I Watched My Mom and Dad Pray

I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
Some kids grow up remembering the fights their parents had, the places their parents always wanted to go, the baby-sitters their parents always called for them so that they could go out, the late nights before parents would come home from work, or the disappointment they felt when parents weren't available to see them in a play or game at school. Some kids grow up remembering parents who went to church every Sunday, but left their Christianity at the door of the church, and some grow up remembering parents who never wanted anything to do with that 'God-stuff' and the hypocrites who gave away their wealth when times were hard, some kids even grow up remembering parents who had nothing at all to do with faith or a faith community . . . earning a living was tough enough, nobody cared what you believed. Some kids grow up remembering very little of their parents . . . what their parents did, what they believed, what they hoped, what they wanted . . . either because their parents were never there or their parents just thought those were things you had to find out for yourself.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
Prayer was always a powerful part of our family journey. Not just the Sunday morning 'in church' type of prayers, and not just the gathered around the dining room table or on the side of the bed at night types of prayers, lived prayers were part and parcel of what I observed in my Mom and Dad nearly every day. Dad always listened to KMOX radio in the morning while we milked cows and, as the "Lord's Prayer" was sung, things in the barn sort of came to a stop. The same thing would happen as Dad started to work in the fields, or tend to the cattle, or just take a walk along the field roads . . . I have vivid recollections of him just stopping in silence and just looking up. I knew what he was doing, I didn't need to be told. There was a conversation going on of which I was a blessed observer . . . God and Dad just talking things over. All this doesn't mean that Dad didn't get upset with me or my brothers when we screwed up, or didn't get frustrated when things on the farm didn't go well, or didn't worry when the Summer sun was hot and the crop prices were down . . . but all that happened in the context of Dad's continual prayers.
Similarly with Mom, my sainted Mother of four boys, who was also blessed to have both, her Dad and my Dad's Dad, live with us for several years as we boys were growing up. Mom was consistently outnumbered, which may explain why she played the organ in church each Sunday for over thirty years . . . that was the one place she would sit by herself and talk with God without some male voice saying, "Mom!" or "Virginia!" Mom, much like Dad, would pause while hanging the laundry, would stop while hoeing in the garden, would play the piano or organ in our home and pause on particular chords, or would just sit on the front porch on the swing in the evening and be quiet. Prayer was the foundation upon which everything else was built which, in retrospect, may explain much about why Mom took so many pictures with her camera . . . and why so many of them were of nature: she just loved to 'be' with God.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
People are constantly doing studies as to why people do what they do and why our nation is struggling and why values seem to be slipping and why . . . and why . . . and why . . . well, you get the picture. Maybe we just need to spend a little less time studying all our struggles and more time modeling what matters. I don't know that Mom or Dad ever made a conscious decision to behave in certain ways so that their children would turn out thus and so, but I do believe that Mom and Dad exemplified in life what they believed in their souls, for of such they had been taught by their parents and in such they found great strength and peace.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray ~ and it made all the difference.

