"What's Love Got to Do With It?"

"What's love got to do with it?", sang Tina Turner as she reflected on her own life and journey and, for whatever the reason, that tune just keeps going through my mind this morning.

"What's love got to do with it?" as the American people reach a critical decision point regarding politicians who are worried more about their benefits than being a benefit to others; as the American people ponder the choice between the competing ideologies of political parties and Presidential candidates; as the American people in Illinois try not to get too mired in the finger pointing tactics of Springfield politics (otherwise known as Chicago politics to downstate constituents) and work to fund the essential human services and commitments for the people most in need; as the American people peer through the smoke and mirrors of political spin doctors, attempting to discern truth and act decisively for the sake of the nation; or, as the American people strive to create jobs in a toxic taxing environment, hoping all the while to provide sisters and brothers with essential opportunities to grow in self-respect and integrity.

"What's love got to do with it?" as the hierarchy of the Catholic church takes aim at controlling the women of the church, not just the nuns, but all women, in a time when the behaviors of old are just that, 'old'; as the Church universal struggles to find its voice of authentic Christian witness in the midst of a world torn by hatred, prejudice, fear and mistrust; as local congregations walk the walk of faith where they are, as they are gifted, only to be told that, because of dwindling numbers, their ministries are not financially prudent; as people in the pew turn their heart and soul to God for the Word of Relevancy and Challenge, instead of the tempting nectar of modernity so often offered as a placebo; or, as the identity of the Christian community is hijacked by so-called 'evangelicals' who presume to know exactly what God wants and where, shrouding their personal attack agendas with the language of 'who is in and who is out'.

"What's love got to do with it?" when one person sees a white man and thinks, 'racist', or another person sees a Latino and thinks, 'alien', or another person sees a black man and thinks, 'entitlement'; when one person sees a Middle Eastern woman and thinks, 'terrorist', or another person sees an English woman and thinks, 'snob', or another person sees an Asian woman and thinks, 'war'; or, when one person sees a farmer and thinks, 'ignorant', or another person sees a corporate executive and thinks, 'rich', or another person sees a blue collar worker and thinks, 'too bad'.

"What's love got to do with it?", Tina Turner sang, yet the tune and lyrics beg the answer yet today. Jesus gave one new commandment to the disciples, "Love one another." Love has everything to do with it: with our attitudes, our responses, our daily attention, even our moment by moment decisions, all in relationship with each other. When we fail to love as we are Loved, we have despised our humanity and subverted God's intention for our own will.

Love has everything to do with it. Thank you, Tina Turner, for reminding me of that today. I only pray that we, as members of the world community, find in ourselves the strength and will to reclaim the very purpose for which we are born in caring one for the other.

Love has everything to do with it.

Things To Which I Cling Tightly

Things to which I cling tightly:

The love of God which surrounds me; the forgiveness of Jesus who befriends me; the presence of the Holy Spirit who guides me; the love of a woman who knows my foibles and stays with me anyway; the gift of three sons who, in spite of the challenges of growing up as 'preacher's kids', still regularly pick up the phone and say, "Hi, Dad, how are you?" and wait to hear... what I say because it matters to them; the adoration of three granddaughters who know that all they have to do is look at me and say, "Papa, I love you!" and they will get anything they want, yet embrace me with kisses not wanting anything more than kisses and love in return; the steady friendship of those who know me as 'Don' and require nothing more than me being me; the wonder of the gift of a call from God that carries me in every moment; the ecstasy of the Church striving mightily and humbly in serving God; the joy of the St. Paul UCC, Lebanon, faith family who tend to my spirit and ministry with arms of grace beyond my deserving; the blessing of Grace UCC, Culver, Indiana, who saw more in me than I ever saw in myself; and, the connective tissue of Lebanon, Illinois, whose communal understanding crosses every boundary with such completeness that even a stranger such as I find a home and place in the midst of daily life and service here.

Such are the things to which I cling tightly this day. How about you?

Roger

I had the privilege of celebrating the life of a friend yesterday as we said goodbye to him on this earth. The sanctuary was nearly full of friends and neighbors, many of whom this person had given nicknames to over the years, and there tears mixed with laughter as memories were shared, stories were told, sympathies were offered to the family and the good news of the Gospel was proclaimed. It was an incredible visage as this vast mix of humanity clung to resurrection hope in the midst of deepest despair much like the woman who reached to touch the hem of Jesus' robe as He walked by.

The power of an empty tomb has that effect on us: God gives us a reason to believe beyond the domain of earthly understandings. God grants us a peace which death cannot deny.

