It's Sunday

It's Sunday.


"I don't want to go to church. I don't have to go to church. You can't make me go to church. I have better things to do than go to church."

"Dad, what do you mean, 'Am I a Christian?' Of course, I'm a Christian! I've been baptized, I've made First Communion, I've been Confirmed, and whenever something happens in our family I know that the church is the first place I can go. But, that doesn't mean I have to go to church on Sunday. After all, sitting in a church no more makes me a Christian than sitting in a garage makes me a car."

"Mom, yes, even I take really good care of my car. In fact, that's one of the things I want to do today: I'm going to wax my car. If I go to church, I won't have time to wax my car. And, yes, I do regularly change the oil, make sure the coolant is right and check the transmission fluid, all because I don't want my car to break down. But, how will I get that done if I spend all my Sunday mornings in church?

"No, my car doesn't mean more to me than my life. I just want to take care of it. I just want to make sure all my friends know that what matters to me has my attention. I just want to make sure my investment lasts . . . . . ."

. . . .which is precisely why God invited you to worship today: to make sure God's investment in you lasts.

It's Sunday.

Which is worth more? Your car or your life?

Pray to see you in church . . . to wipe away the dullness of broken living, to top off the essential fluids of God's Word to guide you in your days, and to fill you with the Sacraments to strengthen your daily journey. Make sure God's investment in you lasts.

It's Sunday. Where will God find you today?

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

Matt's Surprise

"Your oldest son took care of me", is what a friend and colleague told me as we chatted on the phone yesterday. Caught a bit unaware and wondering what Matt might have been up to, I asked, "How?" All the while thinking, 'Changed a flat tire', 'Helped moved a couch', 'Organized a meeting', or 'Spoke to an issue I supported', would be among the responses my friend would cite, instead he said, "I asked him a question about parsonage allowance. Matt researched it and got me the answers I needed."

Imagine that, our son is a professional and people ask him to help them! Never mind that Matt is 33 years old and has had a variety of professional experiences added to his resume already. Never mind that he studies constantly, works continuously, and networks unceasingly. Never mind that Matt has served on the Illinois South Conference of the United Church of Christ Personnel Committee for a number of years, chairing it for the last two years. Never mind that Matt is deeply invested in his faith and endeavors constantly that his daughter's would know the Christ of his faith. Never mind all that he has and is accomplishing . . .

I was still taken somewhat aback when my friend and colleague said to me, "Your oldest son took care of me", for in my eyes Matt is still 'my boy', my son. As my friend affirmed Matt's gifts, I connected with the Baptism of Jesus in a whole new way: "You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased" (Mark 1.11), became for me, "Yes! Alright! Way to go! You did it! I couldn't have asked for more! I'm so proud of you!" If we could see it, what would be the 'happy dance' God does when we live in the way we are birthed to live, when we follow in faith the hope within us? Scripture records a rather 'dry' affirmation from God of Jesus in Baptism, but I would like to bet that, much as I did in hearing of Matt's assistance of a friend, God did that parental dance in the public setting of the Kingdom which mortifies every child who sees it. Maybe God said those words just as they are recorded, but those words cannot contain the joy of a parent's heart when their child amazes them all over again.

Thank you, Matt, for being the son you are. I am so very pleased with you! And, thank you God for giving me the language and the 'moves' to express such joy! May our children always surprise us so powerfully and may our response to their gifts always cause us to sing and dance, regardless what they may think.

It's Time to Get Up!

"It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, you just have to get up!

Oh, you don't want to get up?

Well, get up any-way!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up in the mor-ning!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up!

It's time to get up today!"

(sung quickly and to the tune of Reveille)

With songs like this and many others like it, I woke up our three boys each day for school. Swinging open the door to their rooms, often intentionally singing off key and as loudly as I could, these moments came to be as much dreaded as they were anticipated by the boys. When I didn't wake them up 'abruptly', it wasn't unusual for one of them to find me and ask if I was alright. Seldom did any morning go by that the boys wouldn't seek me out at the dining room table where I had already gone to eat breakfast and read the paper, give me a big 'good morning hug' and an 'I love you" before heading on to get their breakfast ready and their day started . . . . and, this morning, Nancy reminded me that I wouldn't have to sing to the boys anymore. They have all left home.

