Things I Have Taught Our Kids

Things which make my children laugh, yet I remember as true:

• I walked uphill both ways to school, in three feet of snow, after milking the cows and doing the chores . . .
• I was a pretty good basketball player in Grade School. In my mind I scored from anywhere on the court and always under duress. Actual statistics can be cruel . . .
• When I was a kid life was simpler. We never had much, but we always had enough. Homemade ice cream was a staple of summertime evenings and swimming in the pond was a nice way to end a hot day of baling . . .
• We never baled hay unless it was at least 100 degrees, with 95% humidity, the hay shed was always nearly full so that we had to stack every bale directly under the tin of the roof, and all the bales weighed at least 100 pounds each . . .
• If I got in trouble at school it was guaranteed I got in trouble at home. Period. 
• The school bus ride back and forth to school was a country boy's first hot box of socialization and, often, the place where rank and privilege were first taught . . .
• Mom and Dad always knew what we did, even when we were sure they didn't . . . and now I know that because I understand they first did some version of everything I did long before I ever imagined it . . . the same way we, as parents, do now . . .
• Don't ever underestimate the power of a Dad's hand on your backside or the safety of a Father's embrace when you are in need . . .
• Mom sees what you do behind her back, including the faces you make while she is lecturing you, but continues to love you anyway . . . and is quite capable of leaping over that chair and wiping that sneer off your face with the hardened side of her hand OR pulling you into the embrace of her love at any moment . . . 
• A grandparent's job is to quietly dispute a parent's teaching about what the five food groups are and how much of each to consume . . .
• A grandchild's job is to encourage their grandparents in their work . . .
• Before there was cellular technology, we used our imaginations in games, rode bicycles to our friends homes, played outside by the hour, shook hands when we met, talked with each other, and believed that it was okay to disagree, even to fight, but also imperative that we make amends . . . after all, in the country we needed each other . . .
• A handshake was a form of contract and was understood to be binding . . .
• Your word was your bond - and you always knew who could not be trusted . . . 
• Lawyers were really only needed to do legal descriptions of land and property transfers or to deal contractually with people whose handshake or word you couldn't trust . . . which says something about the number of lawyers today . . .
• Especially when in town, when a funeral procession passed you always pulled over in a show of respect for the deceased and their family. Always . . . 
• When country folk wave at you with just their index finger in that slow back-to-forward motion they are being friendly . . .
• There is always enough food on the table for visitors, family and friends, regardless of when they show up . . .
• There are always enough chairs for everyone to have a seat at the table . . . 
• Visitors, friends and family have first choice of all dishes on the table . . .
• Your friend's parents had as much authority over your behavior as did your parents . . . 
• Even if you aren't caught in a lie, it is still a lie . . . the same with the deductions you take on your taxes . . . 
• One of the most telling ways to recognize integrity, respect and honor in a person is in the way they farm their land and keep their home place . . . the cleanest places aren't always the best and the messiest aren't always the worst, but where there is pride in the job there is heart for others . . .
• There are few smells more wonderful than newly worked soil, freshly cut alfalfa or corn pollinating on a hot Summer afternoon . . . 
• Every person has the right to remember their history in the manner which gives their life the best light - allowing, of course, that there will be an intersection of Truth and Accuracy somewhere in the general vicinity of where your story goes . . .
• Always remember: the person to whom you are busily telling your story also has a story to tell you, which is why God has given you one mouth and two ears. Listen more than you talk . . . which is a good place to end this rambling . . .

I pray you see a bit of yourself in where I have been and am in this journey . . . and give thanks to God for allowing you the joy and responsibility of passing your experiences on to the next generation, which kind of makes me wonder how their stories to their children will begin . . . 

Only time will tell . . .

Jesus Laughing

Humor is a gift of God and it is often the only thing that gets me through the tough stuff. I'm not talking about the profanity laced bits that fill our airwaves, burning our ears and searing our souls, no, I'm talking about the kinds of things that made true comedians like Bill Cosby and Jeff Foxworthy icons in our age. Everyday happenings, mixed in equal portions with irony, with a sprinkling of the 'wink of an eye', and you have the recipe for the kind of thing that will make me guffaw and nose snort for hours on end. Humor is a gift of God.

