The Country Parson

Tangible Thanksgiving

2011-11-22T15:50:00.000-05:00

This post is based on notes for my sermon on Thanksgiving, delivered at Peoria Church on Sun., Nov. 20, 2011.

We commemorate Thanksgiving by paying honor to the Pilgrims who came to the New World in 1620.

We honor their faith, even though we don’t necessarily share it. The Pilgrims were a Christian separatist group, who probably wouldn’t have worshiped with us anyhow. They wouldn’t have celebrated Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter or other ‘manmade’ holidays. They were largely Unitarians, five-point Calvinists who believed in original sin.

We honor their heroism though we are not heroes. At least I’m not a hero. I don’t think I would have taken a trip like theirs, with a large possibility of death and disaster. Some 47% of the passengers and crew died by then end of their first winter in New England.

We honor their vision for freedom, though we usually take freedom for granted. Before they disembarked from the Mayflower, the crew and Pilgrims created the Mayflower Compact, a document which set the pattern for democracy and voting that we have to this day in America. Yet in our last election, fewer than a third of eligible voters did so.

The Pilgrims were thankful for their earthly, tangible blessings.

* They built their first homes here from nothing. There were no homes waiting here for them upon their arrival. They built shelters from mud, logs, branches, straw from the ship, and stone. And they were thankful.

* They grew crops the following Spring from nothing. They brought seed with them in their cache of supplies, but they landed in New England on Nov. 9, 1620 – not a good time to plant anything in New England. Yet, they were thankful.

* They knew no one when they got here, other than themselves. In their two months at sea, crowded into the Mayflower, conflicts, scrapes, and the Pilgrims’ separatist attitude strained relationships aboard ship. (I don’t know about you, but we could barely make it half an hour in the car with our kids without some kind of scuttle.) But they were thankful for the people they were with.

Sometimes it takes getting to nothing to make us thankful for what we have. As the song says, “you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.”

In 2011 we have the luxury of being thankful for the “intanglibles of life.” We speak vaguely: “I’m thankful for friends and family,” “I’m thankful for all my blessings,” “I’m thankful for food and shelter.”

What would it be like to go through your home this Thanksgiving and thank God for everything in it, item by item?

More often, we find ourselves saying, “I don’t have enough, God!” I don’t have enough clothing! I don’t have enough food! I don’t have enough house! Not enough money! Just not enough!

And I’m certainly not thankful about it.

The thing is, God knows this about us. He knows how attached we become to tangible things, how we try to find satisfaction in life through what we can touch, see, taste, and smell. In I Corinthians 10, St. Paul writes about this as a warning to the Corinthians:

- Verse 7, he warns them about materialism that turns into idolatry.

- Verse 8, he cautions about relationships that turn into sexual immorality.

- Verse 9, he reminds that trust in God can turn into testing God.

- Verse 10, he notes how prayer can turn to grumbling.

No one is totally free of this. In I Cor. 10:12, Paul states plainly: “let anyone who thinks he stand take heed, lest he fall.”

This weakness we have for tangible things (as the saint calls it, ‘the flesh’), is why our intangible God put us in a tangible world to begin with. We are tangible, touchable, sensate beings. God made us this way in order to foster thanksgiving in us. Our relationship with God is nurtured through gratitude. Moreover, our tangible selves understand our need and dependence on God, because He is the One Who provides.

Because He understands our tangible weakness, God was Incarnate – He became tangible – in Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ ate with people, He drank with them, worked with them, talked with them and was heard by them. He held their children, touched their sick, and helped carry their load. As we head into Advent next week, we need to remember that this is what Christmas is all about: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1)

Since we are tangible beings, God has given a tangible remembrance of Himself in the eucharist. It is so appropriate to remember this at Thanksgiving, because eucharist means “thanksgiving.” Both the Lord and St. Paul use the word in the establishment of the Sacrament. In Luke 22, Jesus Christ uses eucharist three times. First with the Passover Cup of Blessing. (Remember, the setting was within the Passover meal.) Next, He “gave thanks” and blessed the bread, saying “This is my Body.” And thirdly, in the same manner, He gave thanks for the Cup, saying “This is my Blood.” Matthew and Mark are identical on the last two points and St. Paul restates is verbatim in I Cor. 11:23-26.

In the Eucharist, we find that our tangible connection with bread and wine becomes the spiritual expression of faith, through this simple act of thanksgiving. The Apostle puts it this way: “This Cup which we bless, is it not a participation in the Blood of Christ?… This Bread which we bless, is it not a participation in the Body of Christ?” (I Cor. 10:16)

You and I are asked to take this tangible thanksgiving, this “eucharist,” with us after the supper. Our souls are fed, “with the spiritual food of the most precious Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.” We are nourished with the grace of thanksgiving.

And maybe we are more ready to be thankful for all those blessings you have around your home, naming them one by one.

Got Plans for Saturday?

2011-05-17T16:27:00.000-05:00

The weather promises to be grim, again. May or may not rain, but cloudy, a little sun poking through here and there, and unseasonably chilly.

This Saturday, I mean.

I plan to finish some work in the garden, probably mow again, begin working on a couple projects.

And, if things go well, the Lord will return and we won't have any more weather forecasts to worry about.

There's been a lot of hubbub about the Second Coming this weekend. (www.wecanknow.com) There's even a billboard outside North Manchester affirming the fact. There's no name or attribution to it, but it seems to be fairly authoritative.

I like basing my faith on billboards.

I've been asked by a number of people whether or not I think it's going to happen this Saturday. My answer is usually the same: "I'm ready for it either way."

The point of the Second Coming, whether or not it's this weekend or in another thousand years, is not to scare people into a repentance frenzy. The point is to be ready. This readiness means to live for God the way you're supposed to all the time.

It's like working a day or two without the boss around. Are you tempted to nap or take something or have a longer lunch without clocking out? Maybe. Probably. But would you do it? Hopefully not. The boss has confidence in you to leave his business knowing that what needs to be done can be done while he's gone.

There is no doubt that Christ will return. The New Testament affirms this repeatedly and both the Apostles and Nicene Creeds teach it. However, the Lord Himself is very reluctant to say when - He says that "wars and rumors of wars" are only the beginnings of the "birthpangs."

Will He come this Saturday? Could be. Could not be.

If He does, I'll be happy. I've been looking forward to going to Heaven for a long time and I'll be able to avoid a heart attack, cancer, fatal accident, or other tragedy. I'm ready.

If He doesn't, well, I'll be happy, too. I love my life here. I have a wonderful wife and great kids, I love my job and my Church. I have good friends and a great place to live. I have so many blessings, that I'll be glad to live with them for as long as it takes. I'm ready to stay, too.

To repeat: the point is readiness. How do you get ready for something like the Second Coming? It's simply an act of faith.
- St. Peter told the crowds in Acts 2 that they should "Repent, believe, and be baptized."
- St. Paul told the Romans to confess with their mouths that Jesus is Lord and believe in their hearts that God raised Him from the dead and they would be 'saved'.
- St. John wrote the inimitable words: "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

Okay. So it's not that simple. Repentance, believing, confessing, accepting love from God (or anyone else, for that matter). These are difficult things. But they are the kernel of the Christian faith. They are life-long actions that prepare us of Christ's coming, either at death or denouement.

So, this Saturday, I'm ready. And if my current plans for the yard and garden happen to change because of the Second Coming, so much the better.

(Obviously, I hope those who read this are ready, too!)

The Bible is Not An Answer Key

2010-10-03T19:45:00.000-05:00

Epistle: I Cor. 1:4-9
Gospel: Matt. 22:34-46

Growing up in home with a teacher wasn't always easy. We couldn't get away with as much because Mom knew all the tricks. At the same time, I learned early one of the tricks of teaching: All of Mom’s school books had the answers in them. They were usually in the back of the book or embedded in the margins. This was the teacher's Answer Key.

Of course, one problem was also that I never took any of the classes my Mom taught.

There are people who would use the Bible as an answer key. There are some who always need the right answer: When is Christ returning? How do you baptize people? When should Church be (Saturday or Sunday)? Should women speak in Church? Etc.

Some want to use the Bible to exclude the "wrong ones." For Catholics the issue is Communion. They're nice about it, but unless you're one of them, you're out. There are “closed groups,” like the Amish who want to stay separate from worldliness. Other splinter groups within denominations use the Bible to prove their point.

There are also some who use the "Answer Key" to practice religious “one-up-manship.” These folks like to say, "I know this and you don’t."

What does the Bible say about itself?

The Lord gives us an example in today's Gospel: The Law of Love is the filter for understanding the Bible. When queried by the teachers of the Law, “Love the Lord your God” and “Love your neighbor” were not the answers they expected.

What they expected was for Jesus to take sides, with either Sadducces or Pharisees. In Matt. 22:15, just a few verses before today's reading, it says that "they laid plans to trap Him."

Even better for them would have been for Jesus to trap Himself. They looked for a chance to say, "Well, Jesus, you said this in Galilee and now you're saying that here." Or, "We thought we heard you say this and now you mean that?"

These teachers of the Law sought to align Jesus with one or the other of them by creating a hierarchy of which verses meant more than others – the Law, the Prophets, or the Wisdom literature? But Jesus uses the filter of love to demonstrate to them that "all the Law and the Prophets" hang on loving God and loving their neighbor.

Another thing the Bible says about itself is that it is intended to bring us to Christ. We have this printed on the back of our weekly bulletin for everyone to see: The Bible is the schoolmaster to bring us to Christ (Gal. 3:24).

Instead of being an "Answer Key," the Bible tells us that the Answer is Jesus Christ and the Bible is our guidebook to Him. Without the Answer (Jesus Christ) everything else is simply argument.

We should be clear about this: The Bible doesn’t save us – Jesus Christ does. The Bible wasn't crucified for us. The Bible didn't descend into hell. The Bible didn't raise again on the third day or ascend into Heaven. Jesus Christ did. The Bible shows us the way to salvation through Him.

Another aspect of the Bible is that is is a light, “a lamp unto my feet” (Psalm 119:105). I remember seeing an Amish farmer on Whitley Road leading his horses and hay wagon in the pitch dark. All he could see was the glow of that light in about an eight foot radius. But that's all he needed to see to get his team home.

Jesus Christ is the Light of the World and we walk in the daylight of God’s light. The Bible – a lamp unto my feet – a flashlight for finding our way in the darkness until we get to the Light – who is Jesus Christ

Finally, we understand that the Bible is inspired (II Tim. 3:16), which means "God-breathed." It should be treated as inspired, not a quiz book or novel. The same Holy Spirit Who inspired the Bible is that same Holy Spirit
Who inspires you.

Inspiration transcends what we understand to help us understand things by faith. Things that are hard for our maodern skeptical minds are understood by faith in God's inspiration, from miracles – Red Sea Crossing, the Resurrection - to Christ's difficult teachings – heaven and hell, sin and justification.

How do you understand the Bible? Is it God's written word, your guidebook to Christ? Instead of using it as an Answer Key, do you know Him who is the Answer?

The Queen and The Cross

2010-09-13T20:30:00.000-05:00

The Exaltation of the Holy and Life-Giving Cross

This is from my sermon on Sun., Sept. 12, 2010.

Epistle: Phil. 2:5-11
Psalm 34
Gospel: John 12:31-36

As remembered the 9/11 attacks yesterday, I was put in mind of the story of St. Helen and the discovery and lifting up of the Cross.

If anyone had brought to Church a piece of the steel from Ground Zero, we likely would have a sense of reverent awe about it.
* We would wonder about where in the Towers it had been.
* We might ask if any of the survivors would have somehow touched it.
* We might have asked if any of the victims had been killed by it.

This shard of metal would hold a great symbolic meaning to us because it would have brought us emotionally to the place of such a great tragedy.

St. Helen's discovery of the Cross may have been a very similar experience. She was the Christian mother of Emperor Constantine, a pagan at the time. (Constantine was converted and baptized very late in his life. The prayers of a mother for her son sometimes last a lifetime.)

St. Helen would have been familiar with, dismayed by, and prayed about the persecutions of the Church in the late 3rd and early 4th centuries. She would have been influential in Constantine's Edict of Toleration, which decriminalized Christianity in the Roman Empire. Like many Christians of the time, she finally had the freedom to practice her faith openly, travel freely to Christian meetings, and to make a pilgrimage to Jersalem.

And, like many millions of Christians since Helen, she wanted to walk where Jesus walked, she wanted to see if somehow His voice still echoed in the walls of Jerusalem, if His image remained in the minds of the people of Palestine.

In a unique and profound way, God gave Helen the desire of her heart, to feel the wood on which He died, to be brought emotionally and spiritually in the place of such a great tragedy.

Jesus said: "If I be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men unto me."

Helen had a memorable encounter with God.

Have you had a memorable encounter with God?

I know we are supposed to encounter God in our daily lives, but I made a list of some encounters I've had with God that stand out to me:
1) Koinonia, which was a retreat of sorts that I was involved with in high school, similar to Cursillo or the Emmaus Walk. They made a deep impact on my soul.
2) In high school and after I moved back home I was involved in a Tuesday night prayer and praise meeting. Karen and I went after we were married. In those quiet prayerful moments, we shared the presence of God with some very Godly men and women.
3) I experienced a miraculous healing of a badly sprained ankle. While loading my car at college to go home for summer break, I fell down a flight of stairs and sprained my right ankle. I went to the campus clinic, took some Tylenol, and went to my exams on crutches. That Sunday, I walked into a Church I was visiting on my crutches. After the service, some people I didn't know and have never seen again came to me and said they felt led to pray for my healing. My ankle was instantly healed. I walked out of Church carrying my crutches.
4) At our wedding reception, I had an inspiration to read the latter half of Proverbs 31 aloud to Karen in front of all the reception attenders. It seemed to seal the meaning of our vows.
5) On a number of occasions, Karen and I have taken "days of prayer" before we faced a major decision. Those were definite encounters with God.
6) In January 2004, I had an accident on the ice that nearly killed me. It totalled the car and I ended up in a creek bed 300 feet off the road. After the impact of the car hitting the tree on the driver's side door, I crawled out the passenger's side door and all I could say was "Thank you Lord" over and over again. After going to a nearby house to call for help, the Lord seemed to speak to my heart saying, "It's time for you to get serious about your faith and doctrine."

Have you had a memorable encounter with God?

Some people may wonder about St. Helen's encounter with God in the finding of the Cross, just like they may question the encounters with God I've had in my own life. But the truth of the Gospel remains:

"If I be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men unto me."

Helen's enounter with God lifted the Cross of Christ and has drawn thousands of people to Him since.

My hope is that in some small way, my enounters with God will at least draw someone to Him as well.

Should You Pray With Glenn Beck?

2010-08-29T21:10:00.000-05:00

Radio host Glenn Beck

Glenn Beck has been in the news a lot this past weekend. He hosted a rally with over 300,000 people in Washington, D.C.

I like to listen to Glenn on WOWO Radio in Fort Wayne for about ten minutes each day, then I've usually had enough.

The thing is, Glenn and I agree on many things. He's a conservative libertarian, I'm a conservative libertarian. He's pro-life, I'm pro-life. He's in favor of the tradtional family, I'm in favor of the traditional family.

It's when Glenn starts talking about God that I simply have to shut him off.

Glenn Beck is a Mormon, a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. In itself, there's nothing really wrong with that. We have freedom of religion and he can be whatever religion he wants to be.

But I am a Christian. I believe in One God, God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit, undivided and consubstantial, God, "ineffable, inconceivable, invisible, incomprehensible, ever-existing and eternally the same..."

This is not the god of the Mormons. This is not the god to whom Glenn Beck prays. The LDS Church flatly denies the Trinity. They have extricated references to the Holy Trinity from hymns and music they sing. Their denial of the Trinity means their denial of everything that God is: the Eternal, Universal Divine Nature of God the Father Who created all things visible and invisible. To the Mormons, God the Father is god of this planet, but not the Sovereign Lord of all.

Their denial of the Trinity means that they don't believe that Jesus Christ is the embodiment of God, fully human and fully divine. They don't accept that everything of God was conceived in the womb of the Virgin Mary, that all of God walked with His human family, and that God Himself surrendered His life to bring new life to all men.

Their denial of the Trinity means that the Holy Spirit is less than fully God. That means that the energies of God cannot work in the life of the believer through the Mysteries, that the fruit of the Spirit is not the manifestation of the life of God.

To some this may seem like trivia or theological mumbo-jumbo.

In fact, it goes to the kernel of Glenn Beck's movement. Glenn asks his faithful to join him in prayer every morning. He tells his radio audience that we need to get back to God. He said at the 8/28 Rally that America's only hope is to get back to God.

But which god? The LDS Church believes that different worlds have different deities. They think that men in the LDS priesthood will become gods of other worlds. They teach that human life on earth is intended to bring "spirit children" into being from various levels of heaven so that they may become deities of other worlds. They reject almost all aspects of the historic Church claiming that historic Christianity is apostate and that the movement establised by Joseph Smith is the true embodiment of what the Lord intended.

I appreciate Glenn's call to get America back to its roots. His clarion call to return to the Constitution is well made. His efforts to renew American interest in our Founding Fathers are commendable. His challenge to ever encroaching and swelling government intrusion are needed.

But I can't pray with him. I can pray for him, but not with him.

I hope I've made you think.

Transfiguration: The Things We Don't Forget

2010-08-05T22:39:00.000-05:00

Epistle: II Peter 1:13-18
Gospel: Luke 9:28-36

Karen is a school teacher and she has taught me a lot about the way people learn. Some of us learn with our hands, some with our ears, some with our eyes, and some of us with a combinations of ways.

One of the things that she has taught me about learning is that we don't forget the things we learn that have an emotional impact on us. We don't forget when we've fallen in love, we don't forget our marriage, we don't forget when we've been treated with gentle affection.

I remember my Grandma. I don't remember a lot about her intellectually, but I remember that she always greeted us with warm wet kisses and had the best hugs. (She also made peanut butter toast on sesame seed bread that was the bomb.)

We also remember those things that have an emotional impact that are very negative: abuse, pain, rejection.

These things connect with us on a deeper level than merely our intellect.

I'd like to add that those things which impact us spiritully are also things we remember.
* We remember those quiet times we had when we prayed at home with our kids before bed.
* We remember moments with God when we face a time of crisis.
* We remember our conversion, that time when we realize that Jesus Christ is alive, that He loves us, and that we want to be His follower.
* We remember times of nurture: retreats, camps, holy days.

This is St. Peter's experience of the Transfiguration as he tells it in II Peter. St. Luke gives us the details in chapter 9 of his Gospel: eight days after Peter's confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God, on a mountain, with James and John. They saw Christ's appearance change and His robes become brilliant, "glistering white" as Coverdale translates it.

Peter's confession took place in a discourse with Jesus Christ and the Apostles after the miraculous feeding of the 5,000 earlier in Luke 9, which occured after the Apostles completed their ministry of healing, exorcism and preaching.

Peter's emotional response was three-fold:
1) To "do something." You know how you respond in a crisis, don't you? Many of us want to "do something" to help, to provide relief, to take care of the situation. In Peter's case, he wanted to build tabernacles for Jesus Christ and Elijah and Moses (who were with Jesus in that glorious cloud).
2) Peter knew it was good to be there on the mountain with Jesus Christ. Even in the midst of a situation Peter didn't understand at the moment, he and the others knew "it is good for us to be here."
3) He had a sense of awe and fear. He and James and John had to have been thinking, "Is this really happening?" and "What's going to happen next?" Wouldn't you?

This emotional response is echoed by St. Peter's spiritual account given to us in his epistle:
1) He was an "eyewitness to His majestic glory." This is an honor very few have seen. Moses saw the glory of God in the Burning Bush; he saw it again in the cleft of the rock passing by (Ex. 33). Elijah saw God's glory when he was taken up the chariot. Isaiah saw the glory of God in the Temple (Isaiah 6). And now Peter, James and John joined this honored group.
2) Peter "heard the Voice of God" without question. He recalled specifically what God said. How unlike us: We think we hear the voice of God, but we're not sure... maybe it's nerves, maybe it's self-will, maybe it's just fatigue.
3) Peter knew the closeness of God. He says, "we were with Him."

By commemorating the Transfiguration we are witnesses, like Peter, James and John.

We are witnesses to the Divinity of Jesus Christ through His glorification on that mountain top.

We are witnesses to the Presence of the Holy Trinity. There is God the Son in the cloud of majestic glory with God the Father represented in Moses the Law Giver and God the Holy Spirit represented in Elijah the Prophet.

We are witnesses to the faithful truth of Scripture.

Especially, by commemorating the Transfiguration we recall again those times when God has impacted our own lives:
* Those times when we have seen God in His glory. Just this morning I took a walk. It was foggy and pre-dawn. The sky was brightening, but I couldn't see anything specific. I turned the corner and walked up the hill about half-mile. Suddenly above the eastern horizon, above the purple shadows of the trees and Schuler's barn, there was the sun, a bright tangerine of light warming away the dewy chill. I thought how appropriate that was for Transfiguration: the sudden glory of God warming away the dewy chill of the Apostles sleep.
* Those times when God was real to us "in the moment" - as real as He was on that mountain. We remember how we felt, what we saw, how we responded in that moment.
* Those times when we retell about our encounters with God to others:
- "This is what God has done for me"
- "This is what He said to me in His Word"
- "In my time of need, God was with me"

The Collect for Transfiguration
O God, who on the mount didst reveal to chosen witnesses Thine Only-Begotten Son wonderfully transfigured, in raiment white and glistering; Mercifully grant that we, being delivered from the disquietude of this world, may be permitted to behold the King in His beauty, who with Thee, O Father, and Thee, O Holy Ghost, liveth and reigneth, one God, world without end. Amen.

Who Needs FIFA?

2010-07-01T20:25:00.004-05:00

So 715 million people are watching the World Cup. Yawn.

If you want real sport, you need to find adolescents in your local 4-H Club getting ready for the fair.

They're out this time of year, training show hogs to walk with minimal guidance from a cane. They're in barns giving haircuts to calves, taming and brushing rabbits. They're canning fruits, drying vegetables and arranging flowers They're in kitchens decorating cakes and making perfectly stacking cookies. They're out taking photographs, making scrapbooks and posters, and pulling together craft projects.

Walking show hogs is one of my favorite 4-H sports to watch. There's something both athletic and humorous about watching a 12 year-old trailing his pig and she belches her way around a field. The hogs have a look of contempt, unaware of what awaits them after the fair auction sale is over. The kids have a look of anticipation, mentally spending the money their hog will bring.

Karen was in 4-H for nine years. (This is to the chagrin of her sisters who were all Ten Year members.) In those years she learned to sew, show animals, make a tea ring, and was involved with 4-H Junior Leaders.

She knew the sport of 4-H from the inside and has carried it on in the form of life-skills she still enjoys. (I once joked with friends that when Karen gets the itch to walk a hog, she has me strip down and chases me around the house with a cane.)

FIFA and the World Cup are important in their own right, but I wouldn't give a vuvuzuela for the opportunities these kids gain on their way to a blue ribbon at the county fair. :-)

Living in the Mystery of God

2010-06-01T20:10:00.003-05:00

Trinity Sunday: Old Testament Lesson - Isaiah 6:1-8

Those of us who are "baby boomers" will remember these familiar words from the television in 1963:

"There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat: there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to... The Outer Limits.”

I'm not trying to take control of anything, but I’d like to challenge us to yield control of our hearts and souls to God.
* Do not attempt to adjust the picture: God has set us in life where we belong
* He controls the volume, He controls the horizontal, He controls the vertical
* He can change the focus from a soft blur to crystal clarity
* Sit quietly: With God, You are about to participate in a great adventure

Reflecting on the Trinity is where the Mystery of God begins to take shape. But before we can reflect, we must yield control. Our every day lives are shaped by what we can control:
- Our to do lists
- Our relationships
- Our living arrangements
- Our decision making
- Our use of time
* And so forth

Because we want control, we have a way of explaining everything that we have some kind of control over:
- The "To Do List" is an example: We tell ourselves, "I have so many things to accomplish, I need to keep track," "I need to prioritize," "I need to remember"
- Relationships are another example: "I determine the people in my life who are important, who’s not," "I check Caller ID to see if I want to take your call," "My associations, clubs, and places I go, tell you who's important to me"

The mystery of God begins to appear in the things of life that are beyond what we can control.

Look at Isaiah. He was from the nobility of Judah at that time. He was a married man (Isaiah 8:3) with at least one son (Isaiah 8:18). Isaiah had his own control of his own life: Other than the “nobility” part, his life was probably not much different than our own. In his daily life, he conducted business, family affairs, decision making, etc. His religious life was controlled: going to Temple, participating in the rituals, making sure his son was in Sabbath school and bar mitzvah, etc.

The mystery of life for Isaiah wasn’t in his circumstances, but in God.

We often encounter mystery in our own lives and expect God to provide an explanation. Rather, we need to come to the point of seeing our lives as a gift from God and find meaning for life in His Divine Mystery.

Isaiah encountered the Divine Mystery of God in the Temple in Isaiah 6. He stood awestruck at the Presence of God:
the sights - Cherubim and Seraphim, the Divine train filling the Temple, the glory of God;
the smells - the smoke of incense, the sweetness of Heaven;
the sounds - the Thrice Holy Hymn "Holy, Holy, Holy!" the brush of angels' wings, the trembling threshold and Temple walls;
the Angel and the coal - the trumpet voice of God, the heat of the coals, the intimate closeness of the Bodiless Host of Heaven

So it is for us when we encounter God in the Trinity. We know the “letter” of the doctrine. The mystery comes not in knowing the doctrine, but living in it.
God the Father – our Creator, the Giver of the Law, the “King of the Universe.” He is “ineffable, inconceivable, invisible, incomprehensible, ever-existing and eternally the same” as our Communion Liturgy describes.
God the Son – our Creator (the Co-Creator, in John 1), the Fulfiller of the Law, Incarnation of God
God the Holy Spirit – our Creator (hovering over the waters of Gen. 1), Guide in the Law of Love (Gal. 5), the manifestation of God in our day

Is the mystery of God relevant in our time?
* For those who want Christianity to be a matter of “tell me how to live” and “spell it out for me” and “if it’s not practical it’s not relevant”, then No
* For those who want to control their own lives, keep their own schedules, live by their own rules, be their own boss, then No
But:
* For those who want to live by faith, who want to see God at work in things great and small, who see life beyond the limits of the cradle and grave, then YES: the mystery of God is infinitely practical

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Heb. 11:1)
Faith hopes in God’s steadfast love, waits for the Lord, is glad in the Lord (Psalm 33:18-21)
Faith is the Gospel sent to us by the Holy Spirit from Heaven (I Peter 1:12)

When we understand that understanding has little to do with life and faith in the Mystery of God has everything to do with life, the our life becomes infinitely practical.