I had mentally noted the end of this particular, peculiar tradition on Wednesday, June 23, the day Ched left for the Air Force Academy, yet this morning as Nancy headed off to teach, the reality hit home and the silence of the 7:00 a.m. hour resonated loudly. The doors to their rooms were already open, their beds were neatly made, and the incredible stench of athletic shoes has long ago dissipated from their closets. Much like the teacher who retires in May, yet doesn't really experience retirement until the school year reconvenes, I had seen this coming, but couldn't anticipate how it would feel. Today I know and my heart aches for their laughter, chastisement, hugs and voices. They are each on their journey.

Though I would never wish any of them back to the rooms of their childhood for a moment, I do miss having 'our boys' at home, bringing to mind the words of Genesis 2 echoing across the generations to my heart today (as Adam first sees Eve, created as she was from one of Adam's ribs): "This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." (2.23a NRSV) There is something deeply connective beyond the brick and mortar of residence and geography which binds our souls together and causes us to care and long for each other, regardless the time or place. What began as just Nancy and me became three times deeper in the birth of each of our sons. How much more is that so for the God who births us all?

Last evening, as I held our newest granddaughter, Norah Caroline, in my arms and felt her tiny fingers squeezing mine it was as if she were assuring her Papa that the connection continues, the flesh and bone of family is deepened, the heart of life itself pulses even more vibrantly. Though tears may flow in the morning for songs no longer sung, laughter and hope fills the evening in the breath of a baby cooing assurance, the gift of the One who knows our days.

My prayer for you, as for each of our sons and their children after them, is that you know both, the fullness of a home resounding with, " . . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . ." and the bittersweet awareness of silence echoing in the hallways as that which is 'of you' seeks their own future in the presence and goodness of God. Traditions may change, habits are meant to be broken, patterns of living will be transformed, but that which is of us will remain in us as a gift of the Father who knows all the children as, ". . . . bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh . . . .". Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Father's Prayer

What more might I ask for our son, O Lord,

than that You bless him?

This night, I ask a blessing

that I pray is not too much:

I pray you bless our son

with the Presence and Power of

Your Holy Spirit:

Not that he 'win',

but that he succeeds;

Not that he survives,

but that he thrives;

Not that he memorize,

but that he learns;

Not that he accommodates,

but that he stands strong;

Not that he be above,

but a part;

Not that he alone completes,

but that together

his Flight,

his Squadron,

achieves.

Such is the prayer of one parent,

O Lord,

in the midst of every parent

who this night prays for their Basic,

for every Basic,

who nears the end of

the Second Beast.

Bless these children beyond our ability,

beyond our capacity,

to know what to ask

or how to ask it,

for this night,

this parent,

for every parent,

remembers:

"Ask, and it will be given you;

search, and you will find;

knock, and the door will be opened for you."

And I pray your Spirit

fill the spirits of

all our sons and daughters,

that what is Basic

to the Air Force Academy

is eternal and holy

before You.

For I pray it in the name of the One

Who Is Not Overcome

by any Beast.

Amen.

Learning From 'That First Call'

Last Saturday we received our first call:

Ched called home from the Air Force Academy.

Field Day and Doolie Day In provided for a couple of hours in the afternoon when Basics are allowed free time (a precious commodity for Basics) to place telephone calls home. Though I cannot tell you the exact hour and minute I received his first text message (Okay, it was 2:11.37 CST!), with the words, "I will be calling in a few minutes", I can tell you what I did: I jumped up and down, calling to my wife, Nancy, "Get ready! He just texted that he's going to call in a few minutes!"

We laid my cell phone, Nancy's cell phone and our land line phone all on the family room table and waited, not knowing which phone he might choose to call home on . . . and waited . . . and waited. About ten minutes later, Nancy got up and said, "Well, it's clear that Ched's not a parent yet. He doesn't understand what saying " . . . a few minutes . . ." means to a parent. But, someday he will." Then, a few minutes later, Ched called.

What was shared in those minutes brought laughter and tears, joy and assurance, peace and challenges yet, more than all of that, what we treasured more than anything else was just the sound of his voice. Ah, the sound of our son's voice!

And, isn't that what God desires most from all of God's children? Just to hear the sound of their voices? Isn't that the message of Jesus in announcing the nearness of the Kingdom, 'God's ear has come near to hear you!'?

Maybe it has been a long time since last you talked with God. Maybe you have been 'away' and just weren't sure how to get back in touch. Maybe you thought that, since God seemed so far away, God didn't care. Maybe you felt hurt that something for which you asked didn't happen just the way you wanted. Maybe there have been so many other things piled on your schedule that taking even a few brief moments of free time to talk with God seemed like too huge a price to pay out of your personal time and rest. Maybe there has been no really good reason you haven't called, but you haven't. Still, now I know, the best gift any child can give to their parent is to give them a call and let them hear the sound of your voice.