Thinking of Teachers

I've been thinking about teachers this morning. My First Grade teacher was Mrs. Dorothy Campbell, a wonderfully patient, nurturing woman . . . whose retirement from the teaching profession probably had much to do with having taught my class. Similarly, Mrs. Stewart, my Second Grade teacher and Mrs. Church, my Third Grade teacher, both retired not long after having had me in class. My Fourth Grade ...teacher, Mrs. Stephens, new to the teaching profession the year my class came through, left the profession after that one year, and our Fifth Grade teacher, Mr. Ruester, retired not long after we came through. Is there a reoccuring theme here? I think so . . . my class of students was the product of an aging teaching staff! God love them all, the Class of 1975 was just enough to make nearly all of them see the viability of retirement as preferrable to staying in the classroom!
Yet, what got me to thinking about teachers this morning was not the list of sainted folk who endured my class, but rather, two very special teachers whose lives and journey have blessed my life these last few years. Rob and Amy Nunn are incredible Elementary teachers in the Edwardsville School District and their relationship with students and staff alike speaks volumes as to their effectiveness, both academically and professionally. They are, in the words of their colleagues and many of the parents of their students, "Wonderful Educators".
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have never spent a moment in either of their classes, but I have been blessed to be an observer of the many lessons they teach at home. You see, Rob and Amy's daughter, Savannah, was born with a very rare disorder, so unusual in fact, that the medical community is still studying Savannah's progress, growth and development to assist them in working with others who have similar challenges. Savannah is a bright, articulate, strong-willed little girl who is too much aware of medical communities and routines and too little accustomed to just being a little girl. Therein is the point: Rob and Amy are teachers. They teach life lessons to Savannah and are, themselves, adept students of life wonders from Savannah, thereby deepening by volumes the skill-sets they each have to share with others. The most treasured and challenging teachers among us are, first and foremost, committed students themselves. The world is their classroom and never would they assume to teach that which they hadn't spent time learning . . . and Savannah is both student and instructor for them. The rest of us around them are blessed observers, humbly receiving the faith and joy Amy and Rob share each day.
Savannah went into the hospital yesterday and, at the time I visited with them, was in Pediatric ICU being treated for a bacterial infection. It is hard to be courageous when you are little, tired, being poked and proded, and just flat out don't feel well, yet, there was Savannah, laying in Amy's lap, occasionally calling for her Daddy to hold her hand and taking in all that the doctors and nurses were trying to do for her . . . Rob and Amy explaining each procedure, each new test along the way. The connection between parent and child for most families is an amazing bond, yet for Savannah, Rob and Amy, that connection has the feel of a womb-like experience, whose umbilically-bonded existence pumps the lifeblood of family back and forth between them, even at the mere touch of their hands. Rob and Amy are parents who are becoming master teachers of life, not only for their daughter, but for all who dare to pause and watch. Like the Christ of their faith, the Master Teacher among us all, there is no going back, no doing over, no other way than forward in faith, trusting each step, each lesson learned, each moment to be taught, to the God who is all Wisdom.
Maybe that is why I have been thinking of teachers today: Rob and Amy remind me of those who are among the best at answering the call to their vocation. After all, did you notice? I can name all of my teachers, such was the impact they had on me. Amy and Rob, much like the students you teach at school, I doubt your names ever leave the depths of my soul for the lessons you teach me each day. Thank you for continuing to teach that which you are still learning in faith, hope and love.

Of Ladders and Faith

I had the aluminum extension ladder out at church this morning to put up some Lenten banners in the sanctuary. The extension ladder has two 14' sections, so the safe extension length of the ladder is somewhere around 21'. Looking at the ladder as I carried it from its storage spot to the sanctuary I realized that the extension section was bent . . . clearly a result of having been extended beyond its safe range, then having someone who is a 'tad overweight' climb up to its furthest reaches (Come on! You really didn't expect me to fess us to be a 'lot overweight', did you??). Having such a notion in your mind as you climb back up that same bent ladder makes one just a bit more cautious as each step upward is taken - all the while humming under my breath, "Nearer My God To Thee". "I was glad when they said unto me . . . " the job is done, you can put the ladder away. 'Whew! Thank you, Jesus! You improved my prayer life a hundredfold in just these few brief moments!'

A bent extension ladder is a practical matter really, after all, bent is not broken. The ladder is still usable until proven otherwise, right?

This got me started thinking about faith. Sometimes it is pretty bent up, fairly strained, nearly stressed to the breaking point, yet, still we keep climbing 'Jacob's ladder'. Still we keep moving upward, sometimes in the face of steady opposition, oft-times the weight of our sins straining every step we make. The ladder creaks and groans, the goal appears distant, even beyond reach.

Therein is grace. Where our faith would break, God's faith in us will not even bend. Where the weight of our sins would compromise the steps we take, God's forgiveness shown to us in a cross and an empty tomb lightens our load. When others would tell of the impracticality of our journey, God whispers of love and peace, granting strength and courage for the way. The ladder we are on in faith is God . . . and the steadfast love of God for each of us will not be broken. We are on sacred ground when we dare to ascend to the heavens in faith.

Maybe it is time to replace the aluminum extension ladder at church, before a step gives way or a section bends beyond safety. But I pray the wisdom never to replace, either the faith God has in me or the faith I have in God's steadfast love for all of humankind. For of such the Kingdom of heaven is made known. Thanks be to God!