Look again at the rest of Isaiah 6 and his life from the time of that encounter in the Temple. He prophesied for 60 years. He stood up to kings, corruption, injustice, poverty, and heresy. He didn’t have a popular message; no book sales, no radio or TV show, no Dove Awards, no concert contracts. Died a martyr’s death at the hands of pagan king Manasseh: He was sawn in two for standing up to the idolatry and falsehood of his era.

Look at your life: Do you live by the list? Do you live by the explain-able? Do you live by what you can see?
* Do you live by faith in God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit?
* Do you revel in the mystery of God?
* You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from "the inner mind to... God's Outer Limits”?

This post is my sermon for Trinity Sunday, May 30, 2010. The Sunday after Pentecost is Trinity Sunday. (In the Eastern Orthodox Church, it’s All Saints Day. They celebrate the Trinity on Pentecost.) The Church Year is about half way through: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany-Theophany, Epiphany Season (Christ’s teaching and ministry), Great Lent, Holy Week, Pascha, Ascension, Pentecost, and now Trinity Sunday. Trinity Season depicts the life of the Church as the living testimony of Jesus Christ. It seems appropriate that most of the year is spent on the Living Testimony of Jesus Christ – how the Holy Spirit works in your life and my life, the life of the Church today.

Why I Am Not On the Anti-Obama Bandwagon

2010-05-25T12:05:00.004-05:00

There's hardly a day that goes by that I don't get an e-mail forward from someone bashing the President.

Some of them would say they are "bashing Obama, not the Presidency."

They have a right to do this. In fact, I agree often with these e-mail senders on the issues they have with the President. I am pro-life. I am against government control of everything. I believe in reducing taxes. I believe in cutting government spending. And so forth.

Usually, posts about the President go beyond the issues. They disagree with his decision making, they impugn his character, they mock his politics.

Those are the things that keep me off the "Anti-Obama Bandwagon."

We are coming up on Memorial Day and we will remember the literal sacrifices of life made by men and women since 1775 to provide freedom in our nation, to defend our liberty, and to create our Constitution and government. These soldiers died in defense of our republic and our laws, our interests and our way of life.

For whatever anyone may think, President Obama is part of the reason these men and women fought and died. He was duly elected - freely elected. The ballot box is still alive and well in the U.S. There was no coup, there were no riots, there was no assasination, there were no back room deals. The President won his election hands down, fair and square.

Isn't this what we remember on Memorial Day?

In my opinion, there is little to be gained by attacking Mr. Obama. (I have posted several times in this blog that he needs our prayers more than anything.)

Another reason I don't get on the bandwagon is the "he's not my president" crowd. It's interesting to me how this crowd has changed in ten years. I remember after President Bush defeated Al Gore in 1980: there were liberals all over the country with "Not My President" on the back of their Volvos. This is the mentality that drove the very successful grassroots movement of moveon.org

In fact, he is my president. He is our president. In many ways, I don't like it. Every day tax dollars are sent overseas to provide abortions for women in developing countries. Every day, more and more people are entrapped in government sponsored programs and its subsequent drainage of personal responsibility and drive. In spite of his campaign promises to provide openness and honesty in government (in contrast to President Bush), he still has closed door proceedings to bring about, among other things, the "health care reform bill."

None of that reduces the fact that Mr. Obama is the president of all of us.

There is little to be gained in wasting words and energy attacking him personally.

To oppose the President, we do another thing that Memorial Day stands for: We participate in our government. We vote. We write letters. We make speeches. We run for office. We publish our opinions. We hold meetings.

These freedoms are as essential as supporting the President as president. It's all part of being America, being American.

I'm on the bandwagon that says this fall we'll elect a new Congress. I'm on the bandwagon that says in 2012 we may (or may not) elect a new President. I'm on the bandwagon that says our government may not be perfect, but it's the best around and it takes all of us, whether we agree with each other or not, to make it work.

Take Up Your Mat

2010-04-25T11:48:00.003-05:00

Epistle: Acts 9:32-42
Gospel: John 5:1-15

I’ve been in the ministry now for over 30 years, as a volunteer in college, a youth minister, and as a pastor. In college I was a volunteer at Pendleton Prison near Anderson. A group of us went twice a week for three years, once a week for worship and once a week for what we called "Christian Dialogue." We met one-on-one with various prisoners just to talk.

Straight out of college I worked for Campus Life and then Karen and I were houseparents in a boys home. After that I realized that I was too old for youth ministry any more so I went into the pastorate. :-)

In those 30+ years, I couldn't tell you the number of times I’ve prayed for renewal of faith for someone, renewal of faith for myself, healing, wisdom, understanding and guidance.

In that time, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve read passages like the Epistle and Gospel for today and I’ve wondered why not today: Where are the miracles? Where are the healings?

I've come to realize that passages like these tell us something pretty straightforward: The Christian Life is a matter of “being” not “doing.”
This simple change of perspective makes all the difference in how you live your Christian life.

Take a look at the peripheral issues presented in the healings in today’s readings:
* Who of us doesn’t have sympathy on the frailest in society? We naturally want to help the handicapped, less fortunate, elderly, etc.
* Who of us can’t relate to the encounters in these Biblical situations? We want to help panhandlers we think are genuinely in need, by giving to Helping Hands, Salvation Army bell ringers, etc.
* Who of us doesn’t do what we are able to do? We'll give a few extra dollars, make a donation of clothes, give a few hours to volunteer for a worthy cause.

These things are all well and good, but they speak to our matter of “doing.” Doing is in the present, a matter of the right now. We can see what we've done and feel good about it. But "doing" clouds our perspective: we want healing now, we want wisdom now, we want renewal now.

A mindset of "doing" shapes our expectations of God. We think, "He’s God, He can-should-will-must-would DO something."

It shapes our expectations of ourselves. We tell ourselves, "We’ve done good so we’re good; we do bad but we’re forgiven, so we’re good." Our logic tells us "We’re forgiven because of what God has “done” so I can do what I want."

Christianity is not a matter of "doing": it’s a matter of "being." You can’t “do” good at Church and then go home and “do” bad things. You are a Christian here and a Christian at home, at work, at play.

This reflects the nature of God. To Moses in Exodus God revealed His Name which is translated to English as "I Am Who I Am.” God's Name is a "being" verb.

As a Christian, "I am who I am" in Christ. I’m not a Christian because of what Christ has “done.” Note that. We are not Christians because a man was nailed to a tree. It is Who that Man is: We are Christians because the Son of God was nailed to a Tree.

We are Christians because of Who Christ is. Christ is the Savior, therefore I am saved. Christ is the Resurrection, therefore I have life in Him. Christ is the Good Shepherd, therefore I am in His care.

The healings at the Bethesda Pool and Lydda demonstrate this. Look at John 5:8. Did Jesus Christ pick the man up and put him in the water at the time of stirring?

No. He simply told him to get up and walk. He said this because of Who He is.

In Acts 9:34, did St. Peter make crutches or bandages and make the man better?
No. St. Peter simply said, “The Lord heals you.” Peter healed the man not because of who he is but because of Who Christ is.

This leads me to four simple observations:
1) God knew that both of these men needed His help before they were healed. The man in Bethesda Pool had been paralyzed since birth, 38 years. The man in Lydda had been paralyzed eight years. Do we really think God didn’t know about them before these encounters in Scripture?
2) In both cases, there were plenty of other people who needed healing and didn’t get it. All around the Bethesda Pool were people needing a miracle. Lydda was a typical small town with people of every condition you might find anywhere. Did God turn a blind eye to these others?
3) Do you think God doesn’t know that you need His help for whatever it is you’re dealing with?
4) Do you think God has turned a blind eye to you while He cares for others?

Being a Christian is a matter of God identifying Himself with you and you identifying yourself with God. It is a matter of Who God is and who you and I are.

How often do we want God to do something for us to prove Who He is? We want Him to give us a new insight into the Bible, so we go and get a Bible with helps, or a Bible with counseling, or a Bible for couples, or a Bible in a language I want to read. There are Bibles for charismatics, Bibles for Catholics, even a Bible for atheists.

We want God to do something for us by giving us a new experience. Since I was in high school I've seen God do supposedly "new things": There were the “Jesus People” (God loves you, dude); the charismatic renewal with Kathryn Kuhlman and Oral Roberts; the televangelist phenomenon with Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggert, and Oral Roberts; the prosperity Gospel with Benny Hinn and Robert Tilton; the right-wing political Gospel preached by Pat Robertson and James Kennedy; the left wing political Gospel preached by Tony Campolo and Jim Wallis.

God isn’t trendy or faddish or whatever happens to be the latest thing on Christian radio. God is God!

The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is God.
The God of Moses, Joshua, and Caleb is God.
The God of Ruth, Naomi, and Esther is God.
The God of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Daniel is God.
The God of Peter, James and John is God.

God is the unchanging One. As we pray in the Communion Liturgy, He is ever-existing and eternally the same. He simply is Who He is. He is Being.

This is your faith and mine. Faith is not a matter of what God does in our lives, it is a matter of Who God is.

Is God any less God because you have or because you haven’t experienced divine healing?
Is God any less God because you have or have not had a miracle?
Is God any less God because you are rich or poor or somewhere in between?

No. God takes us through whatever it is we face in life because of Who He is. Experiencing these things in life makes us who we are in Christ. More importantly, the daily living of Christian life is daily living with God. Faith that experiences God in daily life is faith that experiences God’s Being and experiences all that God is:
- peace that surpasses all understanding
- joy unspeakable and full of glory
- love unbounded

These are the things that matter:
Peace in the tumult of whatever life brings you.
Joy in the face of hardship, adversity, and discouragement.
Love for everyone, the difficult and our friends, our enemies and our neighbors.

And if God throws in a miracle along the way, we’ll be ready to take up our mat and walk.

This is based on the outline for my sermon at Peoria Church, April 25, 2010, the Sunday of the Paralytic.

Country Speed Bumps

2010-04-19T19:57:00.006-05:00

Rural living is not for "Type A" people.

Whenever we go to the city, I am amazed at how fast people seem to think they need to go. They hurry up and pull out in front of you. They rush to park close to the store. They can't seem to get from one place to the next fast enough.

I was reared in a city, so you might think I'd be a little like that. But I grew up close to downtown and walked or rode my bike everywhere. In my family, we walked to school, walked to the grocery, walked downtown, walked to Wilson's, the movies, the playground, the park and Church. Even though we lived in the city, we were pretty slow-paced and low tech.

Actually, my Mom was the epitome of slow-paced living. She lived two blocks from the Church and had a twisted sense of pride in the fact that she would leave the house for worship as they were tolling the bell for the beginning of the service. She had a gift for delay. Talk to the clerk at the grocery. Flirt with the waiter at Rocking U. Chat with the neighbors. If you happened to be running a few minutes early, Mom always found something important to discuss with the cat just to prevent you from running on time.

But I digress.

One of the things I appreciate about living in rural Indiana is the fact that there really isn't too much to hurry about. And just to make sure you understand this fact, there are several built in "speed bumps" to remind you that there's really no good reason to go too fast.

Turkeys are great fun to watch. Once I was on the way to work on the Laketon Road and a turkey hen was standing out in the middle of the road. She looked at me like Gandalf looked at the Balrog in the Moriah mines. She stared me down as if to say, "You shall not pass!"

I tooted the horn. I was in our 1970 Beetle and the horn seemed appropriate for the moment.

The turkey hen started to run. Not off the road, but straight away from me, down the center of the road.

I followed her about 1/4 of a mile and she ran faster and faster. Finally she looked back at me as if to say, "Apparently he's not going to leave me alone." With a flying leap, her four foot wingspan lifted her with grace over the fence. Two or three flaps of those beautiful feathered fans and she was in the middle of the field. An elegant touch down and away she went, likely to forget my blue Beetle as soon as I drove off.

No hurry could have appreciated the moment.

Our rural infrastructure is designed to keep things apace - slowly apace. State roads, county roads and township roads are sliced between fields of corn, soy beans and wheat. This is only natural: agriculture rules the roost here.

Where there are no fields, there are marvelously narrow passes through woods and along the rivers, over 100 year old iron bridges and through romantic covered bridges.

These roads are made for meandering. How else can you view the great blue herons fishing? Or the turtles sunning themselves on the macadam? Or the birds playing in the trees over head.

Rural life and roads are designed to appreciate these sorts of things more than to provide a speedy means of going from Point A to Point B.

Finally, the ultimate country speed bump is the auction sale. (I know "auction sale" seems redundant, but that's what they are. Deal with it. :-)

An auction sale is no small event. It's part festival, part block party. In some ways it's our answer to the big box stores. There's also a measure of voyeurism: under the pretense of finding out what your neighbor has to sell you get a chance to see what he has in the back shelves of his closets, the drawers of his workshop, and the corners of his barn.

Auction traffic can frustrate town people because the lanes and ditches around the sale double as parking lots. Crowds of people swarming around the auctioneer move to the cadence of his call. Buyers make their way down the berm with headboards and mirrors, farm equipment, tools, and miscellany. They are as disinterested in the hurrying drivers as those in a hurry are disinterested in the auction.

The difference is that the hurrier is in rural Indiana and there is little to hurry about here.

No, rural living is not for "Type A" people. It's for the Type of people who take life a little more slowly, who appreciate everyday blessings. It's not for everyone, but it definitely is for me.

What Do You Expect?

2010-04-18T18:35:00.004-05:00

Gospel Reading: Luke 24:1-12

I always like this Sunday when we remember the Myrrh-Bearing Women. It's always good to remember that great things can happen when no one cares who gets the credit for it. These Myrrh-Bearing Women were simply doing a basic task for Someone they loved, simply because it needed to be done. They didn't care who knew or didn't know. (Although they did get their names in the Bible, so that is some credit :-)

These women had expectations when they went to the Tomb, expectations that would be expectations you and I would likely have were we in the same position.

They expected to prepare Jesus' body for burial. (Luke 24:1)
They expected to find the Tomb closed and sealed. (v. 2)
Finding the Tomb open, they expected to find Jesus' Body. (v.3)
Finding the Tomb empty, they expected to figure out the problem. (v. 4)
Finding Angels there, they expected fear and harm. (vv. 5-8)
They expected the Apostles to believe their account. (vv. 9-10)
They expected wonderful things to happen. (v. 8)

On each count, their expectations were turned upside down.

Expecting to prepare Jesus' body, they didn't realize that this had already been done by St. Nicodemus and St. Joseph of Arimathea before they laid Him in the Tomb (John 19:39-42).

Expecting a closed tomb, they found the stone door of the Tomb rolled away, the seal broken.

Expecting to find Jesus' Body, the found the Tomb empty.

Expecting to figure things out one their own, they met Angels who greeted them, admonished them, encouraged them and commissioned them.

Expecting fear and harm by the Angels, they were filled with awe - according to Matthew 28:8, they were "filled with joy."

Expecting to be believed by the Apostles, they were not. Interestingly enough, even though each of the Gospels provides various details about the Resurrection, this is one detail on which they all agree: the Apostles didn't believe the women. Hmmm.

Expecting great things to follow, they did. Wonderful things happened on Resurrection Day and the forty days following - Jesus Christ met with the men on the Emmaus Road, He met with the Apostles that evening, He met them in the Upper Room a week later, He went fishing with them in Galilee, visited with them on a mountain in Galilee, and finally ascended to Heaven before their eyes.

All of us expect things from God, don't we?

Many expect God to be an enabler. They expect Him to help them out of every situation, to help them avoid or cover the consequences of their ungodly lives. They expect God to give them the means to continue their sinful ways. Some even expect God to bless their sinful endeavors, to bless their corrupt business practices, to sanctify their undisciplined lives, to approve their immoral choices.

Some people expect God to be their pal. You know, "Everything's cool with me and the man upstairs." They expect that God is Someone that would sit on the sofa with them and watch TV, but not challenge their life or lifestyle. These folks put too much emphasis on "personal relationship" and not enough emphasis on with God. Just like "pals" and "buddies" come and go, sadly so often goes their life with God.

Some people expect God's people to be perfect, just as He is. They blame God for things His people do. Who of us hasn't misrepresented God at some point in their lives? (I'm among the worst.) There are some who look at Christians instead of Jesus Christ. Others perceive Christianity to be too hard or too realistic. As G.K. Chesteron once wrote, "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; rather, Christianity has been found dificult and left untried."

And there are some who expect God to be like them rather than expecting themselves to be like God. Have you ever noticed how both major parties make God follow their own agenda? (Aren't you glad God is neither Republican or Democrat?) Have you ever noticed that God is conveniently invoked as needed by both politicians and criminals? And have you ever noticed that when God conflicts with someone's ideals, suddenly He becomes irrelevant?

God turns these expectations upside down, too.

Expecting an enabler, we find that God works in a person's heart, at the root of the problem - sin - and change a person from the inside out. God doesn't bless our sinful ways; no matter how hard we try, we can't change our lives on our own. We don't need an enabler, we need God Who renews.

Expecting a pal, God proves Himself to be a truer friend than any casual "pal" or "buddy." God is a "friend who sticks closer than a brother" (Prov. 18:24). When your pals and buddies have moved on, God remains.

Expecting perfect people, we realize that God sees everyone the same: none perfect, but all dearly loved. Perfection is not to be found in people. Perfection is only found in God.

Expecting God to be like us, we come to understand that the more we know God, the less like us we see Him to be and the more like Him we will want to be.

What do you expect from God?

Do you expect to prepare His body, though the task is already done?
Do you expect to find His sealed Tomb, though it is already opened?
Do you expect to find His Body, though He has risen?
Do you expect to explain the empty Tomb rather than listening to the Angels?
Do you expect fear rather than greeting and encouragement?
Do you expect to be believed by those who ought to believe?
Do you expect something wonderful to happen?

Remember His words.

Why I Love EWTN

2010-04-09T18:07:00.003-05:00

My wife thinks that I am a closet Catholic. Over the years I've given her plenty of reason to think this:
- I love (LOVE) icons and crucixae.
- On family vacations we've been known to stop at Catholic shrines... Sorrowful Mother Shrine in northwest Ohio is a favorite and has yielded some wonderful (if not a little irreverent) pictures.
- I have a weakness for prayer books (although the 1928 Book of Common Prayer is my all time favorite).
- I own more rosaries than a Protestant ought to own.

BUT her biggest reason for thinking this is that I love (LOVE) EWTN. It used to be a treat when we'd visit my Mom in Findlay to be up early before everyone else to watch the Mass on EWTN (or to stay up late after everyone was in bed to watch the second 'encore' performance).

On vacations we'd stay in motels that had cable TV. (Until two months ago, we had only antenna broadcast TV.) Between trips in and out of the room, I could be caught catching the latest news on The World Over. Once Karen and I were babysitting our great nephews in Indianapolis while their Baptist parents were in Las Vegas watching Donny Osmond. For the boys' mid-afternoon nap, we watched Catholic cartoons.

I'm not really a closet Catholic. I have a very deep appreciation for Catholic spirituality and I think there's a lot we can learn from it. I respect their views on life issues, especially abortion and euthanasia, but I have issues with some little things: the Pope, for example, and purgatory.

My main reason for loving EWTN is because it just is what it is. It makes no pretense of being flashy or attractive or anything more than what it is: Catholic television.

Monks host talk shows. Nuns lead musical services. Mother Angelica leads chaplets and rosaries. Travel programs feature Catholic countries. Catholic movies made in Italy are shown dubbed in English.

It just is what it is.

That seems to me to be the biggest draw. It's actually my ideal for Church: Not to be Catholic but to be 'real'; To be who we are supposed to be and not to pretend to be something we're not.

Too often religious TV smacks of entertainment. It's all about the show, the 'pop', the act. They're trying to sell religion. And they beg for money. Beg. Ugh.

EWTN just shows Catholics doing what Catholics do.

I love EWTN because they aren't condescending about God. God doesn't need to be explained on EWTN, He is simply known and made known. They have programs that explain Catholicism, but Who God is is never doubted. Faith is a way of life for the folks on EWTN and there is simply no reason to doubt.

This is another ideal for Church, in my view. As a pastor I don't feel any compelling need to try to convince someone about God: He simply Is Who He Is and people can choose to believe in Him or not. I don't understand everything that happens in life or all the fine points of theology or why good people suffer or things like that. But I know God and love Him and I trust that He knows what's going on in life. He's never given me a reason to doubt.

Finally, I love EWTN because it is almost always positive. It is positive about its mission, it is positive about the Catholic Church, it is positive about living a life pleasing to God.

Much of life is not positive, and that often creeps into Churches. So many Protestants are into do's and don'ts, running down the government, alterior motives for giving, running down other Churches, Church marketing, and showmanship, it makes me sad.

Church ought to be life affirming, not just pro-life. The love of God takes us through dark times and the Church is a beacon of light, not a place for more shadows and more darkness. The Resurrection makes us participants in the new life of God; He lives and His Life lives in us.

I want to be positive about my faith. I want to be positive about my Church. And I try to be positive about living my life for God.

EWTN helps me do that.

Yes. Thanks, Mother Angelica (pictured above) for bringing EWTN to life. Even an old Protestant like me can grow in faith because of your efforts. :-)

Is Easter Over?

2010-04-05T12:09:00.002-05:00

It's the Monday after Easter, or "Bright Monday."

I went into the break room at work and saw another Christian there so I said to her, "Christ is risen," expecting to hear back, "He is risen indeed!"

Instead, I got a dumb look. After a short pause, she looked at me and said, "Um . . .well, yeah."

Hmmm.

A few minutes later I saw another co-worker, a Lutheran. I said, "Amy, you know what day this is?"

She smiled brightly, as she always does, "Sure do . . . it's 'Easter candy on-sale day'."

Ughh.

It's like Easter is over and it's time to move on to Mother's Day and "Dads and Grads." We haven't taken the time to savor the holiday, the meaning, of Pascha.

But today is just the second day of Pascha. Pascha is the Greek form of the Hebrew word for Passover, and, of course, Passover is the context for Christ's Last Supper (which we now recall as the Eucharist). In the original Passover - you know Moses, the Red Sea, the lamb, first borns, etc. - the Hebrews were delivered from their slavery in a miraculous manner by God.

Just imagine what it may have been like the day after the Passover, had the Hebrews sat down about a day's journey from Goshen (where they were enslaved) and said, "Okay, that's over. What do we do now?"

That's what it's like when we think that somehow Easter (or Pascha) is 'over'.

The whole season of Easter lasts forty days, an upbeat, joyful, counter-image of the pentitential, somber, fasting forty days of Great Lent. Lent reminds us through our own discipline, prayer, fasting, and sobriety that Jesus Christ experienced those things on our behalf, on His Way to the Cross. Pascha reminds us that one the other side of that, there is life.

Lent is a preparation time, anticipating the Death of Jesus Christ. Pascha is a celebration time, exalting in His Resurrection.

How can we possibly sit and think, "Okay, that's over. What do we do now?"

What to do on Bright Monday - and the remaining season of Pascha? Here are some ideas:
- Read and re-read the Resurrection accounts from the Gospels. Examine how the Apostles and disciples were changed by this event. How might you have been changed?
- Read again I Corinthians 15, St. Paul's amazing description of the Resurrection and our participation in it, both now and for eternity. Who do you know that has already shared in Christ's Resurrection (I know my mother and my father-in-law have!).
- Spend time contemplating the new life that is surrounding you this time of year. Hyacinths, tulips, jonquils, daffodils, cherry blossoms, etc., are all signs of new life. In the same manner, Christ has brought new life to us!
- Throughout Lent, many of us wore Crosses to remind us of our special commitment to God during Lent. What is something that you might wear to remind you of God's special commitment to you during the Paschal season?
- During Church on Pascha morning, we renewed our baptismal covenant. Where were you baptized? Why not go there and spend some time, praying and reflecting on your new birth? Write down the experience of your baptism and tell it to your family and friends.

Easter isn't over yet . . . it's just beginning! May God bless you now and throughout this joyous season.

He is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

Has the President Gone Pro-Life?

2010-03-22T12:31:00.003-05:00

Nope.

However, if there is to be found a ray of sunshine in the Health Care Bill just passed, it is that unborn children have protections still. Thank the Lord for this.

There are plenty of other problems with the bill. The debt. The government control. The enormous debt. The loss of personal freedom. The gigantic debt.

And there's the coersion. The back room deals. The secrecy. The condescending attitude toward those of us opposed to the plan. Free people and free governments shouldn't operate this way.

But I'm looking for a silver lining right now and this appears to be it.

Here is the text of the order issued Sun., Mar. 21, 2010, in time to garner votes in favor of the bill:

Executive Order ensuring enforcement and implementation of abortion restrictions in the patient protection and affordable care act.

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including the "Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act" (approved March __, 2010), I hereby order as follows:

Section 1. Policy.

Following the recent passage of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act ("the Act"), it is necessary to establish an adequate enforcement mechanism to ensure that Federal funds are not used for abortion services (except in cases of rape or incest, or when the life of the woman would be endangered), consistent with a longstanding Federal statutory restriction that is commonly known as the Hyde Amendment. The purpose of this Executive Order is to establish a comprehensive, government-wide set of policies and procedures to achieve this goal and to make certain that all relevant actors-Federal officials, state officials (including insurance regulators) and health care providers-are aware of their responsibilities, new and old.

The Act maintains current Hyde Amendment restrictions governing abortion policy and extends those restrictions to the newly-created health insurance exchanges. Under the Act, longstanding Federal laws to protect conscience (such as the Church Amendment, 42 U.S.C. §300a-7, and the Weldon Amendment, Pub. L. No. 111-8, §508(d)(1) (2009)) remain intact and new protections prohibit discrimination against health care facilities and health care providers because of an unwillingness to provide, pay for, provide coverage of, or refer for abortions.

Numerous executive agencies have a role in ensuring that these restrictions are enforced, including the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS), the Office of Management and Budget (OMB), and the Office of Personnel Management (OPM).

Section 2. Strict Compliance with Prohibitions on Abortion Funding in Health Insurance Exchanges. The Act specifically prohibits the use of tax credits and cost-sharing reduction payments to pay for abortion services (except in cases of rape or incest, or when the life of the woman would be endangered) in the health insurance exchanges that will be operational in 2014. The Act also imposes strict payment and accounting requirements to ensure that Federal funds are not used for abortion services in exchange plans (except in cases of rape or incest, or when the life of the woman would be endangered) and requires state health insurance commissioners to ensure that exchange plan funds are segregated by insurance companies in accordance with generally accepted accounting principles, OMB funds management circulars, and accounting guidance provided by the Government Accountability Office.

