Grasshoppers

 "We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them." (Numbers 13:33b)

One last book to read and I'll have the whole Bible read again this year. New Testament twice. Psalms and Proverbs twice. Minor prophets and Daniel twice. Revelation...four times along with Ezekiel 38-39. Privileges of being a pastor. 

My last book for this year is the book of Numbers. Don't ask me why. It just fell that way. And I was a bit disinterested, like reading Leviticus or Obadiah, because...well...its about numbers. It's why its called...wait for it...Numbers. Take a census for this. Take a census for that. Count how many of them. Count how many of those. Boring. Not really. Okay...I lied...it is. But the Holy Spirit put it in there for a reason and I need to figure it out.  

Beyond the initial chapters the book is quite interesting. Numbers 6 gives you the wonderful Aaronic blessing. Numbers 7 gives you a wonderful example of giving - starting with  leaders leading the way. Numbers 8 tells me about the rights and privileges of firstborn sons and the Levites who had the honor of taking care of God's house- the privileges associated with full-time ministry. Numbers 9 tells me that God is flexible when it comes to the rules. Numbers 11-12 and 16 about rebellion against God and jealousy against his divinely appointed leaders. And chapter 12 gave me a deeper understanding of Deuteronomy 18:15 and the description of the Messiah as one who would be like Moses - speaking with God face to face (Num. 12:8). I'll stop here but I hope that the reader will take some time to glean in this spiritual field sometime. A lot of good harvest available.

I was meditating on the very familiar story of the Israelites doing the exploratory trip into the Promised Land in chapter 14. Everything that God had promised them was there - a land of milk and honey - a land so filled with possibilities that it was quite frankly, unbelievable. For goodness sake, they brought back a cluster of grapes on a pole carried by two guys! 

Problem:  Giants. Wrong. Problem: Little God. Almost. Problem: View of oneself in light of a little God. Yes. Got it. See it. Understand it. How do I change it?

I feel like 2020 was a little me/little God year. The virus, the elections, government intrusion based on "safety"...we voluntarily shut down our houses of worship, we stopped singing, we limited people on Christmas Eve (thank God we had one), we stopped hugging and shaking hands, we stopped visiting.

I'm not down playing the seriousness of the virus or the need to love each other in a unique way for a time but where is God in all of this and what exactly is our role in it as followers of Jesus? 

I get the Romans 13 obey your government thing but it feels like we are losing ground instead of taking it. I'm saying this in my head but also knowing that God has done a lot of good work this year. In particular, the Holy Spirit kicked the church in the pants and redirected us back to the basics of our mission. And its not to make sure the building is still there. If we learned nothing else...

It's like the spies came back and said, "You are not going to believe all the good things that God has in store for us. It's just over the horizon. Yeah! But...we can't have them because there is a virus out there."  Little me. Little God. Big world. 

Interesting point that I had not seen in the many years of reading through this book: a census was taking in the early chapters to see how many fighting men Israel had over 20 years of age. Judgement: all of those counted men would die in the desert for their lack of faith. God knew. God knows. Count off. 

Only two guys, Joshua and Caleb, tried to rally the people. Express a big God and therefore a mighty people. To no avail. The will was not there. Their knowledge of God was not there. Their trust/faith was not there. 

Jesus told his disciples, "When I come back will I find faith on earth?" I wonder. I wonder if that was a question or a foreshadowing of the foreboding truth to come? Paul did tell Timothy that in the end-times people would abandon the faith. 

My New Year's resolution is simple this year. I want to be an unstoppable grasshopper - a locust plague for God, for good. In my spirit I feel like this is my/our last shot before the Uptaker comes.  

Grasshoppers jump. Grasshoppers fly. They carry around body armor 24/7. Their ears are on the belly not on their head (true fact). In other words, they have their ears to the ground - they know what's going on in reality. They have the ability to make music whenever they want (back legs rubbing together). They conquer when they work together in mass. And...they go well with chocolate. 

So...I don't care what enemy might come my way next year. I'm a big grasshopper serving a big God.

Count me...in. How about you?

Happy New Year!

December Disappointments

 "In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world...And everyone went to his own home town to register." (Luke 2:1 and 3)

Christmas time is a time of extremes:  overjoyed or depressed. It's often a hardship - like a nine month pregnant woman having to make a three day trip down south on a donkey. 

I thinks its the hype, to be honest. It's the expectation that this is the "most wonderful time of the year." "It's the hap-happiest season of all. With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings when friends come to call. It's the hap-happiest season of all." 

Yeah...not gonna happen this year. And if it does...social distancing and a mask required. Better yet let's just Zoom it. I'll buy a pumpkin pie scented candle and spill some gravy on my shirt and it will be just like I'm there. 

