Cruciform

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." 

I don't know why I was thinking about this particular image at this time of year, but it wouldn't leave me. In fact, I dreamt of seeing this. You don't see many crosses or cruciforms during the Advent season. Mangers, stars, wreaths, candles, trees...sights of the season but not a cross. That comes in the spring, right? Not really, but we tend to save it out for the Good Friday event. 

Jesus' very name carries a cross. Yeshua. Joshua. "For he shall save his people from their sins." God saves. It's part of the Christmas story. 

But I was drawn past the usually "tabernacled with us" and the "One and Only" to those two simple words at the end: full of "grace" and "truth." 

I've heard it said that if you have truth without grace, you have legalism and if you have grace without truth, you have lawlessness or the old King James word, licentiousness. 

Truth without grace crushes the spirit. Grace without truth deceives the spirit. Both are equally bad for the person. 

It's why Jesus embodied both. He was full of grace and truth. 

To the woman caught in adultery, truth without grace would have meant her death. To the woman caught in adultery, grace without truth would have allowed her to follow her lusts and would not have allowed her to be in a right relationship with God. 

To the man who sat lame at the pool of Bethesda, truth would have crushed him because it was a sinful lifestyle that put him there and would have left him there. More guilt upon guilt. To the man who sat lame at the pool of Bethesda, grace would have brought healing to the body, but it would have kept him crippled in his soul.

To them both Jesus says, "Go and sin no more." 

At this Christmas season I am reminded of my great need for both grace and truth. I am reminded of my need of Jesus. He tells me that there is hope through grace. He invites me to turn...to turn from and to turn to...because of truth. 

As the farmer posted out by the road in regard to a fly-by-night cheap paint company: "Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more." 

Remember that Jesus came into this world full of grace and truth. What a gift!

Have a blessed Christmas. 

P.S. Taking a couple of weeks to recover from the joy of the holiday season. See you back here in January. 

The Wedding

 '"The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding banquet for his son." (Matthew 22:2) 

"He has taken me to the banquet hall, and his banner over me is love." (Song of Songs 2:4)

We lost our annual sanctuary decorator this year. She moved south but didn't leave us without guidance. Organized to the "T." Everything labeled. Everything directed. We had another sister in the church who graciously jumped in to take over the reigns. She ended up being sequestered because of some Covid Thanksgiving. Enter in a couple of creative ladies. "Do we have to do things the way they have always been done?" Uh, oh. The question of death to many pastors. "Nope," I confidently answered. In fact, I was hoping for a vision of this...and I explained. "But let's not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Let's keep some traditional things." The end product...breathtaking. 

I sat in the back of the sanctuary with the morning sun shining and I realized something. I was looking at a Christmas scene but all I could see was a wedding. 

In many countries the father arranges a marriage for his son when he is born or shortly thereafter. It is usually a marriage that benefits both socially and economically. Love is something you will have to choose to do, not necessarily what one falls into. 

I sat in sacred silence looking at Christmas trees and lanterns, poinsettias and little choir boys lining the steps of the chancel, realizing that Father, God, arranged a marriage: His Son to his Church, the bride. I sat with both of those images before me. An empty manger in the midst of a bridal train.

A December wedding. 

"I, God, choose you..." 

"I, _____________, choose you..."  

Left Overs

 "When you bring blind animals for sacrifice, is that not wrong? When you sacrifice crippled or diseased animals, is that not wrong? Try offering that to your governor! Would he be pleased with you? Would he accept you? says the LORD." (Malachi 1:8)

It's Thanksgiving late afternoon. The adults are looking like bloated beached sea lions sunning themselves on a California beach. Shirts that were neatly tucked in are now perceptively pulled out concealing the fact that the pants have been unbuttoned to alleviate the gluttony of food consumed at lunch. The second football game of the day has concluded and a rerun of Harry Potter has been turned on. And one of the grandchildren who ate a Hawaiian sweet roll and a piece of cheese for lunch has the audacity to ask, "Grandma, what's for supper?" OMG! Who can eat again? Apparently, everyone. Grandma throws in a few pizzas and the rest dig into the leftovers. 

I don't know about anyone else, but I often find that leftovers taste better than the original. I'm not sure why. I'm heading into day six and I've not complained that the almost week-old gravy has turned lumpy and thick. That's what microwaves are for. I've not reached my limit on turkey breast and spiral ham. 

But as we look to invite some people over for a new members class, leftovers are not on the menu to be served. Given what I just said about how good they are, I'm not sure why we don't. 

There is something inherently wrong about serving something to guests that has already had a spoon, a fork, or a knife, scooped, poked, or sliced through it. I believe it has to do with offering the best to your guests; honoring them with the untouched. 

Confession: I was reminded of this this last week with a few of my parishioners. I love them as my sheep but I get a bit perturbed at the excuses for not coming on Sunday for worship. "Well, I watch on line, pastor?" "Well, I had such a busy Saturday..." "Well, I didn't feel very well" (accept they were out and about all afternoon that day). "Well, pastor at my age it's a bit difficult to get up that early (of course they have no problem staying up until two or three in the morning watching movies). Divine leftovers. I realize there are legitimate reasons and grace does abound. I'm not criticizing legitimate issues for community absence. But we shouldn't offer God leftovers. We offer our best and that includes our time. 

A pastor went out to visit an old farmer at his farm. The pastor went right to the heart of the matter. "Bill, why don't you come to church on Sunday?" "I have meat in the freezer," Bill replied. "What in the world does that have to do with the topic at hand?" the pastor shot back. "Well, I figured it was just as good as an excuse as any other," Bill answered. At least he was honest. 

Worship, in community, is not an option, it is an expectation and an expectation that should be gladly anticipated. "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go into the house of the LORD.'" (Psalm 122:1)

As we entered into the formal Advent season last Sunday, we should be looking to give God our best and not our left-overs. It's a busy time of the year with all the gift shopping and decorating. Unfortunately, a prime opportunity to offer God our seconds. 

I am a bit embarrassed to admit this, but the Christmas season is exhausting and I can't wait for it to be over. I'm running on fumes by the end of the year and often giving God my left-overs. 'Tis the season and I haven't been able to correct it in twenty-five years of ministry. Except one year that we moved to another church assignment and came in too late to prepare for anything. We ended up going to another church's Christmas Eve service where we could observe other people being exhausted. We didn't care for that service either but at least we weren't stressed over the planning and execution. 

The early church didn't celebrate Christmas. Outside of the fact that we really don't know when Jesus was born (probably September/October) and that it was associated with Saturnalia, the worship of the Roman Sun god, we have no scriptural mandate to celebrate it. But we do - right or wrong. Redeeming paganism. Perpetuating traditionalism. Supporting capitalism. Good Christians. 