Jesus used it all the time. Remember when he was being tested about paying taxes and His reply was, "Bring me a denarius and let me see it.", then said to them, "Whose head is this, and whose title?" They responded, "The emperor's." Jesus responds (with a wink and nod, I think), "Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." Now that's great humor based on irony! Or the question raised with Him about the woman who married seven brothers, each after the one before them died, and having no children by any of them? They wanted to know whose wife she would be in the resurrection. Jesus' response left the crowds chuckling because they (and we?) assume heavenly orders are just like earthly experiences. (God, I hope not!) (Check it out in Mark 12:24-27) Or the time when the disciples left Jesus praying on one side of the lake and took off in a boat to the other side of the lake . . . and He came walking over the water to meet them? They were frightened and Jesus must have been giggling . . . they just didn't get it. (The movie, "Bruce Almighty", used this scene very effectively.)

Humor. Doesn't it make you wonder what God thinks about how seriously we take ourselves with all of our politically correct language and culturally correct clothing, while not giving two hoots about feeding the poor and clothing the naked and giving a drink to the thirsty and welcoming the stranger and sharing good news with the imprisoned?

In my office, on the wall directly in front of me, is a picture of Jesus Laughing. I see it every day and it reminds me that I am not always as right as I think I am, I'm not as pure as I want to be, I'm not as kind as I should be, and I'm not as certain as I put on, yet, in the midst of it all, it is God's grace which saves me, Christ's love which encompasses me, and the Spirit's Presence which guides me. God is the constant upon which my life should be built, not my self-assured arrogance. Jesus Laughs . . . and so should we. (I wonder how this would play in Rome?)

Maybe if we could learn to laugh a bit more at ourselves and trust the good-natured laughter of God, we could see the other more as friend and less as adversary - and, in so living, would point our lives to the One who is the Saving Joy for all to share.

Laugh with Jesus a bit today and see if it doesn't make a difference.

Birthdays

What is a birthday?


Today I have telephoned birthday greetings to my younger brother, Bruce, and my cousin, Sharon, and sent Facebook greetings to our friend, Donna Wood, and to a good friend and classmate of Ched's, Barrett Stehr . . . all of which got me to pondering on 'birthdays'. What is a birthday, anyway?

We celebrate the day each of us caused our mothers great pain . . . yet, on the other hand, we celebrate the day that, after nine months of a 'free ride', our mothers were finally able to shoot us out into the world and no longer have to carry us.

We celebrate the day that a doctor or nurse spanked our bare behind, causing us to cry, while everyone stood around and said how cute it was . . . yet, on the other hand, we celebrate the day that, upon finding our voices, we have for the most part never since shut up.

We celebrate the day that our father's, having just learned of our birth, started handing out cheap cigars to anyone who would smoke one with them as they bragged about this new life in the family . . . yet, on the other hand, we celebrate the day that our fathers, having now just met us for the first time, continue to smoke cigars just to cover the stench of our poopie diapers.

We celebrate the day that many of our family and friends gathered at the window of the Nursery in the hospital to coo and make over our recent arrival . . . yet, on the other hand, we celebrate the day that our friends and family started the public tradition of staring and making strange faces at us, regardless the circumstance, expecting us to continually tell them how much we appreciate their attention.

We celebrate the day that our siblings first get a chance to hold us and have their pictures taken with us . . . yet, on the other hand, we celebrate the day our siblings begin to run the other direction every time they see us, praying that they won't have to take care of us and put us with us in front of their friends.

What is a birthday, anyway?

We mark our age in years, our intelligence in ACT or SAT numbers, our personality type in Briggs Myers identifiers, and our maturity in shoe sizes. We add candles to our cakes until we are old enough to know better then, rather than call the fire department to put out the increasing flame, we just quit using candles as though no more years are being added. We can't wait for birthday gifts when we are young, can't figure out what to do with the novelty gifts when we are older, tell folks the best gift is their presence when we are middle aged, then, when we are old, we figure everyone forgot about us when they neither show up, nor send a gift. We post our birth date on social network websites, then complain about people knowing too much about us. We give our birth date information to every credit card company and loan officer we meet, then bark if the government seems intrusive by asking for the same information. Men cannot ask women how old they are and women really don't want to know how old men are (mostly because men rarely act their age anyway). And, birthdays are that one day in time when we are expected to be cordial to people who wish us well, even when we wouldn't give the time of day to the one addressing us (in all Christian humility, of course!).