"They'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, caroling out in the snow. They'll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glory of Christmas' long, long ago." 

Nope. No parties. Marshmallows...okay, we can do that over the stove (rats...we just bought an electric cooktop - I guess we'll be searching for a large candle). Caroling. Nope. No singing this year. Scary stories...my favorite..."A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. Hmmm...I think I found part of the problem. It's those "tales of the glory of Christmas' long, long ago." 

Childhood memories make everything perfect don't they? They weren't of course. But we didn't focus on the hardships, the lack of things at times. We focused on the joy of being together as a family. Even though our Christmas morning was cut short by heading out to an aunt and uncles' house for lunch or to a grandmother's upstairs apartment for supper. They were good memories. Grandparents. Aunt's and Uncles. Cousins. Boyfriends and girlfriends. Sad to say...I'm at the age where many of those have left this world. They are found in old polaroid photos surrounded by people you search the recesses of your mind to remember. 

Not everyone has those memories. In fact, many have family memories at Christmas they would rather bury and never remember. Like getting those red, green and white flared 1970's bell bottoms with the accompanied white belt. You could always count on clothes for Christmas. 

At least I received a gift. At least I had a tree. At least I had a loving family. At least I had a warm home to celebrate within. Thankful. Not everyone has those gifts. 

The problem that I find is that I want those times again. I want to be seven or eight again - to see "Rudolph" or "A Charlie Brown Christmas" with childlike eyes...with my sisters. To recall those "tales of glory of Christmas' so long ago." But alas, as Thomas Wolfe wrote, "You can't go back home again to your family...back home to your childhood...back home again to a young man's glory and fame...back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems which once seemed everlasting, but which are changing all the time...back home to the escapes of Time and Memory." And that's okay. New memories are in the wings. 

I think what this year has done is stripped away the glitter and noise and has allowed us to remember the true meaning of Christmas. It is the most wonderful time of the year. 

In the words of Linus, "The Angel of the Lord shown round about them, and they were terrified. But the angel said, 'Fear not! I bring you news of great joy that will be for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You shall find the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in the manger.' Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.'" 

Merry Christmas! And choose to make it a most wonderful time of the year. 

An Authentic Christmas

 "And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross." (Philip. 2:8)

How many of you had those fake cardboard fireplaces growing up? You know the one that had a black mantle to hang your stocking on with the stamped red bricks. But I especially liked the "real" fire. Cardboard log cut outs with a light behind it that had a little circular contraption that moved to give one the illusion that their was a real fire glowing in the background. 

It solved the embarrassing question every parent encountered: "If we don't have a fireplace, how is Santa going to come down the chimney and bring us presents?" Problem solved. We make one. One that we can take down before the new year begins.  The chimney, they explained, was already built behind the wall. You just can't see it. 

It might have been a chuckle to mom and dad but to a little guy, it is a prized Christmas memory. One that I am sure exists only in my head and whose physical contents have long decomposed in a landfill somewhere. I was happy. It didn't matter if it was fake. It was part of the Christmas ambiance. 

But now I'm old. The silver threads starting to show in my youthful hair which like prized beach frontage, keeps receding. My patience for the untrue, for the false narrative is shrinking like my height. I long for the authentic, for something real. I'm tired of the fake Jesus the world, and sometimes even the church puts forth for me to worship.  

I am hearing more and more people cry out for a real encounter with God this year - to engage with the child in the manger - to be changed. They thought with the Covid stuff that this year might be different, less hectic, more focused. They were wrong. It is just as chaotic as churches scramble to "have Christmas" safely. "How many can we safely have?" "Do we rope off one pew or two?" "If we do have candles, how do we blow them out?" "And what if too many people come?" 

Lord, Jesus come! Help!

Maybe that is the most authentic Christmas expectation we should have. To not expect the annual show but Jesus himself, coming in all of His glory. Immanuel. God with us.  

That old cardboard fireplace served its purpose visually and perhaps emotionally but one thing it could never do...keep you warm. 

Praying for the real thing and a reminder to turn my fake fireplace on in the basement for the grandkids. 

I'm the Angel in the Christmas Play

 "This is the account of Jacob's family line. Joseph, a young man of seventeen, was tending his flocks with his brothers, the sons of Bilhah and the sons of Zilpah, his father's wives, and he brought his father a bad report about them." 

I recently heard for the first time the song, "I'm the Angel in the Christmas Play." (71) Gayla Peevey "Angel In The Christmas Play" - YouTube  If you're not familiar with the song, its about a rotten kid...well a normal kid who just gets in trouble a lot for doing rotten things. The kicker is that she's the angel in the school Christmas play. 