Taking Sides

I've decided to take sides . . . in the middle. As I read through two newspapers this morning, watched the "Today" show for a bit while getting ready for work, then glanced down the Facebook posts, I am more and more convinced that what once passed as Conservatism or Liberalism is now rapidly becomeing Right-Wing Conservatism and Left-Wing Liberalism: "You are either with us or you're not", "You a...re either right or you are wrong", "You either agree with us specifically or you disagree with us completely" . . . and I am tired of the bullying, I am disgusted by the tactics. Political party affiliation is being thrown up at others, both ways, as though such affiliation is the entree to the Kingdom. Sorry, my friends, I have found little evidence of any political party being given the priority in the Gospels. Participation in a political party can assist to accomplish goals, but it can also be the hammer to silence genuine empathetic healing dialogue in the midst of the peoples. What I am hearing and seeinig, from Christians and non-Christians alike, is simply not Christ-like. Words and behaviors are just not matching up with the stated motives.

My understanding of Jesus of Nazareth is that He stood in the middle, both as fulfillment of the Law and Prophets and as contemporary Mediator of God's grace. Yes, Jesus stands with the marginalized in every generation and, yes, God's priority is always for the disenfranchised around us, but never to the exclusion of the rest of God's people. God spoke to Peter, James and John on the Mount of Transfiguration and said, "Listen to him!", which requires both our attentiveness to His teachings and a heart to follow.Listen to Him . . . as the crowds gather round Him on the Mount and He begins to teach. Listen to Him . . . as He sits in the middle, in the midst of the disciples, and says my Body, my Blood. Listen to Him . . . as His cross stands in the middle between the thieves and He says, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." Listen to Him, as He stands in the middle and says see my wounds, place your finger in my side.

Listen to Him . . . I am choosing to take sides in the middle, with Jesus. The polarizing rhetoric being shouted out from both sides is doing more to injure and alienate than to heal and restore community. Yes, the issues are real and people of faith have to take a stand, but I would rather stand in the middle with Jesus any day, than be found on one side believing my own thoughts to be right, yet moving farther and farther away from His voice in my ears.

I will not disrespect the choices others make, but as for me, standing in the middle with Jesus isn't an 'either-or" choice, it is a 'both-and' for Christian liturgical and social justice behavior as I live into the Spirit's Baptism and strive to announce the nearness of the Kingdom. I now pray for the faith and strength such choices require of us all.

Named Buildings, Known Lives

Charles E. Mandley Memorial Gymnasium, Lebanon High School, Lebanon, IL; Hank Feldt Athletic Fields, Lebanon High School, Lebanon, IL; Harry M. Statham Sports Center, McKendree University, Lebanon, IL . . .Walking this morning in the Harry M. Statham Sports Center I began pondering the name of that place, then I began to wonder about other such places around town and their shared places in history. I have been blessed to be the public address announcer at one time or another in all three of these venues and am also blessed to know, or have known, all three of the gentlemen for whom these venues are named.

Charles E. Mandley gave unselfishly of his far too short life to the children of the community and the young men and women who gathered in the LHS gymnasium to learn the fine art of sports competition. Hank Feldt continues, now well into his 70's, to teach young men and women the skills they need to compete at a high level on the athletic fields and on the courts - and has been named to various halls of fame for his dedication and accomplishments. Harry M. Statham is the winningest college basketball coach in NCAA history and his storied career has been fully spent on the McKendree University campus. Known throughout the University, community and coaching circles, as a coach's coach, Harry Statham humbly dedicates himself to the building of productive citizens, tenacious students, and student athletes . . . in that order.

These three individuals did not finance the building of the venues where their legacies are etched, but they have completely given of themselves that the lives of others might be built upon the lessons they have learned there. The inherent human investment and cost which results in having a name painted on a wall or a sign, or having it etched on a plaque, far exceeds the financial value of any of the venues where such things can be found. These places haven't been named as they are for trivial reasons, but reflect lifetimes of perserverance, dedication, faith, and hope, all given for the sake of the other, for the lives of the ones known and unknown. God bless Charles, Hank and Harry, for their ongoing legacy of transformational commitment.