I'm just praying that by the time this season closes its doors and steps into the new year, we're not still offering leftovers to a God who deserves so much more...than crusty creamed corn...no matter how good it tastes.  

Peppermint Patty

 "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thess. 5:18)

I am such a sucker for classic holiday films, especially, Charlie Brown. It's like a trilogy of holiday expectations. "The Great Pumpkin." "A Charlie Brown Christmas" - my favorite. And of course, in the middle, "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving." 

"Hey, Chuck! Do you kind of miss me, Chuck?" Oh my goodness...you just have to love Peppermint Patty or not. I think she was the first female animated bully. 

Peppermint Patty invites herself over for Thanksgiving dinner...not knowing that Charlie and his little sister are heading out to "grandmother's house we go." Before long she invites Marcie, and then Franklin. 

The ping-pong table comes out of the garage. A myriad of different chairs are brought out. The table is set. And the most scrumptious Thanksgiving meal was created: buttered toast, popcorn, pretzels, and jelly beans. 

"We have to say a prayer, Chuck? It's Thanksgiving after all. Aren't we going to say, 'grace'"? Of course, he doesn't know what to do but trusty Linus jumps in and gives us a short historical account of the first Thanksgiving before quoting the supposed prayer given on that day.

Regarding the meal, Peppermint Patty was not amused. "What blockhead cooked this? Where's the turkey? Where's the mashed potatoes? Where's the cranberries and the pumpkin pie?" 

Marcie intervenes. "Peppermint Patty didn't mean to hurt you, Charlie Brown. Thanksgiving is more than eating. It's about remembering what the Pilgrims went through and what we have gone through. I think its about being thankful that we are together." 

Apologies accepted all around. In fact, everyone "went over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go." 

The older I get this simple truth becomes more clear. It's not about the turkey, the mashed potatoes, cranberries, or pumpkin pie. It's about being together and being thankful for what the Lord has brought us through - especially this past year. 

A Disney movie at the local theatre. An evening walk at Spencer Park to see the holiday lights. Maybe a round of s'mores on the back porch fire pit. Who knows. Just together. 

But I'm still going to pass on the toast, popcorn, and jelly beans. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Pilgrim's Progress

 "And Jacob said to Pharaoh, 'The years of my pilgrimage are a hundred and thirty. My years have been few and difficult, and they do not equal the years of the pilgrimage of my fathers.'" (Ex. 47:9)

Some one hundred or so individuals, some seeking fortune, some escaping slavery, some seeking religious freedom, left Holland in September of 1620. Or as we would say today, "Discounted cruise ship weather." Almost two months later (November/December) they would land in Plymouth Bay, Massachusetts. I believe this is called "poor planning" as New England in the winter is a challenge even for modern day dwellers. To their defense they did think they were heading to sunny Virginia.

Imagine having no lodging. Very little food. No protection from predators (man or animal). Discord among your fellow passengers. More than half of you will die that winter. Not a good advertisement for the cruise line. 

I've been thinking about the mass migration of people over the last ten years. Africans trying to get into Europe. Icelandic people trying to get into Greenland not really understanding that its not really green. Everyone trying to get into the United States. 

It's like the Pilgrims. Everyone has their reason and they are willing to risk everything to get somewhere...somewhere else than where they currently are. And for many, the destination is just another version of the hell they tried to escape. The weather just might be a bit better. Which begs the question, "Why aren't more people trying to illegally get into Jamaica or Aruba or Costa Rica?"

Deb and I have moved a number of times. Mostly for job assignments. We never left because we felt our lives in danger. We never left because we were starving or persecuted. We never left because we weren't free to worship as God has directed us to worship. We never felt the internal angst that would cause us to sell everything except the clothes on our backs with a few changes of underwear and some photos of family...to subject our children to the unknown future because it was better than the known present. I can't be empathetic. The Bekins Van Line receipts bear witness against us. But I should be a lot more compassionate. 

The early Pilgrims were actually called such by their first governor, William Bradford: Pilgrims or Saints. Individuals and families making a sacrificial journey to a new land, to the Promised Land. Struggle. Sacrifice. Stalwart. I'm sure some back home said, "Stupid." But all such pilgrimages are in reality a bit unexplainable to those who are content. Unexplainable urges for something more, something new, something transformative. And all come with some form of a cost. 

I wish we would teach school children about these things more often. Perhaps we would be better off as subsequent generations appreciate and emulate those "S" qualities. Perhaps less biased indoctrination about unhistorical "White Privilege" and glorified Norman Rockwell paintings. 

I am reminded of this as I think about glued Pilgrim hats, Indian headbands, and turkeys in the shape of my hand. All fun for the holidays. I guess it beats teaching them about dysentery, lice, and hypothermia. I mean...how would you draw that anyway?

A Pilgrims Progress. 

Neighbor

 "But when the Pharisees heard that [Jesus] silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. Then one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question, testing Him, and saying, 'Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?'" 

"Jesus said to him, 'You shall love the LORD you God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22:34-40)

I was out visiting one of my dear senior saints in an assisted living facility a few weeks back and we were talking about the "good old days." She's 91 so I had to nod and fake agree with her on most things because I had no idea what she was talking about. She grew up on a farm so a lot of her memories were things that had to do with raising and putting up garden produce and slaughtering animals, of trading the local grocer this for that, and laundry. Not sure why any of that was "good." Perhaps a better word would be "simpler" or..."hard." 

But one thing struck a chord. It just happens to be something I also enjoy in the realm of the English language - when one takes a noun and uses it as a verb. She said, "Pastor, we just don't neighbor like we used to." Well said. 

I was thinking about my neighbor Ron who knows all things neighbory. I walked over to his house after church one Sunday with a little bag of Halloween candy. He's probably in his late 70's +/-.  "Hey, Ron, I know that your wife wouldn't let you dress up and go out for Trick or Treat this year and all I could think of is you sitting in here looking at all the kids having fun...you here without any candy...with tears in your eyes. So...Happy Halloween, Ron. And by the way, you can put all your tree branches in my pile. No sense of you killing your lawn when mine is already dead and will probably not be resurrected in that particular place." He confidentially conveyed to me that he has a little problem with sweets and went out and bought a bag of one hundred pieces. I said, "It's between you and me, my friend." I now have some leverage on the guy. 

It was a time of male bonding. Two men sharing life at a deep and meaningful level. I'm tearing up as I write this. We then moved into how often he has True Green come and fertilizer his lawn and a recent water leak that he had above his garage door. Precious moments. We were neighboring. I like to go over and neighbor with Ron. 

