The Last One for '22

It has been a little more than fourteen years ago that I wrote the first JourneyNotes.  Back then I was pastoring the Richmond Hill United Methodist Church with two more years until retirement would bring me to the farm.   When I wrote four or five posts a month, it seemed like a good writing month and most of the blogs posted were written as I stood deep in the long shadow of the institutional church.  At that point years ago I could not imagine that everything about my ministry except for the writing part would either be taken away, or dropped along the wayside as something no longer a part of the calling from years ago. 

In recent days I have come to the conclusion that this writing ministry is a manna ministry.  I am sure there are some who write daily stuff who work months, or maybe even a year ahead, but never have I been able to get more than a week ahead.  Most of the time it is an every day event.  Even as the manna came once a day and not to be saved for the next day so has this ministry of writing evolved.  The inspiration, (though some may think I should use another word and I would certainly dare not argue the point on some days), seems to show up as I show up to write.  Or, as is also the case I find myself aware that something is ruminating (to use a cow term learned as I watched the cows in the pasture chewing their cud) in my spirit and sitting down opens the faucet of expression.    

Regardless of how it happens, this manna ministry as I am learning to call it seems to be something which is as much a part of my calling as was preaching in the past.  My congregation no longer listens to me  (though some never did), but instead my congregation reads what I write.  I know some of them by name, but so many are simply folks who are led by the Spirit to glance my way and find a word which may or may not be helpful in their spiritual journey.  I pray that it is always something which encourages those who read to step on a little further in the road of faith with the same sense of gratitude for God's blessings that I do as I write.  

Unlike Any Day

 Unlike any day

     came this day, 

       full of tears,

         wet bitter tears.

           tears of sorrow,

             tears of loss,

tasting like grief.

'Twas a new day,

    one not chosen,

      overwhelming 

        bringing an end

         to a lifetime

          of sweet memories,

 ne'er to be forgotten.

Unlike any day,

    came this day, 

      feet a dancing,

        hands a clapping

          spirit a singing, 

          earth now lost

for bright holy glory.

  

'Twas a new day, 

    now made ready,

      struggling body

        no longer needed,

          now thrown aside,

           a joyous soul, 

walks heaven's roads.  

Pay Attention

When I retired and came to the farm a little over twelve years ago, I looked ahead and like a foolish man figured there might be ten more good years.  Maybe I would not be jumping any fences, but still it seemed reasonable to think that there might be ten years of being able to do the stuff that needs doing around a farm.   I have been blessed with more than my anticipated ten and for each one I am grateful.  Time has a way of slipping along without our giving it too much thought, but once in awhile we are caused to stop, take account, and be grateful.   

Many a song has been written about time as well as many a verse of poetry.  And alongside of these more contemporaries efforts are the words which we find in the Sacred Word reminding us that there is a season for everything in between being conceived and dying and that at its best time is both fleeting and fragile. As the year on the calendar is ready to close, we are caused to reflect on what is past and even as I did some twelve years ago, hope for what is still to come.  

I often think of my coming here and the words which I believe God gave me as I did.  In the inner part of my being the words, "Pay Attention" was spoken.  At the time I took it to be another way of being told to smell the roses, but as the time has unfolded, it has come to mean more.  It has come to be a word which calls me to live with an openness to the ever present God who dwells here, everywhere, and with all of us.  We do not need to wait on special moments to come for if we are paying attention to the moment, we find ourselves walkng in holy presence and listening expectantly for a divine Voice which is never silent.  

Christmas Conflict

It is not every year that Christmas comes on Sunday.  While getting to worship on Easter is no big deal, getting there on Christmas is for some folks a huge problem.  Of course, the problem centers around wanting to be home for the opening of Christmas stuff around the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.  Over the years of ministry there have been numerous folks who tried to convince me not to have worship on the Sunday when Christmas fell on Sunday.  Even though attendance might have been down on Christmas Sunday, it made no sense to cancel.    