I hereby direct the Director of OMB and the Secretary of HHS to develop, within 180 days of the date of this Executive Order, a model set of segregation guidelines for state health insurance commissioners to use when determining whether exchange plans are complying with the Act's segregation requirements, established in Section 1303 of the Act, for enrollees receiving Federal financial assistance. The guidelines shall also offer technical information that states should follow to conduct independent regular audits of insurance companies that participate in the health insurance exchanges. In developing these model guidelines, the Director of OMB and the Secretary of HHS shall consult with executive agencies and offices that have relevant expertise in accounting principles, including, but not limited to, the Department of the Treasury, and with the Government Accountability Office. Upon completion of those model guidelines, the Secretary of HHS should promptly initiate a rulemaking to issue regulations, which will have the force of law, to interpret the Act's segregation requirements, and shall provide guidance to state health insurance commissioners on how to comply with the model guidelines.

Section 3. Community Health Center Program.

The Act establishes a new Community Health Center (CHC) Fund within HHS, which provides additional Federal funds for the community health center program. Existing law prohibits these centers from using federal funds to provide abortion services (except in cases of rape or incest, or when the life of the woman would be endangered), as a result of both the Hyde Amendment and longstanding regulations containing the Hyde language. Under the Act, the Hyde language shall apply to the authorization and appropriations of funds for Community Health Centers under section 10503 and all other relevant provisions. I hereby direct the Secretary of HHS to ensure that program administrators and recipients of Federal funds are aware of and comply with the limitations on abortion services imposed on CHCs by existing law. Such actions should include, but are not limited to, updating Grant Policy Statements that accompany CHC grants and issuing new interpretive rules.

Section 4. General Provisions.

(a) Nothing in this Executive Order shall be construed to impair or otherwise affect: (i) authority granted by law or presidential directive to an agency, or the head thereof; or (ii) functions of the Director of the Office of Management and Budget relating to budgetary, administrative, or legislative proposals.

(b) This Executive Order shall be implemented consistent with applicable law and subject to the availability of appropriations.

(c) This Executive Order is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity against the United States, its departments, agencies, entities, officers, employees or agents, or any other person.

THE WHITE HOUSE

The Health Care Bill

2010-03-13T20:26:00.003-05:00

I make it a point not to discuss politics in my Country Parson blog. However, the health care bill being rammed through Congress is not a political issue: it is a moral one.

The obvious issue is abortion. What I have read about the bill (though I have not read the bill itself) is consistent with the bill's strongest proponents, President Obama, Nancy Pelosi, and Harry Reid. That consistency is that the unborn are not protected human life. Unborn children are only valuable as experimental medical commodities. These three see no harm in aborting children and they are hard pressed to find a reason to protect them in a federally-funded health care bill.

This is an unfortunate fact of life for we who support life, especially for the unborn. From the top, the three most powerful positions in the U.S. government are admitted, confessed, and practicing pro-abortionists. We can only pray for them, for their repentance, and keep our voices heard. (And we can thank God for pro-life representatives and the stand they take against the Abortionist-in-Chief and his lackeys.)

There are other issues, too. Health care coverage for unmarried adult couples, especially homosexual couples, is in the bill. I'm not opposed to homosexuals having health care coverage. I am opposed to homosexual marriage and to homosexual couples having benefits of marriage.

And, for that matter, non-married heterosexual couples shouldn't have the benefits of marriage, either. Maybe since "shacking up" has become the norm in our culture this seems harsh. But the Truth is that marriage is marriage, and without vows made between a man and woman before God, there is no marriage.

A more grievous threat is the creeping shadow of euthanasia. While over-simplified as 'death panels', the fact remains that the health care bill allows the government to choose who gets what benefits. The comparison is made to private companies which do, essentially, the same thing. The key difference is that we have a choice about private companies with which we conduct business. We do not have a choice when the federal government is involved.

Like abortion, euthanasia's only significant benefit is financial. Rather than protecting life in its latter years, the cost of care is placed in the balance on one side with human life on the other. Keeping terminally ill people comfortable and dignified as they die is certainly the moral option. However, making a decision about how much care is given based on the cost is patently immoral. The Obama-Pelosi-Reid bill is only cost conscious.

Another moral issue is the role of government. The government is not a moral institution; it is a social institution. The health care bill makes moral decisions ad nauseum. It is pro-abortion and anti-marriage. It is also condescending to the individual rights of Americans to lead their own lives without government interference. It increases taxes. It limits personal freedom. It is extra-Constitutional (in fact it is supra-Constitutional).

These Trojan horse issues are a direct threat to the Church. Christian doctors and nurses who oppose abortion may be forced to commit the act because it is federally insured. Hospitals run by Christian denominations would be in the same boat. They could be compelled to allow patients to die because of financial concerns rather than providing decent end-of-life care.

Just as important is the potential for government censorship of the pulpits of those who disagree with the government. If free, taxpayer funded abortion is the law of the land, what becomes of the voice of dissent? If benefits for non-married couples are acceptable to the government, what about those of us who support marriage?

It is imperative to pray for President Obama, Congressman Pelosi and Senator Reid. It is important to pray for our nation that we may find true moral high ground and an ethical, upright way to provide health care for those most needful of it.

The Cross: More Questions that Answers

2010-03-07T16:36:00.006-05:00

Today is the Third Sunday of Great Lent, the Adoration of the Holy Cross. Today's message is in keeping with the Lenten theme for 2010, "For All Things We Know and For All Things We Do Not Know." This theme is taken from our Eucharistic liturgy, and recalls for us that we may trust and thank God for what we know in this life, and for things we simply can't or don't know.

Gospel: Mark 8:31-9:1

When I was a boy, I went to St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Elyria, Ohio. It is one of those downtown Churches that sits on the courthouse square. As a boy, I thought the steeple was the tallest structure I had ever seen. Atop the steeple is a gold cross.

I remember asking my grandfather how on earth they kept that cross so shiny. I remember being a persistent questioner when I was little and my grandfather was an ornery answerer. He told me that the Church had a monkey that had been trained to polish the cross each week. The priest would put the monkey on his leash and let him climb to the top of the steeple to do his duty.

(Deep down, I still believe this story.)

Having questions about the Cross is the beginning of understanding the reality of the Cross.

There are "physical questions" about the Cross:
* How tall was the Cross? * Where was the Cross? * How common was crucifixion? * Why was Jesus nailed and the others tied to the Cross? * How could this have happened to Jesus Christ, Who was so good?

There are "intellectual questions" about the Cross. Many have seen detailed descriptions of crucifixion that are popular this time of year. Movies like The Passion provide depictions of crucifixion in graphic detail. People raise the issue of Jesus Christ’s ‘unfair’ trial.

There are "emotional questions" we ask. Why would God require the Cross of His own Son? How could they have been so mean to Christ Who was so good? Wasn’t there another way besides His death?

I imagine these are the sorts of questions Jesus Christ and the Apostles were discussing in Mark 8:31-32: "He then began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and after three days rise again. He spoke plainly about this, and Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him."

We may find ourselves in the place of St. Peter. He knew that “for all the things he knew” he didn’t want those things to happen to Jesus Christ. Why? Because Jesus Christ was his friend, his co-worker, his mentor. He loved Him. Why would anyone want to see terrible things happen to anyone they are close to?

When facing a trial in our own lives, how often do we react like St. Peter? We don't want the pain. We don't want the suffering. We don't want the cross.

Jesus Christ rebuked his friend in verse 33: "Get behind me, Satan! You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men."

St. Peter encountered what he did not know.
- The Cross and its consequent salvation are God’s matters to provide.
- The Cross and its affect are matters of “mystery,” and we don't usually like mystery.
- The way of the Cross is not a matter of human will, but of Divine purpose.

The Lord knew that St. Peter is very much like ourselves. We want to provide our own way of salvation. We want to work it own in a manner that suits us. We don’t like ‘mystery’: we want reality, we want answers. We like the Divine purpose as long as it doesn’t run against our own purposes and directions.

For all the questions St. Peter and the other Apostles had, Jesus Christ answered the questions they didn’t ask – the Spiritual questions about the Cross.

"If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for Me and for the Gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul?"

The Lord clarifies for St. Peter, the other Apostles, and for his other hearers that following Him is a matter of taking up your own cross. Your cross may be a life experience that is hard to bear, the results of a poor decision you made that has long-term effects, or even a condition that you had nothing to do with.

What Jesus Christ is saying is that following Him is a matter of losing your life in order to gain it. There are many people who spend their whole lives trying to gain success, material wealth, and pushing their way to "the top" who end up lonely and spiritually destitute.

He underscores the fact that following Him may bring on shame in this life, but reward in the next. We have little to be ashamed of as Christians in this country. There is no arm in wearing a cross here. But think of the Christians in Tehran, or Beijing, or Darfur, or any of the Moslem nations where Christianity is illegal. Those saints have learned what it is to bear the Cross in the face of shame.

This Sunday of Adoration of the Holy Cross, what questions of do you have? Take a moment with your own cross in your hand and reflect on these ideas:
+ What is the cross you are carrying?
+ Have you truly lost your life – or have you simply let God borrow it for a while?
+ Has the Cross been an issue of shame or embarrassment to you? Why or why not?

Going Public with Resolutions: The Hard Truth

2009-12-30T22:42:00.003-05:00

On Jan. 2, 2009 I made some public New Year's Resolutions. How did I do? Here's a scorecard. My resolutions from last year are in italics.

"First, I'm making two personal resolutions... to taper down my television viewing to just one hour a day... The second personal resolution is to get my 50 year old physical and track my health better..."

Well, I have cut down on TV, but not as much as I'd like. One hour a day? I missed that by a long shot. But I generally turn the TV off by 11 p.m., which is a great start.

I did get my 50 year old physical. The numbers were good last April, but I've blimped up again. Sounds like time for a 'lose weight' resolution! The best thing I did for my personal health this year was to quit caffeine. I highly recommend it.

"Next ...two professional resolutions for my work at Timbercrest... finish the paperwork necessary for my National Certification... to take all my vacation time. And comp time..."

No and no. And no excuses. I simply haven't done either one.

"Next... two professional resolutions as pastor of Peoria Church... try and better equip Church members for the disciplines of living the Christian life... [take]better care of myself spiritually..."

Well, I have been trying to address the needs for spiritual discipline in my messages, and this fall I preached a topical series on "Why We Do What We Do." Taking better care of myself spiritually has been more up than down. My prayer life is OK, and I attended the Moody Bible Institute Pastor's Conference in May. in general, I'd give myself a B- with a lot of room to improve.

"Finally... two resolutions relating to Karen... to be more open to her needs for quiet time... to keep up with the garden this year."

I haven't asked Karen how I've done on the first one, but I feel as if I've done better. The second one was much better. We had a little help from the ice storm last year which killed three large pines in our yard, which cleared some space.

I'm working on resolutions for 2010. I'll share those in a few days.

That Tune that Gets Stuck in Your Head (Thanksgiving)

2009-11-23T11:31:00.007-05:00

One of the downsides of being married to a preschool teacher is that she comes home singing these little ditties that are aimed to teach four year olds. Usually, the tune is familiar and whistleable. But after running around in the cranium for four days straight, it gets old.

Such it is with a little Thanksgiving tune Karen has taught her children:

"I am thankful for my friends
And my family,
Thankful for the food I eat
And thankful to be me."
(Tune: Row, Row, Row Your Boat)

To help kids' retention, Karen uses sign language for the motions. So, not only have I found myself chasing that little song around my head, I have hand motions to go with it.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'd like to put into practice what I've learned from this little song. I'm not entirely self-less in this. My hope is that getting this out of my system will shake it out of my brain, too.

"I am thankful for my friends . . ."

You know, I have so many friends, of varying degrees. I tend to be skittish about being to close to too many, consequently, I am comfortably close to a lot of people. My very closest friends know who they are, and I am thankful for them.

I am thankful to have so many friends. There are plenty of people who have few, if any. I work full-time in a retirement community and I would consider almost all the residents there to be a friend to one degree or another. The people who live here are so caring and kind and rarely speak a "discouraging word." The people at Church are good friends: people who pray for me and with me, who care about what's going on in my life, who take an interest in the things I'm interested in.

It would be literally impossible to list friends here without alienating some, so I'm only going to cite two examples. I'm not sure why these come to mind, but they do.

The first is an old high school friend named Rich. I hadn't seen or heard from Rich since graduation until we reconnected on Facebook several months ago. He and his family went to the Church I went to then and he always had a way of encouraging me and making me laugh. I really enjoyed Rich's father, James/Jim, also. (Whether it was James or Jim doesn't really matter: I always called him Mr. Xxxxx.)

After all those years - 33+ now - you might think that I'd think of Rich less as a friend and more of a renewed acquantaince. There is some truth to that, except that it seems to me that Rich is the same guy he was in high school. He has worked, married, reared a family, and now is a grandpa. And as I read his Facebook page about his exploits with his family, I see the qualities that I appreciated about Rich's Dad coming to life through him. But that's exactly what you'd expect from the Rich I knew in high school.

Another is a friend I haven't seen for a long time, Harry. Harry is in his mid-80's now and recently lost his wife, Lorraine. Shortly after Karen and I moved to Indiana, Harry and Lorraine moved to Ocala, Florida. We've kept up spotty contacts over the years, but Harry and I are one of those friendships that just picks up where you last left it. Lives change, people change, and many things happen in between, but when we talk, it's like we never stopped talking.

When Harry was telling me about Lorraine's death, I couldn't stop crying. She was one of the most beautiful, caring people I ever knew. She was taken by Alzheimer's Disease. Through it all, Harry told me, she never forgot him. Even when she couldn't recall anyone else, she remembered Harry. That's what makes true friendship, doesn't it? No matter how grim things become, you remember who your friends are.

"I am thankful for my friends
And my family . . ."

There are three sides to family and I'm thankful for all three sides. The first side is my own family, the one Karen and I created in June 1981. We expanded it in 1985 and 1988 to include our kids. There has been no greater joy in my life than to be with my own family and I'm thankful for them.

I'm thankful for marriage. A friend of mine once said that "in order to be successful in marriage, you have to like the idea of being married." This is absolutely true. It is a value that Karen and I deeply share. For all the quirks we each have (I have them in spades), this underlying foundation of love for one another and our enjoyment of each other has made marriage our mutual blessing.

The second side of family is the family that reared me. Mom's been gone ten years now and my brothers and sister are scattered to the four winds. We got together for the first time since Mom died last June. I was amazed that, in spite of our widely divergent paths, we acted like brothers and sister once more.

A specific blessing for which I am thankful is a reconciled relationship with my Dad. He and I haven't always been close. In fact, there have been silent periods between us that lasted for years. Nothing direct mind you: our family has always played "passive aggressive" like champions.

That was until Mom died. In her death I came to terms with the fact that life is too short to be estranged from loved ones, especially my Dad. I let go of grudges that weren't mine to carry. I set aside my own expectations that were juvenile and impossible. The result has been a relationship with Dad that is healthier and more relaxed than ever.

The third side of family is the family I married into. Karen and I were opposites when we got married: I'm the oldest child, she's the youngest; my parents were 21 when I was born, her Mom was 35 and her Dad was 39 when she was born; I was a city boy, she was/is a country girl. For a long time Karen's family had the veneer of people without problems. My family had problems for as long as I could remember.

I am thankful for Karen's Mom and Dad and for the example of a solid, life-long marriage they provided for me, especially when we were newlyweds. I am thankful for her Dad because I had never met any one who worked in a factory before knowing him. I never really knew a farmer, either. I am thankful for my mother-in-law, who had the wisdom to teach Karen how to be a good wife and Mother.

My greatest appreciation for Karen's family, especially her Mom and Dad, is their faith. Karen's Dad was someone whose life had been transformed by the Gospel. Living for God was more than a passion for him: it simply was who he was. There were really no questions about things like going to Church or working on Sunday or which of the bad words were OK. He lived his life accountable to God and, if you could peek at his final marks, I suspect you'd see that he got into Heaven with all A's.

"I am thankful for my friends
And my family,
Thankful for the food I eat . . ."

Perhaps too thankful. My adult life has been fraught with one diet after the other. I've been up and down and up and down on the scale, though more up than down as my latter years have settled in. Other than a few minor health concerns, my weight doesn't really get to me.

This is good because I am really thankful for food. I am thankful that I married a great cook. Here are some specific thing Karen makes that I am thankful for:
- Mediterranean pasta: this is a cream based pasta with nuts that costs a couple hundred calories just to smell
- Those oatmeal cookies from the Swiss Pantry cookbook: a happy reminder of our years in Berne (pass the milk, please)
- Chicken with long grain rice: Although this certainly raises both blood pressure and cholesterol, it is also one of the tastiest things I've ever put in my mouth
- Secret recipe chicken marinade: She says it's only Worcestershire and vinegar, but I know better, and when the chicken comes off the grill, mmmm-mmmmm
- Sugar Cream Pie: Not like those store pies, this is the real deal - real cream, real sugar, and not much else (I'm drooling)
- Chili: Chili is supposed to be a man's domain, but Karen makes chili that puts men to shame - we have to sleep in separate rooms after we have it :-)
- Salmon on the Grill: Again, she says she doesn't do anything special to the salmon, but how does it happen that hers is better that anyone's?
- Steaks: Without fail, when I have a steak in a restaurant I leave wishing that I had simply been at home with one Karen made
- Green Salad: Maybe its the big wooden bowl, I don't know, but Karen's mixed green salads complemented by her always unique blend of ingredients are the bomb
- Peppermint Trifle: Another simple secret recipe that leaves you begging for more

I could go on, but now my stomach's growling. I'll never finish if I don't move on to:

". . .thankful to be me."

I don't put a lot of stock in "being me." I know who I am and I know what I'm capable of, and it isn't very good. I know that I'm selfish and bigoted and often Pharisaical. I'm not so thankful for my moods, my temper, and my self-indulgence.

It would be more accurate to say that I'm thankful for who I am in Christ. I am thankful that God didn't reject a sinful man like me and leave me to wallow in my sins. I am thankful that He saw me for who I could be, not for who I am. I am thankful every day that God gives me hope and optimism and grace and those things trump the wickedness I'm so prone to.

Thanks for reading this. I hope maybe I've helped you to be thankful for all you enjoy at this Thanksgiving.

And maybe I've passed this little song on so it can run around your head for a while:

I am thankful for my friends
And my family,
Thankful for the food I eat
And thankful to be me.

"Only 72" - a little perspective

2009-11-05T09:36:00.003-05:00

A woman came to my office today to talk about her neice.

"She's developed a rare form of Parkinson's disease. It's in her hands now but will be spreading fast. If you have a moment, will you pray for her? She's only 72."

That's right: "Only 72."

You see, the woman who came to my office (the woman with Parkinson's aunt) is 93. She's an active member of Rotary, her Church, and life in the retirement community where I work. She doesn't drive anymore, but she gets around like no one's business.

To her, 72 is a spring chicken.

We have nine people who live here who are over 100 years old - their average age is 102 and five months. When I'm not being pastor (at the moment), knowing these old folks gives me a different view of the world. It gives me hope.

There are 92 people who live here who are over 90 years old. Far and away most of them are in good health, living mostly independently. In fact, seven of them live in our on-campus condominiums, completely independent.

The fact that I work around so many people who are so full of health for so many years has given me a few perspectives on my own health and happiness.

First, I need to quit worrying about so much. The other day I was with a 102 year old man taking him on an errand. I was a little late picking him up at the store. I apologized for my lateness and he said, "You know, life's too short to worry about little things like that. Besides, time is something I have plenty of."

He's right. I hope when I'm 102 I can say with confidence, "time is something I have plenty of."

Hopefully, I'm learning to worry about the 'big things' and let go of what I can't deal with. Someone I love is in the hospital - that's a big worry. Can't get reception on the TV - no big deal. The less I worry about, the better view I have of life.

One of our centenarians (I'll call her Carolyn) worries about very little. She walks with a cane now, but she still walks. The cane she uses is a beautiful black polished piece of wood with a well-worn brass duck's head on the top. The cane belonged to her grandmother. :-)

Carolyn drove until she was 99. She is now 104+. She told me once, "I want to get stopped for speeding sometime so I can see the look on the officer's face when he sees I was born in 1905." You gotta love a woman like that.

Anyhow, Carolyn was in one of our dining rooms having a late breakfast - it was about 9:30 a.m. Defying all conventional wisdom, she sat at her table with a plate in front of her with two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon, a hearty serving of hashbrown potatoes, toast with real butter, a cup of real coffee. As I approached her, she was shaking salt over her breakfast like there was no tomorrow.

"Carolyn," I said, "I wish I could use salt like that. But you know . . ."

"They told me that too over the years," she replied, "But you know what? I like salt."

And that was that. She didn't worry about what all the doctors and magazines said. She liked to salt her eggs. At 104 I say "more power to her."

Second, I need to be healthy. Most of our 90 year olds are from the pre-smoking, pre-drinking generation of life. Smoking is prohibited on our campus here and a vast majority of our folks don't drink. Those who do drink don't drink much more than wine or an occasional beer.

They also have lifelong healthy habits. They garden. They walk. They read good books. They keep informed about current events. They go to Church regularly and have strong personal devotional lives. Many of them still play musical instruments or a hobby that they enjoy. These are lifelong, healthy habits.

I need to be more healthy. Carolyn's salt habit not withstanding, she, and others in the 90+ age group learned a few things through their lives. They learned to enjoy walking where they could. They learned to do without in the Great Depression. They learned to work for what they had before paying for it - rather than getting swallowed in debt they couldn't pay afterwards.

Even their recreation was healthier. These folks played baseball - they didn't have satellite with a dozen channels of baseball to watch. These people went camping in tents, building fires, hunting and fishing and all thay - they didn't travel place to place in a $250,000 RV with all the amenities of home. They were leaders, builders, donors, and workers. And when they were done, they went home - not to a bar, not to a club, not to other distractions - because home was where their hearts were.

Third, these people really enjoy living. Every day is a new adventure. Everyday they get out of bed with a list of things to do, people to see, wishes to fulfill. They love their families and they enjoy their friends.

These folks have taught me that part of the joy of living to be 90 and 100 is simply to accept the joy of every day.

Finally, our 90+ and 100+ gang has taught me that aging is truly only a state of mind. No one is going to prevent wrinkles or compromised immune systems or greying hair or muscle shrinkage or any of the other 'benefits' of aging, so why try to fight it?

When we're kids, we go through a whole lot more changes in our bodies, minds, and souls than we do as adults. But even in our adult years we change. Through the parenting years and the empty nest years, our bodies adapt to whatever comes our way.

Why should we think that aging would be any different? Yes, joints weaken, circulation slows, breathing becomes more difficult, etc. But why can't we accept that this is as much a natural part of our lives as learning how to balance on a bicylce or develping a mind to attend college or anything else?

Our older older adults remind me that it's healthiest and best to take life in stride and accept what comes your way instead of trying to fight it. There's no harm in growing older . . . and it sure beats the alternative.

Core Values

2009-10-30T17:10:00.007-05:00

I get newsletters from several Churches. Most of them are from congregations served by men I know who are their pastors. Some of them I get for work so that we can arrange to get residents to community events. Some I get just because I'm curious about what goes on in other Churches.

Yesterday, I got a newsletter from a Church in North Manchester that made me think about something I haven't thought about for a long time: "core values." "Five Core Values" of that Church were listed on the title page (and re-stated on the inside of the newsletter). They were what the pastor and congregation had determined to be what gives that Church meaning and purpose.

When I visited the congregation's website, the core values were listed there. In addition, the Church's vision for itself and its philosophy of renewal were given.

I know this pastor fairly well, and although he and I are worlds apart in ministry style and approach, I think he and I are on the same page when it comes to the fact that a Church without vision, without values, and without a philosophy of spiritual life, is a Church that is stagnant and lifeless.

So, I got to thinking: What is my vision for Peoria Church? What are our core values? What is our philosophy of spiritual life?

First, vision. My vision for Peoria Church is that our Church would be a place of worship and prayer, a sanctuary for worshiping God in a busy and tempting world and an oasis for personal and corporate prayer in an otherwise noisy world. My vision is that we would be the people of God in our corner of the world, wherever that might be: at home, at work, at school, in public and in private. My vision is that we would not be shy about understanding God's Word as it applies to our own lives and to the life of the world around us.

How about that? :-)

Next, core values. Following this other Church's lead, I'll list five values I think are important to Peoria Church (and believe it or not, not one of them has to do with Church dinners). :-)

1) Knowing God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, is the highest aim of life. We are made in God's image and through faith in Him, that image is restored to us. We are made whole from the damages of sin by God's saving action in the Incarnation, Life, Baptism, Transfiguration, Suffering, Crucifixion, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus Christ. We bear the fruits of the Holy Spirit and exercise His gifts as He empowers us.

2) Being Christian is something we take seriously. This doesn't mean we are stuffy or humorless - far from it. At the same time, we know God and we see Him at work in our lives in many ways. We don't have all the answers about faith, but we know that the Holy Spirit will guide us into all wisdom, if we seek Him. The old saying is certainly true: "Only one life, 'twill soon be past; only what's done for Christ will last."

3) None of us is perfect and we understand that about each other. We see everyone as equally valuable in God's sight, and that the Church is a place of healing for sinners as much as it is a household of the saints.

4) Generosity is shown through actions as well as through giving. God has been tremendously generous with us and we enjoy many blessings in our lives. We want to extend God's generosity to us to our families, friends, neighbors, and those in the community who are in need.

5) By honoring men and women of faith who have gone before us, we remember who we are and where we are going. Whether it's loved ones we have known well or the ancestors of Peoria Church or the saints of the ages, we understand that we are part of an ageless journey that is 'marching to Zion'.

Those are pretty lofty values, aren't they?

Finally, philosophy of spiritual life. St. Paul told our Christian ancestors: "If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit" (Gal. 5:25). There is a three-fold balance in living out the Christian life, comprised of relationship, religion, and responsibility.

"Relationship" involves a living relationship with the living God and a vital relationship with God's people. We cannot live the Christian life as if we were on an island. A relationship with God implies a relationship with everyone else who has a relationship with Him. Our corporate relationship with God is expressed through the Sacraments. Baptism marks the beginning of our life in Christ. Chrismation indicates the seal and commitment of the Holy Spirit to us. Holy Communion is our fellowship with one another around the Lord's Table, with the Lord Himself as Host. In marriage, a man and woman model the relationship that is "betwixt Christ and His Church." With the 'laying on of hands' our relationship with one another is demonstrated in prayer.

"Religion" is the acting out of our faith. A relationship with God is incomplete without religion. Religion is expressed in regular habits of prayer, Bible reading, Christian service, Church attendance and participation, and other activity that glorifies God. Good religion challenges our own spiritual complacency, and shines as a light in a dark world.

"Responsibility" gives spiritual life perspective. Who is responsible for our salvation? God Himself. We are responsible to God through living "in response" to Him. All facets of our lives are a gift from God and we respond to God with thanksgiving and supplication, that His will would be done "on earth as it is in Heaven." We are responsible to love one another as Christ has loved us, not in a manner that would govern each others' lives, but in a manner that would allow us to walk together arm in arm.

