"Holiday Gratitude...................."

Saturday evening Beth and I went to an early dinner put together for the church “family”, probably less than a hundred people opting for the fellowship, the first time we have so mingled at something like this since returning. There’s a local business nearby where she orders pies each year for all those who gather at my oldest daughter’s home, so we had simply picked one up a little earlier for our contribution to the spread, a lemon meringue in a box with the lid taped open so as not to disturb its look. I turned onto the expressway ramp with it resting on the back seat of the car and was about to merge into traffic, however, when a large SUV suddenly cut directly across our path, leaving paved road to traverse nothing more than a grassy section between him and the exit he had missed. I braked. The pie hit the floor, the container retaining its contents, but nothing inside now resembling its former pristine state of existence and we didn’t discover the damage, of course, until we arrived back at the house. A phone call ensured another could still be purchased. A thirty minute round trip drive and ten more dollars remedied the matter. Amazingly, other than laying down on my horn when that fool made his escape in front of us, both of us stayed pretty calm about everything. Is there possibly a point where old age has you feeling like nothing is worth the effort it takes to get angry? I mean, it’s not like you can’t make me mad; but, in the long run: life happens; humanity is humanity; and what does it change if my blood pressure rises? T’is the season to be jolly. I’m still breathing and God is good. Asks the blessing and then, if you will, please pass the cranberry sauce……

"Hind Sight......................."

Chaim Potok’s is a Jewish author whose literary characters always belong to that particular ethnic group. “Old Men at Midnight” is actually three short stories written in his usual genre, each one dealing with the Holocaust in some manner and the last two specifically illustrating what the title must surely suggest: the male of the species, in approaching finality, looking back to consider his journey as navigated. Re-reading it this week has me deep in thought examining my own history, the roots of who and what I am, the significant events along the way, circumstances that shaped my identity. If, in conclusion, such evaluation finds me to be nobody “special”, no trophies sitting on my shelf, no certificates or degree framed and hanging on my wall, the past merely something traversed with a complete lack of common sense and a lot of stupidity, somehow there yet remains a hope in Him. Are there regrets? Many; but who can reach back and undo what has been done? I believe that, while it is a shame some of us seem to learn only by stumbling down the path, in the end what He is concerned with is the finished product, that part of us which returns unto He who created us in the beginning. Likewise, that leads me to believe as well: if He’s still working on me, it might behoove me to remember, regardless of how much the other fellow is giving me grief, he, also, is “under construction”……

"Sustenance..........."

At least twice today someone at school mentioned Thanksgiving along with that old familiar perspective of not believing it was here already. At my age, however, such amazement long ago disappeared, the calendar somehow becoming little more than a way of staying in sync with the world around you, life merely a flow, each day taken as it comes and squeezed for as much as you can get out of it. Our Wednesday evening Bible class last night began with one woman’s dislike for Ecclesiastes. To put it bluntly, she found Solomon to be a “whiner”. That, then, sparked a discussion on wisdom and the idea of so examining our existence, our human experience thus far. The original lesson had been planned around Proverbs, and as it was introduced into our thoughts, the ninety minutes evolved into a “gathering at the oasis”, people simply sharing testimony and witness. The Holy Ghost was in our midst. When the teacher introduced some reference to Scripture’s mention of a path to be followed, however, I suggested that, while most probably see some “yellow brick road”, a spiritual course that leads one to the Pearly Gates, the actual route is a ”pursuit of Christ”, a determined stumble after that One who declared Himself to be “the Way”. Final prayer was special. Holidays are but annual events, perhaps creating memories that will stay with us through the years. Here and there, though, heaven and earth connect, His Spirit convincing us of eternity; and this, to me, gives meaning to everything else……

"Chosen..................................."

My pastor friend in Pensacola has now approached me twice about over-seeing a satellite church for him here in northern Kentucky. I’ve turned him down both times. It’s nice to know he has such confidence in me; but, at the same time, unless God tugs on my anchor-line otherwise, the Detention Center and the rescue mission have my heart. To be truthful, it is a mystery to me how the idea of community worship can be achieved when its built around a sermon delivered via a computer broadcast transferred to a large movie screen. Sunday evening, however, it occurred to me, while sitting in the balcony and watching the service evolve before me, that the whole event really wasn’t all that different. The fact that it was happening “live” and right in front of us, that there was no physical lens between the people on the stage and the congregation seated in the pews, did nothing to eliminate an invisible sheet of something or other separating those two groups. In the old days, one never knew when the Holy Ghost would move some brother toward the back of the sanctuary to arise and bring forth inspired witness; or it could well have been one of the older sisters who would start an old hymn, the words coming from somewhere deep inside her and breathing life into all there. Nowadays, it’s not so much that the Spirit doesn’t have the freedom to originate from the “spectators”, but that those people don’t seem to recognize it can be so. All eyes are on the pastor. All minds are geared on “the program”. Alice does step through the looking glass at times, of course. The anointing falls and prophecy calls forth the sick and the hurting; but, to me, when the veil of the temple was rent, it made us all priests, vessels through whom He could minister. If you think that such privilege makes anybody “special”, it might help to remember God once spoke through a donkey. The important thing is in recognizing grace when it comes to us……

"Baggage..............................."

