all that we do.

I suppose Branson will have to seek the answers to the questions of motivation that are before them in the same way the Church will have to seek the answers to the questions of motivation that are before it, for God demands answers to all our behaviors. The key, always, is why do I do what I do, for in God's eyes, that is the crucial answer. I pray I and the Church together live for the love of God through Christ Jesus our Lord and offer the same to all we meet. Anything less is just another sales pitch.

It is something to ponder in a culture where so much is for sale.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Unexpected Surprise

2008-07-10T09:47:00.003-05:00

The other day I had the great joy and fearsome responsibility of applying anhydrous ammonia (a nitrogen fertilizer) to standing corn, a process which requires a great deal of attention to detail and orientation in the field, so I spent very little time looking around at the scenery: the acres I had to cover, the machinery I was operating, and the task at hand was quite enough to keep me occupied. Yet, as the day neared evening and the creatures of the woods began to poke their heads out of their hiding places, there appeared, near the end of a field I was working in, a deer, a big, tawny, deep-bodied deer, eating in the tall grass near the woods.

At about 200 yards, the deer appeared to be a big doe, "Probably has a fawn hiding nearby while she checks out the commotion", I thought as I neared at about a 30 degree angle from where the deer stood. Then, when I was about 50 yards out, the 'doe' raised its head from feeding and there in front of me stood a handsome 10 point buck, calmly chewing and watching me as I neared with tractor, applicator and nurse tank at a speed of around 7 to 8 miles an hour. He never moved from where he stood. He just kept chewing on what he was eating and watched me as I neared the headland, shifted down, lifted the applicator, made the turn, dropped the applicator, and shifted back up for the long drive up the field again. I was within about 50 feet of him and he never moved, his majestic, growing, 10 point, velvet covered rack, taunting me the entire time I passed by with a wonderful side-view of his deep-bodied frame and, conservatively guessing, somewhere around 200 pound field-dressed proportions. I was salivating and he could care less. He knew he was safe and he knew I wasn't stopping with that rig to watch him.

The next time down the field he had moved about 25 feet or so to a small watering hole in a ditch and was taking a drink. This time, as I shifted down, lifted up, and began my turn, I throttled down and stopped to 'count points' and watch him. He lifted up his head, looked at me, drank a bit more, then slowly began to walk to the other side of the ditch, pausing to take a bite or two of grass as he moved. It was an absolutely breathtaking and thrilling sight, and there I was, with not a bit of Mossy Oak camouflage on me, wondering where he would be on opening day when I would be ready to hunt for him. Chances are, he won't be anywhere near that ditch or that bit of woods but, then, he might. Hmmmmmmm.

As I throttled the tractor back up and eased into the next pass of applying anhydrous, I thanked God for that beautiful sight, that unexpected surprise and delight at the end of a long and tedious day, a day which was leaving every muscle in my body aching with tension and my eyes bleary from counting rows and focusing on staying straight with my rig. There, in the midst of all the strain and toil of daily cares; there, in the heart of 'getting everything done quickly and efficiently'; there, in the press to reach the goal and claim the prize: There stood God's natural commentary on all that humanity deems important - a gorgeous buck eating grass at the edge of a woods and taking a drink from a waterway. "Do I not provide for all of the beasts of the field?" I heard God ask, "So, too, will I provide for you."

I am not sure where the tears came from, but I was glad no one else was there in the tractor with me. So many times we allow ourselves to be owned, even consumed, by our need to get everything done in a particular way, on a particular schedule, and in a particular manner that no-one else can duplicate, that we miss the wonder and joy of the world around us. We are so easily lured into believing the world cannot get along without our efforts that we make the lives of those around us a living hell in building the kingdom in our own image. In this one, humble, quiet gesture, God reminded me that I am a part of God's universal vision, not the culmination of it. We are called to contribute our gifts and talents to the care and proclamation of God's Good News to all the world, not be the ultimate definition of it. That job is already taken and Jesus is quite capable of being Savior for all, thank you very much.

