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Revising the Christmas Story

December 21, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                      December 21, 2016

                            

I gave a “test” to the twenty folk who make up the congregation of the church I am “kinda’ pastoring” right now. I say “kinda’ pastoring” because my friend Steve Wamberg and I mostly fill the pulpit on Sundays, and are also helping them figure out the direction of their future ministry.

The test I gave them was “True and False” statements about the Christmas story. I love it, because it brings to the surface how much our understanding of the story has been determined by Christmas carols and conjecture. Through the layers of the years, music, and imagination there has been a lot of “stuff” added to the pure biblical story.

In Ken Bailey’s book Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes: Cultural Studies in the Gospels, he brings out a few of these story revisions. For example, how many nativity scenes will we see this Christmas that are set up in a make-shift barn stable? Growing up in eastern Kentucky where my grandparents lived on a farm, I identified with the Christ-child born on a bed of hay in a barn that creaked and shook in the wind. Since my grandparents had a pack of barn cats that roamed the farm I always envisioned a few feline figurines in the nativity scene. Ken Bailey makes the point that in the homes of Bethlehem the stable was actually inside the house. Livestock were brought indoors at night, and the house usually had two rooms- one where the family resided and one where the livestock bedded down. The manger would have been where the livestock were kept…in the house! It’s a cultural understanding that seems strange to us, so we have simply revised it to fit our understanding better.

That isn’t necessarily a bad thing! Whether Jesus was born in a cave, a barn, or was bunking with the cattle in the house is not a detail that changes the essence of the story. The essence of the story that does not change is that Jesus is Emmanuel, God with us, come to earth in the flesh…fully human and fully divine!

But what about when layer after layer of imagination is added to the story? What happens when the created stories crowd out the original truth, the original meaning? As I sit on my “writing stool” at Starbucks I’m listening to Bing Crosby sing “White Christmas”, and humming the tune that tells me that the best Christmas has snow. Unlike Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, it’s pretty doubtful that the first Christmas in the Bethlehem of Israel featured snow.

Saint Nicholas is a great story about a 4th Century Greek Christian bishop, known for his generosity to the impoverished. As time went on children were given gifts on the evening before St. Nicholas’s day of honor, December 6. During the Reformation there was increasing opposition to the honoring of saints. Martin Luther promoted the giving of gifts to children at that time, but sought to focus it back to the Christ-child. Santa Claus emerged sometime in the 17th or 18th Century as a blended character of Saint Nicholas and the English Father Christmas from the 16th Century.

Great story! Great and entertaining story…a jolly elderly man coming down chimneys, helped out by elves, escorted by flying reindeer. Great story!

My guess, however, is that if you gave a test to children and adults alike a huge majority would be much more proficient at knowing the Santa Claus created facts than the actual story of Saint Nicholas and…the biblical story of the birth of Jesus.

Imagination and creativity are wonderful gifts, but sometimes they steer us away from the story of the most wonderful Gift!

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Grandchildren, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Caroling With the Methodists

December 19, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                          December 19, 2016

     Cautiously they came up the seven steps into the sanctuary. There were nine of them, four adults and five bouncing kids. They hadn’t gotten two steps into the sanctuary before two of the Baptist women descended upon them with greetings and smiles. Today the Methodists were joining us! More specifically, the Methodist children’s bell choir was going to play for our service. First Baptist Church and First United Methodist Church were situated just a block apart from one another in the hamlet of Simla, but worlds apart from ever joining together in some kind of activity. Today would change that.

The cold and snow kept a few of the faithful away. Henry and Mildred, our two ninety year olds, wisely stayed away. John was down in his back. A different John was on snow plow duty with the County. So nine United Methodists joined thirteen American Baptists for a time of worship, celebration, and laughter. The five-child bell choir, all related to one another, delighted us. After they finished their two songs they passed out candy canes to everyone…and then I passed out the candy canes I had brought for them!

Two small churches figuring out each other! At the end of worship the crock pots with chili were plugged in and most of us trudged down the snow-packed street two blocks to the full-care senior facility to sing for the elderly residents and, once again, to have the bell choir play. The two churches had collected pairs of socks that the children passed out to the residents, socks with brightly colored stripes and designs to bring a bit of color to the lives of some folks whose days were mostly gray and hopeless.

Two small churches walking together, becoming familiar with one another in a community we were all familiar with. Two small churches figuring out how we could join together to make a difference.

Back to the Baptist church we walked to enjoy chili and cinnamon rolls together. We gathered at the front of the sanctuary, joined hands in a circle of prayer, and asked God’s blessing on the meal and thanked him for the day we had enjoyed. Guests went first, savoring the aromas as they passed by the pots. One of the girls gave the ultimate compliment. She said, “This place smells just like Taco Bell!”

We sat together and enjoyed conversation about school, life, and farming. A story I had shared in my morning message resonated with one of the Methodists. He had been the high school basketball coach for 35 years and my story had focused on a basketball official that we both knew. Connecting points brought us closer together in our conversation.

At the end of the day everyone knew that what had happened that morning and afternoon had been a good thing.

Two small churches a block away, but no longer worlds apart.

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Community, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Rearranging My Prayer List

December 17, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                       December 17, 2016

                           

Prayer is not my strength.

I recognize in writing that sentence in that way that it was read in different ways by different people. Some may have read it thinking about the power of prayer, and what in the world am I thinking!!!!

Others may have read it and thought I was referring to the lack of effect…the absence of strengthening… that prayer brings into my life.

And still others read it the way I intended it. That is, when compiling a list of my strengths prayer is not one of them. That is not to say that I do not pray, and it not to say that I do not believe in the power and potential of prayer…the difference that prayer makes, but rather it is to say that prayer is seldom my reaction. My first reaction is to think of solutions and construct plans.