The truth is our culture never wants to be inconvenienced by the spiritual community.  The secular culture demands to have the final word and when such is challenged or questioned, the church is put into the old fashioned and out of touch category.  We see this reality fleshed out with the way it would minimize the spiritual impact of Christmas as well as a host of other things which point to the conflict between culture and faith.    

When there is conflict between the two, it always seems that culture is always the winner.  Any talk of being compromising is just talk and nothing more.  The conflict between culture and faith always seems to mean that faith must give way to the demands of culture.  Maybe such is not the case anymore.  I have been away from the pulpit now some twelve years, but I suspect there are still some places where Christmas is something which gets in the way and not something which is celebrated as a spiritual event of utmost importance to the Christian community.

Waiting

In these waning moments of Advent, we find ourselves waiting for water.  Temperatures dipping down to 17 degrees are not kind to country water wells.  Knowing that we would likely be without water today gave us reason to fill up the bathtubs with water before calling it a day yesterday, but aside from that small reservoir,  there is no water.  It was also a day for busting up the ice in the cow troughs so they could get to the precious stuff under the hard cold ice shield.  Perhaps, on Christmas Day we will receive the gift of warmer temperatures and water once again flowing from the faucets that have always brought this precious gift to us.   

Some might say this is creation's way of speaking to us one last time about the way the Advent season calls us to live in a state of anticipation and with a spirit of hopeful waiting.  Surely, it is a reminder that some days are about living with hope for tomorrow.  In a few hours the churches across the landscape will be filled with those who gather carrying this hope in their heart.  Some will go through the motions of Christmas Eve worship, but others will cling to the hope being proclaimed as if it is a matter of life and death.     

Actually, this hope which springs from our heart toward heaven is a thing of life and death.  It is a hope that what is temporal, finite, and sometimes very hard will be overcome by what is eternal and full of glory.  Christ came long ago in Bethlehem to open our eyes to this reality of life and may these days be for all of us a time of once again seeing it with the eyes of our spirit.  

As a Beating Heart

 "Be quiet, be quiet,"

     the head one said,

       "Shush, listen

           bend your ear,

             toward earth,

listen now and hear."

"Be quiet now, 

    in Bethlehem

      the holy heartbeat

        escaped the womb,

          thumping away

listen now and hear."

"Hush, busybodies,

     your flitting angels,

       hush yourselves, 

        and hear now

          divine beating,

ne'er before been heard."

"You over there,

     be quiet now,

       out of darkness

         into the light

           The Eternal Light

shines as a beating heart. 

Grateful in the Midst of Trouble

 

I am learning in time of trouble to do what I call look around the edges.  It is where reasons for gratitude can be seen when facing the trouble head on makes it hard to see anything but the trouble.  In a recent moment a look in that direction shows me a friend in Houston and one in middle Georgia who are praying each day; a neighbor and friend a little older than me coming to take hay to the cows; a young fifth grade friend who saw to the chickens: a kinsman and friend bringing a bowl of chicken and dumplings; and a local IGA owner and friend who collected an order and had it ready at the door.   

None of this is extraordinary unless you are the one on the receiving end.  And, most of us can count the people who come to us when trouble comes knocking at our door.  They cause us to have our heart filled with such gratitude that it enables us to begin to see other things in the harder places for which to be grateful.  When the Word calls us to grateful living, it does not call us to ignore or refute our trouble, but to know that blessings are always coming even though we may have to look a second time to see them.   

Some years ago I started a gratitude journal and though the list is now nearly ten years old, I can read over the brief note of gratitude written on a single line and remember so many of the moments.  It has become a record of God's faithfulness as surely as is the very Word of God.  It is something which blesses me each time I hold it and something I would pray could be in the hands of everyone when trouble comes.  

Jumping Inside Buckets

The sugar cane stalks were standing leaned against the front porch wall next to a five gallon bucket quarter filled with pecans picked up from the trees here on the farm.   Apparently, what happened was that the little fella crawled up the stalks of cane and with visions of being a trapeze artist in his head made a leap into what seemed to be the mother lode of food.  But, the bucket was only a death trap.  When I heard the tiny field mouse he was doing vertical leaps up from the pecans trying to reach the top of the bucket, but always sliding back down into those pecans.  After watching a moment or two, I turned the bucket on its side and watched him scamper away to the rest of of his life.     

