Sweet Mercy

Sometimes it is what is behind the lines, not between them - and
Sometimes it is what is not written at all.
Those who understand need never read it . . . . and
Those who perceive it as in their soul simply nod their support.
All others try to cover the spaces with sound, their futility echoing as empty words in a hollow canyon,
The abyss between them the eternity of untouchable peace.
Come, sweet mercy, come, with nary a syllable of language to grant grace to this wandering pilgrim and
Wisdom to this seeker of Spirit.

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 Well Pump

Dad's well pump 'went out' on Saturday. It broke down completely, never to be used again. Disastrous, right? Not so much, at least not anymore.A number of years ago, both my Dad's home on the farm and my brothers home, which is the main site of our farm, received 'city water'. A rural water district ran lines throughout the countryside, encouraging locals along the way to 'buy' into the opportunity to have this 'new' reliable source of water. Having grown up with only well water and cistern water (and if this doesn't make any sense to you, my explaining it here won't really help you understand), having water available without having to haul it in dry seasons or having to deal with hard water deposits in the water lines was a huge plus. Additionally, at the time the water lines came through the countryside, we were still milking cows and the health requirements of dairy farms stipulated that, if purified water were available, the farm must use it in the milk house and all milking processes. So, the farm got 'city water' and Dad's cattle can be watered with city water until the well pump is replaced. Nice option.

All of which got me to thinking about those people and places who are not nearly so fortunate to have such options. You know those places, where children and mothers walk for miles to get to a source of water (never mind whether it is clean water or not) and then have to carry those few meager gallons back to their home, just to repeat the process all over again the next day. You know those places, where a stream suffices for a laundry, where the same stream is the place of watering for the cattle and sheep who pasture nearby, where that same stream is the place of bathing for communities of people who have no access to running water near their homes and where water for cooking is scooped out with hand turned crocks. You know those places, you have seen them in National Geographic and in the news, you have heard about them in hushed Sunday School tones and in pleas for assistance, and you have pondered their plight while turning on the tap to wash your hands so that you wouldn't have to deal with germs which might ruin your day. You know those places . . . and pray that you never become one of them. Such is our affluence.

My brother called me this morning to tell me that Dad is purchaing a new pump which we will install in the days ahead. Another nice option. I'm not complaining . . . and am incredibly grateful that in this place and time we have the luxury, not only of running water, but of different kinds of running water. Yet, my conscience calls me out and my spirit keeps me honest. Many of my brothers and sisters do not have such amenities in life and they, as Jesus says, are the least among us. For such as these is God's priority . . . not for the ones who choose which water they will use without also assisting those who have no such choice. It is something to ponder . . . as health advocates remind us of how many 8 ounce glasses of water to consume each day in order to maintain and/or reduce our body fat. There are many in the world who are dying for the opportunity to have body fat, much less to worry about how to maintain it with gallons of cool clean water each day.

When the pump breaks down and there is no other to replace it, when you turn on the tap and nothing flows out and there is no fixing the 'city water' lines, where will you turn? Who will assist you? Just something to ponder on the way to Jerusalem, while announcing the good news of the nearness of the Kingdom.

All-ee, All-ee, in Free!

A child's voice floats seamlessly over the gathering shadows of late day's twilight, "All-ee, all-ee, in free! All-ee, All-ee, in free!" Ah, the sweet lilt of song and words which please the child's ears who has managed to remain hidden, undetected for a long enough time that, finally, the one who is 'It' in the game of Hide-and-Go-Seek is giving up in forlorn dejection. Yet, the same soft song becomes a bitter draught in the throat of the one who must sing it, for try as they may, the other has outwitted them, out-thought them, outdone them. "All-ee, all-ee, in free!"

Walking along the early morning streets of Lebanon with robins, cardinals, and blackbirds singing their waking music, I found my heart gathered in the freedom of one who was emerging from Winter's slumber, hearkened to joy by the song of God's chorus who, in bursting delight welcomed me from the hiding places of a cold season's demands. "All-ee, all-ee, in free!" 'Come out and savor the wonder!', 'Come out and taste of the Creator's goodness!' 'Come out, come out, wherever you are!' Like Moses leading the Israelite children out of Egypt through the sea, like Joshua leading the children out of the wilderness into the Promised Land, like Jesus standing at the door of an empty tomb and asking of Mary, "Woman, why are you weeping?", we are daily being led from our hiding places into the light of God's goodness, if only we heed the song and follow God's voice. No more hoping never to be found. No more crouching down so low that others will not notice. No more praying that the sound of breathing will betray your place of concealment.