I neighbored with my friend Clifford this week. He lives behind me. I neighbored with his dog, Kia, as well. She was just fixed. Cliff is planning on doing some remodeling. He thinks I should level off my back yard a bit more so it slopes and gets rid of that pond that forms in my backyard during a good rain. "It's drowning your newly planted lilac bushes. You should think about some good American Holly bushes." He's a patriot and a lover of privacy horticulture. Neighbors neighboring. And women say we don't share. Non-sense. We bare our souls as men. 

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Maybe it's as simple as a short visit with some candy or a lean on the fence when you've got other things to do. Petting someone's dog. Maybe "love your neighbor as yourself" is just taking the time to be...to neighbor. Maybe it's giving what I want. Someone to care, to befriend me. Someone to listen to me when what I'm talking about is of very little interest to them. Someone to just be interested in me. 

A cup of sugar...when none is needed. 

Blotmonath

 " The fat belongs to the LORD." Leviticus 3:16

November. From Old French, Novembre. Directly from the Latin, November or Novembris. Novem meaning, "nine." Ninth month with the Roman calendar beginning in March. But not being French or Roman of heritage I decided to look at my mother tongue, Old English, (I am a Saxon on the Cains/Davis maternal side; there may be evidence that I am a distant relative to King Richard, the Lionheart...or castle slave or something...it doesn't really matter). I landed upon something quite interesting.

The month of November in English is called, "Blotmonath." Of course it is! You can see November clearly in the word. If you take the "Bl" out and replace it with an "N," remove the "t" and add a "ve," and cut out the "nath," replacing it with a "ber," - there you have it. "November." The miraculous development of the English language. 

"Blotmonath" is a combination of two words, "Blot" meaning, "Blood," and "monath" meaning, "month." It was also called, "The Month of Sacrifice." It was the time of year when most of the butchering was done heading into the winter months. It was cold enough that the meat could drain out the blood while not being prone to natural decay before the salt could be applied. 

There are those who believe that this was part of some post-All Hallows Eve pagan god worship that originally included human sacrifice. It may have been, but even non-Christian historians noted that it was primarily domestic livestock. Pagan worship accompanied all aspect of life, so it is no surprise that prayers to the "gods" to get them through a long English winter would accompany the practical action. 

I find it interesting and a bit reflective that as we head into Thanksgiving and the miracle of the Incarnation - where God so love us that He became one of us - that in this season "blood," "sacrifice" and "sustenance" through a cold season of life would be the focus of the average person. God does not leave himself without a witness - a reminder. 

As a side note, in the early days of America (of which many migrated from England), they used every part of the animal. Brains, tongue, tail, bone marrow, intestines, and fat were all used.  

An Old English story describes a family sitting down in the cold winter for a healfne cuppan cloenes gemyltes swices - "a half a cup of melted bacon fat." Mmmmm...good. 

Deb has been trying to think of something unique for our Thanksgiving family dinner. I think we may have found a winner. 

Happy Blotmonath! Winter is coming!

And so is my annual cholesterol blood work. 

"The fat belongs to the LORD." 

 

Trick of Treat

 "Let know one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who practices divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or cast spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the LORD..." (Deuteronomy 18:10-12)

Ah, the days when parents brought home the box - the box that contained your long awaited Halloween costume. You know the one made out of pure plastic (containing lead and twenty other carcinogens). You know the one that reduces your peripheral vision to...well...zero. Horse blinders for kids who are out walking at night going door to door asking for candy from complete strangers who often invite them into their old Victorian homes where deceased grandma has been rotting away upstairs in a locked bedroom. Man...did we have fun. Memories. 

I remember vividly one tragic Halloween when my dear Uncle Roger took this little country bumpkin to the big city to cash in. Forget the little plastic pumpkin...we're taking the pillow case. No apples, please, unless they are drenched in caramel and nuts wrapped in plastic. No cross contamination.  Popcorn balls. Definitely. Full size candy bars. Repeat customer. Bazooka Gum. No thanks. 

My booty bag was almost full. One more stop would complete it. "Trick or Treat." I thought about just shortening it to "Treat" because I was a nice kid and really didn't know what kind of trick I would do for them if they asked. I had a small deck of cards lodged in my pants just in case. "Take a card...any card." 

And then it happened. That darn Spider Man mask...I couldn't breath. I couldn't see. The pressure of other kids coming up behind me. I said my gracious, "Thank you," for my miniature Mr. Goodbar (my favorite). Turned and walked straight ahead. Totally disoriented. Focused on the latest steal. Missed the steps. Walked straight off the front porch like a suicide candy bomber right into their bushes. My stash flying all over the place. I'm certain it was divine punishment for my gluttonous spirit. A lot of lawn jewels for the owners of that house the next morning. 

My Uncle Roger quickly rushed over to me. Laughing. Trying not to laugh. Laughing. Sort of that humorous, "Are you okay" while internally saying, "That was awesome." Like watching someone slipping on ice or running from killer bees. You can't stop watching. It's funny but its not. And on top of that, the entire city observing my fall from grace. Tis the season. 

I am certain that the trauma of that evening subconsciously stayed with me. My fear of porch steps. Going out at night with a mask. But thank God that I still can eat a Mr. Goodbar without flashback nightmares. 

It did send me to the dark side of things. I became a lover of Bewitched and the Addams Family. I also confess that I repeatedly watch all the Harry Potter movies. 

On a more serious note...speaking of notes...when I moved to Alpena, Michigan, I received a very welcoming note that said this. "We just wanted to send you a note saying that upon your arrival we began praying for you. Praying down a curse upon you, upon your family, upon your church. May the Almighty One destroy all the works of your hands." Signed: The Coven." 

Satan is real. Demons are real. Those who follow and serve him are real. It is a dangerous area where many have literally lost their lives. Remember that our Adversary seeks to steal, to kill, and to destroy. Unfortunately, I have had the displeasure of being exposed to those individuals and to residences occupied by such. No thank you. 

So while I'm out with my oversized My Pillow pillowcase, dressed like a Jewish Rabbi, "treating" with my grandchildren this weekend (or not), I am going to be very aware that something sinister is also at work. 

Porch steps without railings. 

Children with masks and...

People who hand out fruit. 

Forget-me-not

 "Be careful that you do not forget the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 8:1

I often wonder how things get their name. Take for example, the Forget-Me-Not flower. The very name pictures some sort of sad story - a story of departure, of separation, of death, perhaps even a brutal execution of an innocent. I digress.  

Legend has it that a young knight was walking with his betrothed by the river when romance over took him and he leaned over to get a bouquet of flowers from the bank for his love. Unfortunately, he lost his balance, fell into the river, and because of his armor, began to sink and drown. His last words were...you guessed it..."I should have bought chocolate." But that was a very long and stupid name for a flower. No. They went with "forget me not." 