There you have it. A vision for our Church. Five Core Values. And a Philosophy of Spiritual Life.

What do you think?

The Last Serious Creationist?

2009-10-26T07:52:00.002-05:00

I've never felt compelled to explain why I believe that God made the world in six days (and rested on the seventh). That's not what this particular blog entry is about.

I've also never been able to put my finger on why I think the evolutionists are fabricating things, but I do. There's something in my gut that just tells me everytime that they're pulling the wool over peoples' eyes. That is what this particular blog entry is about.

I think some of it must have to do with my sense of where I belong in the world. I'm perfectly content to believe that God, in His infinite and incomprehensible wisdom, made me (and everyone else) and everything I can see (and cannot see). It's never occurred to me that I might be the center of the universe, or that I might somehow be the top of the line in an abstract evolutionary cycle, or that my own ego would ever swell to a size that would leave no room for the existence of God.

It's not that I'm uneducated. I have a good brain and I study constantly. I've read many things about evolution and it just seems fake. False. Untrue.

Don't get me wrong: I understand the whole billions of years hypotheses and all that goes with it. I understand that observable changes in cell structure happen all the time. I know that species go extinct all the time, whether by human intervention or by natural selection. I know that many scientists say that evolution is indisputable, proven, and beyond doubt.

That's really not the point, is it?

The point is that evolution doesn't really explain the very real facets of living that really matter. Evolution has no satisfactory explanation for why men and women fall in love. Evolution has no system of identifying the innate, intangible aspects of life: wisdom, understanding, grief, pentitence, gratitude, etc. These experiences are the real 'substance' of life.

Scientists create models and systems that are, in a word, self-auditing. With no one to answer to but themselves, those who believe in evolution check the development of the species against data that they create themselves. It's like letting the students determine their own grading scale.

How old is that fossil? "Dating methods" say a million years.

Oh? And how were the dating methods derived? "Well, we collected the data and analyzed it and compared it to processes we are able to calculate in a laboratory."

And how were the processes determined? "Well, you see, we believe that it must have taken this much time for that particular reaction to occur, based on our mathmatical calculations."

And who came up with the math? "The best university scholars available."

Doesn't this seem fishy to anyone else? Am I the only one to question this?

This self-presumptive evaluation process has, in less than 200 years, postured itself to be beyond question. "No one" questions evolution any more and the millions of Americans (and others arond the world) who do not, are presumed by the self-presumptives to be less than informed, a little dull, or, simply ignorant.

In such a way, evolution has become like the stone idols of yesteryear, who reign without answering. Evolution's indifference to intelligent dialog is just one more wood-carved Asherah pole on the hillside. God invites seekers . . . why is evolution immune from questioning?

All of the systems and models of evolution try to explain biological and geological functions, without approaching any meaningful understanding of anything to do with the spirit.

To me, this is the great and significant flaw in evolution. To those who believe in it, life is merely the collective biological experience of plants, animals, and humans. They are not merely wrong on this: they are dead wrong.

What difference does it make how old the rocks are if we can't understand the part of a man that makes him want to take up arms against his neighbor?

What good is the science that doesn't comprehend the idylls of poetry, the lofty airs of good music, or the warm affection of an embrace?

Is science worth a stitch if it doesn't find value in redemption of souls, forgiveness of sins, or reconciliation of adversaries?

Another significant error, consistent with many evolutionists, is their denial of a Being that is larger than human experience. Very often, atheism and evolution walk hand-in-hand. (I know this isn't universally true, but it is very often the case.)

It's not so much denial as it is 'dancing around'. In every book I've read, every film I've seen, every TV show I've watched on the subject - and even those that deal with evolution on the periphery - they make statements like this:
"After 10 million years living in the swampland, the species developed feathers and flew to the trees."

"The species developed"? How do they do that? Corporately? Through trial and error? After careful analysis of the situation? Voting?

Of course, this also depends on whether the aforementioned swampland remains the same over that same 10 million year period, which, according to evolutionists, would be very unlikely. It depends on the lifespan of the species in question. And, for example, if it were the lifespan of some [imagined] precursor to the cat, it would still take 500,000 generations of cats to make this change . . . 500,000 generations of an animal that is unable to communicate memory or history beyond its own immediate circumstances.

Is there some greater force at work? Something that guides those species to adapt?

Well, that can't be, if there is no God, can it?

Yet, according to the evolutionists, this is somehow magically able to happen. I'm not sure how if there is no supernatural, and since evolution is beyond question, I dare not ask.

To me, it's easier - and more believable - to understand that God made the universe in six days. No explanation required. It's a matter of faith.

But faith is one of those things that science can't explain, either. :-)

Hoosierisms

2009-10-22T07:12:00.003-05:00

I was in the old Marsh Store in Portland, Ind., would have been about 1990. Karen was at home with the kids and I was doing the grocery shopping.

In the produce department, I was looking at apples and not finding a price, I asked the attendant simply: "How much are them apples?"

Ack!

In my mind I replayed those last few words. Did I really say "them apples"?

I had.

Then it dawned on me . . .Since I moved to Indiana in 1984, I've picked up a little bit of the Hoosier dialect.

Indiana English is an interesting amalgam of cultures and voices. I think there are subtelties of the ancient Indiana languages that underlay our history: quiet murmurings and innuendos that you have to be part of to understand.

There is the German influence: until World War I, German was the second most commonly spoken language here, and even then, most of them didn't give it up willingly. Until the mid-90's, the public radio station in Fort Wayne still ran it's weekly "Die Deutsche Stunde" - the German Hour. (Many Hoosiers may no longer speak German, but they're Germans at heart.)

Another big influence on Indiana English is Mountain English, as in Kentucky mountains. In the depression, many unemployed southerners (including my in-laws) made their way to Indiana to work in the automobile factories, which became munitions plants in World War II. In addition to the auto industry, later developments in recreational vehicles, steel, and other heavy manufacturing gave rise to many opportunities.

Here are some examples:
"I've ate . . ." - Excuse me? In the rest of the English speaking world, one 'has eaten' something. However, I can't tell you the number of times I hear Hoosiers say, "I've ate three pieces of pie."

"You'ns . . ." - I think this is a carry over from those Germans I mentioned earlier. People tell me that 'you'ns' is common in Pennsylvania, too, which tends to make me think this way.

"Hamburger sandwich" - When I told my Dad that people in Indiana often say "Hamburger sandwich" I thought he was going to have to come up for air.

"Chili soup" - Like 'hamburger sandwich', "chili soup" demonstrates the wonderful Hoosier flair for redundancy.

"State Road ___" - Yes, you are certain to identify yourself as an outsider if you say "State Route". 'Routes' are federal roads - Washington intrusions into the Hoosier heartland. Save yourself a lecture next time you drive through here - ask for the State Road [Number].

"Fast time" - For now, daylight saving time is the law of the land here. However, you will find many Hoosiers pining for "slow time" - the good old days of year 'round standard time. Daylight saving time is still referred to as 'fast time' in many quarters: even those who may not use the term know exactly what it means.

"Off-Ten" - I do it, too, now. I was reared to keep the T silent in "often." Those lessons were all in vain. There are Hoosiers who mute the T in public, but in private conversation, just listen carefully.

Dangling "at" - You know: "Where is my coat at?" or "Where did you eat at?" or "What time does that start at?" Most Hoosierisms don't bug me, but this one gets me every time . . . and I'm as guilty as anyone for using it!

"[Ten] a.m. in the morning" - Everyone does this in Indiana . . . just this morning on three separate TV stations, on each channel the weather man said, in effect, "It will start to cloud over around ten a.m. in the morning." It doesn't matter that a.m. already means "in the morning" (or that p.m. already means "in the evening"). More Hoosier redundancy.

There are more! Send any along to me - you know where I'm at!

How do you tell someone . . .?

2009-10-07T13:29:00.003-05:00

I regularly travel to the Land of Oblivion. It's that quiet land where one is unaware of his or her actions, even when they're embarassing, and goes their merry way thinking nothing of potential social infractions.

With that in mind, I was presented with a dilemma at dinner today. When I first heard the lip smacking, open-mouthed crunching, and speech garbled by partially chewed food, I had to do a self-check.

Was it me? No. (I doubled checked, just to make sure.)

Instead, it was the man I was dining with, an incoming resident to the retirement community where I work. This man was very successful in life: a good, long marriage, financial prosperity, a beautiful home, very strong health into his later years, etc. Even in the little Chinese restaurant we were in, he was wearing a jacket and tie and cuff links. (I was in work pants and a polo shirt.)

How could someone so successful in life make it as far as this guy had without realizing that he chewed like a starved alligator going after a tuna-stuffed house pet?

That got me to thinking even further: How do you tell someone like that about their obvious (to everyone else) social infraction?

What about these social infractions?
A booger dangling. Karen has a code for me: "There's a bat in the cave." But what about someone who doesn't know the code?

Dribbles. Not on your chin . . . lower. No, not on your shirt . . . lower. You know, middle-aged man comes out of the restroom with dribbles, you know, um, there. (Karen has no code for me on this one.)

Halitosis. I am acutely aware of my own halitosis, thanks to 28 years of training from Karen. But the other guy? What do you do when he refuses a piece of gum? (Please note, according to my sources, women do not have bad breath.)

Unbuttoned belly-button. You've seen the guy with the over-sized belly, looking all dapper with his short tie and that tuft of belly hair sitcking out where the fourth button ought to be. What do you say - if anything?

Fumes. I write this not only as a traveler in Oblivion, but also as a connoiseur of all things cabbage: cole slaw, sauerkraut, cooked cabbage, etc. I don't notice my own 'fumes' (as Karen reminds me), but how does one broach the subject with other cabbage - and legume - lovers.

Runners (in panty hose). Oops. This happens to women. Can't say anything.

You get the idea. How can you be tactful in these situations?

Your ideas may help me, and other citizens of Oblivion, to get a better grip on our lives. Thanks!

Work Junkie: It's Hard to Rest

2009-09-05T08:34:00.006-05:00

Twice in our married life Karen has bought me hammocks. With visions of lazy afternoons in the back yard, sleeping with a book on my chest, I've opened them with enthusiasm, only to set the hammock aside for 'another day'.

In my library I have stacks of books that I hope to read 'when I get the time'.

When Mom died ten years ago, I kept bags full of her unfinished projects - rugs, knitting, needlepoint, etc. - for that day, some time, somewhere, in my spare time, that I would learn how to hook rugs, knit, and needlepoint, to finish those projects in tribute to her.

These are just a few examples of one of my major character flaws: I'm a work junkie.

I'm not a work-aholic. The workaholic is that Type A guy you know who's always on the phone and never stops talking about work. A workaholic seems to work constantly in spite of himself: making lists, late nights at work (for work), eating on the run. He's always striving for the next big thing - house, car, second house, etc. - and yet never seems satisfied with those things.

No, that's not me. I'm a work junkie. I get a fix, a high, from working.

A work junkie enjoys work for work's sake. A workholic works to produce in a way that never satisfies him.

A work junkie gets a rush from his labors. A workaholic can't seem to stop, even though there's no real joy in his efforts.

A work junkie has heroes, like Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Edison, Henry Ford and Captain Thomas Lipton (of the Lipton Tea Co., who allegedly used to have 'work is fun' placed on the tags of all his products). A workaholic is his own hero, not striving to work for a nobler cause, but for himself.

I've caught myself on more than one occastion saying, "Work is fun."

Several years ago I bought a 'reel mower'. You know, the old fashioned kind you push that has a cylinder of curved blades that cuts the grass. Think Amish. Friends and neighbors thought it was so "green." Karen thought it was foolish. I just thought it was great hard work. And I used it until it broke and I couldn't fix it.

As a work junkie I find it hard to rest. I do rest, but I feel guilty about it. Even my entertainment is work related. When I go to movies, I always think about whether or not they'd be good for the folks at Church or at Timbercrest. I don't read novels (even though I've written one)... they don't help me with work. My preference on TV is for things that help me work: garden shows, cooking shows, how-to shows.

Even now, while I'm writing this, I hear my neighbors outside running a leaf blower and I think, "I need to get out and get busy."

I know I need to rest. My body is 51 years old now and I can't do what I used to do. I know that I need to make time for myself: my stress level and blood pressure will appreciate it. But it's hard.

I see so many things I want to do. I'd love to open my own business. I've thought of all sorts of businesses to start: a root beer brewery, an artisan mall, an events management company for classical and folk musicians, a radio variety show (like Prairie Home Companion) called "Roann Saturday Night," a nursing home that doesn't use medications (only diet, therapy, exercise, and natural treatments), a cemetery that only charges a minimal amount for a plot and everyone has the same stone, and any number of other ideas.

I'd love to be a philanthropist. I'd use my millions to open a high quality, free, private school for rural kids, that would focus on rural life skills, classical learning, and values important to sustain our rural culture (like, hard work). I'd build a community band stand in the park here in Roann so that all summer we could have all sorts of music playing each week for people to come and enjoy. I'd build a carillon out at Peoria Church so that in the summer evenings the bells would praise God over the rolling valley, and fishermen and farmers and children would stop and think about their souls.

Just thinking about all this work gets me jazzed.

It's hard to rest when you have all this going on in your head. So much work to do and so little time.

Which reminds me. Karen's spending the day on the river with some friends.
Alex is asleep on the davenport.
And I think I hear the garden calling.

Time to get to work.

Why City People Make Me Smile

2009-08-30T17:42:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago, Karen and I had the chance to visit our daughter in Colorado Springs. In case you haven't heard, besides Pike's Peak and the Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs is a pretty good size town - half a million people, by some counts.

We did lots of shopping and walking and eating and napping while Allison was at work. When we were in town, we were afforded lots of time for "people watching."

City people are funny. They are truly a different breed than we who enjoy the good life.

Consider this simple example: a friendly wave. In our neck of the woods, folks wave all the time. You see someone across the road, you wave. You're driving down a county road and come up on another driver, you wave. You drive by someone out working in their yard, you wave.

Not in the city.

I tried waving at some strangers while we were driving from the Denver Airport to "the Springs" and you would have thought I was waving a pistol at them.

We were shopping in Old Colorado City, an historic area of "the Springs." While Karen browsed in some of the endless women-only stores, I waited on one of the Husband Benches on the sidewalk. As I sat, I watched the passers-by. When someone would catch my eye - man, woman, child, dog - I'd just give them a little wave, my way of saying, "Howdy, I'm a visitor here."

You would have thought I had flashed them. (Ironically, I think if I had flashed someone in the city, they wouldn't have noticed.)

City people make me smile because they like to be pretentious. Karen and I have become dowdy, middle-aged Hoosiers, happy with ourselves, and, in Indiana, acting and appearing like many of our peers. All the falderol city-folks create to get you to eat in their place, shop in their store, visit their museum, and give up (lots) of your dollars is amusing.

You can't just buy a pizza in the city. You have to get an olive oil crust, with all sorts of "fromaggio" and sun-baked vegetables you never heard of. And pizza meat, where you can get it, isn't just pepperoni or sausage. There's cotechino, linguisa, salsiccia, cervellatina, salami, calabresse - not one thing produced by Jimmy Dean or Bob Evans.

It seems to me that Tony's in the freezer at the grocery is about as good.

Another bit of pretentiousness that amuses me is the lengths city folks seem to go to in order to look rural, or rustic, or country. Out here in corn country, old barns look weather-worn because they are. Folk art isn't necessarily intentional: it's what we do when we can't get any reception on our TV aerials.

And we raise beans, corn, tomatoes, onions, beets, cabbage, peas, and lettuce in our gardens. Sometimes green peppers. The surplus goes in canning jars, on shelves, in the basement.

In the city, they raise kholrabi and kale. They grow bok choi and purple carrots, endive and squash blossoms.

Organically.

Karen told Allison that she grew up with organic foods and Allison seemed to be amazed. "My Mom put the kitchen scraps on the garden because we didn't have a disposal. She didn't know she was composting. Dad put manure from the barns on the garden long before they began bagging it and getting $5 for 20 lbs."

Allison stood agape.

I get to the city once in a while here in Indiana. The contrast isn't quite as stark, but it's there.

Heaven forbid you should take your time to look at the beautiful buildings while you're driving on I-465 in Indianapolis. The city folks seem to be in such a hurry to get places.

It was in the city that I first encountered a "Pay Before You Pump" gas station. In Roann, the station doesn't even take credit cards - cash or check only. (Yes, a check. Remember those?)

Even Church in the city is different. Our neice, who goes to an Indianapolis "mega-Church" pointed it out to me.

On a visit to our Church, where she was singing a special, her young sons played and ran and got all sweaty in the Church basement with other kids from the Church who came. They colored with crayons, played with non-electric toys, and snuck cookies from the refreshment table, just like the other Church kids there.

At her Church, the kids and parents are given a number and ID's that stop just this side of facial recognition technology. If the kids are causing trouble or need help, the kid's number flashes on a screen in the 'auditorium' and the parent brings their corresponding ID number and is then shown to their child.

This last thing - about the kids - doesn't really make me smile. It makes me sad.

And it reminds me again about how much I enjoy being a parson in the country.

What to Do With Mary?

2009-08-24T15:47:00.011-05:00

I don't know what to do with the Virgin Mary.

I know, a lot of people, especially my fellow Protestant Christians, consider Mary a non-issue. Why think about Mary when we already have Jesus? And, in a way, they are correct. We have direct access to faith, love, prayer, and the throne of grace through Jesus Christ.

That really isn't the point.

The Virgin Mary is unique in human history, the woman chosen - and who humbly accepted - to carry God the Son in her womb. The Bible teaches that she is to be revered and that she is "blessed" among women. The Third Ecumenical Council (431) signified Mary's importance by affirming that she the "Theotokos" - the Bearer of God, or, more personally, the Mother of God. [This is not a title of elevation of Mary, but a statement of fact: the eternal Son of God is truly, fully divine and has no 'beginning', but the fact that He came to earth in the flesh indicates that He truly has a human mother, hence the title Mother of God.]

I don't have an issue with that. But some do, Catholics, Orthodox, and Protestants.

Protestants throw the baby out with the bath-water. They tend to avoid Mary except when they buy the religious stamps for Christmas cards from the Post Office. Very little is ever said of her outside the context of the Christmas story. (It should be noted that this skittishness about her is a late development among Protestants. Martin Luther and other Lutheran reformers and the Wesleys and other Anglican reformers were comfortable with Mary as Theotokos and didn't shy away from her at all.)

The Catholic issues go to the other extreme, and some even go so far as to refer to Mary as a "co-redemptrix" with Jesus Christ: her suffering was akin to that of Christ. The Church of Rome has added all sorts of titles and honorifics, doctrines and adulation to the humble Nazarene maiden.

The Orthodox seem the most balanced to me, but even they sometimes seem to go beyond the Biblical parameters to honor, bless, and commemorate Mary at times.

So I'm still perplexed. What do I do with Mary?

This is important to me because Mary is far too integrated into the Gospel story to be ignored. The Nativity accounts are just the beginning. Those years between the return to Nazareth (from Egypt) and finding Jesus in the Temple, Mary was the most important human in His life. She nursed Him, changed Him, dressed Him, kissed His 'owies', fed His friends, and made sure He had a normal human childhood.

She truly was the God-bearer, in her womb and in her arms.

After the Temple event, when He was twelve, Mary helped Her Son make it through adolescence. After His Bar Mitzvah, when Jesus would have been apprentice to his step-father Joseph (or another relative in the carpentry trade), Mary would have kept His supper warm until He got home, made sure He had breakfast, kept His clothes clean.

The whole while, Mary would have been "pondering these things in her heart," as St. Luke so poetically puts it.

Mary is one of the most visible women in the New Testament, and she appears a number of times in Jesus Christ's ministry years. Because of this, she comes across the pages of my own life - if I intend to live a life centered in the Gospels.

But how far across my life should she go? The Dormition Fast has just recently ended and the end of the octave (of the Dormition) was Sunday, so Mary has been on my mind a lot recently. I want to give her all the honor she's due. I want to follow her example as the first person to accept Jesus Christ.

But my Protestant mindset gets in the way. I know "Mother of God" is theologically correct, but it has a hard time coming off my tongue. I know that she's alive in Heaven (as are all who fall asleep in the Lord) and because of that she is with the Heavenly Host praying for our lost world, but I have a very hard time asking her to pray for me, personally.

The Orthodox Prayer goes like this: Rejoice, O Virgin Theotokos, Mary, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, for thou hast borne the Savior of the world.

I don't have any problem with this prayer at all (it's all Bible - see Luke 1), except for the part that involves actually 'saying' it.

I certainly don't have a problem honoring women of far less stature. St. Clare inspires me. Margaret Fell's prison work in 17th century England is absolutely commendable. Susan B. Anthony, Carrie Nation, the suffragettes, and other pioneers brought women into first-rate citizenship. Margaret Thatcher, Indira Ghandi, Golda Meir, and Queen Elizabeth have demonstrated that women are world leaders.

And none of them bore God the Son as His mother. The cumulative accomplishments of these women pale beside the acheivement of faith that Mary had.

It's a pickle. What do you do with Mary? What should I do?

Perspective

2009-06-03T07:56:00.002-05:00

Like a lot of people, we're cutting down on luxuries at the Daniels house. We're not eating out as much, which is probably healthier. We're carpooling more, which is also better for the billfold and the environment. We're not buying as much new stuff and we're trying to make the old stuff last longer.

Yes, these are hard times. Both of us have seen our retirement funds dwindle. Often, we feel lucky just to have jobs, while factories, restaurants, shops, and businesses of all sorts close down one-by-one.

But we're not feeling the pinch like some. Here's a little perspective:

1.2 billion people on earth live on less than a dollar a day
We are middle income Americans who can still pretty much afford whatever we want.

850 million people go to bed hungry every night
I go to bed every night worrying about how to lose these last 20 pounds

38% of the world's population doesn't have access to sanitation facilities and safe drinking water
I don't like to use a bathroom if it's not clean enough for me

600,000 families in America are homeless (permanently or temporarily) every year, affecting 1,350,000 children
Even though we have a mortgage, we enjoy our home, our extra space, even the rooms we don't use

15,000,000 children in the world are orphans due to AIDS deaths
We try to get new toys for the kids in our lives every time we turn around

$9.5 billion is spent every year on human trafficking (slavery), which traps almost 2 million children
This issue makes me squeemish, so I try to ignore it

You see, even though we are tightening up financially, we still have it pretty good.

Pretty good? No, very good.

We are very blessed and not thankful enough.

We are very full and still not satisfied.

We have everything we need and yet we spend days shopping for more.

We spend more for entertainment than we give to charity.

We pay our taxes and are not dependent on the government for food, shelter or medicine.

Our health is strong and our doctor sees us at a moment's notice if we need to.

No matter how bad things get, I have to keep these sorts of things in perpective. They're things that I know already, but it seems like I always need to be reminded of them. When I look at the repairs needed on our house, I should be thankful that I have a house to live in. When I'm foraging for a snack before bedtime, I should remember that any snack is more than many get in a day.

Things aren't all bleak, though. And that's important to keep in mind, also.

Christians across the country are mobilizing to end trafficking in human lives.

Groups like Habitat for Humanity are expanding their mission to a global one, while maintaining their Christian commitment to serve in the U.S.

International workers in the U.S. send over $200 billion a year back to their homelands to aid their families and communities.

In spite of rising umployment and stagnant and decreasing personal income, 24% of evangelical Christians tithe (10%), 9% of all Protestants tithe, and 11% of Pentecostals tithe. This is an increase over the last ten years. Evangelical Christians donate an average of $4260 per year to Church and charity, compared to $865 to the average Christian household.

In these slow economic times, may we remember the words of the Trisagion Prayer:
O Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth,
Who is in all places and fills all things,
Treasury of good things and Giver of Life,
Come and abide in us.

Amen?

The Warble of Spring

2009-05-06T13:00:00.004-05:00

When I stepped out on the porch a week or two ago, I thought I heard it, a muffled warble coming from the old school a couple blocks from our house.

But it was late and I was too tired to investigate.

Rain created a few nights of quiet, but sure enough, Monday night I heard it again.

The warble began in low tones: "Heeeeeeeey b-ttrrrrrr! Heeeeeeeeeey b-ttrrrrrrrrr!"

At times the tones were unified, like chanting monks going to vespers. This was early in the evening.

As the sun continued its slow set on the Spring horizon, the warble began to take a different cadence.

One voice would start: "Heeeeeeeeey b-ttrrrrr! Heeeeeeeey b-ttrrrrrrr!"

A second later, another voice: "Heeeeeeeyy b-tttrrrr b-ttrrrr b-ttrrrr!"

In a sort of mystic syncopation, then a third voice joined, different from either of the previous voices: "He-cant-hit! He-cant-hit! He-cant-hit!"

As I looked toward the old school I saw the sky brightening, even though the school is to the east of our house and the sun was clearly setting in the west. It was a bright, white light, a phenomenon we only see in Roann in the Spring and early Summer.

Yes, baseball has come back. I should have deduced it earlier when the traffic of boys on bicycles began to pick up, speeding past our house towards the school. But I've been too busy trying to pick up after this long dreary winter to notice things like this.

I put Buddy on the leash and we strolled down to the school. A game was going full bore. The parking around the school was jammed with mini-vans and older model sedans laden with car seats and fast food wrappers. Siblings younger than the ball players were out entertaining each other in games of tag and chase. Some were nibbling on sweets or popcorn from the concession stand. Parents sat on bleachers making sure their son got his chance to play (and his chance to play the same amount of time as all the other kids).

Too many kids and too many distractions kept Buddy and me from getting too close, so we decided we'd just take a longer walk around the big block (1.6 mi.). As we walked, I reflected on my own ignoble years playing baseball.

I only played for two seasons. I think they were the longest years of my father's life. I played for Travel-Mart, as did my younger brothers after me. I don't ever remember hitting the ball. Ever.

I was always placed in the outfield. I used to think I was put out there because my coach knew I had no talent for baseball. Now I think he was being understanding: he knew I'd much rather look at the sky or the grasshoppers or just about anything else besides the baseball game.

The only play I ever remember being involved with was one where I nearly cleared the bench.

The ball had been hit to my quiet corner of the field. This was odd, because most hits didn't make it past the baselines (once again demonstrating my coach's wisdom).

I snapped out of my usual day dream after I heard the coach (and practically everyone else) screaming and yelling that I was, indeed, the closest player to the ball. It had bounced and landed practically at my feet.

"This is interesting," I thought. It took me a moment to realize that I needed to pick it up and somehow get it to the catcher. So, with the energy of a champion, I picked up the ball and threw it with all my might.

It was a beautiful throw. I couldn't believe that such a beautiful throw had come from my arm. I was captured by the clear arc the ball made as it headed toward the infield. I was amazed at myself.