Today is the day to celebrate God's freedom offered to you through Christ. Today is the day to rejoice in God's ongoing song of new life. Today is the day to receive the invitation and come running to 'Home base'. "All-ee, all-ee, in free!" is being sung for you on the lips of God's angels among us. The Kingdom has come near. Come out and marvel in the Light!

The Heart of the Matter

Pastor Don's Corner . . .
"As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him. For he knows how we were made; he remembers that we are dust." Psalm 103.13-14
Recently, I was told the story of a home fire in which the father got the wife out, then went back into the blaze to save his young son. Both father and son were lost in the collapsing building. The person telling it recalled the event in tears and with startling clarity given the time which had passed since the event, yet there are some things which happen in our lives which seldom ever leave the depth of our heart's capacity to recall.
Case in point, the current heat and humidity which our region is experiencing: It seems a bane to most yet, for many, it inspires the blessing of memory, reliving the days gone by when air conditioners weren't the norm and families still got by on the grace of screened porches and fans. The number of such stories being told expands exponentially as the temperature goes up, as does the vivid recollection of summer evening neighborhood games among kids and visiting among neighbors. (Author, Phillip Gulley, refers to those days as 'Front Porch' memories and attributes much of the decline in the current culture's civility to the fact that few people have 'front porches' and/or don't sit on them, choosing rather to dwell in air conditioned comfort and isolation.) Amazingly to me, what people recall most in such stories is not the heat, but the feelings of the heart which still evoke an emotional response today. Who knew that a fan in a window or a game of Relievo or cicadas in the trees or a parent's voice calling children home late in the evening or the quiet buzz of neighbors visiting along the dusky street, could bring to mind such joy and peace? "I remember the heat and drought of '57 . . . . we didn't have much, but we had enough . . . . and what we had we shared." The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
A man tells me his wife left him for another man whom, she believes, can give her more than he ever could. Hot tears stream down his face as he wrestles with relocating his life, his residence, his way of being, his love, and his care for their children, yet in the midst of it all, the thing most clear to him is how much he still loves her - and how wonderful their years together were. To him, infidelity is not the issue, his continuing love for her is. His heart remembers only the good and those memories serve to insulate him from the pain she is inflicting upon him, as the heat of the day increases and the home of their marriage collapses around him. His soul won't give in to despair, neither will his heart forget its way.
Some may say such is the way of self-destructive living - and they may be right. Yet, is not this the same sort of behavior for which we pray of God? God, rush back into the fires of my own making and save my life before my world collapses around me! God, remind me of the days when I prayed in the cold of a winter's night for the heat of a summer day and the joy associated with such a day! God, love me beyond my infidelity to you and tend to me even when I have offered my life, my time, and my riches to another! Answer me when I call, O God, for You are steadfast in love and, though my living does not reflect it, it is You my heart remembers, it is You for which my soul longs!
The heart doesn't forget what shapes the soul, nor does the soul venture far from what inspires the heart to beat.
To give oneself for the life of another, to remember with joy the blessings of a better time, and to linger in remembrance of love for consideration of one who chooses no longer to love the way you do: Are these not among the gifts of God come to us in Jesus Christ? Thank you, God!
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

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!

Good Friday

I just returned from the Community Good Friday Stations of the Cross service which was attended by approximately 30 people. Granted, it was raining, and there was visitation for a prominent woman of the town who had died, and there was a funeral for another gentleman of the community who had died, and some were at yet another funeral of the father of a woman in town, and the firemen in town host a fish fry on Good Friday evening each year and were getting ready for the fry - but, I know there were not 3,500 people at all of the other events. There were 30 people who attended the Community Good Friday Stations of the Cross. 30 people.