And she said, "Is that all there is...is that all there is...is that all there is my friend, then let's keep dancing. Bring out the booze and have a ball. If that's all there...whoops...so sorry. I was back singing that old Peggy Lee song again. (August 25th blog). 

Young maidens from thence forth wore these flowers as a sign of faithfulness and deep love for the men who went off to battle and those who did not return. 

Just an FYI - it actually has roots in the Greek language and originally meant, "mouse ears." Less romantic, I know, but true none-the-less. "Hey, Hon, I picked you some mouse ears." Loses something in the translation. 

"Forget-me-not," God tells his people when they enter into the Promised Land. "Forget-me-not" when you become rich and prosperous. "Forget-me-not" when you live in safety, when you live in nice houses, when your flocks increase, when your children are doing well. "Forget-me-not" when it seems that you don't need me anymore. "Forget-me-not."  

"Forget-me-not" when the ungodly push me out of school. "Forget-me-not" when they legally begin to kill my babies in the womb. "Forget-me-not" when they force My church to close. "Forget-me-not" when My Word becomes hate speech. "Forget-me-not."

Forget-me-not" when you feel anxious about tomorrow and concerned about your future as a follower of My Son. "Forget-me-not" when sorrow overwhelms, when My voice seems to be silent, when My hand seems to be cold, when the heavens seem to be shut, when death separates. "Forget-me-not." 

The point is that God knows I have a tendency to forget His presence - in good times and bad (unfortunately). Any type of stress, any type of discontent (especially when things are going well) should be a sign that I'm forgetting God. 

A good reminder...

Now... off to buy my beloved a box of chocolate and some mouse ears. 

"Forget-me-not." 

 

No See Um's

"If you do not let my people go, behold, I will send swarms of flies on you and your servants, on your people and into your houses." (Exodus 8:21)

Deb and I always look forward to sunny fall afternoons where we can just sit outside on the front porch or the back deck depending on the heat of the sun and the breeze. But lately we have been sequestered by the ongoing plague. No, I'm not talking about Covid but something more relentless: "No See Um's." 

I had never heard of these insects before and wish that I hadn't. They more accurately have been called, "No See Um's but Feel Um's" because by the time you see them they have already cannabalized you. 

The correct Dan Lute phylum name is, "Small Blackish Kinda-fleeish Irrititum" or Dasyhelea from the genus Dasyheleinae. Also called, Black Biting Midges (not midgets). 

I don't care what you call them...they hurt and they make the most wonderful time of the year miserable. I have never been praying so fervently for an early frost as I have this year. Death to the midges! 

It fells like the last two years the enemy has just wanted us to stay indoors, to be prisoners in our own homes, to rob of us of simple pleasures. But perhaps its just a natural phenomenon because of all the rain we have had. Or...could it be a divine plague once again calling us to repent. 

Covid. Seventeen year locusts. One hundred year flooding in Germany, Austria, and China. No toilet paper or canned carrots (still don't understand those two). Higher than normal temperatures. Please don't say, "Global Warming." Sorry, Greta. The Polar Bears will survive...or not. Life on planet earth will continue. Please devote your remaining years to curing Cancer or Alzheimer's Disease or Leprosy or finding actual Americans to be on America's Got Talent.

But I'm not sure life will survive if those Black Death Midges continue. I'm guessing this is the actual reason the dinosaurs went extinct. 

Truth be told we don't know what the truth is about these things. Are they simply a cyclical pattern of life? Is it something demonic in nature? Or a divine passiveness that is giving us a picture of what it will look like when He takes His hands off the sovereign wheel of creation? 

I've done my research. I've come to my conclusion. 

Essential oils: Lavender and Lemongrass. 

Regarding the rest...we'll just have to wait, see, and try not to itch. 

Mental Constipation

 "At this point Festus interrupted Paul's defense. 'You are out of your mind, Paul,' he shouted. 'Your great learning is driving you insane.'" (Acts 26:24)

I am at a crossroad. I have spent my whole adult life studying intensely so that I might be a vessel of honor for the Lord in the area of teaching His word. I have so much more to learn. So much more to understand. But I am tired. King Solomon said, "Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body." (Eccl. 12:11). I am weary and have been for a very long time. But I push on...

I am also aware as a teacher that giving too much information to students yields to what is known as "paralysis by analysis" - the place where there is too much to think about or the thing thought about has such depth that your mind simply stops working. Mental constipation. Academic enema needed.

I love to read and books have been my solace, my friend, my comfort, my strength, my source of renewal...my idol. 

Perhaps some of you can resonate. I have an internal need to understand, to know. Perhaps it stems from a fear of not knowing - to be asked a question and to suffer the embarrassment of something I should know, should have been aware of but wasn't. The fear of that one thing I could have said to turn the mind toward God, to turn the heart toward God. Failure. "What a crappy job, good and sort of faithful servant." 

Arrogant? Proud? Confessed. Desiring to please, to not let anyone down...God. Certain. Firstborn syndrome. Heir to the throne with the self-induced pressure to go with it. "I'm thinking so," says my inner therapist. But what to do?

Overall, I think its from God. It's how I connect with Him in a deep way. It is also part of my introvert DNA. But I've been feeling that season is coming to an end or shifting. 

But what's next? No idea. A part time job? I think that would just fill space and time. Sitting on the couch watching mindless TV for hours (except for the History Channel, the SciFi Channel, and...okay, HGTV, and the Food Network). Oh...and FreeForm, and MeTV, and the Inspiration Network, and Newsmax, ESPN college football, and...OMG...I need to read more and watch TV less. 

I feel like I am characterized by the sinful women in Titus, "ever learning but never coming to the knowledge of truth." I know that that's not true but I long for some definitive direction. A rifle instead of a shotgun. 

I know that in the latter days people will leave the faith and follow doctrine taught be demons. I know that my spiritual gift is to fight error and proclaim truth. I'm looking for a fight not another book to read (default). 

I miss teaching at a doctoral level. No "C's" get degrees stuff. Hardcore mind/spirit engagement. Gloves off. Get at it. Invigorating. Wonderfully exhausting. Like baling hay all day in 90 degree weather exhausting. 

Perhaps that is what the essence of a true spiritual gift is - not something you do, but something you are, something you love. Perhaps it is the thing that exhausts you and exhilarates you simultaneously. Perhaps its what drives you to greatness and can at the same time drive you to insanity. 

Maybe the difference is the focus: the subject or the object. 

Maybe the difference is that the intake is not equaling the output.

Solution: I just need a good "movement." 