It would have been perfect if only it had gone towards the catcher. Instead, my beautiful throw went straight into the dugout. The raft of boys sitting on the bench inside ducked, fast. I remember hearing the ball make a crack as it hit the cinderblock wall at the far end of the dugout then a crashing sound as it ricocheted off the wire fencing that separated the infield from the players.

"I was such a wuss," I chuckled to myself as Buddy and I kept walking.

For years I thought less of myself because I was no athlete. It wasn't for a lack of trying. My baseball career ended mercifully when we moved to the country for a year and I had no way to get to a ball park. For three years in junior high, I was on the fourth string of the football team. I hated every minute of it, but Mom said it would be good for me. I still don't believe her. I ran track in junior high also, which I really enjoyed. But even though I was fast, I was almost entirely non-competitive, so by tenth grade, I was cut and I haven't had to play anything since.

As an adult, I've enjoyed sports for their real value. I've run and jogged off and on over the years, not to win races but just because it's fun. I've been on a couple bowling teams, again more for friends and to win. And, believe it or not, I really enjoy lifting weights . . . not to get 'buff' or anything, but to relieve all the stress that I hold in from everyone but God. And Buddy.

Too soon the warble of Spring will be gone again and the ball diamond at the school will be still again until next year. I'll try to listen better for that familiar call once more: "Heeeeeeyyyyy b-tttrrrrrr! Heeeeeyyyyyy b-ttttrrrrrr! He-cant-hit! He-cant-hit!"

Rural Living: Neighbors

2009-03-27T20:06:00.004-05:00

Spring is here and along with croci, tulips, and winter wheat, neighbors can be seen popping out for folks to see.

You begin to see neighbors about the same time as you begin to see robins. Of course, some people think that robins don't really leave for the winter. Same thing could be said for neighbors. You get a glimpse of them once in a while during the winter - scraping cars, hurrying into the house after work, passing each other when you pick up the mail at the post office - but like robins, you have to wonder where they really go.

I was out working in the lawn when I had my first real 'neighboring' of the season. Earlier this year I bought a machete - yes, a real machete - to cut down the dead remains of flowers and plants from last fall.

I thought it would be good exercise.

Anyhow, I was out hacking away at our monstrosity of a pampas grass growing in the front yard. As I was 'exercising' the neighbor across the street came over with his electric hedge trimmer in hand.

"This'll take care of that in a couple passes," he said confidently.

Our neighbor is not much older than me, but he always makes me feel like a nincompoop. But that's his game. He means well. He's gotten to know me in the 12 years we've lived here and he's seen me work with tools. I can just imagine the conversation he had with his wife as they looked out the window at me and my machete, probably distilled to one word: "Sheesh."

But he was neighborly enough.
He has a new job.
(He gets a new job every Spring.)
His wife has recovered from her surgeries.
(I pretended that I remembered what she had surgery on.)
His daughter-in-law was bringing over her vacuum cleaner for repairs.
(I've seen her in action: probably can't find the 'On' switch.)

And I think I was neighborly, too.
Karen's Mom isn't doing well so we've been gone a lot.
(He noticed we weren't home much.)
We're taking down the three pine trees that have died over the winter.
(He was interested in the wood.)
I just can't get used to this Daylight Saving Time.
(He doesn't know anyone who likes it - nor do I.)

Other neighbors have been out and about, too. Kids are running around everywhere. Bikes have popped out of nowhere and balls and bats and scooters and skates and all manner of outdoor toy have re-appeared.

Everyone's sprucing up around their houses. And as neighbor meets neighbor again, the chats begin and the lives rekindle that make our little town a community once more.

It is my observation that neighboring like this has become the province of rural towns. We have no neighborhood associations to make us nervous about the people who live next to us. Sure, we have a neighbor who works on his cars in his driveway, but hey, it's his house, and he and I talk about things neither one of us would discuss otherwise: I keep him up on religion, he keeps me up on the junk car business.

Bigger cities and towns have 'neighborhoods', but they seem to be contrived. Houses all made too look the same, trying to create the image of neighborlyness that really only exists in the small rural town. One man I know from suburban Milwaukee said about our small town: "This is the kind of place we try to get our suburb to look like."

Being neighbors isn't the same as being friends, at the same time we are friendly with one another. We don't share a common life, as friends do, yet we share a common community which draws our lives together in a unique bond.

I think this is seen most clearly in the volunteer fire department. Three of our close neighbors belong to the fire department. A few days ago, there was a significant fire at the anhydrous plant a few miles from town. In a flash these three were in their trucks, blue lights flashing, ready to take care of a problem they hadn't created, risking their lives for someone they likely didn't know.

It was comforting to know that these same three men, and many like them, would have been at our front door in an instant, were there a fire at our house.

It's what neighbors do.

Repent, Mr. President.

2009-03-07T19:38:00.006-05:00

The image above is from the internet, by cartoonist Gary Varvel, originally published in the Indianapolis Star, 2004.

One of President Obama's first initiatives was to release funding that will allow the machinery of the abortion industry to fire up again. Our tax dollars will once again be used to extinguish the lives of unborn children here and around the world.

May God have mercy on him.

Now the president will be signing into law funding that will destroy the lives of the unborn in order to allow the mad scientists of our country to experiment on them.

These same scientists who developed the means for embryos to be created outside the natural process of a mother and father are now cackling their ways back into the laboratory with a fat check from the federal government . . . to further mutilate the natural process by destroying the very lives they have developed.

Where is Mary Shelley when we need her?

Some believe the benefits of taking the lives of these embryos is justified in the results that will be obtained. Some diseases that tragically affect men, women and children, might be cured by research on these embryos. People with Parkinson's disease may be cured. Diabetics may find help.

So the death of one justifies the life of another? I believe those who are merchandising human organs have the same philosophy.

The same president who rode the wave of unpopularity of the Iraq War into the White House now deems the in utero violence of abortion and stem cell research as justifiable.

Those who believe that this evil is acceptable have a fundamental misunderstanding of human life. They have accepted the premise that human life is no more valuable than that of any other creature on earth. It is expendable in the cause of science.

Human life is so much more than only what our physical body involves. The life created at the conception of sperm and egg is much more than a biological reaction of substances. It is also the beginning of all that makes us human: our capacity to love and be loved; our ability to care and demonstrate compassion for others; our understanding of right and wrong; our likeness in the image of our Creator.

In short, it is the "being" part of "human being" that is also created at conception. Many things exist, but only humans have "being." All creatures on earth breath the air, but only humans have the Breath of Life.

Clearly stem cell destruction and abortion are moral decisions. No amount of legislation will ultimately protect the lives of the unborn. They are dependent on the moral leadership of our president, our Congress, and the scientific community.

And they are being failed.

They are being failed by Barack Obama. Mr. President, you must repent.

They are being failed by Harry Reid, Senate majority leader. Mr. Reid, you must repent.

They are being failed by Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House. Mrs. Pelosi, you must repent.

It is no surprise that the president, a political liberal, would be affiliated with one of the most liberal denominations in the country, the United Church of Christ (UCC). The UCC has supported the murder of unborn children by abortion since before it was legal in the United States.

However, both Reid (a Mormon) and Pelosi (a Roman Catholic) are in defiance of their Churches through their endorsement of this pre-natal barbarism. Their defiance of the moral and spiritual directors of their lives smacks of arrogance, pride, and sin.

There are other sins that impact our national conscience: war, economic disparity, discrimination, racism, spousal abuse, alcoholism, child abuse, etc. However, none of these is so calloused as to inflict harm on a human life before it has drawn its first breath. None of these vices is so cynical as to create life in order to destroy it.

I am just a pastor of a small country Church. I love the Lord, my family, the Church. I do not know why I am called to make such bold statements to our president and the government. I just know that I am called to do so.

Please pray with me:
Almighty God, You have placed Barack Obama in the position of President of our nation; we honor him in that office, in the same manner that St. Peter admonished the Church to honor the king in the days of the Caesars. We pray for the president, that he would look to You, the King of Kings, for guidance, direction, and virtue. As he loves his own children, give him love for unborn children. May he have tenderness of heart for those awaiting birth; may he have mercy on them in the decisions he makes; may he seek ways to protect them, as a mother protects her own children. We pray for Mr. Obama's repentance, as we confess our own need for salvation and repentance through Your Divine Son, Jesus Christ, in Whose Name we pray. Amen.

Let the Fast Begin

2009-02-27T08:29:00.002-05:00

(This post is my sermon from Ash Wednesday Services at Peoria, Feb. 25, 2009)

Epistle: 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:10
Gospel: St. Matthew 6:1-6, 18-21

The first Sunday of Lent in 1983, I was asked to speak at an evening Lenten service of the campus Church at Findlay College. My subject was Fasting, since Lent is the traditional season for fasting for Christians.

In the congregation was Prof. Richard Kern, who taught History and Religion at the college. Prof. Kern was a minister in the college's sponsoring denomination and had been for quite a while.

After my sermon, as people were mingling, Prof. Kern approached me to chat. We talked for a little while and then he said something I've never forgotten. He said: "In nearly 30 years of ministry, this is the first sermon I've ever heard on fasting."

I was dumbfoundedly humbled and curious about why that would be. How could a man be in ministry for so long - how could he teach Religion for so long - and yet never hear a message about Fasting?

The interesting thing about fasting in the New Testament is that it’s not something that’s commanded – it’s something that’s assumed. Prayer and fasting are a duet that plays continually throughout the Bible, a melody offered to God by His faithful people.

Why is it that we pray so little and fast even less? I think part of it is because we don't really understand the importance of fasting. Often we have a hard time getting our hearts around the whole idea of prayer. To add "Fasting" seems nearly impossible.

Fasting has several dynamics that make it important for Christians:

1) Physical control
St. Paul states in several spots in the New Teatament: “I beat my body into submission” (in so many words). Taking charge of and being responsible for our physical being is a direct benefit of fasting.
* Do we control our bodies or do we allow our bodies to control us?
* Do we view our bodies as the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit or do we keep the Holy Spirit as a guest, occasionally visiting and not really at home?
* Fasting is also a means toward physical health that God intends for us by allowing our bodies to find balance from the excesses we often put them through.

2) Personal discipline
* As much as we appreciate the ideal of personal freedom, we don’t do well with it. Left to our own devices, we come to self-ruin and a life of regret. We become ‘gods’ unto ourselves with little use or need for the One God.
* Without personal discipline, we become our own standard of our own lives, with little sense of a common 'right and wrong'. This is the issue in the Old Testament Book of Judges: after the Hebrews spent years on a roller coaster of good and evil leadership, the Book concludes somewhat fataliztically: “every man did that which is right in his own eyes.”
* Personal discipline restrains our own desires in order to allow a sense of community with others. If we're only out for ourselves, what kind of world can we possibly hope to live in? Fasting is a simple, basic way of practicing personal discipline.

3) A matter of social justice
Isaiah 58 explains to us "the kind of fasting the Lord has chosen":
- to loose the chains of injustice
- to untie the cords of the yoke
- to set the oppressed free
- to share your food with the hungry
- to provide the poor with shelter
Why would this be something God is concerned about? I believe it's because fasting helps us to see people in the way God sees them (and us). Fasting brings about a means for understanding ourselves:
- in Christ, our chains of injustice have been loosed
- in Christ, our yoke of bondage to sin has been untied
- in Christ, we are set free from oppression
- in Christ, we share the Bread of Heaven
- in Christ, we find shelter from the storms of life

4) A matter of personal and spiritual integrity
All that “secrecy” the Lord talks about in Matt. 6 has a point: secrecy in giving,
secrecy in prayer, secrecy in fasting. The old adage is certainly true: "Your true character is seen in who you are when no one else is around.”

God sees the heart. He knows who we are on the inside, what makes us tick. God knows that public, conspicuous giving leads to pride. He knows that public, conspicuous praying leads to Phariseeism. He knows that public, conspicuous fasting leads to self-satisfaction.

Why a “Lenten Fast”?
The Church is a community – there are things we do together. We work together on orojects, committees, and helping others. We fellowship together. We worship together. We pray together. Why not ‘fast together’?

Lent recalls the history of the Bible and the Church. The 40 days remind us of
- the 40 days of flooding when God established the Covenant with Noah
- the 40 years of wandering in Sinai when God established the Covenant with Moses
- the 40 years of the reigns of King Saul, King David, King Solomon
- the 40 days of fasting the Lord undertook after His Baptism

The 40 days Lent remind us that the Church has always had group and personal discipline. In the early Church, Lent was a preparation time for Baptism. They used the time as a special teaching time for children. Importantly, Lent was a time for reconciliation for Church members who have lapsed. (We still see a remnant of this reconciliation practice in 'Forgiveness Sunday', the first Sunday of Lent.)

If you're out of practice, how do you begin a Lenten fast?

1) Self examination and reflection – asking God’s help
Tonight’s service: Prayers together that exalt the Lord
Time to pray the Lord’s Prayer in a reflective manner
Personal confession before God, privately
Affirmation of our Faith in the Nicene Creed
Participation in the Body of Christ through Communion

2) Ask yourself: What will honor the Lord?
Remember the Gospel: Fasting and prayer are for God alone to see. No selfish motives: not fasting to lose weight or fit into a dress, and not to draw attention to yourself

3) Ask: What does God want you to do?
If we can try to discern what God wants for us in a small matter like fasting, we will learn the spiritual skills for understanding His Will for us
Early Church Tradition – fast from foods: meat, cheese, dairy, eggs, fish
Western tradition – fast from meat, then meat on Fridays, then meat on Fri. in Lent only
Bible: Fasting usually referred to abstaining from food
What are you unwilling to surrender? This is probably what you should fast from. Ask the Lord how can you turn it over to Him?

4) Be realistic. Accept this as a discipline with joy. Find a way to redeem it. Karen and I have a friend who fasted from chocolate each Lent and gave the money to Church. Some sacrifice a meal out each week and giving the money to a mission. Remember that discipline is corrective, not frustrating – what will help provide correction you need?

Ash Wednesday is a time to start –
- we are beginning together
- we are here for one another
- we will grow in our faith together as we look forward again to a Holy Easter

So, let the fast begin!

The Last Judgment

2009-02-22T09:46:00.009-05:00

The picture above is of the shrine built on the Island of Patmos, where St. John received the Revelation of Jesus Christ (now the last book of the New Testament). Patmos is located in the Aegean Sea, off the coast of what is now Turkey.

Epistle: I Corinthians 8:8-9:2
Gospel: Matthew 25:31-46

I have to confess: I take advantage of God's grace.

Some people might say I'm overly self-critical (and they would be right). I know that I'm a master at second-guessing myself and I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking that things might have been different if I'd only done 'this' instead of 'that'.

I take advantage of God's grace in the same way I take advantage of the fact that there are too few deputies on the county back roads: I drive faster than I should, hedging my bets that I won't get caught.

I take advantage of God's grace by overlooking aspects of my own life that I think God would over look, too. How bad can a short burst of temper be compared to all the abortions being committed in the world? So what if I swear under my breath; at least I don't have a meth lab in my basement. Why would God care that I waste material things? He most certainly cares more about the sweatshop women and children that make them.

Maybe you're in the same boat as I am. You and I wouldn't be alone. In our culture we have a tendency to wink at sin. We want to permit things to happen because we know that we want the same leniency given to us.

This general tendency in our lives makes it difficult for us to cope with one of the most certain tenets of the Christian faith: "He will come again with glory to judge both the living and the dead."

This is the last of the three-Sunday season before Lent (called the "Triodion") and it is called Sunday of the Last Judgment. The first two Sundays are shining examples of the grace of God: the account of the Pharisee and the Publican and the parable of the Prodigal Son. And now, seemingly out of nowhere, comes the narrative of the Last Judgment.

These three passages are actually a perfect match. People like me, who take advantage of God's grace, need a reminder that there comes a time when the rubber meets the road. God isn't some sort of divine enabler, permitting us to go on indefinitely in our self-destructive behaviors.

This is actually the message of the parables of the Pharisee and Publican and Prodigal Son, as well. The unspoken story line of the former is the fact that the Publican had come to a place in his life where he needed to repent. The parable compares his attitude with that of the self-righteous Pharisee, but the truth is that somehow, somewhere, he got to a place in his life where he begged the Lord: "God, have mercy upon me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13). Likewise, the Prodigal Son finds himself covered with the consequences of sin before he finally rehearsed his petition: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (Luke 15:21).

No one likes to be judged. No one wants to face the consequences of what we do (or don't do). Everyone would like to believe themselves to be their own moral and spiritual standard and, as such, there is no room for anyone else to judge us.

In this sense, we are exactly like the sheep or the goats in today's Gospel reading. There is very little difference in the general composition of sheep and goats. They may have marks or body structures that set them apart from each other, but essentially they are exactly the same as every other sheep or goat.

They eat. They bleat. They herd. They breed. They give milk.
They taste good when roasted with some savory herbs.

Sheep and goats can't judge one another's actions because they feel no moral or spiritual obligation for one another. In fact, sheep are so self-consumed that they will run from a predator as a herd until one is caught, then watch as the predator consumes the caught animal. No ovine relief effort is mounted. No special offerings collected for the orphaned lambs. No awards for volunteer sheep hours served. As animals, they have no will to choose their own way or God's way.

The context for the Last Judgment is aptly put among sheep and goats. First, we see that the sheep and goats have no idea of when the judgment will come. Second, we see that they have little understanding of the reasons for judgment. And third, they are not judging one another; this is left to the Shepherd.

A quick reminder: The account of the Sheep and Goats is the end of a private session the Lord conducts with His Disciples that begins in Matthew 24:3, in response to a question from them. "What will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?" Christ is clear through the rest of Chapter 24 than no one will know when the judgment comes, only that it will come.

When we know judgment is coming, we prepare. I have worked in the health care field long enough to know that when a state survey is expected, there is a tendency to 'straighten up and fly right'. Even at Timbercrest, where I work, and where we have deficiency-free surveys consistently, there is a mild anxiety that settles in, knowing that we'll be inspected at at any moment. Records are re-read to be sure they're in order. T's are crossed and i's are dotted, just to be sure we're ready.

In the public schools, knowing that ISTEP testing is coming, the unfortunate trend has been to 'teach to the test'. But who can blame them? When we know that 'judgment' is coming, we get ready for it.

The Lord has higher expectations of us. We are not told when the judgment will come because His expectation is that we should be ready for it at any time. We are told to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, not to wait until we know He's coming, then do it. We are told to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, not to wait until we meet them in the line on judgment day.

Judgment may come to us in two ways. The first, as the Gospel tells us, is at the Last Judgment, a day and time unknown in the future, when all of humanity is judged by God. This final judgment is what St. John the Apostle witnessed in his Revelation of Jesus Christ. This day has been anticipated by Christians from the first century to today. It is the day we anticipate in hymns like this one:

When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound,
And time shall be no more,
And the morning breaks eternal bright and fair;
When the saved of earth shall gather
Over on the other shore,
And the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there!

The second means of judgment somes to us at Death. As St. Paul tells us in Hebrews, "Just as man is destined to die once and after that to face the judgment, so Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many people; and He will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for Him" (Heb. 9:27, 28).

This 'destiny' for death (or, as the King James Version puts it, our "appointment" with death), is something we simply can't put off. Try as we might, death awaits each of us, and an account will be given before God of what we've done with our days, who we've become in the course of our years.

The time of arrival at our destination is only known to God, only to be determined by Him. This is a significant part of the reason that abortion, murder, suicide, and other man-made ways of taking another's life are wrong. If we take matters into our own hands in creating death for another, we assume a role that belongs uniquely and sovereignly to God.

What would you do to change your walk with Christ if you knew He was coming tonight? Why wait until judgment? Make the changes now, and live prepared to meet Him.

A second aspect about the Last Judgment is that the sheep and goats have little understanding of the reasons for judgment. After the Shepherd has pulled His sheep to His right and has blessed them for their lives, they still ask, "When did we do these things?" Likewise, after the goats on His left are condemned to eternal punishment, they ask the same thing, "When didn't we do these things?"

One of the nicknames that I have hoped to try and shake some day is "Instant-judgment Daniels." I often jump to conclusions about people based on their behavior or their outer appearance or their apparent lack of common sense or their inability to agree with me. I have criteria for judging people that is usually petty and insensitive.

God's judgment is based on compassion, love, grace and care. In Matt. 25:34-36, we read that God cares for the hungry, the homeless, the naked, the sick, and the imprisoned. God doesn't ask us to analyze or rationalize how people got hungry, or homeless, or naked, or sick or in prison. He simply cares that we care.

I believe the reason for this is that short-sighted human judgment comes when we begin to worry about how people get to where they are in life.
"She'd have enough food if she didn't waste her money on cigarettes." Perhaps cigarettes are her coping mechanism for a lifetime of abuse and her emotions trump her stomach.
"If he'd quit gambling he'd have enough to pay his rent." Maybe desperate life circumstances drove him to gamble in the first place. His plant closed. He was robbed. His family fell apart.
"They deserve to be in there for what they did." In truth, don't we all deserve punishment for the things we've done wrong?

God asks us to leave the affairs of the lives of others to Him. It is up to us to demonstrate His love and compassion to people, regardless of their circumstances.

Like the sheep and the goats, we may not understand this rationale about God's judgment, until we realize that we are subject to it as well. Are you (and I) willing to be subject to the judgment of others? Shouldn't we be more willing, more hopeful, in leaving our lives in the hands of God's goodness and compassion.

Finally, it's important to note that the sheep and goats aren't judging one another. That is left to the Shepherd. As I mentioned earlier, sheep and goats (and other animals) are remarkably self-absorbed. Even the most altruistic of animals - our pets - have to be trained to be so. And, given the chance, they'll fend for themselves every time.

I heard a speaker about 22 years ago talking about Christians in their role as servants. He said something I've never forgotten: "When we are busy serving our fellow man, we don't have time to judge him."

To me, this is one of the kernels of Christian faith. Of all the descriptive metaphors used of the Lord's disciples, not one of them is as a judge of anything. We are branches of the vine, servants (faithful and unfaithful), stones in His temple, etc. But we are never in a place of judgment.

Sheep in a meadow would only be able to judge other sheep in their same meadow because they have not been in any other meadow. Their perepective of the lives of other sheep is myopic, skewed only to how the other sheep in the meadow have treated them. Who got to the good clover first? Who stood where in the snow and rain? Who has what number on their ear tag?

It takes a shepherd to keep the fences mended, the wolf at bay, the hay stocked and stacked. It takes a shepherd to be aware of the conditions outside the meadow and to prepare his flock for them. It takes a shepherd to tend sheep that are ill or metastasized or orphaned or hungry, because won't - and can't - do it for each other.

Likewise, Jesus Christ in His place as Judge at the Last Day is the One Whose perspective sees beyond our own life's 'meadow'. He understands us and why other sheep may get the good clover before us. He sees when we're left standing outside the sheep pen in the rain and he knows how or why it happened. He sees 'wolves' that we are completely unaware of because we are so pre-occupied with our own concerns.

As we prepare to keep a meaningful and holy Lent, keep in mind God's Judgment. However you observe Lent - with fasting or abstinence, with added devotion or discipline - remember that your Shepherd is Jesus Christ and He has great compassion and care for you.

The Prodigal Son

2009-02-17T21:50:00.002-05:00

On the Orthodox calendar, Sun., Feb. 15 was the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. This is my sermon from that morning. The icon above depicts the joyful return of the son to his compassionate father.

Epistle: I Corinthians 6:12-20
Gospel: Luke 15:11-32

The parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the most popular of Jesus Christ's teachings. Who among us hasn't found ourselves at one time or another in the position of the prodigal? Or the older brother? Or the forgiving father? Who among us hasn't hoped for a home to go to when our lives have fallen apart? Who hasn't opened our hearts with forgiveness to someone who is truly sorry?

The Lord's words in this parable are so applicable to our human nature. Maybe more importantly, the parable reveals more about God's nature and mystery.

God is the Lord of grace and forgiveness. We may not see that sometimes. In truth, we may look at the Old Testament and think otherwise. Was it a God of grace Who...
...expelled Adam and Eve from Eden?
...witnessed the murder of Abel and cast Cain into the wilderness?
...destroyed the earth in Noah's flood?
...ransacked Canaan with Joshua's armies?
To read the history of the Hebrews and their Jewish descendants is to wonder where God's grace and forgivenss can be found.

There are a lot of people who think this way. They see violence and injustice, despair and disease, and ask: "How can a God of love allow all this to happen?"

I'm not here to defend God because God needs no defense. He is Who He is. In the parable of the prodigal son, the Lord gives us reason to believe and an avenue to understand that He is truly the God of grace, forgiveness, and love. Jesus Christ reveals this to us, not as a defense, but as a gift.

The obvious mysteries revealed are that God accepts the repentant sinner and celebrates his return home. God gives freely to His children because they are His children, not because of their merits. God allows us to squander the gifts of life because He knows we'll discover life's true value in Him. These are the obvious lessons and they are enough for us to ponder for a long time.

However, there is more. If we settle for the obvious, we will miss the subtle, nuanced, and priceless mysteries of God's nature.

Consider the fact that the father in the parable loves equally both the repentant son and the son who never left. His estate was permitted to go to both sons, not because one was good or the other was promiscuous, but because they were both his sons. His estate was for both.

You who are parents, don't you think the father in the parable had an idea that his younger son would wander? We know our children are bound for unique and different paths. Isn't it good to know that God also knows that His children will take unique and different paths?

Some of us will never stray from God. We may have minor infractions - a cuss word here, a short cut there - but over all, some will never stray.

On the other hand, some can't seem to stop straying. Like a smoker who resolves to quit on New Year's Eve and has a smoke after breakfast on New Year's Day, some of us simply can't seem to stay on the straight and narrow.

One of the things revealed to us in this parable is this: Being God's child is merit enough. Just as Proverbs reminds us that God causes it to rain on the just and on the unjust, it is equally true that He loves all His children without favoritism and without prejudice.

The prodigal son was loved by his father even when the son couldn't love himself. Whatever else was going through the prodigal's mind, as he wandered thoughts of his father's disapproval were most certainly a regular occurance. We see it in the path he chose. At first, arrogant and proud, the son ignores his father's disapproval and seeks his inheritance anyhow. As he spent his money on loose women, drunkenness, and debauchery, he certainly thought he was undoing his father's life.

His arrogance descended to self-justification when the young man's money ran out. He must have thought, "I can make it without the old man's help."

The futility of going on his own descended to desperation, a mode of survival: "My father hasn't approved of anything I've done so far, he's not going to approve of me now."

Desperation became defeat when the son became bound to eat with the pigs in order to sustain his body.

You and I know this cycle, don't we? We have been down this same path:
Arrogance
Pride
Self-justification
Desperation
Defeat
It is the universal human experience when we are left to our own devices.

In much the same way, we know that God loved the son who never left, even when he couldn't love himself, either.

He, too, was arrogant, likely gloating over the obvious folly of his younger brother. Didn't his younger brother appreciate what he had at home? Couldn't he see how the father's heart would break? Certainly he, as the oldest, would never dishonor the family this way.