Pushing the extra hours to get everything done in a rain-delayed Spring planting season may make exceptionally good sense to nearly every farmer you talk to and, I am reasonably certain, God's care and rewards for those folks and their efforts is expressed in unwavering steadfast love all the days of their lives, but I do have to wonder if the end justifies the means when, in the push to get everything done, little time is taken in the heart of the farmer, God's peculiar steward of the earth, to savor the call, the vocation, to which God has called them, regardless of the weather or the conditions. It is something to ponder as the tawny colored buck of immense frame and beauty walks across the neighboring bean field disappearing from sight as he goes, again, into the woods. It is something to ponder as I push the throttle forward and focus my eyes once more on the acres which still need to be covered. Maybe that is why the tears began to fall.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Lessons on the Road

2008-07-09T16:34:00.003-05:00

Has it ever happened to you when you were driving along, minding your own business, cruise control set, your window open, the music playing just the right song at just the right volume, that some 'lunatic' pulls out onto the road right in front of you, seemingly waiting until you were just close enough to know there wasn't enough room to safely make it, but choosing that time to pull out anyway? Then, as though putting your heart into cardiac arrest wasn't enough, and giving your reflexes a chance to prove whether or not they still work wasn't enough, and testing the drive-ability of your car with brakes fully locked wasn't enough, the person who caused all of this, seemingly, chooses to drive about ten miles an hour below the speed limit, with oncoming traffic eliminating any chance of passing for miles to come? Then, when an opportunity to pass finally makes itself available, you put on the blinker, pull out to pass, hit the gas, and begin to overtake the lunatic, only to, again . . . seemingly . . . wake them up out of their fog and have them also 'step on it' to keep you from passing, forcing you to either really get on the gas or back off and fall behind them again?

It has happened to me more than once, but it happened most recently last evening on my way back home from the farm. It was only as I finally got around the 'driver' (and I use that term very, very loosely) going about 75 miles an hour, after following them at 45 miles an hour for several miles, that I realized that the person had a cell phone to their head and was in deep conversation and driving, not with intention, but by instinct. My passing him, and it was a 'him', reminded him that he wasn't going fast enough, but it was clear in my passing him that he wasn't paying attention to his own speed either: he was talking on the phone, deeply engaged in life somewhere beyond the wheel of his own vehicle.

Once around him, he backed off his speed in direct proportion to mine and, gradually, fell farther behind as the miles clicked under our tires. At first, I was angry, then resentful, then, finally, just appalled, especially when I began to think of this encounter in terms of the church: How often is it that a person or congregation goes about the mundane nature of their living in the same old way, in the same old patterns, day after day, daring anyone to try to change them, even pulling out in front of others to make sure everyone else stayed in line behind them, regardless of how out of touch with the rest of the world they are? And, how many times have or will those same people suddenly pick up the pace when someone tired of following them pulls out to pass, putting them in a position to either go twice as fast and twice as hard or fall back in line and accept the inevitability of their own mundane place in life?

It is a paradigm which gets played out far too often in far too many places of worship over far too many things which, in the scheme of all things heavenly, really have very little affect in all things earthly. It was a part of Jesus' ministry as the various scribes, Pharisees, lawyers, Sadducee's, and political hacks, took their shots at the building momentum of Jesus' ministry as it passed through the local country side. It was a part of Jesus' teaching as He taught the thousands in the text which is commonly known as the Sermon on the Mount in' the Gospel of Matthew. It was a part of the betrayal, trial, beating, and crucifixion of Jesus recorded in all of the Gospels. And, finally, it was a part of the resurrection story recorded in all of the Gospels, as well. It took Jesus' death to gain enough momentum to pass the lethargy of power, pomp and circumstances imposed on humanity by those determined to make themselves into gods. It took a rolling stone theology to crush the self-centered, self-serving ideology of 'me-first' at everyone elses expense. It took 'Peace be with you' Christology to break down the barriers of fear which shackled even the best intentioned of disciples to 'fall in line' behaviors.

Now, I am not extolling a 'step on it no matter what the consequences' response to every 'lunatic' who pulls out in front of you, but I would suggest that you and I are not the first ones to whom it has happened, nor will we be the last. So, the essential question before each of us on the road and all of us in the church is this: Before God and all of humankind, what is to be gained by not letting up? At 75 miles an hour last night, I should have backed down and didn't . . . proving exactly what, I'm not sure. But at the speed of life, Jesus couldn't back down and didn't . . . proving we have nothing to fear in proclaiming the nearness of God's Kingdom, regardless of the 'lunatics' which pull out in front of us along the way.