Sheaves

"His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire." (Luke 3:17)

A combine is an engineering marvel. The head pulls the corn into a rolling set of knives that both cuts and pulls the corn stalks in, pulls the stalk down to separate the ear from the stalk, and cast it into the auger throat where it goes into a conveyer system. From there the ear is slightly crushed in the interior drum to release the corn seed from the cob and the dried husk. It then drops down to a shaking separator where the corn (kernels) drop down into an auger through a sieve that takes it up to the hopper and the shaker at the back of the combine shakes everything else backward onto a spinning devise that scatters it upon the ground. Perhaps too much information for those who don't care where your Corn Flakes originally start out but interesting none-the-less. 

My grandfather used to have...and every once in a while would show me how an old harvest wagon worked. It had one side with a much higher wall and a drop down gate in the back. When he was a kid they used to do the picking all by hand. Ole Betsy used to pull the wagon very slowly and the men with husking gloves went beside her and picked the corn by hand throwing it into the wagon (hence the higher side of the wagon). Perhaps now you'll appreciate the engineering side of things. If we had to do that now, your Corn Flakes would cost you about $1000 per box. 

The wheat harvest was much the same. For many years I still had an old three to four foot hand scythe used for cutting wheat, oats, and even alfalfa grass. Long rhythmic strokes cutting down the crop. With wheat, family members would carefully gather the individual stems up and bundle them up into sheaves. "Bringing in the sheaves (not sheets), bringing in the sheaves. We will come rejoicing bringing in the sheaves." You won't hear that song on the top ten Christian radio plays. (I know some of you are looking this up on You Tube and saying, "Thank God.") The public's loss. An old gospel song written in 1875 by Knowles Shaw based on Psalm 126:6, "Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them."  

Deb and I used to see those bound sheaves as we drove through the Amish country of Pennsylvania on our way back to Indiana. There is something about the old way. Horse and buggy. Homemade foods. Homemade clothes. Bowl haircuts. Second thoughts...no thanks. I'm too used to my heated seats and getting to LaPorte in less than a week.  

When the farmer brought the sheaves back to the barn (the granary) he would cover them up in a blanket and gently beat the stalk until the heads were separated or he would cast the wheat and straw (stalk) multiple times into the air with his winnowing fork while someone fanned air toward the door. Thus removing the seed from the stem without cracking it and separating the chaff from the seed by blowing it out the door. 

John the Baptist told his audience that this is what Jesus is going to eventually do. And interesting to me, is that he said it at the very beginning of Jesus' ministry. Jesus is both Savior and Judge. Separate the wheat from the chaff. Separate believers from unbelievers. His winnowing fork is in his hand. The separation devise is already in his possession. He's ready to bring the good into the kingdom and judge others with the judgment of unquenchable fire.

It scares me to think of the many people sitting in their homes on a Sunday morning without the slightest understanding of what is to come. I think about my neighbor, Ron, who knows all things neighbory. He's a good man but not sure where he stands in his faith or where it may be placed. You see, we all have faith in something. Your eternal destination depends on where it is placed. I'm praying that I might be able to have an open door to ask him some day. 

It scares me even more to think of the many who sit in church Sunday after Sunday or who show up when it is convenient. Religious but no relationship. Considered chaff by our Lord. A blowing away...a life lived without substance, without eternal value for the kingdom. Those who thought church was their salvation. Giving money was their salvation. Being a good person was their salvation. Serving was their salvation. All chaff. 

"Lord, Lord did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles? Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me you evil doers!'" (Mat. 7:22-23)

The Harvest winds are blowing. The winnowing fork is in hand. Wheat or weed? Worthless stem or good seed? 

Perhaps the next time you're out for a country drive you might give thanks for the spirit of invention and take some personal inventory regarding your seed. 

Cheap cereal. 

Expensive salvation. 

"All that call upon the name of the Lord shall be sheaved." 😇💛

The Great Banquet

 "On this mountain the LORD Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine - the best of meats and the finest of wines. On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; he will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove the disgrace of his people from all the earth." 

I recently attended a community Great Banquet hosted by our church (Calvary Presbyterian). Seventy-two hours of communal living. Worship. Communion. Sharing. Fun. Tears. Laughter. This type of retreat is not really my "thing" but I was thankful for the experience and the unexpected blessings that came from it. 

I was reminded of something as I gorged on some of the best meat lasagna and cheesecake I have had in a while. Food is part of fellowship. And rich food is part of rich fellowship. 

I've been worrying about whether I'm going to like the kingdom of God when it comes. I was fearful that salads were going to be my lot for a thousand years plus eternity. I know that God can change my palate but I was thinking about a world without fried chicken or ribs. And once again the Lord heard my concern and directed me to a passage that brought joy to my heart. Isaiah. A banquet. And meat. 

Okay...I'm not that shallow and I actually have thought a lot about this as a teacher of Revelation on multiple occasions. The food may be real but the richness comes because of why we are eating it - fellowship with our Lord and immense thanks for the provision before us. And I'm not talking about the table. I'm talking about the no more tears, the no more death, no more sin for those who have been redeemed. 

I think of two dishes that come to mind from both of my grandmothers. My Grandma Lute made the best homemade egg noodles. Thanksgiving and Christmas packed in around all my aunts and uncles. Celebration of family. Being together. 

My Grandma Cains made the best Christmas ham. She always saved out a pineapple that had been marinating on top of it for hours and when she cut it in slices she would always save me an end. Celebration of family. Being together. 

Both of those lovely ladies have since passed into glory but in Christ I will see them again. But every time I go to some homestyle restaurant or buffet and those delicacies are set before me, it's not the noodles and the ribs that I'm thinking about. It's about the joy of having those ladies in my life and sorrow of not having them here. 

Imagine chairs and tables as far as the eye can see filled with the richest of delectable food. Beautiful table settings and decorations. People seated on each side. Stories being told of how the King saved us. Actually, I think its going to be more than I could ever expect or visually imagine. I was reminded this weekend of how much I long for this celebration? 

Save me a place at the table, Lord. 

Until then, I'll make sure my memory is stirred as I smell the grilled chicken and BBQ ribs. 

Fallen

"You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." (James 4:14) 

Just as summer turns the corner and the leaves of Autumn begin to turn and fall, we were reminded this weekend of the words of Solomon, "there is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heaven: a time to be born and a time to die...a time to kill and a time to heal...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance...a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace." 

I was only at my new church in Alpena, Michigan a month when the September 11th terrorist attacks hit our beloved country. I remember it well. I remember being glued to the television, to the site. No words. Silence. Unbelief. Grief. They were not my family members, but they were. 