The older son's arrogance also descended to pride. I imagine those first few weeks without his younger brother meant that the older's chores might have shone a little brighter. Little digs at his brother's wasting life came up at family dinners. Self-justification took shape in his own mind: "I am the good son, after all."

Self-justication spun down to desperation as the older son saw his father kill the fattened calf and send his best ring and robe to the returning younger brother. What's fair about that? How could he get away with it? Didn't the father know how foolish his brother had been?

The older brother's desperation finally spun down to defeat. The tone of verse 30 is clear: he was angry, frustrated, and disgusted with his father.

The path of both sons through arrogance, pride, self-justification, desperation, and defeat is a path that I'm familiar with, and I suspect you are, too. But always remember: Being God's child is merit enough. In His infinite grace and love, God cares for both we who wander and we who stay.

Another mystery of God that Jesus Christ reveals is that God gives us freedom to exercise our own will. The younger son knew full-well that is was rude and unconventional to ask for his inheritance early. (Would you have done it?) In asking, the younger son was exercising his free will; his will to go and be contrary to what his father wanted. In spite of the younger son's determined will, the father allowed his son the latitude to go his own way.

We may understand this better when we see our own behaviors in the same light. How often do we ask for our "inheritance" from God before it's time?
We want our prayers answered now.
We want our blessing now.
We will take from God whatever we can get, not the full inheritance He intends for us.
According to verse 13, the younger son took the money and ran. Could this describe your prayer life? "Yes God, I'll take your salvation. Yes, I'll take your kindness and love. But don't bother me with anything else."

Had the younger son stayed, he would have gained the life skills and wisdom of his father. He would have witnessed the finesse of his father's business. He would have watched his father age and he would have grown as his father matured. He might have followed his father's example, with a wife and sons of his own.

The son's loss in his short-sightedness wasn't only his squandered wealth but also his squandered life. In order to exercise his own will, the son lost the benefits of witnessing his father's will complete.

We also see this in the older son. In fact, the older son had strayed. He had the opportunity to gain the life skills and wisdom of his father. He witnessed the finesse of his father's business. He watched his father age and likely had his own wife and sons.

The older son's will was revenge. His own will was favoritism. His own will was fairness.

God will not force you to follow His will. God will not violate your will in order to accomplish His will. The way to gain God's true inheritance is to pray as we do each week: "Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done..."

Finally, the last mystery we're shown is God's unfailing compassion. Notice that the Lord doesn't tell us that the father spent all his days and nights looking for his wandering son. That would have been an act of enabling. He didn't track him down, send out spies, stalk his friends and messages. The father likely knew exactly what his younger son was doing: exercising his own will.

God's compassion is free enough to allow us our own way. As I Corinthians 13 states, His compassion "is patient and kind; it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud...it keeps no record of wrongs. It does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. [God's love] always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres..."

Compassion is not a smothering desire to inhibit someone else. It is the action of love to be there when someone else falls.

Compassion is not a judgmental "I told you so." It is a generous "Here, let me help you."

Compassion doesn't see us covered with the soil of the pig sty; instead, it runs down the road to meet us, it brings the best robe, the brightest ring, and sets the table for a celebration.

We see God's compassion best in His own Son, Jesus Christ. In sending Christ for us, God didn't stop sin from happening in the world. He didn't make the Virgin Mary obey His will. He didn't dictate to St. Joseph the direction of the Holy Child's life.

Because God has compassion for us, He doesn't become an enabler, chasing us down, spying on us, and stalking us. He waits for us to come home, His home.
There is one Cross, not many.
There is one Calvary.
There is one Empty Tomb.
When we are lost and wandering, He draws us home by the Holy Spirit, with open arms ready to meet us.

The parable of the prodigal son is truly one of the most popular in Scripture. Through it we get a better glimpse at God's nature. We see that being a child of God is enough to merit His love and blessing. We understnad that God loves us enough to allow us to exercise our own will in spite of whatever consequences we may face. We see that God's unfailing compassion waits for us to repent to find our way to Him, to Calvary.

Who among us hasn't found ourselves in the position of the prodigal son?
Who among us hasn't hoped for a home to go when our lives have fallen apart?
Who among us hasn't hoped for forgiveness from God and man when we are truly sorry?

God is waiting for you.

Rent This Video!

2009-01-24T12:52:00.004-05:00

I don't recommend a whole lot of movies to people because I don't watch a whole lot of movies that other people enjoy :-)

However, I'd like to recommend and encourage you to get a hold of a copy of a documentary entitled: Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed. Hosted by Ben Stein (the guy who does the Visine commercials), this video raises the very valid issue that evolution is bologna.

I could go on and on about this, but the DVD speaks for itself. If you're concerned about the stifling grip that liberalism and atheism have on public debate and education, you'll want to pick this up. I've seen it available at Family Video Stores, through Amazon.com and at libraries.

You'll have your eyes opened and your faith strengthened.

Ten Bonuses of Rural Living

2009-01-19T21:23:00.004-05:00

A year or two ago, our niece, April, had an itch to move to a small town. April was born and bred a country girl, the daughter of a hog farmer and a school marm, on one of those farm places where the phone company is from one town, the schools in another, and the post office is another.

However, she went to college at Butler (Indiana's answer to Yale*) in Indianapolis and never looked back. She became thoroughly urbanized, getting involved in things like 'sororities' and 'musical theater' and 'graduate school'. She married a guy who also left "Green Acres," and moved to a 'vinyl village' with her husband and two boys in an upwardly mobile suburb of Indianapolis.**

Anyhow, when the itch hit her, she decided to run her ideas by Karen and me. After all, we live in rural Indiana by choice. I'm sure to a girl looking to re-connect with her country roots, we must have appeared to be living the dream.

While helping April make her decision, I came up with some bonuses to rural living. I'd like to share them with you.

1) The Commute. When I drive to work, I drive 20 minutes through green fields, woods, over rivers and streams. I see wildlife - turkeys, foxes, deer, snapping turtles, quail. I don't have to drive to the country to see the changing colors in autumn. The sky is huge and there's little enough traffic to drive slowly and enjoy it.

2) The People. In rural communities, you can't really say anything about anyone because everyone is related to someone somehow. That may sound a little confining, until you realize that the converse is also true: people know you and care about you. They may know more about my business than I'd really like, but they also know enough to be there when I need them.

3) The Shopping. It's no secret that Wal-Mart is the great merchandiser in rural areas. However, they're not the only ones. There are still hardware stores, where the clerks know your name and have an idea of what you're after. TSC (Tractor Supply) and Rural King thrive and we have smaller, lesser known department stores: Alco, Pamida, Dollar General. Nothing beats filling the cart with bargains at Dollar General. We wear labels like Carharrt, Dickies, Red Wing and Harley-Davidson.

4) The History. Rural Indiana is dotted with accessible, living history. Cities put history in museums, but in the country, you can walk through cemeteries that are 150 years old; you'll recognize names that are still alive and vital in the community. You can see the houses that have hosted generations of the same family. There are places like the covered bridge (above) that you simply run across on a quiet drive on a Sunday afternoon.

5) The News. I was having coffee one morning in the restaurant here in Roann and the man at the table next to mine folded up the newspaper he had been reading. Mildly disgusted, he said to me, "There's nothing in this paper." "Isn't that why we live here?" I asked him in response. He agreed. It's true that no news is good news and I'd rather keep the things that make news at arms length.

6) The Perspective. It always cracks me up when I hear the national news folks describe a place like Fort Wayne (pop. 275,000) as a "small town." For us, Fort Wayne is the big city. Our town of 400 souls is big enough, thank you. We can find everything we need in the town where Karen and I work - pop. 6,000 - or in the county seat - pop. 11,000. Maybe the biggest effect this has on 'perspective' is in the statement 'everything we need'. One of the bonuses of rural life is that you go to the city and find that there's an awful lot of stuff out there you don't need.

7) Priorities. Living in the country means that there is distance between people and places and decisions have to be made with that in mind. When we go to town, we try to make it worthwhile. It's not like running down the block to CVS to pick something up. Rural living means that more time is spent at home and more time is spent with each other. Entertaining family and friends at home is still common. Most country people eat out, but we also put a premium on eating at home, too. (A phenomenon the New York Times recently labeled "eating in." Sheesh.)

8) Church. Christianity is still the norm in rural Indiana. We sometimes take it for granted. Even those who don't go to Church (and there are plenty of them) respect the Church and what it stands for. It sounds like a cliche, but we are indeed the people Mrs. Clinton indelicately described as holding on to our religion and our guns.

9) Sunrise and Sunset. The long black silhouette of the sunrise is the backdrop for my morning drive to work. Trees stretching up and out greet the pink of daybreak. Shadows of barns and grain bins break up the open spaces. But mostly there are open spaces. At sunset, the sky is so large that the moon is rising in the east while the sun sinks in the west. It happens every day and I can't get enough of it.

10) Soil. It seems that most people I know in rural Indiana have a connection to the soil. We plant gardens and flowere beds. We love the smell of newly plowed fields in spring. We talk about the weather, even if we're not farmers, because we know that things like rainfall and water tables affect farmers, and we all know them.

To my way of thinking, the benefits of rural living make this the best place to be.

* Butler is Indiana's Yale; the obvious 'Harvard' here is Notre Dame.
** They left the vinyl village a year or so ago and now live in a respectable tree-lined street, still in the 'burbs.

Praying for the New President

2009-01-13T10:56:00.003-05:00

Unlike many other conservative Christians, I have never doubted the Christian faith of our new president, Barack Obama. I heard him share his testimony on NPR's "All Things Considered" one evening and I thought to myself, "I wish I knew more Christians who were as sincere and articulate about their faith as Barack Obama is."

As a conservative pastor, I have been inundated (as many people have) with concerns about the new president's connections to Islam, his former pastor Jeremiah Wright, and the liberal leanings of his denomination, the United Church of Christ. E-mails, web sites, mass mailings and phone trees have all done their best to impugn the faith of our new Commander in Chief.

But you would have had to have heard him on that radio program to understand where I'm coming from. Unlike many of Obama's speeches, that are long on rhetoric and short on content, the radio testimony he shared was deeply sincere. He hadn't been coached about his relationship with Jesus Christ. He hadn't run it through a focus group. He wasn't watching his words to avoid misstating something. It was simply, clearly, sincere.

That is why I choose to pray for him. I know that Mr. Obama and I don't agree on many things, especially abortion. But we also agree on a lot, especially the fact that he, as president, is still a subject of the God of Heaven.

I will pray for him as he makes decisions - the right decisions - about abortion. I will ask God to move his heart to keep tight restrictions on funding for programs that endanger human life from the moment of conception.

I will pray for his family. As President Bush stated (in a rare moment of eloquence), when the stress of being president gets to Mr. Obama, "he is only a 45 second commute from a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughters who love him dearly." They will need our prayers as they see their husband and father walk into the lions' den that is Washington D.C. They will need our prayers for protection: who of us would put our young children in harm's way the way the president's daughters will be?

Mostly, I will pray that being president will be an experience of humble service to God. It seems ironic to me that presidents most cherished by we conservatives (Reagan and the Bushes) are not known for their regular Church attendance, yet presidents reviled by many conservatives (Carter, Clinton and now Obama) are unflinchingly regular in their Church attendance. My hope is that the faith about which I heard Obama speak on the radio will be deepened, strengthened, and revived through his term as president.

Make no mistake about it, I have very high anxiety about our new preisdent. Unlike nearly everyone I talk to, I am not ecstatic about this 'historic occasion'. I am worried about the strength of our relationship with Israel. I am concerned that taxes will increase. I felt that President Bush's faith-based initiatives were good and should be expanded and I'm afraid Obama will end them. I am opposed to reinstitution of the military draft and gays in the military.

But I thank God for the United States and for the smooth transition of power. I believe that God's hand was in Barack Obama's election and that he is the right man for the hour, whether or not I agree with him (or he with me). If we believe the Bible, we will follow the direction of the Apostle St. Peter to "honor all men; love the brotherhood; fear God; honor the king" (I Peter 2:17).

So join me in praying for Obama and his family, won't you? And may these next four years will be years of God's blessing on our nation.

Going Public With New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-02T13:15:00.004-05:00

It's questionable enough to make New Year's resolutions, but it's pretty close to foolish to make the resolutions public.

However, I am both questionable (at times) and foolish (much of the time), so I thought I'd share what I'm thinking about for 2009.

First, I'm making two personal resolutions. The first is to taper down my television viewing to just one hour a day. TV is a personal weakness and I have often neglected other things in order to accommodate my TV schedule. I don't have any delusions about eliminating TV altogether, but I really need to cut back. (The TV is off at the moment, thank you very much.)

The second personal resolution is to get my 50 year old physical and track my health better. There are particular aspects to the 50 year old physical that will make this difficult to accomplish, however, it needs to be done.

Next, I'm making two professional resolutions for my work at Timbercrest. The first is to finish the paperwork necessary for my National Certification. I don't know why this is so hard to do. It's just paper. But it's so easy to put off.

My second professional resolution is to take all my vacation time. And comp time. I am notoriously negligent of my own needs for rest, yet I preach it all the time to my staff. In 2008 I only took about two and a half of four weeks available to me and barely claimed the comp time I should have. The price has been excessive weariness and chronic ennui. The people who live at Timbercrest and the people with whom I work deserve better.

Next, I'm making two professional resolutions as pastor of Peoria Church. The first one is to try and better equip Church members for the disciplines of living the Christian life. I think this will mean better connecting both Word and Sacrament to people's lives, their families, jobs, homes, friendships, etc. In order to do this better, I'm going to have to work on this better myself.

My second pastoral resolution is related to my second Timbercrest resolution: taking better care of myself spiritually. To this point, my pattern is to get all spiritually fired up during the "fasting seasons" - Advent, Lent, Sts. Peter and Paul, and Dormition - and then let those times carry me through the rest of the year. Of course the problem is one of balance. So, I need to practice ways of maintaining a sense of spiritual balance all year. (I already know plenty of ways to do that - it's the practice of them that I need.)

Finally, and certainly not the least important, are my two resolutions relating to Karen. I'm listing these last because I think if I can make a dent in any of the ones above, then I'll be doing a lot toward being a better husband. Watching less TV, keeping better care of my health, taking more breaks from work, and developing better habits spiritually should all help in the husband department.

But I have two specific resolutions relating to Karen. The first is to be more open to her needs for quiet time. I tend to want to fill the empty spaces with jabber. I need to develop more respect for her needs to unwind from work, where her full roster of special needs children keeps her busy.

My second "Karen" resolution is to keep up with the garden this year. In the last several years, our perennial flowerbed has been a nice way of beautifying our home, but in 2008 I let it get away from me. It became a large weed bed more than anything. So this year, it's back to the flowers. I want to create a better quiet space for Karen outdoors - she loves to sit on the swing and enjoy the view.

So that's it. "No resolutions for your kids?" you might ask. Nope. I think if I can work on any one of these, I'll be going the right direction to being a better father, too. And besides, they're adults now: they should be making resolutions for me, right? :-)

Remembering My Baptism

2008-12-29T09:57:00.005-05:00

I don't remember my first baptism. I was about five months old (January 1959) and it is likely that it was a simple affair in St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Elyria, Ohio. I've reconstructed the scene in my own mind many times over the years:

I was the first grandchild on both sides. My mother's mother was very ill and Mom's dad, Grandpa Charlie, took care of her. My father's parents were staunch members of St. Andrew's. My godparents are George and Linda Dellinger, family friends. With my parents and Fr. Russell Hargate, the ten of us participated in a quiet, simple ceremony in the Nave, using the 1928 Book of Common Prayer.

I do remember my 'second' baptism. I was an adult (19 years old) and had a religious experience in college. I felt compelled to be baptised again, partly due to the theology of the Church I was attending at the time. It taught full-immersion adult believer's baptism. The pastor was Moses Vegh, a charismatic Hungaro-Canadian who served as pastor of what was then the largest Protestant Church in Findlay, Ohio, where I lived.

"If you don't remember your first baptism," Moses Vegh told me, "it probably didn't mean anything to you." So I suited up in the white robe provided me by the Church and went into the tank. Moses didn't actually put me under, an anonymous elder of the congregation did. Coming out of the water, I was anointed with oil after which I was expected to speak in tongues (which I didn't).

I'm 50 years past my first baptism and 30 years past my second one. I've come to the conclusion now that I don't understand either one.

Baptism isn't something to be done for a level of understanding. Baptism is an action of the Church to imprint on us the image of Christ. Understanding has very little to do with it: Faith has everything to do with it.

When I was an infant, the faith of my parents, grandparents, and godparents was that I would be "received into Christ's Church and made a living member of the same."

When I was a young adult, it was an act of my own personal faith, the fruit of a re-discovery and religious epiphany in my college years.

Now as a pastor I perform the rite of baptism with the faith that God knows the one being baptized far better than I do, and far better than they know themselves. I've adopted the phraseology of the Orthodox Church in the ritual because it better expresses this point of view: "You are baptised in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." Not an action of the pastor, not an action of the water, but rather an action of faith. "You are baptised..."

It has nothing to do with me as the baptizer or the person in the water. It has everything to do with God and what He does through the miracle in the water. It is God Who draws the soul to baptism, God Who makes the waters holy, God who does the baptizing and I am His unworthy servant.

As we approach Theophany and the commemoration of Christ's baptism (Jan. 6), I remember my own experience of Baptism and I pray that your baptism may be fresh again to you and that you will again see the image of Christ that you bear in your own soul.

(Pictured above is Seven Pillars, the site of many of our Peoria Church baptisms.)

Barack Obama and Holy Innocents

2008-12-28T06:45:00.003-05:00

Today, December 28, Christians remember the tragic slaughter of the innocent children of Bethlehem (Matthew 2:13-18). They are certainly the first martyrs of the faith, whose commemoration follows the day after we remember the first martyr of the Church, St. Stephen.

The innocent children of Bethlehem did nothing against wicked King Herod. Their mothers had done nothing. Their fathers did nothing.

Yet, for the pursuit of his own vainglory and self promotion, Herod massacred them all, in an attempt to eradicate Bethlehem (and his realm) of the true King of Kings Who had just been born there.

It is interesting to me that the newly elected president, Barack Obama, has promised to renew the slaughter of innocents as one of his first actions as president. He has promised to release federal tax monies to fund abortions. He has promised to fund research using stem cells that will cease lives of unborn children. He has pledged to make abortion safe and legal, for the sake convenience against an 'untimely' pregnancy.

He has even said of his own daughters that he wouldn't want to "punish" them with a baby, were they to become pregnant at a time inconvenient to them.

It seems that King Herod is arising once more to the throne.

We are reminded again in the Old and New Testaments, in the writings of the early Church, and in the consistent centuries-old witness of the Church, that the life of a human being begins with the miracle of conception.

And we are reminded again on this day marking the innocent death of the children of Bethlehem, that rulers can be ruthless in their self-promotion, sparing no one, even the souls of the most defenseless.

In the Communion Liturgy we pray for the president, no matter what his politics, that God will give him the ability to lead justly and fairly. Our prayer for Barack Obama should be the same, and that he will see the injustice of abortion and keep the lives of the innocent unborn protected.

Memorial Day

2008-05-24T11:43:00.006-05:00

Yea, though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil
for Thou art with me
Thy road and Thy staff, they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4

I never had to enter a military recruiting office.

Actually, I have never even been in one, whether I had to or not. But if I had, I think it would be like walking into the 'valley of the shadow of death'.

When I was in high school and college, there was no registration for the draft. President Ford (a Republican) had dismantled the draft after the end of the Vietnam War. By the time registration for the draft was re-instated by President Carter (a Democrat) I was too old to do it.

I have often wondered what it would be like to be one of those men (or women) who took that step - either of their own free will or by government compunction - to enter the armed forces.

I have often wondered what goes through their minds as they talk with the recruiters about 'seeing the world' and 'vocational training' and 'educational benefits'.

I've often wondered how many of them think, "Some day I'm going to put my life on the line for some obscure, middle-aged, overweight pastor, so that he has the freedom to preach the Gospel or write his books or post to his blog."

I also wonder if I would do the same.

I tell myself I would. I would lay down my life for the Lord any day (or so I tell myself). I would definitely lay down my life for Karen and the kids . . . again, so I think. I have friends and family, Church members and good causes I would go to the death for. Probably.

But I've never actually had to do it.

That's what makes Memorial Day so stunning to me. It's a day to honor men and women who have actually laid down their lives for me. I'm an unknown to them, yet they put on a uniform and enter harm's way - for me. They put their lives on hold for me. They surrender their dreams, their families, their relationships, some for a few years, some for a lifetime, for me. Sadly, too many surrender their lives, also.

A week ago, our Sunday School children placed flags on the graves of veterans in the Peoria Cemetery. As we walked up and down the rows of tombstones it re-occured to me that soldiers have been doing this for a long time. The Civil War soldiers couldn't have known that 150 years from their conflict, Sunday School children would still be worshiping the Lord near their final resting place. The Spanish-American War vets, the 'Doughboys', the veterans of WWII, Korea, and VietNam all stood their ground in a way that I can only wonder about.

So this Memorial Day weekend, as I hang the flag from our front porch, I join a grateful nation, thanking the men and women who have laid down their lives for our country. And I am grateful for those who stand to day, in the valley of the shadow of death. May God protect them until they come home.

Especially, thanks to the men from the Peoria Church family serving today:
Craig Berkhiser (grandson of Marge Johnson)
Mark Hults (son of Shirley Mills, grandson of Gene and Marcille Ranstead)
Christian Ensign (grandson of Jeanette Ensign)
Russell Marschand (son of Debbie Marschand, grandson of Jeanette Ensign)
Steve Shiholt (son of Pauline Shinholt)
Chad Troyer (son of Dale and Carla Troyer, grandson of Clara Bowman)

Xristos Anesti

2007-04-10T16:54:00.000-05:00

Christ is risen!

The icon above is a picture of the women bringing herbs and spices to embalm the Body of the Lord on the first day of the week. Obviously, the women had a surprise waiting for them when they arrived in the Garden . . .an Angel announcing:

"Xristos Anesti! Christ is risen!"

After the gloom of that first Maundy Thursday and the darkness of that first Good Friday, the myrrh-bearing women little expected to find a joy-bearing Messenger.

He is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

I had a particularly meaningful Lent this year. I tried to maintain a good fasting discipline and I stayed away from the Internet as much as possible, except for e-mail. I didn't listen to the radio at all and that was harder than the internet - I'm a news junkie and being away from NPR for a month and a half was nearly my undoing.

Three things that made this Lent particularly special were writing projects I undertook.

The first was to finish my book on the founders of Peoria Church, Benjamin and Anna Hahn. It's a charming story and now all that's left to do is to find a publisher (in my spare time!). It's really a pioneer story, set in the 1840's - 1890's, a journey that was as much toilsome as it was spiritual. When I find a publisher, you'll know.

(And I hope you buy a copy, too!)

The second writing project involves beginning a book about another pioneer family, my in-laws. Chester and Angie Clark aren't quite like the Hahns, but their story is fascinating, too, of a southern family who came north during the depression and made a life as farmers and factory workers in rural Indiana. I was able to spend a day with my mother-in-law getting some background things.

The third writing project I'm keeping under wraps for now, but it is one I'm very excited about. I'll keep you posted :-)

My good friend, Pastor Tim, has spurred me to get blogging again, too. He's started a blog for his Church and I thought it may be time to resurrect The Country Parson, too. (Tim's blog has a great name: 'Neadertheology'. I love it!)

Paschal blessings to you and yours!

Celebrating 150 Years

2006-08-26T15:12:00.000-05:00

This fall, the congregation I serve as pastor will be 150 years old. It's a momentous occasion for our little fellowship.

Founded in the fall of 1856 by a pioneer family, the Church has changed a lot over the years. The founding family, the Hahns, built a log cabin-style building on their land for worship, because there were no other Churches in the area of Peoria, Indiana. Preachers of several different denominations and styles have been there, including Miami Indian preachers.

It wasn't until the 1910's that they finally settled on a small Methodist denomination. This group became part of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1939 and the United Methodist Church in 1968. The Church became an independent community Church again in 1997.

The building was remodeled in 1914 with stained glass windows added among other things. In 1962, the federal government began the Mississinewa Reservoir project. The 60-ton structure was dragged across a corn field to it's present site, about 1/4 mi. from the original. New pews, pulpit and communion rail were added, but the basic Church looked very much the same. In 1978, a steeple was put on. In 2005, a nursery and upstair restroom were added.

More important than the building is the people of the congregation. It is a unique and amazing group. Some families have ties to the original founding congregation. Others are newer but feel right at home. There are some who are life-long Peorians and others who are former Brethren, Catholics, Episcopalians, Quakers, Methodists, Baptists and more.

Jesus Christ said, "By this shall al men know you are my disciples: that ye have love, one to another." This is certainly true of Peoria Church. We love each other, which means all sorts of things. Of course we worship and pray together, but we also laugh together, cry together, disagree with each other, help each other - all of it because we love each other.

If you are reading this blog, you are welcome to attend any of the Sesquicentennial Events scheduled for Sept. 10. Here is the schedule:

9:00 - Worship

10:15 - Old Fashioned Hymn Sing

11:30 - Hog Roast - Free for everyone!

1:00-3:00 - Old-time Games and Recreation

3:00 - Children's Puppeteer program

4:00 - Gospel Concert - "4 For Him"

5:00 Cutting the 150th Birthday Cake

Thanks for your support and prayers for Peoria Church.

Mary the Under-rated?

2006-08-13T19:25:00.000-05:00

What would you do if you knew a person who was completely sold out to God, who staked her reputation and her life on her faith, who followed Jesus Christ diligently, whose heart broke at the Crucifixion and rose to ecstatic elation at the Resurrection?

What would you do if you knew such a woman? Would you ignore her? Would you not believe her? Would you say, "that's nice" and pass her off as a fanatic or fringe group member?

Such a woman is Mary of Nazareth, justifiably known as the 'first to accept Jesus Christ.' Mary is the woman who accepted the call to be 'Theotokos' or "God-bearer." She didn't do it with pride or with thoughts of self-advancement: To the Angel she said, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to Thy word."

When she witnessed the miraculous testimonies about her newborn Son, she "pondered all these things in her heart."

When she attended the wedding feast at Cana and witnessed Jesus Christ's first miracle, she said, "Whatsoever He says to you, do it."

Unlike eleven of the twelve Apostles, Mary stood with her Son until His death on the Cross.

Without the fear that kept the Eleven in the Upper Room on the Morning of Resurrection, Mary went to the Garden to tend her Son's Body, only to witness the glory of His Resurrection.