Jesus makes a much better point than I do, He always does. I just hope I learn from it - and the guy on the cell phone gets the message.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

David, Jonathan, and Saul

2008-07-06T08:53:00.003-05:00

Human relationships are often difficult, but add into the mix of human relationships the dynamic of power and all bets are off as to the eventual outcome. Here the old saying holds dizzily true, "Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

Spend time in I Samuel with the stories of King Saul, Jonathan (the heir apparent in Saul's eyes), and David (the anointed of God to become King), and you will spend time in a study of power: Perceived power and real power. Saul had power he perceived allowed him to do nearly anything he deigned to do since he was King and David was coming into power that called him to do whatever God wanted him to do with God's blessing. Jonathan, Saul's son, is a man caught in-between, for he is born for ascension to the throne and wants it not - and is best friends with the man who is anointed for the throne and is being kept from it. Although there is a great deal of intrigue and shadowing of the language which occurs in the telling of the stories throughout the years, what cannot be written out of the recorded memory of Israel is the essential truth that real power belongs not in the hands of humanity, but in the wisdom of God. Saul, Jonathan, and David live that out, even unto death in each of their lives. None of them are able, in the end, to fully claim power of their own outside of that which God allows them to exercise. To pursue power for power's sake sacrifices the very life with which they seek it and the end result is loss, not gain. "Those who seek their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake and the sake of the gospel will gain it", says Jesus. He understood.

We are reminded by the lives of our ancestors in faith that life in God is life spent in service of God's will. Power in proper proportion will be granted to those whom God chooses that God's people be delivered and led.

Many will claim power, more will die for it, some will even have it at the expense of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of others, but none will ever possess it fully for human life cannot ever hold it eternally. We can only be momentarily touched by Power and do what we are called to do with that Power before our candle dims in the winds of time. To believe otherwise is to sell our soul on the chopping block of sadness and despair in the vain hopes that revisionist history will somehow hide our folly.

King David is hailed as the greatest of Israel's Kings, but only as he prayerfully served Power, not claimed it. Jesus is named as the King of the Jews by Pilate, not because He claimed a position of power, but because He served the Power which raised Him above all others. In the chronicles of life and life's choices, I wonder how others will view my living. As I pray to serve the One who is all Power Eternal, I pray my service is found to be in the name of the One who gives Life Eternal.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

July 4

2008-07-04T11:23:00.002-05:00

In our morning walk Nancy and I talked about our July 4 memories. In our 'growing up years', July 4 for Nancy had much to do with activities at the Marissa Rec Area, including fishing, swimming, family gatherings, neighborhood brunches, golf, and fireworks on the lake dam. For me the Fourth of July had much to do with baling straw and hay, cultivating crops, milking cows, taking care of chores, watching fireworks at the Marissa Rec Area, and, sometimes, the treat of an ice cream cone at the local Creme Freeze. Both of us recalled the joy and wonder of fireworks shows that, by today's standards, were fairly tame, yet for us were simply breathtaking, and both of us also reminiscenced about the patriotism which abounded around us.

Folks always seemed to 'know' the reason for the day of celebration and understood, even revered, its significance. There always seemed to be a 'passing on of the legacy', even among immigrant families such as my own who came to this country nearly a hundred years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. We were raised with a deep honoring in our bones of those whose stories were passionately tied to the act of, not only claiming independence, but putting one's life on the line to stake that claim. No-one had ever to say to us, 'Take your hat off!' or 'Put your hand over your heart!' as the flag passed by, whether in a parade or in a civil gathering: Everyone did it out of pride for country and respect for those whose blood mingled with the very soil under our feet that we might freely gather in this time. There was also a deep abiding respect for those present on the land before any immigrant arrived, those who paid the price of 'being settled' by forfeiting both their rights and their lives as others pushed for the expansion of freedom. It is the paradox of this nation's history which can never be adequately explained, but should never be forgotten for, in the words of my parents, 'What goes around, comes around' and one must wonder if we are just a declaration away from such settling happening all over again and ourselves and our rights being herded away to obscure reservations over trails of tears which are our own.