I am at my new church in Logansport, Indiana, less than a year...when a young marine was honored by his city for giving his life trying to save civilians from the barbaric lifestyle of the Taliban. I will remember it well. 

Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, young and old...no ethnic divide this past Sunday. No strangers. The human family gathered to pay respect and in some way to release some anger at an unnecessary loss. 

I've never been in such a massive crowd where tears streamed down the faces of those gathered and silence blanketed the event. An uneasy but necessary quiet. Somber reflection. No cheers. No laughter. No jokes or flippant conversation about the weather. Solemnity. This was not a parade. This was a funeral march for a native son. Grief for a suffering mother, father, and siblings. Grief for our nation. 

And then the roar of thousands of motorcyclists - patriots who support the act of remembrance and honor. Men and women who could barely drive their bikes because of the overflowing tears, the unexpected support, the community sorrow. He was not my family, but he was. 

All I kept thinking was, "I hope they know and feel loved." An unusual sentiment for those you do not know. Perhaps it is my own internal desire. To know that I am not going through a tragedy alone. 

He was not my family, but he was. 

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." (Romans 12:15)

Overwhelmed. 

Tears. 

Love.

Family. 

Golden Leaves

 "Also at your times of rejoicing - your appointed feasts and New Moon festivals -  you are to sound the trumpets over your burnt offerings and fellowship offerings and they will be a memorial for you before your God. I am the Lord your God." (Numbers 10:10)

I was listening to the local radio station in Logansport. The secular one. I know. I'm a pastor. I publicly confess my sin. It just takes me back to a simpler time of Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, the Everly Brothers, Doris Day, Dave Clark 5, and...the king...Elvis. 

Memories. No, I mean, Memories, as in the song that Elvis sang. 

"Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind.
Memories, sweetened through the ages just wine.
Quiet thoughts come floating down and settle softly down to the ground. 

Like golden leaves around my feet, I touch them and they burst apart with sweet memories." 

I am writing a bit in advance since I will not be able to submit a blog post next week. Rosh Hashanah or Yom Teruah, or the Feast of Trumpets (can be called all three) will begin on September 7th. It begins the Fall Feast series or the Fall Appointed Feasts of the Lord. 

I have always been fascinated with these feasts for the reason that they are all associated with some aspect of the ministry of Jesus. 

Spring Feasts: 

Passover - Jesus is our Passover Lamb

Unleavened Bread - Jesus is our sinless sacrifice

First fruits - Jesus is the first fruit of the dead

Pentecost - Jesus gives to the Church the Holy Spirit. 

Fall feasts: 

Feast of Trumpets - coming of the Messiah

Day of Atonement - the recognition that Jesus is the true Messiah and the people repent

Feast of Tabernacles - celebrating the Messiah's provision and eternal dwelling with his people.

There is a sense of mystery with the Feast of Trumpets and, I have to confess, a bit of nervousness. It is the least understood of the feasts because it is the least described by way of purpose. Trumpets announce. Trumpets call people to assemble. Trumpets call people to attention. To announce what? To call people to assemble for what purpose? To call people to attention for what? Mystery. Memories. 

All that we know is that it is a time of great rejoicing and a time to stir up memories of God. But I believe that encased in this feast is a great sense of expectation - which is where the nervousness comes in to play. The expectation of the coming of the King for his people and later, the expectation of coming back with Him as the Bride of Christ to be revealed to the Jewish people. Rapture and Second Coming. 

I know that other followers of Jesus may disagree with me on this point. It is not something I will break fellowship over.  

I think we can all agree to rejoice and remember what the Lord has done for us. I'm going to try and be more mindful of such things as I see those golden leaves around my feet. 

Sweet memories. Glorious expectations. 

Maranatha!

 

Is That All There Is?

"'Meaningless! Meaningless!' says the Teacher. 'Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless." (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

I was reminded of an old Peggy Lee song as I was reading the above scripture: Is That All There Is?

Chorus: "Is that all there is? Is that all there is?

If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing. 

Let's break out the booze and have a ball. 

If that's all there is."

Last verse:  "I know what you must be saying to yourselves

If that's the way she feels about it why doesn't she just end it all?

Oh no, not me. I'm not ready for that final disappointment.

Because I know just as sure as I'm standing here talking to you

That when that final moment comes and 

I'm breathing my last breath, 

I'll be saying to myself, 'Is that all there is?'"

It's a great song. But it is a very sad song, a hopeless song. And it reflects the universal sentiment of meaningless and a sense of the absurdity of life that many have at present. 

We exist. And then we don't. The product of the evolutionary teaching of man. We are stuff, a product, material in a consumeristic world, a pawn in whatever political games that are being played. Heroes one day; villains the next. Essential one day; expendable the next. Who can make sense of it all?

 It's why the suicide rate over the last year and half has been exponentially higher. It's why spousal and child abuse is at an all time high. Alcohol. Drugs. Gun violence. Why not just be done with it all?  

I would like to say, "No, Peggy. That's not all there is." But...perhaps for the type of person the song is singing about...it is. Life lived without purpose. Life not lived for the greater eternal good. Not realizing that there is an eternity. Sad. But an opportunity. 

The opportunity is to teach people to live with life's paradoxes. In the midst of the upheaval of life we can still find things to enjoy, to give thanks for, to celebrate. Joy is often found in the simple and the taken for granted. 

In the mist of the temporary, we need to remind each other of the present value of people we love and who love us. In this temporary world, we need to point people to Jesus, to the Way, to the Truth, to the...Life...abundant here and eternal there. 

If we live like this, our last breath won't be a disappointment, Peggy. 

Forget the booze but I'm gonna dance with the wife, love on my kids and grandkids, love and serve my Lord and church family, enjoy the cardinals on my back deck, visit with my neighbor, Ron (who knows all things neighbory), take a walk down by the river, and have a ball.

What a great life...if that's all there is. 

Afghanistan

 "Do not oppress a foreigner; you yourselves know what it is like to be foreigners, because you were foreigners in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)

It was a long, hot, autobus ride down to a small village in southern Lebanon - a known Hezbollah area (terrorists). We arrived at the American pastor's home who was endeared by all and called, "Papa" by the locals (6 foot 6 inches tall with a full and neatly trimmed all white beard; more fluent in Arabic than the locals). We split up into two vans. I went with the pastor. We were going to visit a man and his family to share the gospel. It was not a good day. 

We arrived to this house made of leftover 8 inch cinder blocks with a metal roof and tiled floors - no bigger than my living room but housing at least ten people. Simple fabric separating living and sleeping quarters. Cooking was done outside. There was yelling and screaming in Arabic. The father had basically sold his oldest daughter into marriage to a Hezbollah officer who was three times her age. She refused and said she would commit suicide rather than to be a slave. All her hopes and dreams shattered in one decision by her father. It was no idle threat. My heart broke. What could I do?