I was a little like that as a kid. I know - hard to believe. My dad used to remind me of the time when I was in that remedial time of life, especially during Christmas. Apparently, I was in good form one day and my dad said, "If you don't start behaving I'm going to tell Santa Claus and you won't get any presents." Not sure if that was a good parenting strategy for a young boy bent on destruction and world domination but it did give me pause. I was probably contemplating shooting reindeer with my B-B Gun or some sort of pyro-technique explosion pointed at Santa's sleigh or wouldn't it be cool to have my own set of servant elves to make me stuff. 

When out on the lawn I heard such a chatter. I sprang to the window to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shudders and threw open the sash. (Wait a minute. We didn't have shudders and I'm not sure what a sash is - I think its the bottom of the window). When what to my wondering eye should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. No...not really. It was my mom and dad's insurance agent dressed up like Satan...whoops, Santa, bringing our annual fruit basket. His car had those stupid reindeer horns stuck in the grill. But it scared the hell out of me. And now you know why I'm a pastor. And why I was the Angel in the Christmas play. 

Thanks, Dad. 

The Grinch

 "But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all people." 

When I was little I always looked forward to the Christmas season, especially the Christmas cards that our family received. My father would play this little game at supper with my sisters and me. My mother would neatly Scotch Tape each card to the brown paneling that was our kitchen - always in a neat row and slightly angled. It was when you could afford to send out a lot of Christmas cards and...stamps. So we would have thirty or forty Christmas cards, some repeats, some homemade, some left over from a horde buy in the 1940's but none-the-less interesting. My father would say, "I'm looking at a card that has a Christmas tree on it." And we would all get one guess to see if we could find it. He would keep giving us clues until we got it. Sometimes he would pick a card that was one of three or four alike. Now things became a bit harder. My dad would say, "This card is from Aunt Gladys." So we had to go beyond the cover to the sender. It caused us to pay a bit more attention to who sent what and actually what they wrote or what was written inside. 

Sometimes it was a generic tree card with "Happy Holidays." Others were "glitter" cards, pretty but messy over a kitchen carpet. They still bore the non-offensive, "Happy Holidays" theme. Others were more "religious" in nature with a Birth Narrative quote or a thoughtful prayer from the Psalms or Proverbs. A Christmas collage. A childhood memory. 

My daughter sent us a text with a picture saying, "Don We Now Our Plague Apparel." It was a coat rack full of masks. It gave me pause to think about what Christmas cards might say this year and how I might receive the message a bit differently.

It is so easy to be discouraged right now. Planning the Christmas Eve service with my Worship Team..."nope we can't do that...nope, we can't do that either...whoops...that was just limited to fifty and will probably be dropped further knowing that people will want to gather." What's left? No choirs. No brass or woodwind instrumentals? No small group specials. Will anyone come? Will we have too many and have to turn people away (No room at the Inn)? WILL WE HAVE TO CANCEL CHRISTMAS like they are doing in Los Angeles? Yikes!

My favorite Christmas program is the original "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." If I were to write my own words for a Christmas card it would be....

"How could it be so. It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. Maybe Christmas he thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas perhaps, means a little bit more."  It came without choirs. It came without song. It came with requirements to only hum along. It came without specials. It came without brass. It came without woodwinds or spit to be passed. Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from tradition. Maybe Christmas this year is more about omission. 

"But the angel said, 'Do not be afraid..." Christmas will come either way. 

P.S. If you would like a homemade card from me, I would be happy to design one for you. I have a hidden stash of glitter in the basement. Total cost: $20 a piece but it does include a stamp and a guarantee to arrive by Resurrection Sunday. 

Pilgrim Candles

 "I praise you for remembering me in everything and for holding to the traditions just as I passed them down to you." 1 Cor. 11:2

For those traveling tomorrow...an early edition....

I don't know what kids do for Thanksgiving in school these days but I grew up in the cool era of the 1960's where we made Pilgrim hats or Indian head bands (I know...First Nation head bands...I'm sorry, it just doesn't have the same ring to it.) I grew up making turkeys from your hand print and bringing in Indian Corn (is there another socially acceptable word for that?) and making pictures on construction paper with Elmer glue - the real stuff not that sissy glue stick stuff.

It was the time to dust off the fall leaf garland and find William Bradford and what I have always believed was his dear wife in miniature candle forms. You can't put out the one without the other. We're not for dividing families at this time of the year. I know that there are complete sets with Will and Becky, the little ones, and a turkey as big as the kids but we were poor or we burnt down the bird and the kiddos. I can't remember. 