Yet, all this got me to thinking about 'named' legacies . . . and then I began mulling over the Church of Jesus Christ. Oh, we know the various expressions of the Church: United Church of Christ, Catholic, Methodist, ELCA, LCMS, Baptist, Church of God, Pentecostal, Nazarene and on and on ad naseum, each fairly certain that the name JESUS CHRIST FAITH CENTER is printed or etched on their walls exclusively. But, the fact of the matter is, the Holy Spirit established the Church of Jesus Christ first (Acts 2), all other names and expressions of that initial birthing came later, often as a result of internal theological and ecclesial war (So much for the Church of Jesus Christ fully reflecting the Son of God.). And, again truth be told, the only way to lift up the One by whom the Church is named, is to served as He served, to live as He lived, and to be faithful as He is faithful . . . not as an expression of denominational perfection, but as a reflection of the One who has laid down His life for all. It is, after all, the Church of Jesus Christ . . . or it is not the Church at all. Period.

It is something to ponder in this first week of Lent. In whose Church do you worship? In whose Name do you serve? By whose Name are you known? If the answers to those questions isn't Jesus Christ, you might think a bit about who paid the price that you might know life . . . and find a worship home where Jesus Christ is still the only Lord. Blessings on the journey!

Our National Anthem

Last night I was privileged to lead the singing of our National Anthem before the final Lebanon Thanksgiving Tournament game of the evening. Though I have sung our National Anthem many times in similar circumstances and venues, something last night was very different . . . and to be honest, I find myself at a loss of words to explain it. Maybe it had to do with the nearness of the U.S. flag in the gymnasium, or maybe it was the number of folks who, indeed, sang along, or maybe, even as I was singing the words, I was hearing them for the first time all over again. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that, as I was singing, I saw not only the stars and stripes, but also my brother, Larry, who served in the Army in Viet Nam, and my Uncle Del who flew as a gunner in B-17's in WWII and was shot down, surviving the Nazi death marches, and my friend, Dave Harrison, who is a retired AF 'boomer' in tankers, and Nancy's Uncle Ched, who served in the Army and lost his life in WWII in France, and our own son, Ched, as he now attends the AF Academy.
People close to my heart whose lives have included or, in some cases, have been eternally defined by their service to country, commitment to the flag, and a deep respect of our National Anthem are the very ones whose images I felt near, as the words and music filled the gym, uniting us all through the years. It wasn't spooky, it was emotion-filled, memory-comforting, even challenging - and when I sat down to continue the announcing I was shaking, my hands having a hard time holding the microphone. What is it about our National Anthem that it inspires and cajoles us so? What is it about the flag that tugs at the very fabric of our heart and soul? What is it about those who serve which demands our greatest of respect, our deepest of admiration?
Pondering on those who do not rise when a flag passes by in parade, on those who do not remove their hats when our National Anthem is sung, or who won't place their hand over their heart when the Pledge of Allegiance is spoken: it is their Constitutional right to do so. Yet, after last night's experience, I am coming to understand and believe that those who have little investment - have even less commitment. The deeper you are in the trenches, the more the battles mean, whether it regards our country or the church.
Make of this moment what you want but, now more than ever, I am coming to value and reverence the sacrifices of martyrs and saints of every generation who knew not only what their rights were, but gave of themselves to defend the rights and liberties of others. For faith, for country, for all who serve, I am grateful - and pray I never forget the cost they have paid, nor turn away from my responsibility to do the same that all might know life . . . much as the Christ of our faith has taught us.
Blessings on the journey, Pastor Don