I guess you could call me his deliverer.  We all need deliverers from time to time.  Some of the messes into which we get are of our making, some come because we think life might be better in the bucket, and some come to us in the indiscriminate way that speaks of life happening.  Regardless of the predicament in which we get caught, having someone to help us is such a blessed thing.  Recently, in some times of difficulty I have had some friends and neighbors help me get on my feet again.   And I am grateful for their delivering kindness.   

And, of course, when we think of being delivered, we always think of the Deliverer in our life.  God is not one to leave us in the midst of our troubles though sometimes we are quick to tell Him that such is what He seems to be doing.  The truth is far from being abandoned.  God is always out there working in our lives to get us out the buckets from which there seems to be no escape.  And when I find myself like the tiny mouse unable to help myself and not hopeful that God is going to show, I remind myself that He has been faithful in presence and help and care and deliverance in days past which finally begins to get me back on the road of hope once again.  

George Frideric Handel

I do not suppose a church could present as a musical ministry Handel's "Messiah" every year during the Christmas season, but then again, why not?  It has no comparison.  This Sunday is the one when most churches will be putting forth a major Christmas presentation, but midst all the advertising and public invitations, I have yet to see in these parts an announcement that the "Messiah" is being offered.  And while circumstances will prevent being in church this Sunday, I regret that it is not something which is being offered around here to touch the hearts of believers and to stir the church in a way unique to this 280 year old piece of music.    

Handel wrote it in 24 days and with it tells the story of the life of Christ.  From the words ""Comfort Ye, comfort Ye my people"  to the glorious "Hallelujah Chorus" at the end, there is nothing like it.  It thrills those who have heard it time and time again just to remember those Christmas moments.  A Christian college near here at to one time, and it may still be the case, always presented the Handel music and invited whoever to come and join in the singing of the Chorus at the end.  It was for many the highlight of the season.   

But, alas, Handel seems to be taking a back seat in the music corridors in these parts.  Maybe the musicians are not up to it this year.  Maybe the worshiping culture has changed to the point that Christmas music of a different variety has a stronger appeal.  Whatever the reason, something which has moved the church for 280 years deserves at least one sanctuary, or one music hall during these days.  Christmas will be missing something without it.  

Grace Gifted

Many years ago when the Christian bookstore shelves started filling up with the more modern, contemporary, and trendy versions of the Scripture, the Beatitudes along with the rest of the Bible took a licking.  The more popular trend seem to be to rid the Beatitudes of the word "Blessed"  and substitute "Happy."  Perhaps, the assumption was that modern folks would rather be happy and than blessed.  Happiness has always been something promised by secular commercialism as it hawks it magical products that if used will make folks happy, or at least more happy.    

Actually, the Beatitudes are not about being happy in the sense the secular culture thinks of happiness.  The Beatitudes are about being grace gifted.  Living in a pool of happiness is not the spiritual blessing Jesus promised, but living with an awareness that life is about being gifted by grace is exactly what He wanted us to understand.  To live as one grace gifted may not give us warm fuzzy feelings associated with being happy, but it does provide for us a life filled with gratitude that transcends any situation in which we might find ourselves as we live out our days.   

Having a lot or a little is irrelevant.  Having others see us as one who can be abused and taken advantage of is not something from which to run.  Being a peacemaker is often costly and hungering and thirsting for righteousness may put us at odds with the accepted goals of secular culture.  If we live in the whatever of life as one who knows that life is about being grace gifted instead of being happy, we will find for ourselves a new direction in life as well as the kind of contentment which is dependent upon nothing but pleasing God.  It is surely a different way of life, but then this is exactly where Jesus was pointing us when he preached those Beatitudes into existence along ago.    