I will miss my friend's easy smile, hard-working ethic, wise-cracking ways and, especially, his continual living out of the story of the Good Samaritan. I know when Jesus told that story, He told it of my friend whose life the story embodied. Yet, I know, I believe, I trust, I have faith, that all my friend ever was, as much as I will miss him . . . he is now even more as he dwells in the perfection and wholeness of the One who birthed him from the beginning. Someday, somehow, in the time beyond this time, in the Kingdom beyond this earth, we will meet again and my heart will rejoice when I hear him say, 'How you doin', Preacher? Welcome home!' . . . and I will know, in the mercy of God, my friend, Roger, will have helped to pull one more life out of the ditch - and this time it was me.

Rest in the Peace of God, Roger Trentman, child of God, disciple of Christ, member of the Church eternal.

Coach or Fan?

I'm not sure which is hardest: Coaching your son when he is playing sports or being a (grandparent) fan while your son coaches his daughter.


I have always loved sports, though I have never been very good at them. I played basketball through 8th grade, when it was decided that my time would be better spent helping on our family dairy farm. Never played baseball - same reason. I did throw the shot put on the track team in my Senior year, but by then I could drive and had my own car and getting me back and forth wasn't an issue. I played slow-pitch softball for a number of years on two teams, St. Clair County Farm Bureau Young Farmers and Sinn's Inn, primarily doing the catching. And, I did bowl on a league for a decade or so. But, I was never the stand-out athlete. I was part of the team.

So it was that, when our boys started out in sports and, as such things go, coaches were needed, I volunteered. I knew I didn't have a lot of expertise, but time spent with the team and, more importantly, with your children, is time never lost to all of the other 'stuff' in life. Also, my wife observed that when I was coaching the kids on the floor or diamond I was less likely to offer 'helpful observations' to the officials. I was never sure exactly what she meant by that, since several of those same officials always seemed to make sure they knew where I was sitting before the game ever started . . . I believe it made it easier for them to seek out my insights, but then that was my opinion.

Nevertheless, I coached many of the junior sports in which our boys were involved while they were growing up. Yet, now, the mantle has been passed on. Our oldest son, Matt, is a coach on his oldest daughter's softball team . . . and last night I found out that 'watching supportively' isn't the easiest thing in the world. You would be pleased that I didn't offer any advice or direction to the umpire . . . who was a fourteen year old girl who appeared to know more about the game than most of the men on the field. You might also be pleased that I allowed the coaches to do their work, including Matt, maybe especially Matt, since Cailin pitched for two innings in their game winning effort. I focused on being a grandparent, a fan, and that was just enough. I drove home in the glow of love and family and the passing of traditions.

If it is so for me, as a mere human being, then how much more is it true for the God and Parent of us all? How hard is it for God to sit there on the sidelines and cheer on the team without stepping on the field and taking over? Trust, wisdom, understanding and hope in each one of us are expressed by God when Jesus says, "You are the branches." Go out and play the game and do the best you are able . . . "and I am with you always, even unto the end of the age."

It is something to remember while I watch the grandchildren play.

The Compliment of Matt

Last night I was told by a friend of ours that Matt, our oldest son, is an incredible young man and a gift to the church. My first thought was, "Thank God our kids have Nancy's common sense!", and my second was, "I am so proud of him!" Of course, having been raised in a fairly humble German household, the first thought, "Thank God our kids have Nancy's common sense!", was an acceptable response to share with our friend, laughingly acknowledging the agreement I had about Matt in my heart, carefully deflecting any credit for who he is becoming . . . while the second thought was not something a father would ever admit to in public, even to a friend, lest you be considered haughty. Yet, all this day, I have been pondering on that very thing.

How does God react when someone says to God, 'You know, your Son is an incredible young man and a gift to the church'? Does God just try to shrug it off and humbly shift the conversation, all the while glowing inside that the Son is making a noticeable difference? Does God relish the moment, trusting that no-one will think God haughty in the glow of the compliment? Or does God just say 'Thank you, I think so, too!'? Parenting is tricky enough without falling prey to personal pride when one of our children is recognized for the work they are doing or the accomplishments they achieve. Lord, save us from pride in our living and parenting, yet . . .

Are such answers to be found in the resurrection? Faithful to who He was birthed and gifted to be, even unto death, Jesus' resurrection points us to a Parent's loving response to a world that sees Him, but does not know Him. The stone rolled away from the tomb is God's affirmation of who Jesus is, whether or not anyone else recognizes it. How much more is God filled with joy when we do recognize it? In resurrection we see God's joy made manifest in who the Son is and is becoming. In facing His doubters in the days after resurrection, we hear again God's words coursing the ages since His baptism, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." and, therein, may be my answer.

Affirming faithfulness to self and God, whether in one of our children or someone else, is not prideful. It is truthful. Stating the truth of the moment in an encounter which occurred at a meeting was what our friend did for me last night . . . our friend told the truth about his observation of Matt and who he is choosing to become.