Yet, it was in the midst of the 30 people, in the midst of the liturgy, in the midst of the "O Sacred Head Now Wounded", that it occurred to me that this Good Friday was very much like that first Good Friday on which Jesus was crucified: People were dying and dead; People were going to visitations and funerals; fund-raisers were going on around Jerusalem; market places were open and people were buying and selling; visitors to town had absolutely no idea of what was going on; and others chose just to stay at home and ignore the hubbub of the crowds. What is a 'really big thing' to devoted Christians - is just another day in the life of the world for everyone else. Jesus on the cross is pivotal only to those who recognize their need for His deliverance. Jesus on the cross is central only to the existence of those whose life and soul are intertwined with God's own will and desire for humankind. To all others . . . it is just another day in the city. Though they may all show up in three days for Sunrise Services, what already is gone is the moment which gives birth to Easter.

In retrospect, 30 people at the cross on Good Friday probably isn't such a bad turnout. Lord only knows how many others have turned and gone away from such a scene through all the intervening years. Maybe thirty is the new holy number this year, for 30 dared to stay. It is something to ponder as, in writing this article, the clock strikes 3:00 pm, the ninth hour.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Hard Questions On the Journey

““Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.” (Mark 16:3b-4)

The question of the women on their way to the tomb is a question that seems to be reappearing in many conversations these days. “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” is being culturally translated into: Who will help me get a job? Who will help me feed my family? Who will help me with the cost of medicines? Who will help me with my rising power bills? Who will help me sort out my life? Who will help me with my parents who are aging into children? Who will help me with my children who are aging into teenagers? Who is it that cares about me, besides me? What difference does my life make any more? Which way do I need to turn to find peace? Will there ever again be the notion of security in my life? Who will roll away the permanency of dying and death that seems to encompass my living?
Three women on their way to Jesus’ tomb, on their way with spices to anoint the dead, ponder the harsh realities of their situation: None of the men ‘dared’ come out of hiding for fear of those who crucified Jesus; Women are practically invisible in a patriarchal society; Jesus is very, very dead; They had watched Hope be crucified on a cross; They had observed the victory of hatred and animosity; They knew the size of the stone, the mass of power and prejudice, which sealed the Good News of God in a tomb; They knew they could not move the stone; They knew they would have to have help; and, They knew they had to go take care of their friend. They are caught in an untenable situation: Go to take care of their friend and hope someone would help them or stay at home and allow the stench of death to consume the One they loved. They couldn’t stay at home, but neither did they have an answer as to who might be bold enough to help them.
Answers to the hard questions of faith and life are seldom found in the privacy of safe places. Just as the answer to “Who will roll the stone away . . . .” was revealed at the site of the stone and the tomb itself so, too, are the answers to the hard questions of our time most likely to be revealed while on the journey. Well we are able to name ‘death’ and the causes of ‘death’ in our lives: Joblessness, homelessness, bankruptcy, depletion of retirement investments, failure of stock market investments, the housing market, the auto market, AIG, Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Rod Blagojevich, Illinois Legislature, Washington D.C. politics, rising taxes, lowering services, and the list goes on and on. But, are we willing and able to journey with our Friend, Jesus, in the face of death and meet the One who rolls the stone away? Are we believing enough, maybe even doubtful enough yet seeking a wonder, to walk out the doors of the locked rooms – in which we tuck all our insecurities and ‘knowledge’ away – to seek the answers only God can give? Or are we so wrapped up and invested in the perceived ability of government “ . . . to deliver us from evil” (words of our Lord’s Prayer) that we are incapable of recognizing deliverance coming from any other source?
Not to move out of our safe places to walk with Jesus is granting unto death another victim. Not to move in extending friendship to the One who comes to deliver us is to accept the paralysis of fear as the norm for life. Not to move towards God’s resolutions in our lives, even while pondering the hardest of questions, is to give victory to a stone whose only function is to seal death in place. Get up! Move towards God’s Easter for you! Go out! And, in the midst of your questions, be ready for Good News to be delivered from heavenly places! Death is no more!

Who is rolling the stone away for you?

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Rainbow Messages

As the storm rolled through, as the rains washed the earth, the sun began to emerge from under the western edge of the cloud layer and, there in the still-blackened eastern skies, a rainbow burst into being. Vibrant, bold, and audacious, as if shouting to the world, "See, I am still here! I have not forgotten my word! Out of the storms of your living, remember My Presence and know I am with you!" Then, as if the first rainbow were not enough of a reminder, there appeared a second, no less brilliant rainbow, echoing the message of the first. Awestruck and humbled, the Biblical words of Genesis reverberated through my heart, "This is my covenant with you." God makes covenant. We make promises.