Enabling Words

It is not hard to conclude that when it came time for Matthew to write his gospel, he turned to Moses and the Torah for his literary model.  Most Biblical scholars are quick to point out the similarities.  The Torah is the first five books of the Old Testament; Matthew's gospel is easily divided into five major sections.  Moses is the Old Testament law giver and Jesus is the One who comes in the New Testament times. Both were partial to mountains.  Moses went to the mountain for Ten Commandments and Jesus preached the Sermon of the Mount.    

The Ten Commandments are at the beginning of the Torah and the Beatitudes begin Matthew's gospel.  Of course, the Ten Words and the Beatitudes are vastly different.  One is about doing and the other is about being enabled.  One might argue that being obedient to the Ten Commandments is within the range of human capabilities, but not so with the Beatitudes.  The fall far outside what we can do in our own strength.  Many a beginning believer reads the Beatitudes and decides to turn his or her life into one that models those words.  It basically ends in disaster.  It is attempting to do what cannot be done through human determination alone.    

Actually, the Beatitudes point us to what God through the power of the Holy Spirit can do in a a life that is lived totally in submission to Him.  As the Spirit begins the work of shaping our inner being into the heart of Christ, these desirable spiritual qualities begin to take root and find expression in a natural and spontaneous manner.  What we are unable to do, the Holy Spirit can do.  He can enable us to live with these spiritual characteristics and qualities present in our life.  They do not show up overnight, but speak more to what happens on the journey from the beginning to Home.  

A Night to Remember

When the shepherd went running off to Bethlehem in the middle of the night, I wonder it they just left the vulnerable sheep defenseless, or if they drew straws to see who stayed to tend the sheep.  I have always voted for one of them getting the short straw and having to stay with the sheep while the others raced off to see the one of whom the angels spoke.  Getting left is never easy.  It is not easy especially when you want to go, but most likely one of them missed out on the manger scene and only heard about it second hand.   

I remember a time years ago during my years at Asbury College when a group of us went out on a lay witness mission.  We ended up in a parsonage in Jeffersonville, Indiana,   Somehow the rest went ahead to the place where the service was being held and I got left at the parsonage.  The pastor offered me his car which he never should have done because there was snow on the ground and I was from a land where it never snowed.  But, I went and arrived late and remember feeling the whole time that I should not have been there.    

Obviously, the memory of that night has lingered.  I figured years ago that there was some reason I was to stay at the parsonage, but I was too headstrong and ego bent to be able to hear that message.  When I think of that time, it is for me a moment of wondering what I missed that God wanted me to do by being so stubborn as to go when I should have stayed.  Maybe those moments are more common than I realize, but there are times when God has something planned and we just go our way ignoring His leading and something does not get done that He wanted to do through us.  The night remembered long years ago has always had that kind of feeling when I remember it.

The Shepherds

Whenever I think about the Christmas story as it is told in the Word, it is the old shepherds which intrigue me the most.  While I know little first hand about sheep or shepherds, reading has pointed me to learning that the shepherds likely had an odor about them which caused the town people to be glad they did their work out in the fields. They seem to be a rare breed who enjoyed the rigors of being outdoors and the challenge of keeping safe vulnerable animals.    

Perhaps, the most famous of the Biblical shepherds was David who fought Goliath and became the King of Israel, but I find that I am still partial to those unnamed guys who were visitors to Mary and Joseph on the night of the birth of Jesus.  What strike me most is that they were the most unlikely ones to be the first which is the way God works.  God always is full of surprises using the most unlikely people to do His work. They came to the birth place with no gifts except their eagerness to see what the angels had told them.   

And, perhaps, that is one the things their story tells us.  Over the years of celebrating this ancient story of the birth of Jesus into our world, we have lost our own eagerness to see and to know with wonder and amazement what is really out there for us to see.  Everything about the season has become so ho-hum that we have lost the sense of mystery and magic which is a shame since there is so much of it in the story of the holy miracle which showed up in Bethlehem.  Without being captivated by the mystery of that moment, we become like the poet wrote, folks who are content with picking blackberries when heaven is exploding all around us.  

