Thinking of Teachers

I've been thinking about teachers this morning. My First Grade teacher was Mrs. Dorothy Campbell, a wonderfully patient, nurturing woman . . . whose retirement from the teaching profession probably had much to do with having taught my class. Similarly, Mrs. Stewart, my Second Grade teacher and Mrs. Church, my Third Grade teacher, both retired not long after having had me in class. My Fourth Grade ...teacher, Mrs. Stephens, new to the teaching profession the year my class came through, left the profession after that one year, and our Fifth Grade teacher, Mr. Ruester, retired not long after we came through. Is there a reoccuring theme here? I think so . . . my class of students was the product of an aging teaching staff! God love them all, the Class of 1975 was just enough to make nearly all of them see the viability of retirement as preferrable to staying in the classroom!
Yet, what got me to thinking about teachers this morning was not the list of sainted folk who endured my class, but rather, two very special teachers whose lives and journey have blessed my life these last few years. Rob and Amy Nunn are incredible Elementary teachers in the Edwardsville School District and their relationship with students and staff alike speaks volumes as to their effectiveness, both academically and professionally. They are, in the words of their colleagues and many of the parents of their students, "Wonderful Educators".
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have never spent a moment in either of their classes, but I have been blessed to be an observer of the many lessons they teach at home. You see, Rob and Amy's daughter, Savannah, was born with a very rare disorder, so unusual in fact, that the medical community is still studying Savannah's progress, growth and development to assist them in working with others who have similar challenges. Savannah is a bright, articulate, strong-willed little girl who is too much aware of medical communities and routines and too little accustomed to just being a little girl. Therein is the point: Rob and Amy are teachers. They teach life lessons to Savannah and are, themselves, adept students of life wonders from Savannah, thereby deepening by volumes the skill-sets they each have to share with others. The most treasured and challenging teachers among us are, first and foremost, committed students themselves. The world is their classroom and never would they assume to teach that which they hadn't spent time learning . . . and Savannah is both student and instructor for them. The rest of us around them are blessed observers, humbly receiving the faith and joy Amy and Rob share each day.
Savannah went into the hospital yesterday and, at the time I visited with them, was in Pediatric ICU being treated for a bacterial infection. It is hard to be courageous when you are little, tired, being poked and proded, and just flat out don't feel well, yet, there was Savannah, laying in Amy's lap, occasionally calling for her Daddy to hold her hand and taking in all that the doctors and nurses were trying to do for her . . . Rob and Amy explaining each procedure, each new test along the way. The connection between parent and child for most families is an amazing bond, yet for Savannah, Rob and Amy, that connection has the feel of a womb-like experience, whose umbilically-bonded existence pumps the lifeblood of family back and forth between them, even at the mere touch of their hands. Rob and Amy are parents who are becoming master teachers of life, not only for their daughter, but for all who dare to pause and watch. Like the Christ of their faith, the Master Teacher among us all, there is no going back, no doing over, no other way than forward in faith, trusting each step, each lesson learned, each moment to be taught, to the God who is all Wisdom.
Maybe that is why I have been thinking of teachers today: Rob and Amy remind me of those who are among the best at answering the call to their vocation. After all, did you notice? I can name all of my teachers, such was the impact they had on me. Amy and Rob, much like the students you teach at school, I doubt your names ever leave the depths of my soul for the lessons you teach me each day. Thank you for continuing to teach that which you are still learning in faith, hope and love.

Writing Is a Luxury

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

Superman

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


Pastor Don’s Corner . . .

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

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

Consider the Eagle

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

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

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

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

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

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Considering the Source

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

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

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

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

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

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

Consider the Source.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Looking Through Pictures

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

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

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

he who formed you, O Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine.

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

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, Your Savior."

Isaiah 43:1-3

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

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

Another day, another lesson, and it is good.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Hard Questions On the Journey

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

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

Who is rolling the stone away for you?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Kind of a God

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

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

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

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

Sometimes it makes me wonder.

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

God's Bailout

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

"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

'Just' Prayer

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

Changing Times

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

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

'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

Broken Toes

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

Garage Door Trials

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

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

What Is Being Sold?

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

Lessons on the Road

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

July 4

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