Covenant always begins in God, for the Creator of all things is the Source of relationship, the Hope of a mutual journey. Humanity's best effort in responding is to God's covenant is not to make another covenant with God, but to live God's covenant with integrity. It seldom fails to amuse me as congregations, conferences, denominations, even commercial industries, take up the covenantal language, making covenant with God and others as though they have the creative, steadfast chutzpah of God to keep covenant as God keeps covenant. It is a presumptuous, even perilous step to take in tossing out covenantal language in the same way Morton tosses out salt: It loses its power and authority in the same way salt loses its taste when the only point of origin which can be claimed is the frailty of humanity.

God throws a rainbow in the sky and says, "Look! I remember My word and keep My covenant with you!" then, underscores the proclamation with a second, no less wondrous rainbow. Who among us would even dare to try copying God's claim? Rainbow messages are profound statements I pray my humanity never forgets to heed and live, for in living God's covenant with me I am blessed to walk with the God who speaks the covenant into being from age to endless age.

Here's to living Rainbow Messages!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

I Sat For a While With An Old Friend

I sat for a while today with an old friend as she waited with a patient spirit for death to come. It has been a slow and agonizing journey, often fraught with vast periods of loneliness and longing. Friends who swore they would always be there, were for a while. Friends that promised to write and keep her up to date, faltered after a few weeks. Acquaintances who whispered sweet words of 'thoughts and prayers', quieted their thoughts and offered few words months ago . . . and my old friend has only the occasional visit of a child who rarely has time, the gentle tendings of hospice personnel and the vigil of a pastor who has been embraced as a friend.

If you were to begin counting your 'breaths' from the time you are born to the time you die, how many would you breathe? As I sat with my friend and watched her shallow breathing, I thought of the birth of each of our children and grandchildren. Each birth somehow amazingly accompanied by that first big breath of air . . . then the cry, the wail, the siren signal to the world to 'Watch out! I'm ready to take my place now!' From the time a baby first breathes to the time an aging woman breathes no more, how much air is a part of the body's journey? How many times do we breathe? Watching my friend welcome her final breaths of life, a grudging acknowledgment of being tired and ready for the next step of God's plan in her life, I wondered how we will ever know when the next breath will be our last breath. Does it even matter?

From the cross, Jesus cried out, "Into your hands I commend my spirit", and he slumped into the arms of God, breathless at the end of the journey, and died. I am not aware that Jesus ever counted his breaths, but I know that he counted the breath of God's creation as holy and sacred. That we might know life, he became our life. He became our breath. He become our breathing when the world would have counted us for dead. Then, in love for each of us and not counting his breaths as precious to him, he gave us his breath for us . . . that we might breathe forevermore.

Maybe it is as simple as this: A life spent counting breaths is a life whose breath breathes no meaning, yet a life spent breathing meaning into all around is a life whose breath lasts forever.

Her breathing was shallow as she slept away the time. I prayed and quietly left the room. Her time for final breaths is near, but not quite here. God's breath in her is moving her to new life, yet only in God's time. I may not be able to count the breaths, but God counts the life which gives breath to others - and though her breaths may diminish in this life, Christ's breath in her will take her to Life whose very breath is the breath of God. Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

John 3:16

John 3:16

In many circles, all you have to do is say it, "John 3:16" and folks will in some manner resonate with what that text says. Others may have to hear the words, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whosoever should believe in him may not perish but have eternal life", before they remember what the text is. Yet, however these words from the Gospel according to John are articulated, they speak an intrinsic truth: God.

Some see "John 3:16" and stop at the Son, Jesus. Not a bad place to stop, except that it is Jesus who is speaking the words of the text. So, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

Some hear the words of John 3:16 and stop at the word 'believes'. Also, not a bad place to stop, except that the word, 'believes', in the context of the sentence, is being defined by Jesus as an appropriate reaction to something else towards which He points. So, again, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

I ponder on this every time I see 'the end-zone guy/gal' with the poster, "John 3:16". Do they really have any idea what Jesus is trying to get across to Nicodemus as he speaks these words? Probably not. Few do. Most just turn this into some sort of Christological statement which is followed by an announcement of Divine Judgment - of which they are the 'righteous' ones making the declaration and are, thereby, saved by the belief of their words. Yet, like the Israelites who glimpsed the serpent upon the pole in the wilderness (v. 14 refers to Numbers 21:4-9) and were healed and began to worship the serpent upon the pole so, many well-meaning Christians view the cross, experience a transformation and begin to worship the cross. It is not a bad reaction to what is happening, but it is a shallow reaction. It fetters the believer to a precipitous, even perilous existence watching and waiting for the next 'event' to happen in their lives, hoping upon hope that something will happen again and confirm what previously had been acknowledged. Heaven save us from such circular living!