Yet for all this, the Virgin Mary remains under-rated, misunderstood, and in many circles, nearly ignored. Certainly we can echo the words of John the Baptist's mother Elizabeth who said, "Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And how is it that the mother of the Lord cometh to me?"

Mary is a woman we need to know better. As the Angel told her at the Annunciation, Mary is "blessed among women" because of her willingness to bear the Son of God. In her wonderful Magnificat, Mary sings, "my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior, for He hath regarded the lowliness of His handmaiden."

Tuesday, August 15, is the observance of the 'Dormition of the Theotokos.' It marks the 'falling asleep' of Mary and her entry into her eternal reward in Heaven. Mary's death is a foretelling of our own deaths. It reminds us that an eternal reward awaits us when we 'fall asleep' in the Faith.

On Tuesday, take a moment to thank God for the example Mary has provided to all of us as a woman of faith and find a way to follow her example.

People Say the Strangest Things!

2006-08-04T13:32:00.000-05:00

I was at Hardee's in North Manchester the other day, my usual haunt when I'm away from Timbercrest for a little bit. As I was enjoying my sandwich and the USA Today, an acquaintance of mine came in with a co-worker.

I saw him, but he didn't see me. That's important to remember.

I waved to him as he stood in line, but he didn't wave back. I kept at my paper.

His co-worker chose the table right next to mine. When my acquaintance sat down, his back was to me, and he still didn't see me.

As they ate, another group of men came from their workplace and sat next to them.

And therein lies the problem.

This acquaintance of mine is a very devout man. He is active in his Church in North Manchester, he is a member of the Gideons, and he teaches an adult Sunday School class. He was even wearing a Christian-themed T-shirt.

But to listen, you may never have known it. I know I shouldn't eavesdrop, but I simply couldn't avoid the expletives that came out of his mouth. At first, I thought it was just farm-talk. Many farmers I know use a shorter word for "manure" and don't blink an eye about it. But then came the other words - words I almost never think, let alone utter (or write in a blog!).

I had just finished my sandwich and was rising to get a refill of my iced tea when this man recognized me. His mouth shut as tight as Jack Benny's vault.

I said, 'Howdy.' He said, 'you been sittin' there long?'

I don't write this to condemn my acquaintance. He is a good man, very likeable. It was amazing how much cleaner the conversation was after I got back to the table with my re-fill. :-)

I write this to say that I can relate to this man. How many times have I thought I was getting away with something, only to be witnessed unwittingly? When was I unkind to an innocent, only to be seen by a child from my congregation? When was I inappropriate (or how often) only to be forced to eat my own words.

There is an old-time expression that says, "Christ is the unseen guest at every table, the unseen listener to every conversation."

May I recall that next time I think no one else is looking!

What a life . . .

2006-07-25T17:42:00.000-05:00

Today I had the opportunity to take a group (23) from the retirement community where I work to visit a family who lives in a yurt. The yurt pictured above is not their yurt - but it looks awfully close.

The yurt is located on an organic farm near North Manchester, Indiana. Yurts are not at all common here. The family who lives there consists of mom and dad and two boys, 2 and 4. They are musicians who work with Mennonite and Brethren concerns, especially for children's Christian education. They also work for and support peace efforts.

I have been in yurts in Mongolia, where they call them 'gers.' The Mongols have no electric or plumbing (for the most part), and use woolen felt and canvas for building materials.

This yurt was 'modern' by Mongol standards. Electric and plumbing. But that's it. A 30' diameter tent with a small loft. No TV. Heated by a woodstove (in winter). No A/C.

I was mildly jealous of the simplicity of their lives. First of all was the sense of timelessness. Their time is their own - governed only by the sun, and the rooster who greeted us on our arrival - "Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

One might not think the yurt had anything to do with this sense of timelessness, but in a way, it has everything to do with it. They've taken a step that is counter to everything modern America strives for - most couples their age, including nieces and nephews in my own family, think that a grand house in the latest sub-division is the paragon of success. (One nephew and his wife live in a three-story monstrosity with whole rooms just for clothes and shoes. They have no children.) And yet, through their choice of a yurt, this couple has said, "Our time is too precious to spend it paying for an over-built, over-priced, showplace of a house." People spend all their lives working to pay for a house and big cars and the latest gadgetry, while, in fact, their lives are passing them by.

Another thing about the simplicity of their lives is their personal avocations. These people are musicians. For our group, they sang a Spanish love song. The four year old is learning to play the ukulele and strummed along with them. In addition to that, they put up their own food, make their own play, and read and write prolificly. When our kids were little, their bedrooms looked like the toy department at Wal-Mart. These kids have a small set of shelves for their toys. And all around are toys they've made . . .a stick village for their toy animals, a ball diamond mowed out of the tall grass, etc.

Finally, the setting itself is wonderful. I think farms are beautiful anyhow, but this farm inparticular is exemplary. There are three families that share the main lot of the farm - one lives in the main, old farm house, another lives in a separate house built of field stones, and the third lives in the yurt. The gardens are pregant with fruit. The flowers are everywhere blossoming like sunshine in the yard. Birds and bees fill the air. It's almost like Eden on earth.

What a life they have.

I'm mildly jealous. We live pretty simply in Roann. I don't know if I could make it sacrificing everything like this family has - after all, I do have a whole room just for my library! But it was good for me to visit this family.

It reminds me that I need to take a step back from the hurried pace of my life.

Evaluate what's important.

Simplify.

Ah. What a life it would be . . .

Our Silver Anniversary

2006-06-16T18:36:00.000-05:00

Although I cried like a baby while Karen walked down the aisle, June 13, 1981 was the happiest day of my life.

Yes, I cried. But I also laughed and prayed and smiled and thought.

Marriage is a huge commitment. And on June 13, 1981, the impact of that commitment became a reality. It wasn't enough that I loved Karen with all my heart. This day meant a love covenant that extends 'from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death us do part.'

Our wedding day was delightful. Ninth Street Wesleyan Church in NewCastle, Indiana, was packed to the gills. The weather was hot, on the brink of a thunderstorm. Friends and family, college friends, and Church members were all in attendance.

Karen wore an off-white gown and carried peach-and-cream colored roses. I wore a tan suit. The officiant was Rev. Dennis Hilton, whose wife Barbara was the organist. Our soloist was Andrea Campbell. The Maid of Honor was Donna Martz, who is now Mrs. Mark Ferrebee, and the Best Man was Mike Wagner, who now teaches English in Japan.

We were married under a chupah, in celebration of our special dinners made in celebration of Jewish holidays and a tip of the hat to my Old Testament emphasis as a Bible major at Anderson College.

The 25 years that have followed have been high and low and everything in between. We've grown very much together as a couple. I think this has happened because we have both also grown very much as individuals. (Note: This is not a reference to the weight we've gained over the years!)

Our children, Allison (20) and Alex (18), are no longer children. They are healthy, vibrant, intelligent and amazing young adults. For 20 of the past 25 years, a happy marriage has included happy parenting. Our dear friend Kay Eckelbarger wrote a card to us promising that "the next 25 years are easier." I wondered if that had any reference to the absence of child rearing and the promise of grandparenting (we hope!).

What do the next 25 years hold for us?

At supper out together on our anniversary, we decided that the next 25 years would be "skinny." All the weight we've gained (and lost and gained and lost) would go for good. When we got home, we finished off a Dairy Queen ice-cream cake.

Karen's talked about finally working on her master's degree, getting specialized training for special needs children. I'm going to finish (and publish) my first novel.

We're going to stay in Roann. No, we're not. We're moving to North Manchester. No, wait: we're staying in Roann. Oops, nope: we're moving to North Manchester. Wait, wait. We're staying in Roann. Well, now that I think of it, we're going to move. Then again . . .

We hope to be grandparents, so we can make amends for all the mistakes we made the first time around. (Is this the second time I've mentioned grandchildren?)

Most of all, we want to be there for each other for the next 25 years, 'to have and to hold, etc., etc.' To represent this, our dear friend Marge Johnson gave us a salt shaker, emblazoned with silver bells and ribbons, and the simple message, "25th."

She said we'll get the pepper shaker on our 50th anniversary.

Halden Wofford and the Hi-Beams

2006-05-12T21:00:00.000-05:00

I can't remember the last time I bought music by anyone born after 1850 . . .about the closest is Le Carneval Des Animaux by Camille Saint-Saens (b. 1835).

I have never purchased country music. Never.

But a week ago on the Prairie Home Companion I heard music that made it seem as if my ears were hearing for the first time. More than music, I heard originality. I heard live instruments, played by real hands, in touch with real creative minds. I heard enthusiasm. I heard a group of guys just having fun making music.

I wanted to stop my car to get out and dance in the road.

The group is Halden Wofford and the Hi-Beams, a 'western swing' band from Fort Collins, Colo., that is "passionately committed to playing real country music" (from their website, www.hibeams.com).

Within days I had ordered and received their first (and, to date, only) CD. When it arrived, I listened and was hooked.

The CD is a marvelous mix of pure country music, a few western-style waltzes, laced with a yodel here, a love song there, and such quality as few musicians outside the classical world possess.

My favorites?

I'm partial to "Billings Bop," an all instrumental piece where all that's missing is a barn full of cowboys and cowgirls dancing the evening away.

I also like "Let's Make Believe." This is a love song. In the back of my mind I pictured Karen and me out under the western moon, slow-waltzing in the star-shine with an audience of tumbleweed and coyotes.

For fun, there's "(My Other Car's An) Appaloosa." The song's the story of a city-bound cowboy who trades his weekday suit for the weekend life of a cowboy. The tongue-in-cheek lyrics speak to anyone confined to the city life, longing for the open spaces of the great west.

The whole CD is great.

The Hi-Beams website reveals one more subtle thing about them that makes their music even more significant. Their music is available through local, independent music stores and vendors. They are not a big-box operation.

Keeping it real in their music and in their business. What a deal.

I hope you'll check out Halden Wofford and the Hi-Beams on their website, www.hibeams.com. You'll be able to listen to "Appaloosa" there and link to purchasing information. You won't regret it.

New Blog for Questions and Answers

2006-04-27T21:02:00.000-05:00

I've begun another blog intending to be a little more interactive than The Country Parson. I'm calling it, "Ask the Country Parson."

My intention is not to be the 'Answer Man,' but to bring about some discussion about things that I am asked all the time as a pastor. I'll share my perspective, and I'd like to encourage you to begin a dialogue through the Comments Section that might generate personal and spiritual growth for everyone.

I'm looking forward to hearing from you.

Brian

Living An Easter Life

2006-04-19T19:32:00.000-05:00

Icon of St. Thomas the Apostle, Witness to the Resurrection of Jesus Christ

Sermon notes from Easter Sunday, April 16, 2006

Epistle: I Corinthians 15:12-28, 50-58
Psalm: 100
Gospel: Luke 24:1-12

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
He is Risen, indeed! Alleluia!

You and I are called to live an 'Easter life.'

We live in a world filled with despair, but we are called to an Easter life!

We know there are wars and violence, turmoil and disaster, but we are called to an Easter life!

We are faced with problems in our families, personal anxieties, abuse and addiction, and financial worries, but we are called to an Easter life!

In a world becoming increasingly secular and materialistic, we are called to an Easter life!

St. Paul's great affirmation in Romans 10:9 is the beginning of an Easter life: "If you confess with your mouth 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved." In our Epistle this morning, Paul likewise proclaims, "If Christ is not risen, your faith is in vain . . .for as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."

An Easter life is a life transformed, lived from the inside out, a life in which even death itself is no longer a threat.

An Easter life means that when we face despair, God gives us hope.
When we face war, God gives us peace.
When we face violence, God gives us comfort.
When we face turmoil, God gives us answers.
When we face disaster, God brings renewal.

In our homes, an Easter life means that no family problem is greater than the love of God to solve it.
No personal anxiety is as great as the care God has for you.
No amount of abuse can shake how much you are worth to God.
No addiction's chains are stronger than God's power to break them.
No financial worry is unnoticed by God, Who clothes the grasses and flowers of the field.

An Easter life sees what is Holy in a secular world: the holiness of every soul; the sacredness of God's world; the wisdom of our Heavenly Father. An Easter life holds on to what is Holy because it is True and Right and Beautiful and Good.

Living the Easter Life may lead to being misunderstood.
The Resurrection of Jesus Christ? To some, a myth.
New life in Christ? To many, a fantasy.
Hope for living? To others, 'rose colored glasses.'
Faith? To many, it's naive.
A changed life? Merely behavior modification.
Belief in God? A coping mechanism.
Confession of Faith? Mind control.

In spite of being misunderstood and scorned, rejected and made fun of, we know that we are living an Easter life, and that Christ is indeed, risen from the dead.

This morning, we are surrounded by symbols of this glorious Resurrection: the lilies trumpet the news; the candles in front of the Resurrection icon represent that the Light still shines in the world and that it cannot be overcome; the white cloth and paraments represent the New Life and a clean slate; and we received new members reminding us again that the Church continues from one age to the next.

In closing we will sing of yet another symbol of the Easter Life, The Lord of the Dance. Notice these words in the final verse:
They cut me down and I leapt up high,
I am the Life that will never, never die;
I'll live in you if you'll live in Me;
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He.

Dance, then, wherever you may be,
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He;
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
He is Risen, indeed! Alleluia!

The Dying Art of Singing

2006-03-06T17:48:00.000-05:00

A week ago I went to a funeral for one of the best singers I've ever known. Marlin wasn't a widely known singer outside his Church circles, but he was widely known within it. He wasn't the best voice I've ever heard, but when Marlin sang, you could hear the best of him in his voice.

In Marlin's funeral there was plenty of singing: a French hymn with esoteric melodies, an old favorite (Wonderful Grace of Jesus) and two Church of the Brethren standards, including "Move in Our Midst." The congregation made the rafters ring. Marlin had been music director for 30 years in the same Church where his funeral took place. The Church Choir, including veterans from his own years as director, and the Timbercrest Choir, a choir Marlin cultivated for years in the retirement community where he lived, were outstanding in their choral remembrance. I haven't heard singing like that in a long time.

Even in my own Church, singing seems often more awkwardly dutiful than from the heart. It seems that many Churches have run headlong into the inane practice of singing off overhead screens without hymnals. (Canned music seems to often accompany . . . and cue the lights, please!) Even worse has been the move to 'entertainment' singing in Churches, where a worship band 'leads worship' and the congregation kind of jives along. (Can lighters for the end of the worship service - with Church logos on them - be too far behind?)

Singing from the heart is one of God's gifts to Creation. Birds sing, obviously. But actually nearly "everything that has breath" sings. A song communicates what's in the heart - praise and adoration to God, love and adoration to other people, sentiments both joyful and grievous.

Everyone used to sing. Until the 1960's, nearly every classroom had a piano and every school had a music teacher. Every Church had a pianist and organist and choir. In taverns, people sang. In community halls, people sang. There was a 'national repertoire.' Who didn't know "I've Been Working on the Railroad" or "Clementine" or "She'll be Coming 'Round the Mountain"?

And of course, everyone sang "The Star-Spangled Banner" at ball games and other public affairs. Last time I was at a basketball game, I felt like I was the only one singing the National Anthem! My wife looked at me as if I were creating a scene.

I like to sing out. When I have a hymnal in my hands, I try to find my part. If I can't, I just sing along the melody. When I'm walking in the woods, I'll sing at the top of my lungs, so that God and the deer and squirrels can hear (and sing along?).

Why don't people sing anymore? I have three observations. These are not scientifically researched or authoritative. They may even seem obvious. But here they are anyhow.

First, I think many people have lost a reason to sing. It seems like our culture spends so much time dwelling on our own angst that we don't have time to dwell on how great life is and how much there is to sing about. Everyone has problems and I have problems, too. But I also see the beautiful sunrises and the wide open skies. I see beauty in people and joy in relationships. These are reasons alone to sing.

Second, I think many people think they can't sing. Just a week or so ago, when Don Knotts died, a radio commentor spoke about her favorite episode of The Andy Griffith Show, in which Barney Fife joins the Church choir but sings so awfully that he drowns out the other choir members. The great thing about it was that Barney seems totally unaware of his tin-ear. He just loved to sing. I think most people can sing better than they give themselves credit for. But their singing has to come from the heart - not from the voicebox.

Third, most contemporary music is not good for singing. When was the last time a group broke out singing anything written in the last 20 years? When did anyone's family gather around the piano, or on the porch with a guitar? Does anyone know all the words to their favorite hymns - or does anyone sing hymns anymore?

Re-discover singing! Go find a tune and sing out! Find two or three other people and sing as many verses as you can to "Clementine." Turn off the radio in your car or the TV in your family room and dust off a kids' songbook and sing a while.

Eine Kleine Nacht Musick

2005-12-30T09:52:00.000-05:00

I'm sure that if it hadn't been that our son, Alex, and his band, Turncoat Fanatic, were playing at the Roann Community Center last night, we wouldn't have gone to the program.

At the same time, living a block away from the Community Center, there may not have been a need to go.

The music was loud, loud, loud.

Which we expected.

Alex has a passion for rock music. Not Top 40 rock. Not rock-a-billy. Not even rock that anyone else has written. He loves to take the milleu of heavy metal rock and shape it to express his own thoughts, feelings, humor, perspectives. He almost never 'covers' other bands' music.

At the Roann Community Center, four other bands joined Turncoat Fanatic in what was to be an evening resplendent with thousands of decibels of electric guitars, bass guitars, and drums. One group even brought dancers.

The community center is normally a docile place, home to wedding showers, square dancing, benefit dinners, and family reunions. Years ago it was a furniture store. For those in northern Indiana who know about Tom Spiece, this building was the first-ever Speice Store, started by Tom's father, Dick, as an Army surplus store.

This night, the community center was filled 150 youths from Wabash, Fulton, Howard and Miami counties, dressed in a "rural-ized" urban rock attire, a mix of band geeks and jocks, friends and co-workers, couples and lookers, brainiacs and slower students. They were there for the music, mostly. They were there to be seen, partly. They were there to support their friends in the bands.

Alex was not only a performer this evening, he was also the organizer. As parents of this 17 1/2 year-old, Karen and I knew where our boundaries needed to be - with the other parents of band members, on the metal folding chairs at the back of the room. That is, until performance time, when we would be permitted to near the stage discreetly for pictures and admiration.

Our daughter, Allison, joined the experience in a freshly made, hand-painted "Turncoat Fanatic" t-shirt. She was the evening's ticket taker and hand stamper (and de facto bouncer).

With the notable exception of the first band, the young men who comprised the four remaining groups were highly talented. Though the format was essentially the same - lead guitar, bass, drums, and vocalist - the separate bands created sounds and lyrics unique to themselves. All were punched with a sense of adolescent anger and frustration. All were vividly independent of anything their parents would have created. All were happy middle-income kids expressing themselves electrically.

These were not bands from wide and bizarre places like Seattle or Chicago. Alex's band is based here in Roann, although the two other members live in rural Wabash County. Another band is from North Manchester, a college town of about 4500 near here. And the other two good bands were Christian bands from the Kokomo area.

I would be remiss if I did not tell you that Alex's band was, indeed, the best band there. You might accuse me of 'proud fatherhood' if I told you that Alex was the most talented guitarist of the evening. So be it. They were and he was. :-)

There was another kind of music in the evening that took me a little by surprise. It was the music of human conversation.

Between sets, when each band had to tear down and allow the next band to set up, there was a five or six minute interval. The crowd took on a life of its own during those short breaks. In one corner, a group of 15-20 sat to play a few quick hands of cards. In another corner, girls preened and twisted their hair. The parent group on their metal folding chairs laughed and talked about work and how big their kids had gotten.

The music of pleasant conversation. My personal favorite sound. It is the music that occurs when there is no other obvious music. Whether it's on the lawn at the Deer Creek Music Center in Indianapolis or at intermission of the Manchester Symphony, that music of conversation comes to life when the performers aren't performing.

It was a good evening. My ears have recovered. The community center is clean. And Roann is back to its sleepy little self.

Until the next concert, that is. :-)

"Must Lick"

2005-11-06T19:19:00.000-05:00

Reebok sat on the futon overlooking Ocean View Drive. The sun shone warm on his pudgy frame, but the warmth felt good soaking through his mutli-shaded grey coat.

His view of the afternoon traffic was distracted by the occasional gull that flew from the beach to Ocean View and back. But he couldn't afford distraction. He was looking for "She."

"She" was that fabulous creature who had discovered his inner most secret. "She" was that human who had seen into Reebok's feline nature and spent her hours trying to understand his innermost thoughts. "She" had a hum-drum job and Reebok felt it was his job to help loosen her up, make her feel special at the end of a routine day.

As Reebok waxed reminiscent in the Virginia sun, he recalled dishes of ice cream he helped "She" devour. As he streched his legs, he thought of the quiet evenings spent with "She" stroking his thick coat with that fine wire thingy.

The sudden urge to wash himself overcame Reebok's reverie momentarily.

Then he saw her pull in the driveway below. "She" was home! Time to get the house ready: Jump off the futon and rub the doorpost; Make sure the TV is off; Check the kitchen for food; All was well.

From another corner of the apartment, "Mom." came to the door. For some odd reason, "She" called Mom 'Helen.' Mom had been rescued by "She" after a car accident left Mom with only three legs. "She" nursed Mom back to health and raised several of Reebok's brothers and sisters. He always knew he was the favorite, though, because "She" kept him with Mom through moves and jobs.

Reebok and Mom gave each other the Feline Visual Greeting then sat passively, side by side.

Keys made that familiar afternoon music. A few muffled thuds up the stairs and "She's" voice sang out joyfully, "Reebok!" "Helen!"

The routine was same as usual. "She" put her purse on the counter, coat on the chair, shoes on the mat. She grabbed that big bag and gently shook it as she sang:

"Kitty, kitty, kitty!" ("She" had such a way with words :-)

Reebok and Mom ate casually, as always, while "She" unwound. With full stomach, then, Reebok mosied to the futon that had been his lookout. He rubbed her legs with the roundness of his belly, one side, then the other. His perky tail let "She" know he cared.

"She" mumbled something in those unintelligble human noises she made and grabbed him by the shoulders to assist him onto the futon. "She" gazed deeply into his eyes. More mumbling . . .but it sounded pretty.

Then, the magic moment. In the soft spot between his shoulder blades, "She" tickled lightly, compellingly. Deep in Reebok's throat, a purr began. As the tickling grew, so did the loss of control.

"I am a cat," Reebok told himself. "Control. Control."

The tickling was driving him insane with pleasure. The purring intensified. Reebok squinted to maintain control. Then she said it:

"Reebok . . .'must lick'."

In a moment out of Reebok's control, he began licking his own chest.

Lick, lick, lick!

Like a blithering idiot, Reebok had again succumbed to "She's" temptation. The feeling was so awesome he was lost in the joy of it.

Lick, lick, lick!

"She" chuckled under her breath and mumbled some more in her human sounds. How had "She" seen into his feline soul to know his secret? What did she know that caused him to drop his kitty guard, so nobly carried in his 30-pound frame? How did she cross the line from the human world into this, his passionate cattus sanctum?

He hoped the moment would never end. But he slowed. Lick . . .lick . . .

Then, a sudden stop. Mom walked around the kitchen corner. Their eyes met as Mom sat and began washing herself where her leg had once been. "She" thought Helen was cleaning up after supper. But Reebok knew the signal: "Stop that nonsense at once."

And the evening went on, as always, the rolling of the mighty Atlantic rhythmically calling Reebok and Mom and "She" to the end of another day.

Dear Reader,
I write this entry in tribute to my sister's dear cat, Reebok, who died last Thursday at 15 1/2 years old. Reebok was with my sister, Sue Ellen, through thick and through thin. I hope this little glimpse at one of Reebok's vulnerabilities helps you know just how special he was to Sue Ellen and the rest of us.

As you remember Reebok, find a cat to tickle today!

The State Food of Indiana

2005-10-07T17:10:00.000-05:00

Regional foods seem to speak volumes about an area. For grilled steak sandwiches, go to Philadelphia. Beignets? New Orleans. Chili? Cincinnati.

Indiana has no official state food. Ever vigilant, I would like to take the lead in proposing a "state food" for Indiana. There a lot of things that could be commercial contenders - White Castle hamburgs, Orville Redenbocker or Weaver Popcorn, Steak and Shake.

However, my nomination is based on the following phenomenon that can be observed at picnics and Church dinners throughout the state of Indiana. I have never seen an exception. Never.

Here is the scenario:
A table is spread with a wide variety of dishes, casseroles, meat loaves, salads, cut vegetables, pickles, etc. In two crock pots or other warmers, usually on the table after the meat and before the salads, are chicken and noodles in one and mashed potatoes in another.

The hungry diner makes his way through the line picking up a little meat, maybe a slice of ham, half a slice of turkey.

Arriving at the crock of mashed potatoes, he spoons a large dollop in a space reserved for them.

If you are from Indiana, you know what happens next.

If you are not from Indiana, read carefully. You are about to learn a deeply held Hoosier secret.

The diner then spoons a large dollop on chicken and noodles ON TOP of the mashed potatoes.

Not at the side. On top.

No chicken and noodles without potatoes.

And no potatoes without chicken and noodles.

I know a woman from Connecticut who was visiting an Indiana Church dinner who nearly fainted the first time she saw it. "The concentration of starches alone nearly made me swoon," Nancy recalls.

Starches abound in this delicacy. Thick noodles drip with a chicken gravy, laced with chicken fat and corn starch and plenty of salt (to taste). In some corners, you'll find the gravy laced with chicken boullion.

Mashed potatoes are best made thick with butter, creamy with milk, and thoroughly accented with sour cream. In some corners, the taters are left in small bits in the mashing, but more often they are a smooth concoction, thicker than caramel, but definitely not "whipped," like they do in the cities.

Chicken is shredded or cubed in this tasty assemblage. These variations are not as important as the process of boiling the daylights out of the chicken. There should be no question whatsoever that the chicken is cooked.

(I've seen some places where the chicken is nearly as smooth as the mashed taters. I'm not an advocate of this style, at the same time, I confess that it makes eating the dish easier.)

Chicken and noodles are best accented by white bread spread with butter. The sweetness of the butter helps reduce the saltiness of the chicken and noodles. And a piece of folded butter bread can help serve as a dam for sopping up the last drops of chicken gravy.

Chicken and noodle dinners are common everywhere. Just last week the Methodist Church down the street had a "Chicken and Noodle Fund Raiser." Nothing but Chicken and Noodles. Crock after crock of chicken and noodles and mashed taters, on 8 foot tables lined with rolled paper table cloths . . .crocks yellow with chicken boullion, some soft with creamy sauce, some calicos of mixed of white and dark meat. Some were magnanimously chock full of generously cut breast meat and others more noodles than chicken.

A good plate of chicken and noodles is best followed by another Indiana phenom - the Sugar Cream Pie.

Sugar Cream Pie by-passes any pretext of healthy eating. But it is sooooooo good!