Patriotism is not an inherited characteristic, it is taught by example. Many a teacher has taught many a history class which was shaped in the terms of patriotism, but no history class in any school's curriculum was ever as capable of conveying a message as that which is articulated by the actions of the very people themselves. We remembered the parade routes in which we marched in the band and the people along those routes whose hands were over their hearts and, often, had tears streaming down their faces, as the local V.F.W. or American Legion 'band of brothers' marched with prided stride, carrying 'Old Glory' before them. We remembered the basketball games and the band playing the National Anthem before the Varsity Game, when every person in the gymnasium stopped talking and every eye sought out the flag, and nearly every mouth sang the words which shaped a national identity. We remembered when the Fourth of July was, indeed, a National Holiday, when everyone had the day off and plans had to be put in place in advance for the provisions of food and refreshments for the day, because no grocery store was open, few if any filling stations were open, and no department stores were open. We remember when the words, "Red, White and Blue" automatically made folks think of the flag and the meaning of those particular colors, the stars and bars, and the purpose for their arrangement on our nation's flag. We remember when our parents talked about patriotic pride on days other than the Fourth, not because they agreed with everything that was going on in our nation or the world, but because they understood such discussions to be an important part of citizenship and exercising their freedoms. We remember when patriotism wasn't a thing of fashion, but was the stuff of conviction.

Maybe Nancy and I are just getting older and lamenting 'the way things used to be' is a part of that journey, yet, our conversation and our remembrances got me to thinking about what it is we teach our children and why it is we teach them those things. We may not be able to change the social or political behaviors of a nation of people so that we are 'comfortable' with how others perceive patriotism, but we can raise our family to hold fast to those national ideals which are the bedrock of our country. Just as such things are not inherited characteristics, neither are they entitlements to claim. Like those before us, our very lives are required in the investment of continued exercise of freedom in this country - or we risk forfeiting our freedom in pursuit of a life which is no life at all. "Choose this day . . .", said Joshua, and we would do well to remember those words.

Fireworks may never be able to tell the story of freedoms journey in this land, but they are a persistent reminder of its cost: Freedom is not cheap, nor is patriotism a given. Nancy and I were blessed that our parents understood such lessons and passed them on as a humble legacy to immigrant children in a land of immigrant dreams. Lest we so fall in love with having our own needs met that we forget our own root we, too, must teach our children and their children after them, that their memories of July Fourths past might be as vivid and joyful as ours and their hopes for the future as bright.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

First Tomatoes

2008-07-02T08:00:00.002-05:00

Okay now, sit back and close your eyes. Imagine you are resting in a hammock under a couple of well proportioned maple trees. The robins are chirping and a cardinal is singing just a few trees away. The distinct calling of a covey of quail drifts past in the breeze, even as the pungent smell of sweet corn pollen falling from the tassels fills your senses. Clouds drift through the sky, creating alternating moments of shade and light, which are punctuated with the unrelenting feel of solar energy warming your skin. Then, add to the moment, the quixotic ambiance of children's laughter mingled with the sounds of splashing in the pool, and you have something which resembles an articulation of that first bite of the season's first ripe tomato: It is the nearness of heaven touching earth - and that you are blessed to be among the first in the area to have such an experience only heightens the wonder.

The lowly tomato is one of God's most sensual gifts for the palate. It has the capacity to both, give health with the various nutrients for which it is noted and sought, and to inspire well-being and goodwill in the hearts of those blessed to enjoy them. Perhaps I overstate the case, since such musing is inordinately associated with the excitement of 'first of the season' fruits of nearly every kind (the 'end of the season' fruits, though no less tasty, are none-the-less 'end of the season'), yet, in somewhat less than an impartial defense, 'Can the first bites of the first tomatoes of the season really be overstated?' I think not.