Verse 17 underscores 14, 15, and 16 in one word, "God". "Indeed, God . . . " It is the love of God, it is the grace of God, it is the healing of God, it is the mercy of God, it is the faith of God, it is the initiative of God, it is God that saves the Israelites in the wilderness. The serpent upon the pole offers them an opportunity to look up, as the Psalmist in Psalm 121 alludes, "I lift up mine eyes unto the hills - from where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth." The serpent teaches them to look up and see God at work. Similarly, when Christ is nailed to the cross with the nails of power, arrogance, and pride, those who dare to look up from the stinging of the serpents upon the ankles of their lives find more than the Son, not that the Son isn't a pretty incredible sight, but they are given a vision of God which, to paraphrase the Apostle Paul in I Corinthians 13 ("Now we see in a dimly, but then we will see face to face.") is a vision of clarity, wonder and awe, limited by the human mind as it is.

"God so loved the world . . ." is Jesus pointing beyond Himself to the One who is in Him, through Him, of Him. John 3:16 is the creation story from a whole new vantage point, it is the deliverance of Israel out of Egypt with a twist, it is entering the land with a purpose, it is God defining the identity of God's people from the beginning of time, it is a statement of being . . . and that statement is God.

I'm not sure all of that would fit on a poster, nor do I believe folks at a sporting event would even care. Maybe I should be content that a witness is being made . . . still . . . Oh, well, I better trust it to God. If it was good enough for Jesus to move on after talking with Nicodemus, it should be good enough for me. There is more at stake in this world than posters and Pharisees.

John 3:16. What does it mean to you? It is something to think about, to pray on.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Kind of a God

I was asked again today, "What kind of a God lets such things happen?" (referring to the recent shooting death of a Baptist Pastor in front of his congregation) Such questions are seriously asked and require serious responses, so I replied, "The same God who allows us to enjoy this beautiful Spring day." Then I received 'the smile', the 'knowing nod of the head', and the polite, "I guess you're right", as they moved on out of my office. Clearly, the inquisitor did not receive the answer and affirmation they were seeking and, so, stayed no longer, yet, in the words of a former seminary professor of mine, Rev. Dr. Walter Breuggemann, I choose never to, " . . . be in the business of defending God. God is quite capable of making God's own case. Thank you very much."

That said, let me also clarify, I am not God, nor do I pretend to know the mind of God: My frame of reference is Christ upon the cross and the empty tomb. The God I believe in has already fully entered the fray of humanity's inhumanity in the person of Jesus. Emmanuel, God With Us, is the Divine Love of God with us, even before us, in the sanctuary as the shooter pulled the trigger. Similarly, God was already with us as terrorists chose to divert innocent passengers to their deaths at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and into a field in Pennsylvania. Likewise, God With Us walks the way of those who hunger for food while AIG executives take their million dollar bonuses at the expense of the hungry. Likewise God With Us bears up both, child and parent, as the child enters into the cancer ward for the umpteenth time to receive 'life-saving' chemotherapy. Also, God With Us carries in God's arms the family violently forced out of their home and off their land as the latest of insecure radical supremacists inflicts their will and steals that family's life and livelihood.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same God who, in the wisdom of creation, created humanity in the image of God . . . and gave humanity a very God-like gift: freewill. God didn't shoot the Pastor. God didn't pilot those planes. God didn't take the million dollar bonus. God didn't give the child the cancer, nor did God give the parents the heartache. God did not place a violent supremacist in power. Humanity did. Yet, as long as we blame God we do not have to look in the mirror of our own existence and see how we continue today to drive nails of violence, massive consumption, disease, and power into the hands and feet of Jesus. As long as we can make it God's issue, it will not be our issue - and our faith and servanthood are safely intact . . . Amen! Thank you, Jesus!