Come, Holy One

 Come,  Holy One, 

     if You dare,

       to walk here,

         with bare feet

           on cold ground

            full of thorns,

all waiting for You.

Come, Gracious One,

     if You must, 

       for the sake

         of divine love,

           unrelenting grace,

            so greatly needed

by us, the waiting ones.

Come, Bold One,

    if You will,

      to deep darkness,

       the waiting womb,

         the stone cold tomb   

           made for another,

bu ready now for You.

Come, Raised Up One,

     for one last look,

      from the wooden cross,

       then, the glorious sky

         at those who are here, 

          listening for a name, 

a call to come Home with You. 

The Heartbeat of Heaven

The other day my barber who is a part time Baptist preacher and I were discussing Christmas preaching as only two seventy four year old preachers could do  "What is there new to be preached on Christmas Sunday?" he asked.  My father-in-law long years ago often told me, 'There is nothing you can say on Christmas which has not already been said."  My father-in-law was right, but we preachers keep trying to do the impossible anyway.  I suppose the effort is mostly about our ego.    

The truth is a good story can stand on its own.  It needs no commentary to hold it up.  Think about the really good stories read in the past and there is also a remembrance that once the story was done, nothing was needed.  The second chapter of Luke is that kind of story.  It is a story read in most churches sometime during the Christmas season and, perhaps, most often during Christmas Eve worship.  Just to remember the story is to hear its word floating through the air of our memory.  It is such a powerful story it will always be read and heard in wonder by those who are really listening.   

The only two problems with the story are found in the reader and the listener.  The readers are often tempted about the place where the angels start shouting to go into speed reading mode.  The end starts appearing and the reader starts hurrying to get there instead of letting the words slowly pour out upon the ears that are listening.  And, then, the other side of the problem is that those who are hearing the story quit listening about the same time because it has been heard so many times.  Everyone knows the ending, so why listen?  It is a shame we cannot have ears to hear the whole story.  There is no more powerful story ever written and we are likely to miss out on hearing the heartbeat of heaven as it pounds through ancient words.  Maybe this year it will be different.

Christmas Musing

Sometimes it seems that I have lived through a thousand Christmas Days.  And, then there are also those times when it seems that there has only been one Christmas in my life.  Without trying to rob others of the joy known in these days, I must confess to the season always being a hard time.  It would seem after all these years that such would not be the case, but some moments are not only unforgettable, but they are also life shaping.  The death of my father on December 19 back when I was seven years ago was such a day.  I suppose it has caused me to identify with a group of people who remember December not because it is the month of Christmas, but because it is the month of deep loss.  

I do not remember much about Christmas in my seventh year and, to be honest, is to confess to not remembering a lot of them in the years which followed.  There are good memories mixed in through the years, but there is no way to run away from something so profound so long ago.  I have come to understand that not everyone finds Christmas to be full of joy.   What has transpired in the years is that I have found myself turning more and more to the Christ whose coming is remembered and celebrated in these days  The worship and music and keeping of the traditions has been like healing ointment on an ever present wound which never is completely healed.  

The One born among us also lived among us, suffered among us, died among us, and finally rose from the place of total despair among us.  It is His life, this divine life so graciously lived among us, which has transformed these days which would be filled with nothing but loss into a season which is brim full of hope for all that is known through the Christ and all that is still to be known through Him.  And so as a man who still remembers his brokenness, I praise the One who has come to heal our brokenness.

A Sesquicentennial Mistake

I was just a tad over thirty years of age and knew more than most when the Talbotton United Methodist Church celebrated its sesquicentennial year.  It was a Sunday which caused this young preacher to be so full of himself as not being able to see clearly.  It was an auspicious day, a day when a plaque was placed on the grounds declaring the church a historical site in the South Georgia Annual Conference, and a day when Bishop William R. Cannon came to preach.  It was also the day Felder Spivey was not allowed to play his trumpet in the worship service.    