In approaching the front entrance of our church last night, I joked a bit with one of the younger women. Surely she’s not more than five foot tall and was carrying a purse big enough for three people. A shoulder strap aided her in such task, but evidently it was heavy enough to yet require both hands, the bag positioned on her hip rather than under her arm. Her daughter is a teenager, so I’m fairly positive it didn’t contain those necessary articles that mothers often take with them for their infants. This wasn’t the local theater or amusement park where popcorn or a hotdog and coke costs you next week’s paycheck; so it’s doubtful that she was simply sneaking in a snack. A television set in case the sermon was boring? A tuba for one of the musicians? I jest, of course; but the scenario does give me pause to reflect on what many of us often do bring into the service, not so much physically as spiritually. Life, even “in” Christ, comes to us with its share of pain, sorrow, and things we just don’t understand. Humanity remains humanity; and the reason that we come together is to become, if only temporarily, one in Him. All hearts ought to be centered on knowing Him, resurrected and alive in our midst, the Holy Spirit saving, healing, comforting, an affirmation of what we claim to believe. If the gathering is only about ritual and fellowship, then we are missing the most important element. I’m not knocking either; but somewhere in there has to be a manifestation of He who completes us and renews us for whatever the next step brings unto us. Anything else is just religion……

"Gratitiude............................"

My school had an assembling yesterday afternoon, giving honor a little early to all the veterans out there. Some relatives of the kids, I suppose, representing each service and both genders, were seated to each side and in front of a movie screen, a small lectern positioned between the rows and facing the entire Elementary population filling the gymnasium bleachers. Little American flags, plainly marked with the claim of having been “made in China”, had been passed out to all grades when they filed in and were now being waved with a loud exuberant chant of “USA! USA! USA!” Mostly, all I got to hear was Lee Greenwood, along with everyone gathered there, sing of one’s love of country just before having to escort one of our Special-Ed children back to our room. My heart was already full, though, those lyrics stirring up something within, memories of my father and uncles bringing a bit of tear to my eyes… Early this morning my mind turned to those women who were also part of that “Great Generation”. Aunt Lois, through the course of those years, while involving herself in a local scout program, became an ambulance paramedic and then went on to graduate as a registered nurse, all while raising a daughter and maintaining her home. Aunt Vi was married to a trucker and learned to operate one of those semis every bit as well as any man, actually giving one poor fellow a lesson once when he had downtown traffic tied up trying to back his rig into an alleyway. She lost her one son in Korea a bit later, but never gave up her grit. My mother, with no education, managed while dad fought in Italy, her brood of three wanting for nothing; and when he died later, at the age of forty, she worked nightshift at the Post Office for three decades while raising two more with her second husband… This nation is in my blood, in the very depths of who I am; but looking around at where we are today, the corruption of politics in general, the morals of people who think “freedom” means getting something for nothing, it’s easy to ponder what others sacrificed. My faith remains my strength, giving sense to that which sometimes seems to make no sense. Tomorrow I intend to drive up to the cemetery and thank a few people……

"Humility....................."

In Wednesday evening class, the teacher took us into the Book of Psalms, ending with a final note on the Fifteenth. That particular one is said to have been written by David, has only five verses, and puts a question to God as to who is able to abide in His presence. The list of ten requirements immediately presented afterwards may well have been “inspired”, breathed into the giant killer, the “bloody man” who was also said to be the “apple” of the Almighty’s eye; but those there in our room were agreed as to the human element also being present in the forming of those words. It is one of those “Sermon on the Mount” messages, no man completely above falling into at least one of the categories along the way that barred entrance. So when I read in Matthew, this morning, where Jesus accuses the scribes and Pharisees of having omitted the “weightier matters of the law”, specifically naming them to be “judgment, mercy, and faith”, it caught my attention. He was addressing the church of His day; but religion is religion wherever one finds it. Thus the question: Are we presently just as guilty of the same rebuke? The latter is part of our doctrinal message, but has evolved into a force which believers think they, themselves, create; the middle term we embrace in so much as it comes to us, yet often demand conditions to be met before we’re will to extend it unto others; and yet that first one finds us usually quick to pronounce “them” guilty and the reason why this world is in such sad shape. Surely judgment, though, “must begin at the house of God” and, if we are to examine the beam in our own eye before expounding on the mote in theirs, then I’m of the opinion that the omission referred to by Christ speaks of looking in the mirror. In seeing ourselves, we will find Him enabling us to see others as He does. Then, in experiencing that process, we are grounded even stronger in His reality within us and faith finds anchorage. Men are not redeemed through some self-formed transformation into holiness; but are saved via an internal connection bought for us at Calvary. If David came too soon to possess such Holy Ghost “hook-up”, it would seem he nonetheless knew “deep calleth unto deep” and often somehow went to that inner oasis……