God is already at work showing us the way to justice, peace, and deliverance from wont and pain, even in the midst of life's hard lessons, but dare we look into the face of Jesus and see our own need, our own shortcomings, our own lethargic responses? Dare we face the shooter in Maryville, the terrorists on 9-1-1, the disease in the lives of the most innocent, and the rancor of extremism - and see our own complicity, our own need for mercy? Or, is it simply easier to lay it at the feet of God, expecting some sort of 'miracle' to take us off the hook, and make the 'not-nearly-present-enough-God' the aggressor . . . that we not have to concede His Victory of an empty tomb in spite of us?

Sometimes it makes me wonder.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same kind of a God who lays God's own life on the line in God's only Son, Jesus, and shows us the way towards keeping such things from happening again. Such a God is big enough to take on our complaints and accusations - and love us into new life at the door of an empty tomb. Such a God is the God of the Gospel: "The kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news." (Mark 1.15 NRSV) The nearness of the kingdom is the breath of God brushing our lives in grace - which is the kind of a God who is with us in all that happens, no matter what. Thanks be to God!

Birdie Believes She Can Fly

Birdie believes she can fly. Never mind that she is a 9 month old, 50 pound Black Labrador Retriever, she believes she can fly! If only there was a way for her to get up enough speed and improve her leaping ability! That she has yet to catch one of those pesky robins on the power lines hasn't deterred her from trying, making a walk with her something of an adventure in holding onto her leash. There is no problem with her running away, it is just a matter of holding her on the ground while she constantly jumps for the heavens above . . . and maybe there is something to be learned from her.

How often are we reminded of our limitations rather than encouraged by our possibilities? How many times have we had our own leash yanked on by someone who was telling us how stupid we were for trying to fly? How many times have we done it to others? How many times have we told our children or grandchildren, "Oh, you can be anything you like (as long as it is something of which we approve)." How many times in the Church have we made the wonder of God inapproachable to children by the weight of our sinful behaviors? How many times have we kept others down in the pew when all they wanted to do was stand up in the Lord?

"Oh, we don't do that here." "No laughing or giggling in church." "I haven't seen them here before, and they certainly don't look like they belong here." "They want to what, in church?" "A woman preach?" "Communion for children?" "We're conservative here (which is code for, 'You would never catch me doing that!')" "The preacher really should have a talk with them (which is code for 'I can't explain why I don't like it, but I don't and I don't have the brass to say it myself!)" And the list goes on and on.

We just pull on the leash and hold down the hands of the Spirit hoping upon hope that the Church doesn't get out of control and find a way to fly in new directions 'on our watch'! God save us all if Birdie would catch a robin on the wire! Next thing you know, she'd be trying for red-tailed hawks out over the pasture!

Hmmmmmmm. Maybe I need to spend a little less time holding onto Birdie's leash and a little more time building a trampoline to aid her quest. Maybe there is something for all of us to learn in the trying.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Church Meetings

'For God so loved that world that God did not create the world by committee.'

I have spent the better part of an afternoon, a Sunday afternoon, in church meetings. I attended a region-wide event, which was a great time for renewing and enjoying friendships helpful for the soul, yet, that the intent of the day was 'meeting' and not particularly 'visiting' dampened the effects of our time together. Hmmmmm.

Having been in ministry for something over twenty years now, it occurs to me that often, maybe too often, religion gets in the way of faith. 'Officialdom' becomes the standard bearer of 'what needs to be done in the name of the Church', rather than faith guiding and directing our steps. What Jesus strove, literally, to accomplish in walking and talking with his companions along the road becomes mutated by meetings to set up meetings which inform the content of meetings that address the issues raised in meetings . . . ad nauseum. Is it any wonder that the current generation is skeptical of what relevance the Church has in the current culture? While taking on the trappings of technology and espousing the language of the world-wide web in all of its many names, the Church is losing touch with its own inherent mission and language of being the handmaiden of Christ. Christ has become a sales tool, spirituality a fix for the desperate, and service projects the antidote for misplaced guilt and anxiety.

God has birthed creation and, by extension, all of humankind to be in relationship, with God and with each other. Christ fulfills the covenantal nature of that relationship by overcoming in faith all that would separate us from God and each other. The Holy Spirit hearkens our souls to trust, love and obey in building bridges of faith over the chasms of this world's darkness's which would hide the Light of God from the eyes of those most in need. The Church is birthed in the Spirit to live into Missio Dei, God's mission of reconciliation of the entire world. The Church was never intended to be the master of its destiny, nor was it birthed to enslave God's children to lives of butt-tiring, brain-numbing meetings.

