My Dad's Voice

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

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

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Watching A Soldier Go Home

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

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

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

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

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

In the Days of Life

In the days of life between here and There
God’s love has guided the way,
Held always by Heaven’s Spirit
Every night is lived as day.
We cannot imagine our world
Outside the salvation history of God,
For before we were, God was,
And after we will be, there still is God.
Human life arrives and passes away,
Kingdoms totter and fall,
Armies ride into yet another battle
And come face to face with a wall:
The one enemy they cannot conquer
Is, in fact, the one that limits them,
Death holds it sway in a mortal world
Severing mother from child like a limb.
Yet, all of Pharaoh’s armies
And all of Caesar’s men,
Proved what God knew from the beginning,
The tomb shall be empty in Him. DCW

It Never Ceases to Amaze

It never ceases to amaze . . .
The time we give to celebrating a holiday,
While limiting the Child to the margins of our minutes;
The generosity we pour into cash registers,
And the poverty we display at the Stable;
The miles we will travel to see lights that fail,
And the Light which continues to shine in our darkness of soul.
Thanks be to God
Whose Gift of Love
Comes for the least among us
In spite of us. DCW

Thinking of Advent

“Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
Matthew 25.13 NRSV
As a child, I never thought it odd that Santa Claus came to our home on Christmas Eve while we were attending services at church. The Wagner Farm in rural Southern Illinois, just like all the other homes around us (I was sure), was early on Santa’s route. With all the flying around the earth that Santa had to do and with all of the homes into which he had to take gifts, I was just glad that we were early on his schedule and not late: I just couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up with no gifts under the tree, waiting to see when and if Santa would show up! Santa’s ‘early’ arrival at the Wagner home was a blessing for which I have always been grateful, because it saved me having to grow up as an anxious child. I know it is hard to believe, yet, there it is: Some semblance of sanity is granted for a lifetime when the things for which you so wait and long for to happen as a child arrive early and, thereby, shape your adulthood.
These days, Santa arrives at the Wagner home on Christmas morning. His route changed, I suppose. Yet, I am not anxious about being later on the schedule, nor I am worried that he will have the things I am wishing for on his sleigh: I know that he knows me and will not forget me, whenever he arrives.
The season of Advent has become, over the years, a time that I truly cherish, a journey I anticipate walking as we move towards Bethlehem and Christmas Joy. Much in the same way I would pour over catalogs as a child and carefully choose the items I really wanted to see under the tree delivered by the hands of Santa, now I savor the days that mark our preparation to receive the most loving Gift no-one on earth could ever have imagined. Now the days, which once seemed to drag on and on and on before Christmas Eve laughter would fill the air, seem simply to flit by, like a butterfly on the wings of a Fall breeze, coursing its way over the stalks of standing corn through which I move. Now the days fairly run into each other with increasing speed, event blending into event, night quickly following day, week rapidly engulfing week until, much too soon, that for which we were waiting is a diminishing image in the rearview mirror of another Church Year.
So, this year (like many before) I vow to slow down during Advent, this season I love. I pray to be awake as the Gift arrives, not dozing in my easy-chair worn out by ‘events’.
The need for humanity to be in control of all things is what led the early Christian Church to ‘designate’ a day on which Christ was born, that similarly minded people might gather on a singular day to observe and praise God’s Holy Name for such a Wondrous Thought. A good thing, perhaps, yet, a horrible limitation to our spiritual journey: Instead of living towards a Gift, we live towards a day, often herded like cattle towards market by cowboys with visions of profits dancing in their heads. By limiting God’s Gift of Life to arrival on a specific day, we narrow the field of focus and lessen our responsibility to always be attentive. Jesus tells His disciples, “Keep awake . . . you know neither the day nor the hour.” Important words spoken to children lounging on the couch near the fireplace waiting for Santa to arrive, certain as to how and when ‘it’ will happen.
This year I vow to slow down during Advent, the season of blue, the color of the night sky. I’m not sure when He will happen, I just know He will, so I will slow down and stay awake, ready to receive the Gift. I know that He knows me and will not forget me, whenever He arrives.

Have a blessed Advent and a Joyous Christmas!

If The Painter's Pallet

If the painter's pallet

Could contain the hues

Of Fall's transitions

Among the trees,

Would artist's brush

Bespeak the subtleties

Of Divine revelation

Once hidden in

Summer's majesty?

I Walked In the Woods Today

I walked in the woods today

As timber floor takes on Winter coat

From trees, whose shaded visage,

Gives way to glorious sky.

I walked in the woods today

And, there, journeyed

with God.