If it is so among we who are, " . . . created in the image of God . . .", how much more is it so for the One who is God, Holy Parent of all there are?

After the call was finished, it took several minutes before I could even speak an intelligible, coherent sentence, so happy was my heart, so elated my soul. Little had I imagined how the sound of our son's voice would bless my life in those moments, little had I understood how dearly I missed hearing him every day.

I think I am going to take a few extra moments today to talk with God and thank God for the home of the Spirit which continues to shape my journey and for the love that God shows for me. Then, I am going to call my Dad and thank him for being such a good parent to me and ask his pardon for the all the days I haven't called just to check in. Funny how that works . . . without knowing it, with only a phone call, our son has given me a gift in understanding and wisdom that only experience can teach. It is a lesson I pray I never forget.

Who are you calling today?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

He Came Home Stronger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Moving Day

Today Raymond is moving out of our home. He and his fiance, Kara, have purchased a home not far from here and a truck has been rented to transport his accumulated possessions to their new setting. For those of you keeping track of such things, Raymond is moving in now and Kara will move in after they are married.

Nancy and I have been through this before when Matthew married Bethany. We have loaded up all of the boxes, moved them into a new residence, provided the tools used for hanging pictures and assembling the various pieces of furniture . . . you know the drill. Yet, each move is different. Between Matthew and Raymond, Nancy and I have participated in nearly twenty different moves already, most of which were to dorms rooms on college campuses. But, when the move is made to a 'residence' other than our own home, there is a deep stirring of permanency which gives a parent reason to pause and try to lock 'final things' in time.

I walked into Raymond's packed-up room last evening and smiled at all the exposed plaque and picture hangers on the walls. Though I have never counted them, there are in the neighborhood of thirty hangers around the room which displayed his Student of the Year plaques, advertisements from the High School musicals he was a part of, various music and athletic awards, and pictures from homecomings and proms throughout the years. His older brother has long referred to the room as 'Raymond's Shrine' and, whether that is accurate or not, it is a recording of a little over two decades of living.

Odd thing though, as I stood there last night looking at all the empty hangers naked to the world on the wall, it was as if I could still see all the pictures and plaques still there. Even removed from sight and boxed for the move, those moments in time recorded for prosperity still were present and accounted for in the order in which they occurred. Maybe moving out isn't the same as leaving . . . and, now that I think of it, the same is true of Matt's rooms in our home: though year's have passed since he moved out to begin his life with Bethany, in this parent's mind and heart, the collage of his life under our roof and in our care are still carefully preserved in the places of this parent's love.

Maybe that is the way it is with God and all God's children. We are born into God's household, grow up in God's care, achieve in whatever ways we are gifted, and hang the testimonies to our journey and explorations upon the walls of God's heart. Then, when we believe ourselves ready, we declare ourselves independent and move out into the world to make our own way, not understanding until much, much later that, no matter where we move or how far we believe ourselves to have gone, we are still very intimately bound in love and tenderness in the heart and soul of the One who has birthed us from the beginning of time. The remnants of our life are still hanging in the living memory of God's mind as God savors those moments when closely we walked together. Like the return of the Prodigal Son, that is what makes the love of a parent and the lives of their children so poignant: When lived out in the fullness of love, it makes no difference how far the wanderings or what the events, we always have a place and time to which to return, for in the Parent's heart we will never ever have departed. We are always in God's love.

Today we pack up Raymond's belongings, even as we tightly clutch to the spirit of his love and laughter which will always abide in our hearts. Though our children may move out of our home, they can never leave the depths of our soul, for as surely as we are in the Spirit of the One who has given us life, so our children will never go so far that they are beyond the embrace of our care and love. Like his brother before him, Raymond will find his way and, in God's Presence, will live the wonder of what God has in store for him . . . . and, like his brother before him, he will leave our home, but he can never leave our hearts.

Thanks be to God for the simple gift of a parent's life for there is so much to be learned, so much to be celebrated, each step of the way. It is, as 'The Lion King' aptly pronounces, "The circle of life." May God's Circle guard and guide our children wherever the Spirit leads them that they, too, may in their own time stand in the doorway of their children's lives and ponder the sacred understandings of what it means to let them leave, but never let them go.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don