The Church is the Body of Christ called, still, to walk with all God's children . . . or it is not the Church. Though no-one ever said the Church is to be perfect, that should not become an excuse for not striving to walk in Christ's perfection. Meetings should never take precedence over relationships. May God save us all from the next meeting which will be set to discuss this 'pertinent and timely issue'.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

A Book You Must Read

In the cold of a day marked by ice and flying snow, the love of God in Jesus Christ fills me in a whole new way.

Yesterday afternoon I purchased a copy of the book, The Shack, by Wm. Young - and finished reading it this morning. I cannot recall a book, a story, a truth, which so captured both my attention and my soul. Already this morning e-mails have been sent to scores of colleagues encouraging them to treat themselves now, in the waning days of Advent, to the heart-warming, faith-filling challenges found within the pages of this fantastic story. Bold enough to deepen the meaning of Christmas, The Shack is a provocative experience which bridges human experience and Divine Presence in such a manner as to lead the reader into the fullness of holy ground.

Remove your shoes and listen. Open your heart and hear. That still small Voice is speaking anew in a manner the humblest among us may understand: God loves you.

This is my Christmas gift to you: The Shack will challenge your most stayed understandings while embracing your deepest desires for the Holy.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Ten Days and Counting

We are ten days journey from Bethlehem and I strain my eyes towards the horizon, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the One who is to come. I long for a vision of salvation that neither, the repetitive playing of carols on the public airways, nor all of the 'old Christmas specials' being shown on television, are quite able to fulfill in any meaningful fashion. I seek not the cleverness of our culture, but the humility of God emerging from a stable; not the gaudiness of Hollywood, but the simplicity of a carpenter and a maiden acting in faith, whatever the outcome; not the lavish explanation some self-righteous Biblical scholar offers of 'how it really probably happened', but the common Word of God upon the common lips of God's children singing with the angels of another age a 'Gloria' no earthly choir could manage.

I yearn for deliverance and God's zeal for life . . . and I look to a Baby, the Christ-Child, to lead me home.

The economy may continue to tank, the housing market may long be stagnant, wars and rumors of wars may fill the pages of newsprint, and jobs may become even more hard to find, but in my heart of hearts I believe the Promise,

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian. For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this." (Isaiah 9:2-7 NRSV)

I believe the 'Zeal' of the Lord is just over the horizon and it is up to me to take the initiative, to show a bit of gumption, to display just a trace of faith, and move towards the light of the star which shows the way. Maybe if more people believed in the Zeal of the Lord, there would be less zealots on the earth to distort the Vision. Ten days may not seem to be such a long time to wait, yet it is a journey which will demand our all.

The 'Zeal' of the Lord is waiting with Baby fingers to touch our lives. The 'Zeal' of the Lord is coming. Believe.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Prayer

Measure each day God allows you
By the sacred value God sees in you.
Savor each moment God grants you
In the knowledge God loves you.
In the seeking of God
Comes wisdom.
In the living of God
Comes life.
Therefore, measure life
By the sacred wisdom
Of God's love for you
Shown in Christ.

Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

If We Got What We Deserved

Sunday morning, about 8:30 a.m. CST, Hurricane Ike struck the St. Louis region of the country. The media was quick to show the downed power lines, broken trees and flood waters, all part and parcel of such a powerful storm. Yet, what the media missed was just beyond the lens of their cameras in the rural areas home to 'not enough people to make it worth sending a film team'. Had they overlooked the flattened fields of corn, beans and milo, the flooded fields of rice too deep in the water to be recovered, and hay too tattered to be of value. The unblinking eye of the camera focused on the property loss with which the greatest number of people could identify and empathize, sharpening the images of hunters caught in trees by waters overtopping levees while blind to the farmer just down the road on bended knee weeping for what never will be harvested . . . and never will be eaten by man, nor beast.

One of folks who walked through the door this morning lamented, "They [the farmers] just didn't deserve this, especially this year after such a rough Spring." And, in my opinion, they are right, but it got me to thinking: What is it that they, or we, really deserve? And, if we received what we deserved, what would the unblinking eye of the camera record of the outcome? Would anybody be interested? Or, would it fit in that broadest of categories of, 'No-one even noticed'?