Upon further research I may have to revise my table setting this year. It appears that the first Thanksgiving was not celebrated by the Pilgrims in Plymouth, Massachusetts but rather in Florida with the Spanish and the Timucuan people. It also lasted a week. We are heading to my youngest daughter's home this year. I'm sure she'll be thrilled with the extended stay and the following menu. I'm bringing out the floral shorts, the T and my boat shoes. 

Instead of turkey, which was rare to find, they ate venison, duck medallions in a seasoned brown gravy paired with steamed carrots and broccolini, seafood - fish, mussels, lobster dipped in hot butter sauce, and their famous crab cakes lightly breaded with Toll House Butter Cracker crust slightly dusted with original Old Bay seasoning. Added to that was ground corn mush with sweet molasses (now don't be turning your nose up at that - my cows loved it) and fresh pumpkin bars with powdered sugar or a creamy white glaze, all kinds of local nuts and even those that come from trees, puddings and pies...oh my goodness...blueberry, raspberry, gooseberry (with feathers removed), and of course, apple with lattice strips on top and crow feet marks around the edges literally done with crows feet. 

Sorry to burst your Thanksgiving bubble but no whipped white potatoes with grandma's dollop of sour cream and a half a pound of butter. It was probably turnips. White potatoes didn't arrive in the country until much later. Not even sweet potatoes? Nope. Put the casserole dish and the marshmallows away.  Green bean casserole with dried onions? I am almost certain of it. They had green beans. They had onions. I think we can take the next level assumption. Thank you, Lord. 

More importantly there was friendship and family and a spirit of true thankfulness to Creator God after a year of tragedy. Out of 102 passengers on the Mayflower, almost half of them died the first year. More would have if it weren't for the kindness of the Native People in the area. 

I have a feeling that there will be many this year who will give thanks with an empty seat at the table. Recipes will frantically be recalled and written down, some without success (nobody can make those homemade hand rolled egg noodles like grandma did). Old stories revisited for a new generation to hopefully carry with them. 

But my prayer is that our faith in a Sovereign God who is Good and who is Faithful even when things are hard will be shared around the table as well. Some may have to search hard to find Him but He's there - just like Will and Becky. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Kitchen Table

 "Give thanks in all circumstance for this is the will of God..." (1 Thess. 5:18). 

After a week of being homeless and living with the in-laws, we finally made it to Logansport and our new old home. The day the movers were unloading boxes in our basement we had a toilet ring break...water flowing down through the basement ceiling through a light panel onto the floor. Welcome home! Baptized again. 

It's also the smallest house that we have lived in outside of the little 800 square foot 100-year-old farmstead house when we first were married. We had to put straw bales all around that place and wrap the house in visqueen plastic just to keep from freezing to death...the house never able to get up to 60 degrees. An early mummifcation process as Halloween pointed us to cooler temps. Remember the plastic that you put on the inside of the windows and then used a hair dryer to tighten it up? I've been trying to do that with my face wrinkles as of late but to know avail. But when your young and in love, freezing to death doesn't really matter. You just cuddle a little more. I lied. It does. But we had some wonderful memories in that house. We were young. We were poor. But it was our home. Lots of good memories at that little kitchen table where our girls learned to eat like animals with their hands and throw things on the floor in amusement. Figuring out how to control mom and dad early on in life. Go fetch. 

Our current kitchen is pretty small. It provoked us to remember the kitchens of our childhood homes. Mine...a two story farm house where to do dishes you had to pray that no one wanted to go from the kitchen table to the stairway. There was barely enough room for two. The stove out in the dining area as well as the frig. Deb's galley kitchen was much the same. But there were good memories in those places. You didn't realize what you didn't have and were thankful for what you did have. 

I can still see my Grandma Lute in her small farm kitchen, white flour spread out all over the yellow marbled Formica table, preparing to make those wonderful homemade Thanksgiving egg noodles. I can still see my Grandma Cains bending over with her baster to coat, one more time, the honey ham with pineapple slices (which she saved just for me). Houses. Homes. Memories. Love. 

Jesus didn't have a home to lay his head. Paul traveled all over the place getting beat up and thrown in prison. Freezing to death on cold stone floors. Hungry. Probably remembering his mother cooking in his childhood kitchen. Both men were thankful. Not because of what they lacked but for what could not be taken from them. Citizens of another country. Renters in this world. Houses. Homes. Memories. Love. 

As we downsize in life, I am praying that our kitchen not be a complaint of want of size, but will be another memory for us, for our girls, our grandkids, and for anyone that the Lord will allow us to share life with. Not just a house - but a home. Not just a kitchen table where we eat - but a place to be nourished. 

Thankful memories.