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?

Standing in the Garden

I find myself standing in the garden more these days, not particularly doing anything constructive, though once in a while I do threaten a weed or two with the blade of my hoe . . . mostly I just stand there and admire God's handiwork and watch the birds flit about in the trees. I don't answer the phone, I don't text, I don't check FB, and I do not wonder what else I should be doing. The garden has turned into my technology 'dead-zone' and consequently has become my safe harbor.

More and more, 'days off' at the farm have become farther and fewer between. It's no-one else's fault, I own my work ethic, yet I am beginning also to own my spirit's need for peace, my body's need for rest, and my heart's need to savor the journey. This time between Advent and Pentecost is always something of a maddening period for Pastors, especially for folks like myself who have been raised to believe that idle hands are the devil's workshop, which is only further complicated by being something of an 'A' type personality. There is always more to do, one more person to call, one more committee assignment to finish, one more service to write, one more person to visit, one more meeting to attend . . . and one more day becomes history, lost to the white noise of 'accomplishment'. While in service to God I sacrifice the joy God intends for me to know in life for the satisfaction of believing I can bring the Kingdom in on my own. A sad and not very faithful commentary for a Pastor to write about themselves, but there it is, God help me.

So, this evening I'm going to stand in the garden for a while. I may even move our patio table and chairs near it so I can sit there for a while with a glass of iced tea with lemon, no sugar thank you. If you happen to drive by and want to sit and visit, feel free, but let's just talk about the goodness of God's creation (Lord only knows we can't fix the State of Illinois!) and, there in those moments, treasure what most God wants for all people in laughter, grace, understanding, connectedness and peace.

As the garden heals from the recent hail storm, so it also is becoming a balm to my weathered soul. The vegetables yet to be harvested are already nourishing my deepest longings. I pray you have a garden to stand in, too.

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.

Incredible

I planted potatoes yesterday: Fifty pounds of Kennebec potatoes, carefully sliced to maximize the 'eyes' planted, placed about fifteen inches apart, in fifteen rows in the garden at the farm. The soil worked, well . . . 'like a garden', light and fluffy, easy to rototill, easy to use the potato plow in. It was about four hours of the nicest time I have spent on the farm this Spring, with 80 degree... weather, an occasional cloud, and the sound of frogs absolutely filling the air down by the pond, not so very far away. Incredible.

What is incredible, too, is that I felt guilty about taking four hours away from work. I am the one who preaches constantly about the need for 'Sabbath' yet, if it's good enough for God to take it, if it's good enough for God to include it in the Ten Commandments, if it's good enough for Jesus to observe it, then why do I view taking Sabbath as a guilty pleasure? Is my DNA screwed up? Or have I suddenly found myself worshipping at the wrong altar in the midst of the Lenten journey, sacrificing my soul on the altar of 'way too busy' so that I might achieve the nirvana of 'successful at getting everything done'? Hmmmmm.

While planting the potatoes, I stopped and picked up some soil in my hand and just smelled it. Again, incredible.Some people wax eloquent concerning smelling the roses, I defy you to find a more pure and wonderful fragrance than freshly opened soil in the Springtime. A thousand images of growing up on the farm flooded my memory as I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of that garden soil, but in that moment none stronger than savoring a Sunday afternoon in the Spring just relaxing and enjoying the day, relishing the scent of God at work in new life all around us. Sabbath. Incredible.

I pray for you 'Incredible' today. I pray for you 'Sabbath'. For, and I am speaking to myself here, in the moment we are too busy or feel too guilty to take time to take in the wonders of God, to observe Sabbath, we are missing the very reason we have been created . . . and that in itself is sin. Savor the 'Incredible' today.

When I Have An Extra Moment

I have a nagging suspicion that, when my days on this earth are over, the headstone my wife and children will place where I am laid to rest will simply read,

Rev. Dr. Donald C. Wagner

"Finally, an extra moment to . . ."

An extra moment to read the books lined up on my shelves; An extra moment to do the writing I've always imagined I could do; An extra moment to play golf with those folks who have been persistent in inviting me; An extra moment to go hunting with my friends who know my passion; An extra moment to get caught up on the correspondence with family; An extra moment to get the Wagner family cousins together for a reunion; An extra moment to see the plays and musicals I have always wanted to see; An extra moment to see the world through Ross Brewer's eyes as I listen to all of his wonderful travel stories; An extra moment to work on the garden I always knew I could grow; An extra moment to landscape our home; An extra moment to build the home of my dreams, in the place of my dreams; An extra moment to listen to Christine Brewer sing; An extra moment to do mission trips; An extra moment to work at disaster relief; An extra moment to plant flowers; An extra moment to savor the music of jazz greats like Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Sadao Watanabe; An extra moment to visit with my Dad, Melvin, and his wife, Dorothy; An extra moment to visit with my brothers and their families; An extra moment to visit with my wife's family; An extra moment (or two or three) to work on the farm; An extra moment to cherish our children, Matthew (Bethany), Raymond (Kara) and Ched, and our beautiful granddaughters, Mary Cailin, Ava & Norah; and, especially, An extra moment to delight in the love of my life, Nancy.

Notably missing on such a list are: An extra moment to write another liturgy; An extra moment to preach another sermon; An extra moment to attend another meeting; An extra moment to raise money for another worthy project; An extra moment to get caught up on paperwork; and, An extra moment to make sure my calendar is up to date.

Not missing on my first list are: An extra moment with God; An extra moment with Jesus; An extra moment with the Spirit; or, An extra moment in the Body of Christ, the Church. All my moments, regardless of activity, are rooted in such holy relationships: They were before I was born and will be after I am long gone. Thanks be to God!

I have observed with great interest folks around me who seem always to have the time to do whatever it is they want to do. It seems their pace is slower, their countenance more relaxed, their demeanor more intentional AND I am forever bumping into them with smiles on their faces and laughter on their lips. They are so disgusting!

Maybe, when I have an extra moment I can be like them . . . but then, will I be able to be who I am called to be? Gifted to be? Led to be?

Does my life still have meaning if I am not getting everything done? If I'm not toiling 24/7/365? If I am not meeting everyone's expectations? If, even for only a moment, I don't give a thought to making sure everyone else is happy (which I don't always do anyway!)?

I am quite capable of preaching a pretty good sermon about taking Sabbath rest, about caring for the soul as well as the heart, and about putting the important things in life first. Yet, listening to that sermon . . . well, maybe I will give that some time when I have an extra moment . . .

Let's just pray I find it before I have eternity to ponder what that extra moment might have been!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don