It is strange the things remembered.  Felder often provided special music in worship in the church, but not on this Sunday about impressing the world.  Felder was old.  He could have been old enough to remember the first of those 150 years and so when he played it was less than perfect.  He lacked the wind he once had and sometimes his notes sounded a bit off key and a little wet, but it was good enough for normal times.  But, when the Bishop came, those of us who knew best told Felder it was not a good day for him to play his trumpet.   

Strange, that what I remember most was my biggest mistake.  Actually, it was more than a mistake.  It spoke of failure.  The old man who remembers now knows that the old trumpet player should have had his moment to give what he had to give to the day.  He was us.  We were all flawed in what we were doing, but we just could not see it then.  He represented the whole of us in a way that spoke of both its past and its present.  Felder has long since gone to the place where trumpet players are welcomed.  Somehow I wish he were still around to tell him my ego made a big mistake and ask for his forgiveness.  

Stockpiling

When it comes to personal security or the security of our family, most of us are into stockpiling.  The bigger the stockpile, the more secure we feel.  The only problem with stockpiles is that they can disappear in a heartbeat.  Financial market can collapse and catastrophic illness, or unexpected long term care can wipe out even the largest stockpile.  Stockpiling is what we do.  It speaks to our need for planning and there is nothing inherently wrong about it.  But, it is like a stack of wood next to the house before the first onslaught of winter.  It gets burned up in a hurry.    

The Scripture is not against stockpiling, but against living without trust in God to provide.  Back in the 16th chapter of Exodus, there is an ancient story which speaks of God's plan for us.  It is a story that that reminds us that He can be trusted to provide what is needed for today.  Of course, what we think is needed and what He knows is needed is often vastly different.  As we read this story about manna from heaven, we see in narrative form the truth that God not only is ready to provide, but that He can be trusted.   

The problem with our stockpiles is that they often speak of the trust we have in ourselves to provide for our needs.  They can give us such a sense of well  being that we begin living without dependence on God as our Provider.  And, of course, a secondary issue in trusting in our stockpiles instead of God is that we are less likely in being generous in our giving to the needs of others.  If it is mine, we might hold on a little tighter, but if we are confident God is going to provide enough for our needs, we are also more confident about sharing with others. 

The Big Lie

One of the more difficult things for the pulpit pounders and the pew sitters to do is to understand the difference between the church, as a spiritual community centered on Jesus, and the church as an institution which constantly requires its pound of loyalty.  For those who are trained and ordained, there often comes that moment of realizing that everything is about keeping the institution afloat with more money, bigger memberships, and  larger buildings, but by that time, too much has been invested to admit the basic misdirection and so the lie has bought another evangelist.  And through trickle down theology and flawed leadership,  the new lie gains more adherents who embrace the misdirected truth that the church and the institution are one in the same.    

It takes awhile of living with the truth that is finally revealed in the mirror each morning to enter into the kind of repentance which is likely to actually mean real change.  The real change needed is not in the church, but in the one who is a part of the many of make up the church as we know it in the world.  When the lie is finally exposed, there is an accompanying awareness that "who I am is not who I was"  and a desire for what can never be given, a do-over.  

The real church is not a myth which belongs to the Biblical past.  It is the red stained cross created church fanned into life by the hot breath of the Holy Spirit.  It requires none of the condiments of the institutional church, but only simple Word centered preaching, worship and praise that is not tethered to whimsical trends or stuffy rituals, and a life of being instead of one busy doing.  This Jesus centered spiritual community has always been present in the invisible realm of the Kingdom and waits only for those who see to enable it to be the church incarnate alive and moving in the world.  And so, it waits for you and me.       

Taking Off Blinders

It is easy to walk through the day without seeing some of the important things which are happening around us.  It is not that we are blind, or uncaring, but that we simply are in such a hurry that life for us is like life with blinders.  We only see part of what there is to see.  As I look back over the years with hindsight afforded old age, I find myself seeing things which could have been seen more clearly instead of only partially. And even now with eyes that are more attuned to searching, there is so much seen not in the moment but in hindsight.   