I humbly and heartily concur - and, Matt, in you I am well pleased. As only a parent comes to understand, and as you will come to understand with your own daughters, not everyone sees what the Parent sees or believes as the Parent believes, but when someone does and names it in truth, it is like baptismal waters washing all else away. Only pure love remains. Such love rolls stones away from the tombs of this world's disbelief. Thank you for filling this parent's heart with such joy in these days.

What Makes Good Friday 'Good'?

The most frequently asked question on Good Friday: What makes Good Friday 'good', if it's the day Jesus is crucified?

Hmmmmm. Let's see: That Jesus is faithful in the face of tremendous opposition; That Jesus' faithfulness is what truly makes Him the unblemished Lamb of God; That Jesus understands death is not the final victor; That Jesus so trusts His life in the Hands of God that even death cannot separate Him from God's Love; That God, in Jesus' faithfulness, conquers death and opens the tomb that we might have hope; That Jesus' blood of faithfulness, much like the blood of the unblemished lambs of that first Passover, is that which covers our life and brings us through the valley in hope; That the Jesus' body, though badly beaten and given unto death for His unyielding faithfulness to God, cannot be held imprisoned by mortal means; That Jesus, in His love of God and all of humankind, will not let those who follow Him alone on the journey; That we are recipients of a grace-filled life of prayer summarized in the Gospel of Luke's recording from the cross, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."; That, bottom line, Rome (and by extension, no other human government or religious institution in the world) can lay claim to or have power over life itself, no matter how much obeisance they may require of those they rule; and, That God has the final authority over life, declaring a definitive 'Yes!' to life everlasting through Jesus Christ our Lord.

What makes Good Friday 'good' has nothing to do with what humanity does, but has everything to do with what God is actively doing through Jesus Christ and in the power of the Holy Spirit that all people might know the fullness of life in God's Love. What makes Good Friday 'good' is that Jesus shows us the way home in faithfulness, that death in this world has no power over us. What makes Good Friday 'good' is God. All else is superfluous.

Others may give the goodness of Good Friday finer language and be able to cite chapter and verse in defense of their stance, but when I am asked all I can offer is my faith . . . and to be found in Jesus is all that I can hope on Good Friday. That is what makes Good Friday 'good' for me.

Have a blessed journey with Jesus on this Good Friday

Lilac Days

The pungent aroma of blooming lilacs is highly irresistible to me, especially as I walk by them. I can't help but stop and breathe in the sweetness of their fragrance, so profound is their effect. Captivating, scintillating and mesmerizing are the lilac's pink and blue flowers, hearkening me back to a more innocent day . . .

Just outside the kitchen door of my boyhood home once stood a giant lilac bush which towered eight feet tall and had a base somewhere around four feet in diameter. Carved into the base of the lilac bush was a crescent moon shape, carefully dug and maintained there by generations of farm dogs who found that spot the coolest place to lay on a hot Summer day. Just as carefully formed around the outside of the lilac bush were the nesting spots of many of our farm cats who found the shade of the lilac too tempting to pass, even though the dogs were resting inside the bush. That bush may have been the one place on the farm all the animals understood to be a demilitarized zone, so sacred was the comfort found there.

Bursting out the door after breakfast, dinner or supper in the Springtime as a young boy, I was guaranteed the headiness of entering into a bouquet of God's creative abilities, the likes of which words are inadequate to describe. The aroma of the blooming lilac drifted over and through all the other smells an active dairy farm had to offer, demanding one's attention and appreciation at every turn. So powerful the smell, so deep the response even then, I am lifted on the wings of memory to those moments and the joy the blooming lilac evoked in me, still.

We have two Korean miniature lilacs blooming in our yard this Spring and I am ever so grateful to have them there, though our passing neighbors must think me an eccentric because of them: I cannot pass by them without stopping to lift their gentle blooms to breathe in the undiluted majesty of their gift to me, as though God created them just for me. They take me home to Mom and Dad. They take me back to a more uncomplicated time in my life. They take me back to simpler days with my brothers. They convey me to a time when my grandfather's both lived with us and loved the lilac, too. They transport me to a time when dogs and cats waited in the shade of the lilac just outside that kitchen door for the scraps which came from our table. They move my spirit to a gentle remembering . . . and I am ever so grateful.

I do not want to go back to those days, yet am intensely appreciative of the meaning they still carry for me in my life today - and the lilac is sign and symbol of that fluid journey ongoing in my senses. I am amazed, still, in the capacity of the blooming lilac to do such wonders, to induce such reactions, to demand such devotion in me. But, is that not the gift of our senses? To remember that which pleases? To ponder that which blesses? And, to stay away from that which does neither?

Holy Week is God's lilac to us all. Find your comfort in both its' presence and memory, living not to go back to those days but, in remembering, being ready to live into the profound awe God has in store for you. Stop, and breathe in God's lilac love, a healing gift through Christ for us all.