These first bites of first fruits are our animal connection with the creation story. Whether it be human or animal, how good . . . I mean, how 'really good' were those first bites of God's goodness in whatever fruits were being tasted? I am excited about the taste of the first tomatoes of the season, imagine the pure pleasure of tasting the first fruits of all creation for the first time?! Could it be that therein lies the answer to all of our wondering as to why Adam and Eve and the apple had such disastrous consequences? Could it be that both of them were just so taken with the 'god-likeness' of having the first bite of everything available to them, that in the very sheer joy of having everything taste so orgasmically good, that they were feeling so god-like with the world laid out before them like a banquet table, that the distinction between 'god-like' and 'God' became blurry and their common sense gave way to the pursuit of the 'best' of the first bites? We'll never know.

Yet, with the juices of the first tomatoes of the season dripping off my chin, with the meatiness of tomato flavor still lingering on the taste buds of my tongue, and with the smell of ripened tomato still pungent upon my fingers, it does occur to me that the fall of humanity isn't entirely the fault of humankind. God, who created the tomato and all of those other fruits of sheer delight for which many will sacrifice their souls, God also created the 'taste' for which each of those fruits are known. Though humanity may have absolutely no self-control when it comes to seeking after the things of the flesh, we cannot overlook the things of the flesh which includes the flesh of the first fruits of the season. Is there any way to overestimate their power to seduce even the strongest among us? Their lewd manner of behavior in luring us from strength to irreconcilable weakness must have been seen in the heart of the One who created them. Still, human beings have been given dominion, entrusted with the capacity to know right from wrong, good from evil, acceptable behavior from unacceptable . . . . and, seemingly, as it turns out, an integral part of the test determining if we are really ready to walk in His way is not . . . is not in how we behave towards each other, but how we keep in perspective our enjoyment of the tastes of the first fruits of the season . . . . . . and, my friends, I know I have failed miserably. Those tastes have rendered me helpless to save my soul.

Tonight I will pray, I will confess my weakness, I will pray for forgiveness and strength. Tonight I will promise to make tomorrow a more faithful day towards God and God's ways . . . . but, for the rest of today, I will give thanks to God for the unbelievable taste of the first tomatoes and savor their wonder for the times to come.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Marker Tracks

2008-07-01T07:53:00.008-05:00

Planting second crop soybeans into wheat stubble is an art. Unlike planting in conventionally tilled or even no-till fields, planting or drilling into wheat stubble introduces the variable of recently made tracks in the field: combine tracks, truck tracks, tractor and wagon tracks, not to mention the tracks of the sown wheat itself. Tracks run all throughout the field and, if you 'double over' or 'criss-cross' the field as a part of the double-crop planting process, then you also have the most recent tracks of the planter itself adding to the milieu of patterns which make it 'interestingly difficult' to follow the marker tracks and make straight rows as you progress through the field. And, believe me, straight rows, even in double-cropped fields, are important - because Dad is watching.

At 83 years of age, Dad has done more than his share of planting and drilling fields of grain and has become somewhat of a connoisseur of attractive and well-tended fields. As he drives around the countryside, his farmer's eye scans every corner, every headland, every long-running row, quietly assessing the efficiency and accuracy of every planter, drill, and operator in the area. Dad has never regarded farming as a contest, but has long held that any job worth doing is worth doing well. In Dad's eyes, straight rows and consistent stands are marks of care and time taken, energy given to ensure pride of product, and the effort made to reflect the heart of farming, which he believes is intimately tied to putting one's best foot forward in offering a pleasing gift of beauty to the Creator. I cannot tell you how many times, riding with Dad in the truck from field to field, I have heard him say, "They just don't care how it looks." or "With just a little bit of time and effort . . ." or "Isn't that a beautiful field?" or "Someone cares.", all spoken in the humble tones of someone who knows how hard it is to do it well and how great the cost of taking time to follow the marker tracks, regardless of difficulty.

Taking the time to follow the marker tracks in a wheat field is the difference between acceptance of whatever happens in life and aspiring to be a part of the design the Creator intends. Anyone can drive a planter or drill. Anyone. Yet, much like discipleship, choosing to follow the marker tracks in the field - and taking the time to do it well - requires something more than just being 'anyone', it requires focused determination. In the milieu of competing tracks, in the confusion of directions one might choose to go, and in the press to 'just get it done', lies the challenge, even the call, to care about the outcome, to be concerned what Dad thinks and sees.