People watching is one of the the windows which opens up some of heaven's messages to us, but it is an art that must be done carefully lest someone find themselves being made afraid of someone who is obviously watching.  I remember an older woman who no longer had the ability to stay focused on the written words, yet, who often picked up her Bible, held it in her laps, and rubbed it with her hands.  Had she not found a new way for the Word to touch her spirit?  I think so.  And then there are those whom we see at times singing, but not loudly.  Their singing is more like whispers that are loud enough to be heard only by God the Father.  Who knows how this almost silent singing sounds when it becomes a part of the heavenly chorus.?     

Such things might seem like trivia to many who have no eyes to see the Kingdom of God becoming present in their midst.  And the same might be said of the ones who dare to stop their hurrying and bring a sack of food to some homeless guy set up at a traffic light, or a box of tissues to someone whose life is obviously being turned upside down, or  a kind word which declares to someone who is hurting that they are being seen.  Important things are happening every day.  You and I can choose to be a part of them, or we can hurry on down the road to things that speak more of our own pursuits than the pursuits of the Kingdom.  

Give Me Jesus

It seems that this must be the year of the inflatable Christmas decorations.  A few places around here have so many in the yard that it is hard to see the house.  And, there is no theme, but a blend of trees, white snow people, nativity gatherings, and things I can not figure out.  It is not like the days of seeing how many lights can be strung out across the yard, but instead, it is about seeing how many inflatables will be standing after the afternoon breeze.  Of course, when folks see the place where I live, they are likely to think Mr. Scrooge lives there.    

I have a friend who takes a different course.  There is a lot of indoor decoration, but it is not about trees and colored lights, but creating what seems to be worship areas within the home.  She has created mini centers throughout the house which focus on themes like joy or peace. The lighting is candle soft, the icons are simple, and the message is not confused.  It is easy to imagine her stopping in front of these places honoring the season and the Christ for a moment of worship and praise.  

Everyone is different.  Some like what is full of tinsel and others want soft candle light.  I suppose the real important thing to consider is that it is the time for anticipating and celebrating the birth of the Christ who came to be a Savior.  Our decorations are not competitions, but expressions of what we value during these holy days.  I recognize my bias shows, but just give me Jesus and I will be delighted every time.

A Word from Merton

I have been reading more Thomas Merton lately.  "New Seeds of Contemplation" is the writing which I do not seem to be able to finish enough to put down.  I must be keeping it too close since I am constantly picking it up for some more reading.  The piece which has stuck in my spirit most recently is a commentary on the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus where He speaks of the disciples being in the world, but not of the world.  It is found in the 17th chapter of the gospel of John.  Most of us have read it more times than we can count.  

 Merton offers this word:  "What is this 'world' that Christ would not pray for, and of which He said that His disciples were in it, but not of it?  The world is the unquiet city of those who live for themselves and are therefore divided against one another in a struggle that cannot end,...It is the city of those who are fighting for possessions of limited things and for the monopoly of goods, and pleasures that cannot be shared by all."  There is, of course, more, but this smidgen of truth is enough to turn over in the minds that are not accustomed to entertaining such profound thinking.  We prefer truths that tantalize, not those that probe our souls.   

While reading what others write about the Scripture can become a crutch for actually reading and meditating on the Word, it is also true that there are those who are ahead of us on the journey that have seen light not normally seen by most of us as we hurry along.  Merton was less caught up in the hurrying of living as we tend to be and there is much to be learned from those who dare to walk the road at a slower pace.  It is not that they give us answers so much as they cause us to look again at the ones on which we have settled.

A Writing Ministry

I remember some time back reading an author who wrote that before she started writing she asked for God's blessings on the words which were about to be created before her.  After decades of preaching and praying similar prayers, I can understand and appreciate what she was doing. Lately, as the ministry entrusted to me by the calling God has turned away from preaching into writing, I appreciate her words even more.  I could never have imagined writing what has turned into an almost every day word, but such is what has unfolded in this season of my life.    