Others in the small community that were even of different Muslim faiths, e.g. Shia or Sufi, were denied jobs or given jobs no one would want to do. So sorry to inform the reader but most of the world does not have antidiscrimination laws. And the Christians...we toured a very scary re-education center (nice words for prison where they torture or kill you and your family). I couldn't wait to get out of there. What could I do?

All of these memories came flooding back this week as my eyes were on Afghanistan. Already the systematic killings/beheadings are taking place. I thought about my Christian brothers and sisters. Trapped. Terrified. Caught. Concerned. 

This was all brought home when I received an email from one of my co-laborers from the International Student, Inc., ministry that I was involved with at George Fox University in Newberg, Oregon. She sent out a note a few months ago from one of her students who I had met and then remembered who was from Afghanistan. Two months ago...she asked for financial help to get her family out of the country. Two months ago word was already out the the U.S. was pulling out of the country. Two months ago she was already in fear for her families' lives. What could I do? 

Men heading for execution. Wives raped and indentured or killed. Girls as young as 9 and 10 (prepubescent) being "married" off to men as old as 50 or sold into the sex slave trade, boys being sold into hard labor slavery or forced to be a soldier. What can I do?

I was convicted this morning as I was reading through some of the "exilic" writings (those written during the exile to Assyria and Babylon). God has a huge heart for those that are refugees - foreigners pushed out of home and life because of external conflict. They aren't seeking a better life. They are seeking to live. 

My passion for mission has inflamed. My hunger to go has resurfaced. My spirit aches. What can I do? Holy Spirit lead. 

Me.

Us.

Pray.

Dust to Dust

 "For dust you are and to dust you will return." (Genesis 3:10b). 

I've been thinking about death lately. Not my own but the recent homegoing of family members - two cousins in the same family and an aunt on my side of the family and on Deb's. Brother and sister were cremated and lie in separate decorative boxes next to each other. 

I was asked to officiate for the sister. What an honor. But I haven't seen her in almost 40 years. I just remember that she was quiet, seldom smiled, and had really long hair. It's the distinguishing phrase, "I knew of her" rather than "I knew her." Hard words to say about one's own extended family but...such is the transitional life we all lead willingly or unwillingly. 

I haven't been home in twenty years so those words would apply to me as well. They all knew of "Danny" but very few know the Reverend Doctor Daniel Lute. Seeds scatter and new lives grow in other gardens. 

I recently read an article of a woman whose husband was a potter. All his life he would talk about the work that fire does in bringing to "life" the dull and vulnerable clay. Fire hardens and beautifies. 

She thought about that as she held her husband's decorative box of ashes. It was all of him -ashes and bits of bones - even the wedding ring on his left had was reduced to its basic components. It was all of him but yet, none of him. His laugh wasn't in this box. His frustrations or joys or celebrations or defeats were not in this box. His love was not in this box. Somehow it was all of him but none of him. Where was the beauty in this?

I thought about this with cousin Pam and cousin Tom and soon to be Aunt Suzanne and Aunt Cheryl. Somehow it is all of Pam, but really none of her. Somehow it was Tom but really none of him. Somehow the body laying before us is Aunt Suzanne or Cheryl, but really none of her - just the shell that housed who she really was. 

I'm not saying that the body is not important. I have a graveside service for a reason. It was the body that we hugged, that we kissed, the hand that we held, the eyes that we peered into, the vessel we recognized in the restaurant or walking through the county fair midway. The body is important and so much so that God will raise it up at the end of days. But it is the soul, the spirit, that brings flesh and bones to life. 

Where is the beauty in this? 

Perhaps it is in the sense that you can bury the body but you'll never be able to separate the memories of the immaterial. I find this in celebration of life moments when family members laugh at something the person would always say or do. Old Christmas or vacation memories. Moments in the relational library that can be pulled up when prompted. The tangible, yellow Polaroids, where everyone wore the same sweater vests with striped 1960's pants, and white belts. Maybe memories are not so great. 

As I put my reading glasses on to see those old photos, to read the dated articles, I was reminded that the most important element of the day was not that which was housed in the box but in my memories. Perhaps this is the beauty that was intended. 

"Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We commit this body to the grave and the spirit to God from which it came." 

 

Stressed

 "We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to this present time." Romans 8:22

Beside the Wabash River, in Logansport, Indiana, lies the Little Turtle Waterway Trail. A beautiful, scenic, paved trail that hugs the river and gives breathtaking views of the state's proclaimed waterway and exposed bank areas. (I am finding myself humming with the Mills Brothers version - On the Banks of the Wabash Far Away; On The Banks Of The Wabash, Far Away (1943) - The Mills Brothers - Bing video). 

The trail was named after a Miami Indian chief by the same name (Little Turtle) who was an advocate for peace with the many European settlers making their way to the expansive west. It's hard to believe that Indiana was once thought to be the untamed frontier but as I said in a past blog...give it a few years without tending and "Mother Nature" will reclaim what has been tamed. 

Deb and I were walking this trail Sunday afternoon - glad for the respite of high humidity days that consumed us for the last week or so. We came to a particular clearing and we noticed all the dead leaves on the trail. It took us a bit by surprise since Fall is technically a few months away. Perhaps it is coming early this year. I've noticed the subtle color change and dropping of leaves from my Red River Birches in the backyard as well. 

No worries. It's just stress. When trees are exposed to such hot days without rain they begin to get rid of things, like leaves, for self-preservation - anything to save the tree itself. Stressed trees. Who would have thought.  

Nature is a great teacher if only we would be good students. As long as we live in this broken world their will be stress. Jesus said, "In this world you will have tribulation" and with that tribulation comes inevitable stress. 

The tree is smart enough to shed that which it can survive without. If only we had such wisdom. Instead, we cling to the thing that brings about the agony not realizing that it is not essential. We cling in order to retain that which we think we need, but in the end puts greater stress on the trunk. In many cases we know its not even a need but a want that makes life a bit more enjoyable. And yet we cling. 

Like the earth in general we groan, realizing in the depths of our being that something is not right -externally or internally. The earth is waiting for us to be what we have been created to be - fully redeemed by the coming of our Lord. Only then will she rejoice. Only then will she de-stress as well as us. 

Until then...look for more dead leaves and bewildered walkers.  