In my heart of hearts, when Dad drives past a field I planted or drilled, I long to hear him say, 'Now that is a good looking field!' But, more than that, when my days on earth are finished, I long to hear the voice of our Creator say, 'What a beautiful job of following the Marker Track I set before you. What matters to Me has become for you a reason to care. Enter into my Joy.' And that will be enough.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Going Around In Circles

2008-06-18T09:05:00.002-05:00

Much of a grain farmer's life is spent going around in circles. Round after round is made in each field, moving from one side of the field towards the other depending on the equipment being used and the task being accomplished, and all of this is repeated multiple times throughout the year (tilling, planting, spraying, fertilizing, mowing, cultivating, harvesting, etc . . .). To the casual observer it all may seem a bit redundant and monotonous, but to the farmer, it is part and parcel of the circle of life. No matter how large the tractor or how wide the equipment being used, still, every task to be completed in the life of a crop requires making the rounds necessary to complete the field. If all the operations are not done completely and well, the harvest suffers. It is as simple as that.

So it is with the Church and with our personal faith journeys: If all the rounds are not made, if they are not done completely and well, the final harvest suffers. It is as simple as that.

Mom and Dad always told me, "Anything worth doing is worth doing well." So it is with the way we tend to the God of our faith. Time spent is prayer, reading the Bible, attending worship, participating in ongoing Christian Education, giving time to mission, talking about issues of faith with family, living faith in the daily decisions made in every context, are all part and parcel of the rounds which must be made for the field of our life to be done completely and well. Short cuts reduce yield potential, even threaten crop failure. Any God worth worshipping is worth worshipping well. Any faith worth living is worth living well. Every task must be completed, every round made, the entire field covered.

This is not to say that every person's journey is the same journey as the next person. God did not make us that way. Just as every farmer approaches the fields of their stewardship differently, so every person of faith approaches their journey differently. Yet, no matter how differently the approach, certain key elements must occur, critical operations tended to in a timely manner, attention paid throughout the growing season. It is the way of the farmer, just as it is the way of the One who creates the potential for a bountiful harvest in every life.

Sometimes a field can look incredibly large as you pull into it with your equipment to begin the journey, but don't despair: each pass made, each round completed, adds to the last and, if you keep your eyes on the Goal, before you know it, it's where you are. It is the circle of Life, enter into God's harvest.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

My Father's Hands

2008-06-16T17:14:00.007-05:00

This Father's Day has had me thinking a lot about my Dad and, in my mind's eye, the most distinguishable characteristic of my father is his hands. Dad was born in 1925 and, in his 83 years of life, his hands have become an incredible measure of his life and faith. Let me explain:

In my Dad's lifetime he has driven horses and mules, which has much to do with explaining the curvature of his fingers. All you have to do is imagine the traces of the rigging's of a team of horses running through between the fingers of a young boy becoming a man on the farm and you can see why his fingers turn in such seemingly odd ways.

In my Dad's lifetime his hands have delivered calves and kittens with equal care. His hands have held the multitude of hammers which are a part of a farmers craft while building and repairing barns and sheds and they have, as deftly, held the handles of crowbars, pry-bars, sledge hammers and axes which have torn down outdated walls and buildings to make way for whatever the current age demanded.

In my Dad's lifetime his hands have turned the hand cranks on motors which powered tractors, cars and trucks, and, just as capably, his hands have been at the controls of everything from a Ford Model T to the modern combines and tractors which utilize 'touchscreen' technology for 'on the go' adjustments.

My Dad's hands have reached down to inspect an alfalfa leaf for aphids and leaf hoppers, carefully turning the leaf without disturbing the pest so that an accurate identification could occur, and, just as carefully, his hands have picked up his most recent great-granddaughter to hold her close so he could rock her to sleep in the love only a great-grandfather can offer.

My Dad's hands have paddled my bottom at those times when I crossed the lines of discipline and, just as firmly, his hands have pulled me close when most I needed to be reminded how loved I am and how close family always will be.