What if we received what we deserved? What if you received what you deserved?

We are told in the Bible that the Father sends, "rain on the just and unjust alike." (Mt. 5:45b) Can the winds and waters of a hurricane be far removed from this teaching? Or the grace offered at the door of an empty tomb?

It just got me to thinking . . . and praying for those caught in disasters not of their making. I pray, not that we get what we deserve, but that we live, regardless of our situation, deserving of God's most abundant grace in spite of what we deserve.

It is just something to ponder.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Leaping for the Waters

Our Black Labrador puppies love to lap water from the hose before it ever reaches their watering bowl. I cannot tell you why they like it, but they will come running from wherever they are in the yard just to get a shot at drinking from the hose - and it is one of the funniest things I have seen in a long time. Literally hopping up and down on all fours, each puppy tries to lap the water closer to the end of the hose than the other one can reach in a competition of sorts, the end result of which is that one or both of them collide in mid-air trying to reach the source of the water and both of them inevitably end up nearly immersed in the water bowl itself which lies at the feet of their competition.

It made me wonder when last I was the one trying to get closer to the Source of the cooling, cleansing waters of Life, when last I was so taken by attempting to reach the Source that I gave no care as to who was watching or what sort of laughter I was giving to others in my efforts. It made me wonder when it was that the kind of 'puppy-like' behavior which now gives me such joy to watch became something that I didn't like to do. It made me wonder if I valued the waters of God's presence and sought them out with the eagerness of puppies or regarded those waters as being my right and available whenever I deigned to give God a bit of my time to lap from the bowl at God's feet.

I wondered. So might you.

I think I am going to go outside and splash in a few water puddles and leap towards the sky to catch the rain on my tongue. Wash me, O God, inside and out, from all that makes 'being proper' more desirable than being close to the Source of the Water. See me as a puppy in faith, always ready to lap up your Love and walk with You on the journey.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Baptismal Lessons of a Computer Crash

Ten days ago, our congregation's computer tech was busily working at my computer trying to find a way to speed up the rate at which the computer did its tasks. Suddenly, one of the applications flashed a note that there was an update available which needed to be downloaded. Without a second thought in a trusted program, he clicked the 'Start' button for downloading the update - and, in seconds, maybe even milliseconds, my computer was 'infected' with a fatal virus. Gone, kaput, finale, finished, wiped out, fade to black, crashed and burned . . . all describe in some small way what happened to all of the programs on my computer, along with all of the articles, letters, worship services, and information I had saved over the years. The old joke about Jesus and Satan having a computer contest which Jesus wins because 'Jesus saves' came to mind, along with a wry twist, 'But I wonder if Jesus also backed up?' A few individual items were backed up, but most were not and my contacts list fizzled away with the dump. So, today begins a new day.

Yet, not all that is tumultuous is fatal. As a result of having to wipe the hard drive and reinstall all of the programs, my computer works incredibly faster. Items that were saved on my hard drive that should have been deleted years ago, no longer exist as a decision to be made. Programs that are no longer effective are now no longer available. My Contacts List now only includes the names of those I really need to contact. And, though at first it traumatized me, now I am able to see the gift of God such a new beginning offers.

Just as the power of the Holy Spirit works through the muddy waters of Baptism, washing and making new, so my computer has been washed in the muddy, virus-infected waters of cyber-space and, too, is becoming new. Nothing is added that really isn't needed. People and attachments that once were a part of my history, now are measured by relevancy before reappearing. Program additions that serve no purpose other than to eat up precious resources are no longer utilized. And, maybe most importantly, I have learned a hard lesson about backing up everything which is saved, a new practice for one that has become accustomed to not worrying about such trivial nonsense, after all, 'That will never happen to me.'

In God's grace we are cleansed and given a new beginning. Our eyes become privileged to seeing all of life in a new way. People and attachments that once were a part of our history, now are measured by their willingness to walk in the Way. Behaviors that no longer serve a purpose in serving God's Will are no longer practiced. And, maybe most importantly, we learn the hard lessons of backing up in faith all that God strives through Christ to save. For truly, life happens to all of us and, sometimes, the only thing that allows us to walk out of the inferno with our lives is the faith that led us into the waters of mercy in the first place.

Ah, the wonders and pitfalls of the technological age! But, thank you, God, for sharing the lessons such an age can teach.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don