Words from WW Blog

I knew it was coming. The fantastic 6th grade teacher had asked me two months ago to cover for him. I entered the world of “sixgradearama” on Tuesday and got educated all the way through Friday. I almost became a citizen, experiencing the Rubik’s Cube Thursday Lunch Club, the Friday celebration of birthdays, the bad breath that doesn’t seem to bother any of them, neatly-combed hair and wild heads that resemble weed patches.

The last time I was a guest teacher in 6th grade was two years ago. The class I had for a number of days during that experience was infected with an elementary-school type of immaturity and a few students who had obtained a degree in antagonism. Those kids are now 8th graders. I had some of them at the beginning of this school year. The antagonists have gone on to earn their Ph.Ds and some of them have reserved seats outside one of the assistant principal’s office.

My 6th grade experience this time was much different. Besides the bad breath, these 6th graders seem to have rebounded from the weirdness of pandemic education, recovered much of their sociableness, and ability to work together. Of course, at our middle school there is a “No Cell Phones” policy that I strongly believe has helped in the recovery. Students feel free to converse with one another (sometimes too much), instead of having their faces buried in their iPhones. The only time I ever saw a cell phone this week was when a student asked me if she could text her mom about the time of her orthodontist appointment that afternoon?

I gave them the freedom to call me “Mr. Wolfie”. One girl shortened it to “Mr. E”. In return, I christened many of them with nicknames that helped me remember who they were. Like Austin became Texas and Crosby became “Crosby, Stills, and Nash”. When I mispronounced names, I made the promise of candy for each student whose name I slaughtered. Of course, that resulted in other students pleading with me to mispronounce their names. It’s hard to mispronounce “Adam” and “Olivia,” but I tried my best (to their delight).

Three things about 6th graders! You must repeat the directions about an assignment so many times it’s as familiar as reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, the handwriting of some of them resembles an ancient form of hieroglyphics, and only one student fell asleep in class. That student wasn’t feeling well and spent most of the class period in the health room. Those things tell me they aren’t that different from the students of previous years, and it hints at the excellence of the teacher I was subbing for. His creativity in the use of the subject matter kept them engaged.

Bottom line: It was an awesome week, almost like watching an episode of “Leave It To Beaver” in real time.

Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth. (1 John 3:18)

As a culture, we seem to be addicted to nice sayings. They are meant to be guides, cheers, directives, but too often they are simply words that become part of the scenery.

In recent times we seem to be encouraged ad-nauseum to “Be kind!” It’s on school marquees, t-shirts, the subject of TV commercials, and ad campaigns. Nice words. It includes an active verb that most of us hope can be said in describing our personality and life.

But our “kind words” frequently do not translate into kind actions. Internationally, there are situations happening that are based on hatred. Examples of genocide, the massacring of villages, bombings and suicide bombers. The world is not a kind place.

But that’s the world! We’re the church! We’re followers of Jesus!

Quite honestly, the church, more often times than not, is a place where people are encouraged to be nice, that has no relevance to how they treat others after they leave the building. In the words, followers of Jesus tend to hear the words and neglect the actions. It’s knowing the words, but forgetting what they mean. It’s memorizing the instruction manual and then putting it in the desk drawer. It’s Barney Fife sitting on Andy Taylor’s front porch and saying, “You know what I’m going to do. I’m going to go get me a bottle of pop, go over to Thelma Lou’s, and watch a little TV…Yep, that’s what I’m going to do…go get a bottle of pop, go over to Thelma Lou’s, and watch a little TV.” And he continues to sit in the front porch chair.

Our kids are being told “Be Kind!”, but they’re seeing that fistfights between adults at sporting contests have multiplied. They’re being told to show kindness, but they see Congress acting like two tag teams of wrestlers, always looking to “put a hurtin'” on the other side.

They see the words, but not the follow-through actions. When there is a heightened sense of entitlement in a society, kindness becomes a charity event where cocktails are served and society page pictures are snapped.

The hope is that being kind is an action that doesn’t need to be preached and marqueed, but rather is the spontaneous reaction to sensing a need. For the follower of Jesus, it is literally following in His footsteps and doing what He would have done…a touch on a wounded soul, lending an ear to a tormented widow, providing food for a hungry crowd, healing an outcast.

Being kind is not something I need to be instructed to do. If I am a reflection of Jesus, it is who I am.