My Dad's hands have shoveled rock and gravel to fill in the holes left in dirt roads by rainy seasons and spinning tires and, just as surely, his hands have opened the Bible to scripture which has given him a foundation upon which his life continues to be built in every season and distress.

My Dad's hands have worked to build ponds, cisterns, and wells that water for livestock and human beings alike would be plentiful, and his hands have, as lovingly, been a part of the baptismal cycle of life which is met in the waters which flow in the Spirit over the heart of a newborns life.

My Dad's hands have taken hold of more than a few heavy loads and lifted them with the brute strength that a farmer's will and muscled body can abide and, just as powerfully, he has clasped his hands in prayer on a daily, even hourly basis, trusting God to meet every need, to share in every joy, and to be a part of his every decision.

My Dad's hands have cut the hair of all four of his boys, doing his best not to burn our necks with the clippers as they grew hotter with each passing minute he worked and, just as wonderfully, his hands have clasped ours in congratulations, never waiting for the heat of success to cool, always wanting to congratulate on goals accomplished and dreams achieved at the moment they occurred, desiring each of us to personally know how proud he is of us.

My Dad's hands have held the hands of my mother while they sat on the glider on the front porch of our home, together singing the sweet, sweet harmonies of the songs of love and faith, while the cool of a Summer's evening gathered our family into the moment along with the enveloping darkness and, just as tenderly, some years later, his hands held hers in comfort and assurance of unending love as Parkinson's did its worst and slowly silenced the music in her hands (which once had played the piano and organ) and, finally, the song which was in the heart of her living.

My Dad's hands have milked thousands of cows, baled hundreds of thousands of bales, and harvested acres upon acres of hay and corn silage. His hands have planted soybeans, corn, wheat, milo, grasses of every kind, trees, vegetables, flowers and shrubs. His hands have been enjoined with God's in the building of a home and the establishment of a family. His hands have tilled the soil of contours and terraces, while carving the waterways which prevent erosion and, in so doing, became a steward of God's household, a living witness to the nearness of the Kingdom.

My Dad's hands have labored over facts and figures as, carefully, he accounted for what his hard work had yielded and, just as carefully, his hands pushed the pencils which drew the future out for others, far beyond the ways and means of his own farm or life, but sharing fully and completely of God's gift in his life for creative conservation and shared responsibility in those organizations which shape a community and a country.

My Dad's hands have cranked the handles of many an ice-cream maker and, just as joyfully and skillfully, his hands have thrown horseshoes and softballs while celebrating the gift of friends and family with carefree abandon.

My Dad's hands have held the hands of friends and family in moments of grief and, just as resolutely, have been the hands that others have sought in wanting to share the load of wounded souls and broken hopes.

My Dad's hands are the hands I want my hands to become: The hands of God powerfully present in the care one child of God extends to another.

Though a Pastor's hands may never become as toughened and cracked and weathered as those of a farmer, I pray my hands become as wise and tender and faithful as those of my father, for I know in my heart of hearts, his hands are shaped by those of our Father in heaven and, in this son's humble estimation, there is no higher goal to seek, in heaven or on earth.

On this Father's Day, I pray my Dad's hands are the hands my hands become, that others might see God in me the way I see God in him.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Few More Peppers

2008-06-13T16:02:00.004-05:00

I just finished planting eight new pepper plants in our garden. Nancy looked at me like I was nuts when she arrived home the other day and saw them sitting on the sidewalk next to the garden but, as only a 'Papa' might be able to explain, I reminded 'Nana' that our granddaughters would be with us today and I wanted Cailin to help me in the garden. These are to be her contribution to the family dinner table, planted where the lettuce crop once stood. Together, we planted tomorrows delicacies and together we will tend them through the summer. I'm not sure what Cailin will learn from all of this, but I am looking forward to teaching her the fine art of working hand in hand with God in creation,while leading her towards the exquisite joy that dirty hands and a sweaty brow bring to the things one picks in the garden and places on the table.