Behind the Scenes

 "But one thing I do:  Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead. I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:13b-14)

"May the Lord show mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chains. On the contrary, when he was in Rome, he searched hard for me until he found me...You know very well in how many ways he helped me in Ephesus." (2 Timothy 1:15)

I have been watching a little of the Olympics in Tokyo the last few days. I have been especially interested in the back stories of many of the athletes. Some from notable universities with major sport complexes. Others from unheard of cities who practiced in ponds, back roads, barns, and anywhere that would improve their skills. But they all had one thing in common: support. Mom's and dad's willing to sacrifice. Siblings willing to be second. Highschool gym teachers that pushed and college coaches that saw "something" in a person. Fellow athletes willing to share moments, struggles, advice, or simply, companionship on this short journey. These athletes did not get there on their own. 

I was reminded of a few things this week. First, I was reminded of the privilege that I had to pray for our youngest daughter's commencement service at Western Michigan University. I prayed and gave thanks for all the sacrifice that parents and siblings made so that that student could attend university and perhaps have a better life. Hopefully, paying it forward. They didn't do it alone. 

I thought of a phone call with a brother in Christ Sunday afternoon who reminded me that although a previous ministry that I was involved in was incredibly difficult most of the time, that God, in His grace and mercy, provided deep and abiding friendships to sustain us and get us through that time. So true. We didn't do it alone. 

I thought about this as the Olympic commentators were interviewing family members here back in the states at three o'clock in the morning. Very little sleep because of the time change. Wow. 

Still supporting. Still sacrificing. Still Covid restricted. Yet never alone. 

I was reminded of the words of the Apostle Paul to the Romans when he said, "None of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone." (Romans 14:7) We need each other and we ultimately belong to the Lord. 

None of us find success alone. 

Mother Nature

 "Cursed is the ground because of you, through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you and you will eat the plants of the field." (Genesis 3:17b-18)

Deb was in Florida with the youngest daughter and grandkids this last week. Which meant I was getting some honey-do projects accomplished in her absence. 

When we first bought our house last November, I couldn't really tell if the siding was white, black, or green. Original color. Mold. Mildew. The neighbor's vinyl fence on the north that separated our property was the same mystery. 

We were blessed to have new windows put in last week so the time had arrived to give the house and driveway a nice pressurized bath - a 2000 psi washing. The unveiling. Just what is under all that grime?

As I washed I was thinking about how the curse affects me constantly. Every week I am mowing grass, trimming branches, killing ants, chasing destructive gofers, pulling down invasive vines, spraying weeds that are coming up in my new rock landscaping, killing ants (did I say that already),etc. I am on the look out for branches that have grown to the point of poking my eyes out and for whatever dead or poisonous plants have found a home on my property. 

My neighbor, Ron, who knows all things neighbory, was watching me do all things to battle the curse and he said, "Imagine if we just let things go for five or ten years. Mother Nature will always have her way." 

Mother Nature. Not sure where that term came from but it's not endearing. We hardly ever speak of her except when there is some sort of environmental calamity. Don't mess with Mother Nature. She represents the brokenness of our world, not the old lady with a plant growing out of her hat and all the wild animals cheerfully playing together and feeding in her backyard. 

Truth be told. Those critters have eaten all of her flowers, destroyed her garden, and are eating each other in a evolutionary feeding frenzy. 

I thought about this. My little house would be solid green or black. Trees would completely cover my roof and vines would creep into every crevice that could be found. Weeds would completely take over any rock surface, driveway, and even roads. 

All we have to do is look at societies that died out, where no human life pushed back against the tide of broken creation, to see how nature will take back what we have stolen from her. I would be living in an ancient Incan city where people from the future would come and discover the long lost city of Logansport. 

But then I reread Genesis 1-3. The curse was connected to the sweat and fight it would take to do what actually we were created to do. In reality, Adam was created with "Gardner," "Caretaker," as his job description - pre-Fall. Pruning and mowing the grass by moving goats around, transplanting flowers, cultivating the soil so nutrients could get down to the roots - all of this was a joy. 

Even today when you see a well-landscaped home or golf-course, when you see a well tended park or even cemetery, you see more than a person pushing back at the curse but an affirmation that man was created to care, to beautify, to appreciate, to create as well. 

All I know is that I have a internal satisfaction at the effort put into mowing the yard and pressure washing the house, and seeing my roses bloom in clean landscaping, and getting black soot off of my driveway. 

Doing what I've been created to do or at least until I get too old and have to pay the neighbor kids to do it. Until then, my fight against Mother Nature and black ants continues. 

Center of the Road

 "Let your eyes look straight ahead, fix your gaze directly before you. Make level paths for your feet, and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil." (Proverbs 4:25-27)

In reading the Gospels, I am reassured when I see Jesus saying "no" to what, on the outside, looks like a great ministry plan. 

"Jesus, there are a lot of people already showing up to see you today. It's going to be a great day." 

"No, we are leaving and going to another village."

"What?" 

"Disciples, we are going to head back home to Galilee. Let's go." 

"Ummm....aren't we going the wrong way? No Jew goes through Samaria."  

"No. We go through Samaria." 

"If we go to Jerusalem they will kill you. We can't go. Let's stay up here in our own stomping grounds." 

"No. We must go to Jerusalem." 

Paraphrasing of course, but true accounts of Jesus and his earthly journey. He always seemed to be focused on what was needed to accomplish his mission and what was not . He didn't turn to the right or to the left. Center of the road. No blurred vision. 

I recently said "yes" to being on a local community board. I was privileged to be asked, especially since I am so new to the community. And...it seemed to fall in line, at least on appearance, with what my mission is. 

Within a week -trouble. Employee trouble. But as I received further documents I began to see clearly that the organization itself was in trouble. Mission creep. That which it started out to be and for which it was named is no longer the focus of the organization. The tail is wagging the dog. The dog is tired of being wagged. Have you ever seen some of those dogs with stubby tails, tails that were cut off as pups? Inference. 

My initial thought was to immediately resign since it had only been a month since I was admitted. No harm. No foul. I didn't sign up for this. I am an unpaid volunteer who simply wanted to devote some time to make a difference in the community in which I live. What should I do? A feel like a ditch is in my future if the car doesn't correct itself. 

But...I am beginning to see a divine purpose in the tumult. A board member possibly returning to the church that I currently serve - a place he grew up but has since left. The ability to use my peace-making skills and conflict management skills. The opportunity to do something significant with other community leaders, to right something that has gone left, to renew a ministry that is still desperately needed. The privilege of carrying with me the presence of Jesus to employees who need the saving grace of God. 

I was reminded that we want life to be easy but its not - or shouldn't be. Our greatest strength in times of trial is recognizing our weakness - our inability to manage the circumstance, to change an organization, to change a person, to change oneself. Reflection. 

"But Jesus, its easier to go around." 

"No. Through Samaria we go."

Center of the road. 

A divine opportunity. Pray.