And when I fall short, I confess my errors to God, ask forgiveness, and pray that my actions reflect Jesus in the next opportunity that I encounter.

John 11:25-26 Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

As a pastor, one of the results of being involved in people’s lives is to be asked to perform marriage ceremonies and be the presider at funerals. It’s that old “marry and bury” thing. Since I’m a retired pastor now, I don’t get asked to do many weddings, which I’m fine with.

But since my pastoring years have brought me into close relationships with people who have grown older and older, sometimes I am asked to conduct the funeral of a person who has passed on.

It’s a bittersweet experience. Knowing the deceased is a person of faith helps in the telling of the journey, but the abyss of loss is still evident. This past week I officiated at the service for a 57-year-old woman whose pastor I had been for sixteen years. I’ve become accustomed to presiding over funerals of people older than me, but the unexpected passing of this lady was gut-wrenching. After all, she was only 33 when I assumed the role of pastor for her. I felt like a “Martha”, crying to Jesus, that if He hadn’t taken so long to the village of Bethany, her brother, Lazarus, would still be alive.

I found myself struggling with this wonderful woman’s rapid advance of an illness, and wondering what could have changed the result. Why would God not step in? Why would the prayers of His people go unanswered?

I find that the comfort in God’s promise of everlasting life sometimes gets overshadowed by my intimacy with this world. My fondness of a morning cup of Pike Place, while sitting on my stool at Starbucks, becomes my measuring stick, my definition of tranquility, instead of the richness of Glory.

And yet, I know that the telling of the Lazarus event in the Gospel of John is a foreshadowing of a time and a place where there will be no tears, no mourning, no remembrance of loss. It’s like moving from a familiar place where I know all the sounds, the cracks in the walls, and the position of the furniture to a new place that I haven’t seen yet but have heard how marvelous it is.

Familiarity breeds apprehension.

The Lazarus story takes the sting and stench out of death. It calms the tension in my soul and tells me there is a better life and way. At my age, I’ve got one Lazarus-foot in the grave, while the other foot is still firmly planted in the here and now. At some point, I’ll lift the firmly-planted foot up and, because of the God of promises, cross on over.

It sounds a bit morbid, and yet also comforting.

^{Matthew 18:2-4 “}He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them.  And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.“

I have a new appreciation for Jesus. He was multi-talented. He could heal people, preach, deal with large crowds and small-minded men, and…understood and reacted to kids, young kids.

My appreciation expanded incredibly this past week as my wife and I spent 7 days (from the beginning to the end!) with our two youngest grandkids, a just-turned four-year-old and a not-quite two-year-old. It was constant involvement and interaction. When there wasn’t face-to-face engagement, it usually meant something bad was happening, some mischief or prohibited activity.

I lost weight! Lunch time would arrive and I’d suddenly realize I hadn’t eaten breakfast. It had slipped right by me as I hustled from building blocks to kicking a ball back and forth to playing chase.

The disciples of Jesus thought of Him as being too important for the youngest folk to crowd around. Jesus’ response: He got angry with the fact that adults were limiting the access that children had to Him. He understood that the kingdom of heaven was not complicated, not sophisticated. It was more about being guided by another than having an impressive resume.

My two-year-old grandson liked to point out things to me…over and over and over, repeating the same one word for the object that has his attention. “Yes, that’s a ball.” “Yes, the sky is up there.”

I wonder if Jesus had kids pointing out the sky to Him?

I wonder if the kids who crowded around Him tried to nudge others out of the way so they could be the ones who crawled into His lap?

I wonder if He made up stories on the spot to engage them in spiritual principles? And when He finished a story, did some of the little ones whine and squirm long enough to convince Him to tell another story?

Did Jesus keep it simple? Did He keep his story to one point, one lesson, instead of multiple plots that flew over the heads of his listeners? Kids were different than adults. Adults got parables that contained the mysteries of the Kingdom and sometimes left the listeners stroking their chins in deep thought.

Jesus was a figure with listening skills of patience and care. He took in questions about why clouds are puffy and why do ants live on a hill and fish in a deep blue sea? When he arose from his seat to face the complications that grown-ups tried to tax Him with, I can envision Him leaving the little ones with the assurance that they were loved, valued, and brought Him joy.

I have a new appreciation for Him, as I think of the two not-stop bundles of energy…and it causes me to consider the possibilities of a nap.