Such are the holy moments of family and the sacred joys of a faith family. Each generation takes their place with the young ones among them and passes on the intricacies of intimate conversations with God, whether in the garden, in a field, in an office, or on the road between here and there. Ours is the privilege of shaping the moment with the wonders of our own experiences, with the possibilities that are limited only by our imagination, and ours is the responsibility of inviting, even encouraging a personal commitment to the endeavor, that what happens is more than a 'buying into a particular way of thinking' but, rather, is an evoking of a response born of a communal spirit finding a home in the One who is the dirt under the fingernails as well as in the Food upon the Table. It is an awesome notion, indeed, that God is capable of using an old Papa like me, a garden shovel, a pepper plant, and the fragrant soil of God's own creation to teach a young girl about love, shared labors, struggles, and joys, all of which are a part of life's flowing stream.

The question has never been, "Will Cailin and other children like her really want to learn what we have to teach?" History has shown us time and time again, the desire to experience and understand that which is bigger than ourselves and our limited place on earth is forever in the heart of humanity. The real question is, "If we don't teach our children, who will?" Because, you can bet on it, someone will meet their need and answer their questions . . . and if, in the questioning, in that moment of wonderment, we who are closest to our children do not speak up and articulate in word and action the love of God in Jesus Christ, then what they receive and decide to believe is as much what we have taught them in our silence as it is what has been told them by those who only see them as a pawns for their amusement and power.

So, pepper plants, rototillers, garden rakes, and garden shovels, mixed with a fair amount of fertilizer, hard work and a little bit of sweat, are the things which make for a teachable moment, a shared experience, and the baptismal love that washes the soul and feeds an emerging life. If in the course of my lifetime our granddaughter remembers nothing else about me than her old Papa helping her to plant some pepper plants on a June afternoon in the garden behind our home, I will know that she will hold close the knowledge that she is always loved, that the best labors are those which are shared, and the most wonderful of moments are the ones filled with laughter, love and dirty hands nurturing new life for all to share at the Table where God's family is fed.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Listen Up

2008-06-11T21:53:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, the hardest thing about writing is listening, and the hardest thing about listening is hearing, and the hardest thing about hearing is perceiving, and the hardest thing about perceiving is learning, and the hardest thing about learning is adapting, and the hardest thing about adapting is owning, and the hardest thing about owning is living, and the hardest thing about living is being, and the hardest thing about being is . . . . .

And it goes on and on. "The greatest risk of being ecumenical," said Rev. Dr. Allen Miller from Eden Seminary, "is that of being converted. For once you fully, truthfully, enter into a conversation with a person of another tradition, you risk being changed. And any change, no matter how minor, is in some small manner, a conversion, because your being can no longer live as once you did." I have never forgotten that lesson from the World Religions Class which Dr. Miller taught and he was probably one of the first 'ecu-maniacs' of which I became aware. He believed folks from every tradition, every religion, should always sit at table together and learn from each other. Dr. Miller believed, and I have come to firmly hold that, in so doing, the world would find its way to peace and justice, for the greatest schisms in peace and many of the greatest injustices throughout history have been inflicted upon humanity and justified in the courts of public opinion for the sake of religion, whatever its ilk or name. Listening, and all of its various manifestations and extensions, is the hardest task any one of us will undertake, for active listening requires the one with ears to fully hear the words, context, and feeling behind the words spoken by the other. Maybe that is why Jesus said that so often, "Let the one who has ears to hear, listen."

I was in Barnes and Nobles the other day and, as nearly always happens, started paging through the volumes upon volumes of 'best sellers' which were on the front tables. So many words being written, so many books being bought and sold, so many thoughts being presented, but what difference do self-help books really make if the person reading the words is seeking only someone else's opinion of how to make their life better? What ever happened to listening to the Word talk about how life is 'good' from the very beginning of creation? Or does that thought scare us, for it might mean that there is no one else to blame for our bad attitude and behaviors other than ourselves, and we certainly don't want to hear those words, do we?!

Jesus prays out loud that we might intimately understand that God prays for our welfare, for our understanding, and for our very lives. Maybe we would be well served to listen for a while, that in listening, we might hear the meaning of our name spoken on the lips of the God of all creation. Who knows, maybe the swords will become plowshares and the spears become pruning hooks? What will it cost us to listen? What will it cost us if we don't?

Only God knows.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don