My wife Karen's sugar cream pie is equal parts of sugar and Half-and-Half, rich Mexican vanilla and thickened with flour. This melange is cooked to perfection over a hot stove and then poured into one of Karens' fabulous crusts. As it cools, she dashes cinnamon with a flair that she adds to everything she cooks.

That's my nomination - Chicken and Noodles on Mashed Taters with Sugar Cream Pie for dessert.

What do Chicken and Noodles say about the people of Indiana?

To my way of thinking, Hoosiers will always be known for being homespun and home-made. Chicken and Noodles are best home-made. You can't get Chicken and Noodles at The Eagle's Nest in Indianapolis or at Club Soda in Fort Wayne. You can't get Sugar Cream Pie at the Studebaker Mansion in South Bend or Joseph DeCuiz in Roanoke.

You get them at home. Or at places where people feel at home, like Church.

Chicken and Noodles also remind us of whence we come. Time was that every small homesteader and farmer had chickens. And chickens lay eggs. A little flour and an egg or two, and voila!, noodles.

Hoosiers seem to be gifted in dealing with basics like these. Though we were not the first in flight, Indiana is the birthplace of Wilbur Wright. Though we are not as well-known as Detroit, Elwood Haynes, who invented the first gasoline powered automobile, was born here. And though Benjamin Harrison is our only Hoosier president (and he was actually born in Ohio), we are the "Mother of Vice Presidents," notably Thomas "5 cent cigar" Marshall and J. Danforth "Potatoe" Quayle, with three others.

Finally, I see Chicken and Noodles with Mashed Taters as something that works well together. Hoosiers do that well. We are a state of enigmas - there are tractors in downtowns of our largest cities and collectible automobiles in the garages of our smallest towns. The annual State 4-H Fair draws thousands of white farm kids into the heart of one of the largest African-American urban communities in the Midwest. At the Indianapolis 500-Mile Race (the largest single sporting event in the world), countless pints of Miller Lite are slogged by the 300,000 attenders, and yet the winner is feted with a quart of milk at the finish line.

My nomination: Chicken and Noodles with Taters. What's yours? Write it in the Comments section!

(Now, I can't tell if I'm hungry or if I'm going into a sugar swoon. :-)

Remembering Frank Means

2005-10-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

The following article is the message from the Memorial Service conducted today, October 7, at Peoria Church, for Frank Means. Frank was a wonderful and unique individual.

I'm posting this primarily for those in the Church family who were unable to attend the service. I also hope that it may help those who didn't know Frank to see just a little bit into his wit anc character.

The message begins here:
For most of the 5th century before Christ, the noted Greek historian Herodotus collected histories and records of kingdoms and cultures from the Black Sea coast of Asia Minor through Greece and Macedonia, finally settling for the last of his days in southern Italy. It was there that he wrote The Suda, a history that became the foundation for most secular histories of the western world.

Like many histories, the roots of Herodotus’ work are found in major wars and conflicts of the era, in his case the great Persian Wars. One of the most noted historical highlights of those wars was the defeat of the massive Persian naval fleet in a battle near the Aegean island of Salamis. The imperial fleet was brought low by a collection of ships from the Greek city-states.

The Persian emperor Xerxes sent news of his defeat to his waiting generals back in Persia through one of his own most enduring legacies – a series of couriers, each stationed a day’s journey by horseback from the other. These couriers were ever diligent in their service of emperor and empire. Their unflagging sense of duty moved Herodotus to note them in his famous history with these words:

“Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night shall stay these couriers from their appointed rounds.”

As a retired mail carrier, Frank was the embodiment of Herodotus’ famous words.Today we are assembled to remember the legacy of this courier who was ever diligent in his service of home and country, of his fellow man and God.

It is no understatement that Frank’s great affection for Joleen, Marcia, and Shawn was boundless. Frank was not much for small talk until the subject of his family came up. It seemed he had a limitless tolerance for Joleen’s latest garage sale adventure or bargain hunt. Marcia and Shawn were the joys of his life, and nothing brightened Frank’s face more than to talk about his grandchildren. When you get a chance to look at the pictures of Frank with his family, you will see in his laughter the deep springs love for his family.

King David wrote these words in Psalm 116:15: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” I have often wondered what he meant by that, but I have come to this conclusion: No matter how much we love someone in this life, God’s love for each of us is immeasurable and far-surpassing our love for each other. In His time, God brings us to Himself, an act of love that causes us grief here, but precious joy in Heaven.

In serving his country, Frank was a patriot in the truest sense of the word. There are no monuments to Frank, and I don’t think he’d want one. He was at the heart of what ‘duty to country’ is all about. He was an Army regular, doing his part to serve his nation. No aspirations to heroism, Frank served humbly and faithfully.

Again, Frank’s memory calls to mind the words of St. Peter, who wrote, “Honour all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king.”

Frank was a true friend to his fellow man, and I count it a privilege to have been one of the many who counted Frank as a friend. You always knew where you stood with Frank. Shortly after I came to this Church as pastor, I approached Frank about a concern. He was the chairman of the trustees and I had a question about the grounds.

“I was just wondering,” I asked, “why don’t we have any flowers out around the Church sign or up here around the door?”

Frank looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t like flowers.”

And that was it. From that point on, it seemed that Frank and I understood each other. I learned quickly that depending on where you stood with Frank, he was either ‘solid as a rock’ or ‘stubborn as a mule.’

But isn’t that what real relationships are about? Honesty. Straightforwardness. Truth. Those of us who knew Frank as a friend, also know the truth of Proverbs 27:17, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

Finally, Frank leaves the legacy of a servant of God. Never one to demonstrate his religion emotionally or with a lot of words, Frank lived the admonition of St. Francis of Assisi: “Preach the Gospel everywhere you go, and, when necessary, use words.” Frank may not have sung the loudest in Church, but he was dependable when someone was in need. Frank didn’t preach from the pulpit, but he taught his family that God is real. Frank’s faith was not for show, but it was real, even as he prayed to God in his final weeks on earth. Frank was a baptized member and regular communicant at the Lord’s Supper. He was faithful in his attendance and invaluable in his service as trustee and jack-of-all-trades. Peoria Church is at a great loss without him.

“Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night shall stay these couriers from their appointed rounds.” This courier has finished his appointed rounds. May he rest in peace. Amen.

Stepping Outside the Box

2005-09-28T19:19:00.000-05:00

Karen and I started "real" dating 25 years ago this month.

Our first actual date was in August 1980, about two months after graduation from Anderson College. We went to see Fiddler on the Roof presented in a huge tent by the Nettle Creek Players, a now defunct summer stock troupe in Hagerstown, Indiana. We had sputtered with attempts to date when we were in College, but we decided to go the more inconvenient route, waiting until we lived three hours apart.

Karen is a farmer's daughter. That is the source of her personal strength and good nature. When Karen invited me to Indiana to spend a day or two with her, I was excited to finally get to the farm and spend time with her family. She said she had a very special date for us Saturday evening.

I thought we were going to a barn dance.

Nevertheless, "Fiddler" set the tone for the rest of our dating life, engagement, and wedding. (We were married under a 'chupah' - albeit in a Wesleyan Church, but the sentiment was there.)

In the September following "Fiddler", Karen came to Findlay. We decided to keep with the Jewish theme, so we went and bought all the ingredients for a traditional Jewish meal for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New year.

While Karen was in Findlay that weekend, we walked a lot. The afternoon of our Rosh Hashanah dinner, my then roommate, Lon, took our picture sitting on the railing of the noble Benevolent Order of Elks Lodge in downtown Findlay. Karen was in a red polo shirt and jeans, with her ever-present Dr. Scholl's wooden soled sandals. I was in a striped polo shirt, brown trousers, and my ever-present black and white saddle oxfords.

The framed photo is still on our picture table in the front room, a happy reminder of what has been 24 happy years of marriage.

I loved those saddle shoes. I had worn various kinds of saddle shoes in high school, which was something of a localized fad. Most common were an off-white toe box with a dark navy blue saddle. I had some of those. I also had a pair with a tan suede toe box and brown leather saddle and another pair of brown leather on brown leather. But my black and whites were my favorites.

I wore them through my Anderson College years, painstakingly keeping the white parts white with that white shoe polish that has a miniature pom-pon at the end of twisted wire attached to the lid. I wore them while Karen and I were dating and engaged. I wore them on my first job, as Junior High Coordinator of Findlay Youth for Christ.

On our honeymoon in June, 1981, I had a harder problem with shoes. I took a whole suitcase just for shoes. I had my favorite running shoes (we both were runners at the time). I had my favorite walking Hush Puppies (we loved taking walks together). I had my burgundy slip-ons, for dressy occasions. I had my woven casual shoes, for comfort. I had my moccasins, for knocking around. And, of course, my saddle oxfords.

The suitcase of shoes was really less about shoes and more about my plaguing inability to make a decision and stick with it. My decision about marrying Karen was not one of those decisions, but indecision tends to be my life pattern.

It's ironic, then, that as I reminisce about my favorite old saddle shoes, I write this article about "Stepping Outside the Box." Ironic because I've made a decision about 'stepping outside the box' that's taken three months for me to work up to telling about. It's not a shocking decision. It's actually quite a simple one.

Keep in mind, I've stepped outside the box many times, often to crawl back in. Ah, yes. There was the time I stepped outside the haircut box and went with shaved sides and long on top. (What was I thinking?) There were the Vegetarian Days (as opposed to the Atkins Diet Days), the Apostolic Christian phase (contrasted with the High Church Anglican pilgrimage), the "Let's Raise Goats" years, the Settlement of Antarctica Plan (in high school), and many more.

But this box I'm stepping out of for good. It's the Shoe Box. No more shoes, unless I have to wear them. None. Nada. No more.

It all started back in July when I was dealing with a monster case of bursitis. Prescription steroids didn't work. Prescription strength Alleve didn't work. Exercises from our doctor didn't work. I had begun walking with a cane and could barely stand for more than a few minutes without my entire leg going dead.

One afternoon, in great pain, I went to my friendly Reflexologist, Nedra. After my treatment, Nedra said, in passing, "You know, going barefooted is like having reflexology all the time."

So I gave it a try. The first day the pain was lessened. The second day, the pain was gone. And it has been gone ever since.

Little by little, I began wearing shoes less and less. In mid-July, I started wearing sandals to work. A week later, I cut the straps off the back of them so I could get out of them fast. A month later I bought a pair of Birkenstock knock-offs, which have become my daily shoes. I put them on when I get to work, and I take them off ASAP after. I wear shoes to Church, but take them off for Sunday School. I don't wear them to Bible Study.

There have been many wonderful benefits to me in going barefooted these last few months that go beyond the bursitis problem.

First of all, being barefooted has gotten me walking for my health again. Originally, I wanted to "toughen" my soles. But as time has progressed, I rediscovered the benefits of walking. I now walk 2-4 miles a day barefooted over all sorts of surfaces - mostly concrete and asphalt, but also grass, gravel, dirt, and mulch. And acorns, pine cones, walnuts and buckeyes. The walking has helped me trim a few pounds (much needed), but also walking barefooted has created more sensitivity to the world around me outdoors.

Secondly, barefooted walking has strengthened my feet and legs. Karen has long maintained that I have 'prissy' feet. No more! I don't have ogre feet now, but I do have strong feet.

Third, this minor change of lifestyle has emboldened my creative thinking. I started The Country Parson blog to channel some of this creative energy. I've started working on a book that has long lain dormant in my mind and in the computer. I'm feeling sharper at work and more attuned at home.

Fourthly, barefooting has been a great conversation starter. I love talking to people. I love to hear their story. A room full of people engaged in pleasant conversation is music to my ears. It's amazing to me how a simple thing like going barefooted has gotten people talking.

Finally, I just think it's fun. Cheap, easy, a little bit ornery, fun. It's something I like doing and I like doing it for me. There's not a lot in this life I do for myself (which is both good and bad), and barefooting is something I'm doing that's not hurting anyone else and it's helping me tremendously. And in an unexplainable way, I just think it's fun.

Thing is, I am just as comfortable barefooted as I ever was in those favorite old saddle shoes. If not moreso. As much as I loved those black and whites, I'm finding that I love my own natural feet better.

(I don't know what ever became of those saddle shoes. I suspect they were part of a post-nuptial wardrobe correction, but I couldn't say for certain.)

So there. The Country Parson has stepped out of the shoe box.I just hope I haven't stepped back in by the time you read this! ;-)

For Dog and Country

2005-09-19T18:19:00.000-05:00

Rufus was the unfortunate dog who belonged to the Daniels children somewhere in the mid-1970's. A short, black, and malodorous canine, Rufus spent most of his unhappy life with the Daniels penned around the garage, barking at friend and foe, eating cheap dog food and wondering why no one paid any attention to him.

Those were years of intense stress in our family. Mom was adjusting to life as the single parent of the four children she bore in less than five years. Emotions, when we expressed them, were usually negative and/or hostile. But mostly we didn't express them. There is a certain comfort in repressing one's feelings.

I don't mean that we were intentionally mean to Rufus. We had plenty of time for kickball and to go to Scout meetings. But we were little prepared for the time a good dog requires for nurture and personal growth. Who has time to love a dog when one is having a hard time loving one's self?

It is little wonder that when the gate was left open one morning Rufus ran hard and fast and as far as he could, never to be heard from again.

So, in 1997, when Buddy came to live with our family, my first thoughts were of Rufus. I was apprehensive, remembering Rufus' unfortunate circumstances. Buddy was everything Rufus had been at the first - cute, cuddly, happy. We have no penned in yard in Roann (and I would be hard pressed to build one), so Buddy would be safe on that score.

As Buddy grew, he fast became a family dog. Slowly, over 8 years, he became my dog. When Buddy needs a bath, he's mine. When Buddy needs a walk, he's mine. When Buddy needs to go out to 'read the mail,' he's mine. When Buddy needs a table scrap, he comes to my chair.

Buddy has become a close confidant and friend as well. There are few professions lonelier than the pastorate. Pastors know things about people that we can't tell anyone - even our wives. Pastors learn things about people from others that we can't share with others. We are the dead end on the gossip train. Pastors rarely have someone to understand their own issues and pains. We are supposed to be the strong ones at funerals, the comforting ones in the nursing homes, the healthy ones while anointing the sick, and the holy ones when administering the Church's sacred rites.

Enter Buddy. Like me, he is middle-aged (in dog years). Like me, he's pretty much content in his routine, happy with his family, satisfied with his home, and not in as good shape as he used to be. Buddy enjoys an evening walk, a good back scratch, and minding his own business. He occasionally barks inappropriately. Once in a while, he likes going out on a leash-free toot, just to see what's up in someplace new.

Being two overweight middle-aged males, Buddy and I take long walks to try and stave off the on-set of aging. I am able to share some of my confidences with Buddy. Buddy has heard about parish problems and has kept his opinion to himself. When I have a personal dilemma, Buddy offers no opinion. He just listens. When I am talking on and on about a situation I can't figure out, Buddy often brings me back to reality with a lunge at a stray cat or a quick jump at a squirrel.

The dog Rufus was around in the time of my life when adolescent confusion and family upheaveal led to neglect and emotional distance of both boy and dog. And though Rufus and I had much in common, we had no relationship.

The dog Buddy is around when life is going well. I have a wonderful family, I have plenty to eat, a great house, and the funnest job in the world. And so does Buddy. We have much in common, with the bonus of having a good relationship, too.

I sometimes wonder what happened to Rufus. I hope somehow, somewhere, he found a family who'd love him and let him know that life is best when it's shared with a good friend.

Divine Sovereignty and the Chicken Doodle

2005-09-11T16:41:00.000-05:00

When Roger's red hen awakened this morning, she little realized the celebrity that awaited her later in the day. As the rising sun filtered through the dusty henhouse windows, the morning rumble of squawks and squeaks was beginning, as if hundreds of hens were wondering where the coffee was and which outfit was going to be worn today. A scratch here and a scratch there, a little meal here, a bug there, a few minutes to roost.

An ordinary day in the life of a red hen.

In nearby Roann, the sun was rising on the last day of the town festival. The dry grass was weary from four days of traffic. The kiddie rides lay still, resting from a late night of Tilt-A-Whirling, Scrambling, and miniature railroading. At the covered bridge, a few stalwart Christians were setting up a makeshift platform and microphones for the approaching community-wide worship service on the banks of the mighty Eel River as the rest of the town struggled out of bed. A scratch here and a scratch there, a little breakfast here, a cup of coffee there, a few minutes to wake up.

A quiet morning in the life of Roann, Indiana.

Both chicken and man witnessed the day as it progressed. The sun rose on both. The heat made both thirsty and both had plenty of water to drink. The bounty of rich farmland provided both more sustenance that either needed. In the crowded henhouse, hens preened and strutted, checking each other out, and, as chickens do ab ovo, cared little about anything else but the moment at hand. On the crowded festival streets, teens preened and strutted and neighbors checked each other out, and, as humans do ab utero, cared little about anything else but the moment at hand.

The moment for both man and beast changed when, shortly after 4 p.m., Roger stepped into the henhouse and grabbed the red hen. With the bird's head nestled in the crook of his elbow, Roger drove to town.

Upon their arrival in the center of the town, Roger and his companion made their way to the crowd that had gathered around the large wooden frame that lay at the heart of the festival. The frame gave shape to a cage of chicken wire. The floor of this giant box was a checker board of numbers, 1 to 500. The imminent action in the cage would be this hen's moment of glory.

Most of the by-standers were those who had paid a dollar to the Northfield High School Junior Class for a number corresponding to those on the cage floor. Curious children wriggled with delight, knowing what was to happen. Old farmers made comments about the hen's breed and coloration. Girls in the junior class stood appalled to think of the event about to happen.

At 4:30, the climax of the Roann Covered Bridge Festival reached its zenith. Roger dutifully brought the chicken to her cage. Faithful friend Donna lifted the lid. The crowd was agog as the red hen stepped into the limelight. The lid shut as the anticipation mounted. Whose number would . . .

. . .and it was over as soon as it started.

"Dang," said a man in soiled Carhartt coveralls. "Never seen a chicken doodle quite so fast."

"What'd you feed that thang, Roger?" yelled a woman from the back of the crowd. "Ex-Lax?!" She and those around her cackled with knowing laughter.

Faithful friend Donna barely had time to react. Paper towel in hand, she wiped the "doodle" from the board.

"Most of it's on 386!" Another assistant feverishly combed through the numbers in her stack. "Wally Cripe. Our winner is Wally Cripe!" Wally had apparently taken advantage of the "need not be present to win" clause, and wasn't present. So, in less than two minutes, the crowd disbursed. The hen was left alone in her cage.

The chicken's moment of glory came and went in simply doing what chickens do. In this case it was doodling. One supposes that she had no idea of the value she would have to Wally Cripe, earning him $100 merely by surrendering the remains of the previous morning's breakfast. It's hard to imagine that Roger could have slipped a little extra meal to her for looking for, and then targeting Number 386.

No, Roger's red hen was simply doing as God intended for her to do. Eat. Sleep. Doodle.

This is where the difference between chickens and mankind becomes most clear. Unlike chickens, most of us are discontent with the life God intends for us. We create situations out of our discontent that often lead to further discontent. In anticipation of changing the course of our discontent, we end up like the 499 people who lost a buck or two in the chicken doodle contest, rather than like Wally, who got the prize.

God gives life to every human being, days full of sunshine and provision, rain and shelter. We're made to eat and sleep, to love God and each other. This is our Sovereign's purpose for us.

May we, like Roger's red hen, find our contentment in life simply doing what God intends for us to do.

Farm Bureau Devotions

2005-09-08T17:49:00.000-05:00

Tonight I am giving devotions for the annual meeting of the Wabash County Farm Bureau. I thought I'd share my thoughts with you.
Your friend,
Brian

He that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread: but he that followeth after vain persons shall have poverty enough. (Proverbs 28:19)

Good Evening,
I am a city-boy who married a farmer’s daughter. My late father-in-law, Chester Clark, came to Indiana in the early 1940’s to work in the Chrysler at NewCastle and to make his living on the land. Chester had suffered a farm accident as a teen-ager while using a sickle to cut grain that left his left leg permanently straight. Through his high school years and a year of business college, he honed his farming skills in spite of his leg. His only regret with that leg was that it disqualified him from serving his country in World War II – but not for a lack of trying to enlist!

The reason I’m telling you about Chester is because I am a city boy who married his daughter. I was born and baptized in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, and grew up in Findlay, Ohio. When I was a kid, I had a paper route of 175 papers in three city blocks, including three apartment buildings. I graduated in the class of 1976 with 700 other classmates. To me, bread came pre-wrapped, bacon came pre-sliced, and hamburgs were what my Dad put on the grill during the summer months.

Then I married into a farm family. When Chester retired from the Chrysler, he could devote his entire time to farming. I began to watch the cycle of farm events that Proverbs 28:19 talks about . . . “he that tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread.” Plotting and planning, bargaining with the elevator and watching the market –all this was a part of farming I never realized. Each spring Chester would plow up a huge plot near the house for my mother-in-law’s garden. Summers were filled with Chester in the field and Angie in the garden, getting ready “plenty of bread.”

For years, my in-laws’ basement was lined with rows of Ball jars filled with beans, tomatoes, corn, and other fruits of the garden. The freezer was full of meat they raised themselves (graduates of the 4-H Fair, if you will). They truly embodied the spirit of King Solomon’s wisdom.

In tilling the land, Chester gained more than just “plenty of bread.” He learned that keeping close to the earth keeps a man humble before God. His experience was that we come into the world with nothing and we are dependent on God for the very basics of life . . . the fruits of the earth for sustenance, the animals of Creation for assistance, and the God-given power of sun and rain to nurture and develop the crop. He could tell what kind of weather we’d be having by the patterns of the heavens, long before the weather channel sent up satellites. He also knew that all the herbicide and fertilizer, disking and cultivating, crop rotation and no-till don’t bring a harvest – that’s what God does.

The contrast of Chester and Angie’s life and the life of those who would follow “after vain persons” is obvious enough. Another Bible version describes “vain persons” as those who “chase fantasies.” We live in a world of get-rich-quick schemes and “ten steps to solve your problem.” We are tricked into thinking that everything can be solved within an hour of television, whether we want to be a rock star, solve a crime, or lose those love handles. We want a quick one-day workshop to put our lives in order so we can continue chasing fantasies the rest of the year.

My exposure to farm life through my wife’s family hasn’t taken the “city” out of the “boy.” I can’t drive a tractor or combine wheat. I hardly know a heifer from a steer. I rely on the Internet for the weather and I would starve to death if my diet depended on what I can grow. The “land” I till is the souls of the people of my parish.But the lessons Chester taught me through his farm have given me “plenty of bread” as well.

Keep humble before God.

Depend on God for the basics of life.

Trust in the patterns of Heaven rather than the ways of the world.

Let God bring the harvest.

May God bless you and your work now and in the year ahead.

The Ice Cream Social

2005-08-28T06:57:00.000-05:00

Is there a better meal served anywhere than in a Church basement? I've been to New York and Chicago and Beijing and many places in between. I've eaten in some pretty high-falutin' eateries.

There was one fancy place Karen and I went where the guy stands by the table with a little brush and scoop. Every time you dropped a crumb on the table, he'd step in, sweep up the crumb into his little scoop and step back from the table. I guess someone somewhere thought that was pretty fancy, but with the amount of crumbs Karen and I can generate in a meal, it got to be downright annoying.

Anyhow, last night I had the privilege of going to the West Eel River Church of the Brethren Ice Cream Social, near Silver Lake, Indiana. They made good on their promise of sloppy joes or coney dogs, chips, pie and several flavors of home-made ice cream.

The truth of the matter is that the sloppy joe and chips are side-dishes. The real meal is in the home-made pies and home-cranked ice creams. The table was spread with a variety of pies and brownies that would make your head spin. I chose the Dutch apple pie, that I think was probably about 1/5 of the whole pie. But the variety was a culinary mosaic that you only find in Church basements - peach pie, sugar cream, pecan, various apple pies, blueberry, blackberry, gooseberry, raspberry, banana cream, coconut cream, lemon meringue, and more.

The ice creams rule the evening, though. There were chocolates and vanillas, black walnut and butter pecan, fresh strawberry and lemon and cherry. Dipped right out of the freezer into large bowls provided by the Church ladies.

This raises another interesting point about Church ice cream socials. The women were in the kitchen, dishing out sandwiches and chips, pouring orange drink and coffee, and going table to table collecting used dishes for satisfied customers.

The men were manning the ice cream. These were not fancy men, who knew the nuances of sophisticated ice creameries. No, these were real men who know that good ice cream is made with heavy cream, lots of sugar, and real fruit. And, though it is more convenient to go to Dairy Queen or pick up a box of Breyer's, these men know that real ice cream takes work and tastes best right out of the freezer.

"Be sure to come back and try the butter pecan," you could hear one of them say.

"I made the black walnut - here, try a scoop," said another.

The West Eel River Church has a usual Sunday attendance of about 30 souls. It is a Church that has known better days, when farm families were large and no one worked the fields on Sunday. They have an ample sanctuary and two large fellowship rooms in the basement.

At the ice cream social, however, you would have thought it was the only Church in Silver Lake. In both fellowship rooms, every seat was full. The line stretched from the serving counter and ice cream area, all the way through the hall and up the stairs and out the door. Hundreds of folks who know the inside track on a good sloppy joe and home-cranked ice cream.

And therein lies the "social" part of the whole event. The whole place was filled the wonderful sound of human conversation. People laughing at jokes they've probably heard a hundred times. Farmers sharing ideas and war stories. Women complimenting each other on recipes and outfits. Youth in equipment dealer caps stealing glances at girls in pretty tops and jeans. Old folks reminiscing and babies playing in high chairs.

What was the cost of this culinary extravaganza? A donation. Yep. A donation. And the donation box was full. No set price for all you can eat. What a sweet deal. Better food you won't find anywhere and I have yet to be in a fancy restaurant that ever provided so pleasant an atmosphere as a Church ice cream social.

The Silver Lake Church Ice Cream Social is always held the fourth Saturday of August at the Church, located about 4 mile east of Silver Lake, Indiana, on State Road 14. Hope to see you there.

Personal Profile

2005-08-26T21:00:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my blog :-) My name is Brian Daniels and I am, among other things, pastor of a small country Church in rural Miami County, Indiana, called Peoria Church. I have served as pastor of this great little Church since November 1999.

Among the "other things" I am a husband (for 24 years), father (for 20 years), piano player (for 34 years), writer (many years), and gardener (5 years).

I've started this blog because I believe that rural living adds a unique flavor to Christian spirituality that is diminishing in our increasingly urban culture. I also believe in small Churches. I believe that a small congregation is most ably gifted to pursue Church life as the New Testament describes it.

I hope you are encouraged in your faith in the Lord Jesus Christ through this endeavor.