So, what is a birthday?

It is a contradiction in terms providing florists, card shops, retail stores, bars, and ice cream places with ample opportunity to make a huge profit from our schizophrenia. It is a day for family, friends, co-workers, social network folk, and even strangers to make fun of us, all perfectly certain that 'as a good sport' we will take their abuse without a word. It is a day for siblings to chastise us, parents to rue us, and neighbors to torment us. Yet, the one thing which is most clear to me this day as I ponder 'birthdays' and their meaning: I am extraordinarily pleased for the opportunity to have one each year.

In all that a birthday may or may not be for you, I pray you enjoy each one fully, for truly, each is a gift of God.

A Valued Gift

I received the nicest gift today, totally unexpected and humbly offered, which made it all the more valued: Kevin Schwaegel stopped by the house to visit.

Affectionately known among his peers as 'Snags', Kevin and I share a couple of things in common: We both love farming; My son, Matt, was a High School classmate and remains a friend of Kevin; and Kevin has a great sense of humor, especially when it regards irony. So, when he drove by the house today and saw that I was working in the garden and chose to stop by to visit for a few minutes, he gave me a great gift, especially when you consider that, until a few minutes ago as I sat down to my computer, I didn't know it was also Kevin's birthday today. Kevin stopped by - on his birthday - just to visit.

For anyone who knows Kevin well, the typical response is probably, 'Yeah, so what? Kevin always loves to visit', and you would be absolutely correct. But, to stop on a day that is filled with so many other things a person could be doing, not to mention celebrating your birthday with other people who know it is your birthday, well, that to me is a moment to be prized. Especially poignant is the fact that Kevin just wanted to visit . . . . he didn't need the church opened, didn't want to discuss some deep personal issue, or work through the shocking trauma of recently getting married (just kidding, Ashley and Kevin!), no, Kevin was just checking in. Kevin was being a friend - and I am ever so grateful for the gift.

After he got back in his truck and drove away I started thinking about what a nice visit it was with Kevin . . . and how often it is that I give that same sort of unfettered attention to God. How often is it that I pray without asking for something? How often is it that I just share the news of the day and a few of the humorous happenings with the One who calls me 'friend'? How often is it that I just check in because, in my life, Jesus matters, the Spirit is in my heart, the love of God fills my thoughts? How often do I see God at work and, in the middle of my running around, stop and share the load without any sense of expectation, other than friendship?

The answer to all of those questions is, 'Not nearly often enough. Not nearly often enough.'

Thank you, Kevin, for the gift you gave me on your birthday. Because of what you shared, I have learned something more about myself which will allow me to treasure your gift all the more in the days ahead. God's blessings guide and keep you in this day and in all your birthdays - for in your giving you become the blessing God desires in each of us.

Ched's Twentieth Birthday

Twenty years ago today, about this very hour in fact, Christian Edward Wagner (Ched) was born. I remember the day well, since Ched was the first of our children whose birth I would witness. Matthew, Raymond and Ched were all born by Cesarean section. When the older two were born the father was not allowed in the delivery room in that particular facility, but by the time Ched came along birthing practices had changed and I could be in the room with Nancy as she gave birth.

It was an incredible moment, one which words cannot encapsulate, yet one that the heart fully takes in and ponders . . . much as Mary 'pondered' throughout His life the birth of Jesus. The human birthing process is, at it's best, nine months long with a special focus and 'push' at the end . . . all of which is a gift of God and the work of the mothers among us. Ched was no different. Yet, as with each of his older brothers, the umbilical cord which gave him life through his mother also had an early connection to his father. Don't tell them, but each of them has always had me wrapped around their finger. Long before I looked into their eyes, I loved them. Long before I held them, I knew them. Long before they walked, they ran through my heart . . . and today we celebrate the birthing of our youngest son, Ched.