Writing has proven to be different than preaching in a number of ways.  There are no faces to encourage me or to warn me that I am losing folks.  The response is mostly minimal though there are some who are kind enough to let me hear from them.  But, I suppose the biggest difference is that those who read this writing ministry are from a much larger area and represent a far more diverse group than any congregation which sat before me.    

Like preaching it is important that what is written is centered on the Word.  The Scripture was the authority for preaching and it remains the authority for what is written and shared through these efforts at writing.  The biggest difference in then and now has become the growing awareness that God is present.  He is present in every place and present in every moment.  While this has been known for a long time, these days of writing from the farm in the midst of the creation which surrounds me has created an even greater expectation of seeing His presence and hearing His voice in my daily journey with Him..   

Bottom of the Barrel

If you find yourself looking at the bottom of the barrel, some surprising things and unexpected people may come into view.  Some say what is found at the bottom are the leftovers, or the residue, or what no one wants after the best has been taken off the top.  All of this may well be true.  Over the years I have become convinced God spends a lot of time plundering around at the bottom of the barrel.  When we look at some of the folks He called in the Biblical story, He surely seems there could have been better choices, but there He is reaching down to what is at the bottom.   

Jacob was certainly not such a hot pick.  He was always up to getting the things he wanted one way or the other.  And, Moses was certainly not pick of the litter material.  This bottom of the barrel dweller was a murderer and a fugitive when God found him in the wilderness.  Then, there is Rahab, a woman most would not choose and Simon Peter whose temper was always a problem.  And, finally, who would want Saul of Tarsus on your team if you were on the Christian team?  Not even Ananias was sure this was a good choice.    

But, the biggest reason I know God often goes to the bottom of the barrel to get folks to do His bidding is because that is where He surely must have found me when He called me to preach.  Maybe it was a mistake and I overheard Him calling someone else, but, of course, I do not really believe I heard Him wrong when He called my name.  But, I have always been amazed.  There were surely better choices.  I suppose He had His reasons,  And while I am not sure I will ever understand why He would have wanted me to spend a life preaching the gospel and standing in His stead in some tough places, I am eternally grateful.  The call has made all the difference in the journey and this bottom of the barrel dweller knows it better than anyone else.  

The Unclouded Day

My Uncle Alvin was a very special uncle.  He was my mother's youngest brother and when my father died, he came to live with us for a time.  He slept on the twin bed next to mine and taught me a lot of life's lessons about things like washing your face in the morning and not being afraid of the dark at night.  My uncle was not a church going person, but he was one who often whistled songs they sang in church so I reckon he must have gone sometime even though I have no memory of him being there on Sunday morning.   

I cannot say I ever heard him sing, but he could whistle.  His favorite church song which he often whistled was "Oh, they tell me of a land far beyond the skies, Oh, they tell me of a land far away, Oh, they tell me of a land where no storm clouds rise, Oh, they tell me of an unclouded day."  (The Unclouded Day)  As I got older and able to see things more clearly, I came to know that he had more than just a few storm clouds in his life.  Things were not always easy for him, but he still always presented care and kindness and love as he shared the growing up days with me.  

I think of my uncle often and when I do, I do something he did not do, I sing his favorite song.  I do not whistle nearly as good as I remember him.  And, I have learned to appreciate his song and the longing it speaks to in our hearts.  Though we will fight for the last breath of this earth's life since this is the way God has made us, there is also that part deep within us which longs for the land of the unclouded day, a  place where as the Word says, "And there will be no more night, but the Lord God will be there light..."  (Revelation 22:5)  Sure sounds like my Uncle Alvin's unclouded day.

He is There

 No matter where,

   He is there,

     in the dark, 

      there with light,

       no just any light,

bright Eternal Light.

 

No mater the silence,

   He is speaking,

      not even deaf ears,

        are unable to hear,

          not just any voice,

the everlasting Voice.

  

No matter the lonliness,

    He is alongside

      sometimes unseen,

        never separated,

          He is there

for those He loves.

  

No matter how forsaken,

    as was the Holy Man

      who hung on a cross,

         crying out His pain,

           the common pain, 

to the heart of He who is there.