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.