Much has happened in his twenty years and most of that is closely associated with faith, family, academics, sports, and friends. Still, I believe, what is before Ched will make what is past seem mighty small, for the future is as big as a person dares to believe and as broad as God equips them to achieve. For Ched, his twentieth birthday is a celebration of what has been a spectacular journey thus far and, also, an anticipation of where God will lead him in the days ahead. As the great cultural anthropologist among us, Buzz Lightyear, proclaims, "To infinity and beyond!", and our living becomes a response to that possibility. So it is with Cadet 3rd Class Christian E. Wagner, Soaring Instructor Pilot in the 94th Flying Training Squadron of the United States Air Force Academy - "To infinity and beyond!"

The words, 'Happy birthday' are incapable of carrying the joy, the love, the wonder of who you are becoming in our lives and in the world, Ched, still, from my heart to yours, from a father's lips to the ear of his youngest son, from the faith of my soul to the yearning of yours, 'Happy birthday, Ched! You are a gift of God in our family, to the Church, to our community, our nation and our world. Much like your older brothers, you are still discovering the wonders of what God has to show you - and only you can take the journey you are on. However, know in your heart that our love goes with you. As your root is set deep in the connective tissue of family, so extend to the heavens the expressiveness and vision of who you are becoming in God. We are so very proud of you!'

Who knew twenty years ago where you would be flying today? Why knows where you will soar in the days ahead? Ride the strong currents of the Spirit in celebration of this day and all else will take care of itself. I love you, Ched.

Dad

Post-Easter Day Ponderings

Garrison Keillor, in one of his News from Lake Wobegon monologues, referred to the month of March as God's way of helping those who don't drink to know what a hangover feels like. Paradoxically, from my humble perspective, the Great Vigil of Easter and Easter morning Worship Services are God's way of helping everyone to have a taste of what the Kingdom of God is like. Let me explain . . .

The Great Vigil of Easter and the Services of Word and Sacrament on Easter morning tend to be the unique times of the year when: a) Most Christians find time to attend a worship service; b) The kids are excited to be in Sunday School and Church Services; c) The adults in worship are excited to have children in church and are incredibly patient with those children who have seldom been there before; d)The 'regulars' in worship eagerly offer their seats to strangers; e) Worship bulletins inevitably run out and people easily share; f) All of the choirs sing/play/offer gifts; g) Only the very best of high praise music is offered by the musicians; h) People don't mind the service going longer than an hour; i) (at least in our tradition) The fact that everyone, absolutely everyone, is welcome to the Table, from the youngest to the oldest, is celebrated in loving fashion; j) The congregation reflects the diversity of our culture and that is reason for people to smile and laugh in wonder; k) It's 'standing room only' and people are okay with that; l) In the resurrection story of Jesus, people not only are given hope, but on this day claim it in profound and tangible ways; m) The people in the pews do their best to stay awake and smile at the Pastor during the sermon; and, n) For many, this IS the best service they will attend all year (irony intended).

I suspect that many of the more pious church-goer's are going to be really, really surprised by how broadly God chooses to be grace-filled in welcoming God's children into the Kingdom . . . and Easter worship services are God's way of warning all of us that none of us will ever have the perfect picture of that moment until we are there. That's okay with me. In these days, I absolutely adore what I am seeing of the gathered community in sheer praise of God's power and might in defeating death through the faithfulness of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I am in awe of lily-laced air, the squeals and laughter of 'untrained' children in worship, the hospitality of the 'regulars' for those who arrive just for the 'major moments', and the Spirit at work in it all. I am humbled by the capacity of God to make smooth the waters of division, to roll away the stones of intolerance, and to divide 'the way it has always been' with the staff of Living Bread that all God's children might go to safety on dry land. I love this foretaste of God's immeasurable goodness and long to drink deeply of its refreshing, nurturing nature always.

I pray it so for you, too. Until then, we have Easter morning memories to build upon and share. 'Go, tell the disciples and the others what you have seen and heard, and He will meet you in Galilee, just as He told you.' . . . and so I write this to you.

Have a blessed Eastertide!