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to A Wedding

"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles." Matt. 15:10b-11 NRSV

"A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago."
I know that sounds like a set-up line for a joke, but it isn't . . . or wasn't supposed to be. Nancy and I were invited to attend the wedding of friend in Springfield, Illinois in late July. Upon driving up to the historic downtown Presbyterian Church, I realized that many of the other attendees ahead of me were pulling into the parking lot just South of the church which was clearly marked as belonging to the neighboring Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. Yet, without much thought to it, we parked where others were parking and made our way toward the site of the wedding. Nearing the street where we were to cross, a man came out of the Presbyterian Church announcing to those who could hear, "The Pastor just received a call from the Lutheran Pastor, and if anyone attending the wedding leaves their car in the Lutheran Parking Lot it will be towed during the service." Nancy and I just sort of laughed at the irony, but quickly agreed that she would continue on into the church and I would go back and move our car to a nearby parking garage and meet her in the church later.
Meanwhile, an alarm, which proved to be false, had brought the local Fire Department to the steps of the Presbyterian Church and all of the early arrivals among the guests and wedding party had to be evacuated while it was checked out. Returning from the parking garage after moving our car, I joined Nancy on the steps of the church as wedding guests were, again, being seated. From behind us a rather loud conversation about the 'parking issue' was being held by two men when one of them asked, "Is that a Christian church?" To which the other replied, "Oh, no! That's a Lutheran church!"
The whole crowd on the steps fairly erupted in quiet laughter at both the truth and the irony of what had been spoken, the paradox of which was deepened by the realization that, clearly, neither of the men really understood the significance of what had been stated.
"Listen and understand: it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles."
The easy targets for wry humor in this story are the Lutheran Pastor, who made the reported telephone call about towing cars from the wedding, and the two men who knew so little about mainline Christian churches that neither really understood 'Christian church' and 'Lutheran Church' could be one in the same. Yet, the deeper incongruity lies, not in the story as it is told, but in the heart and soul of nearly everyone else on the steps: for in our nervous laughter at the expense of others is the quiet, undeniable realization of our own culpability in such behaviors. Every one of us has 'ordered cars to be moved' and every one of us has asked the question or given the answer which, in making no sense, told a significant truth about ourselves.
You don't see yourself in this? Remember you are Baptized in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. You are named as a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a member of the Church universal. Then, remember too . . .
• the times you haven't been charitable about 'that person' who sat in your seat in church;
• the times you haven't been understanding of the child who makes noise in worship;
• the times you didn't like the new hymns;
• the times you gossiped about your neighbor;
• the times you could have offered your hand to a stranger, but turned the other way;
• the times you might have welcomed someone to your table, but didn't;
• the times you said, "I'm sure glad we don't do that here!";
• the times you could have offered forgiveness, but instead held the grudge;
• the times you could have given a few bucks to one in need, but chose not to;
• the times you said, "We have never done it that way before.";
• the times you might have guided the visitor to the sanctuary for worship, but figured they find their own way . . . after all, there are signs everywhere;
• the times you complained about all the hand shaking and hugging in worship;
• the times when you thought 'passing the peace' was just that: passing it on to someone else so it would be their problem now;
• the times you could have offered a ride to your neighbor's children or even your own grandchildren to get to Sunday School, then thought, "Well, it's not my job.";
• the times you thought, "They aren't really in financial need, they just need to plan better";
• the times you could have walked with someone through their tears, but didn't want to deal with the emotions;
• the times you could have stood with Christ in the garden, but ran away from your fears of talking about faith issues;
• the times you could have offered understanding to another, but chose to give them a crown of thorns;
• the times you might have loved the lost, but claimed you didn't have time;
• the times . . . . well, you get it . . . the list if fairly inexhaustible.
At one time or another, we have been either the Lutheran Pastor or the two men on the steps OR in the crowd who stood nearby nervously laughing and said nothing at all about the injustice of any of it. Sometimes, the harshest words spoken are those which are never spoken at all.
"Is that a Christian church?" is right up there with, "Are they really Christian?", "Do Christians really behave that way?", "Is that how Christians really talk?" and "If that's what it means to be a member of the Church or be Christian, then I don't want anything to do with any of it!" It is all a part of the language of the world as it regards the community of the Baptized: Do our words defile or glorify? Do our hearts embrace or reject? Do our actions reflect Presence or absence? And, as Pilate stands before Jesus in the Praetorium once more, with the crowds shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!", will you be found at His side or hiding behind the comfort of your closed doors, closed minds, and convenient traditions? Will you order the stranger off the parking lot of your existence? Or, maybe, like I did, laugh at the joke which was never meant to be a joke, and walk away thinking yourself above the fray of another's spiritual wonderment?
A funny thing happened on the way to a wedding a few weeks ago . . .
And Jesus said,
• "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?)
• Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
And early on the first day of the week, the women went to the tomb and found it empty. God has declared the Truth of God's Word through Christ and the Spirit. What is the truth we declare to the world concerning the Lord of our faith? The words we live reveal the truth in our soul. Somehow, it's not so funny anymore.

In Christ's service, Pastor Don