Over the years some folk have assumed that prayer was my strength since I am a pastor. Perhaps they thought I had a habit of rising at 5:30 and heading into my prayer closet. The truth is that I do often rise at 5:30, not because of an urgency to pray but because of an urgency with my bladder. I know…I know, too much information!

Recently, however, like casseroles at a church potluck, God seems to be heaping more concerns on plate. And interestingly enough, it isn’t because I’m a pastor, but rather because of the people I’m encountering during this time of my life journey. Let me give you some taste of my “prayer portions!”

-While sitting in Starbucks one morning and writing one of my blog posts one of the Starbucks employees that I’ve gotten to know a little bit, Sarah, was wiping off the counter beside me. She gave me one of those looks that non-verbally said “I want to say something to you!” I asked her how she was, and she told me her mom had passed away a couple of days before and the funeral was to be the next day. We talked about the loss of a parent, the pain and the sorrow, and I told her I would be praying for her and her family. Having lost my mom three years ago I know the absence such a death brings to one’s life.

-This week I was talking to my good friend Dave, who now lives in the San Antonio area. He told me that his three sons will all be deployed next month. Having been a career military person, he is proud of his sons’ service for their country, but also acutely aware of the heightened risk that deployments bring and raised anxiety levels of parents, spouses, and children back home. I told him that I’d be praying for them.

-Another person who lives elsewhere had an important court date that he was very anxious about. As the hearing came this week I prayed for him.

-Last night I was officiating a women’s basketball game at Colorado College. One of my partners, Tony Exum, was recently elected to the Colorado House of Representatives. As we were talking before the game he told me about his experience of receiving a word from the Lord back in 1993 about running for political office, and how his decision to run for office in the recent campaign was confirmed by three people he had asked to pray for him. At the end of the night as we were walking out of the gymnasium I told him that I would be praying for him as he was preparing to begin his term of service.

-At our Monday night meetings for area basketball officials one of our older officials (Older than me, okay!) has asked me to join him in prayer at the end of our meetings. Our association of officials has had a trying year and so we join together for a few moments of prayer, asking for protection and wisdom for the close to two hundred men and women who blow their whistles at high school games.

-Two months ago I conducted the funeral service for my friend, Greg Davis. At 41 years of age, he left behind a wife and nine year old daughter, plus his parents and brothers. I’m still grieving his passing, but find myself praying frequently for his family.

Sometimes God places people in our lives for a moment to provide prayer support for a season. Sometimes our relationships are long journeys where the support is like a slow movement in a casual ongoing conversation. At other times it’s a short spurt of conversational prayer, like going to 7-11 for a Slurpee…for a moment and then onward. It seems, however, that God is placing people in my path- heaping those relational portions on my plate- to drive me to prayer. They are the relational roadmap of spiritual support.

Prayer may never be my strength, but it is my summons.

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Jesus, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized
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Alphabet Sighs

December 14, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                  December 14, 2016

                                         

The fourth grade class I had been assigned to be the tutor for was walking back to the classroom from recess. One of the students walked beside me and said, “Your last name is Wolfe. Mine is Woods! I wish they didn’t go in alphabetical order so much of the time. I guess we’re mostly last, aren’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” I replied. I could tell that she saw me as an end-of-the-alphabet kindred spirit.

“I wish they would go by first names, because mine starts with a “C”… Colleen!”

“And I’m a “B”…Bill! There aren’t too many first names before me, just “A’s” like Adam or Angela and then some of the “B’s” like Bob and Bonnie.”

“Bob and Bonnie would actually come after Bill.”

“Oh, you’re right! My bad!” She gave me some grace, probably figuring that, with my age, I sometimes got confused when it came to vowels and such.

She was ready to continue about her last name woes. “It just seems that when anything gets handed out I’m always the last one to receive mine. We have no X, Y, or Z’s in our class. Last week in music class the teacher was handing out instruments to people…alphabetically! Guess who got stuck with two sticks to hit together? Lame!”

“And when I order lunch that gets delivered to our classroom I’m always the last one to receive it.”

“There’s got to be something good about being at the end of the alphabet. Like if someone brings cookies to class and they get handed out, but there are extras when it comes to the end of the alphabet!”

“Well, first of all, we’re a healthy snack school so you can forget about the cookies! And second, it’s more likely that there wouldn’t be ENOUGH of whatever snack it is instead of too many! Thus…another slap in the face to a W!”

“Jesus said the last shall be first and the first shall be last.”

“He wasn’t thinking about fourth graders when he said it, though!”

“Think about all the people through the years whose last name started with a W!” Woodrow Wilson, Oprah Winfrey, Daniel Webster, George Washington…”

“John Adams, John Quincy Adams, Abraham, Alexander the Great!”

She had me stumped and speechless, plus I was somewhat taken back by the fact that she knew who Alexander the Great was.

“Think of it this way. A “W” is a strong letter, a good letter. When the Chicago Cubs win a game they fly a flag with a big “W” on it. “W” is a letter of celebration. It indicates a winner, and you, Colleen, are a winner!”

She looked up at me as we were just about to enter the classroom. “I guess you’re right, Mr. Wolfe. I mean I know it’s your job to make me feel good about myself and all that, but I think you might be right. “W” could stand for a lot of good things, like “Wow” and “Willy Wonka.”

“And you know, Colleen, when there is some kind of processional march it is always the most important people who march in last!”

She stopped for a moment to let another student pass her, and also in order to be the last one to enter back into class. “Thanks, Mr. Wolfe! I think you are another “W”…wise!”

Categories: Bible, children, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
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My Secret Santa

December 13, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                         December 13, 2016

                                           

About a week ago Mission Medical Clinic of Colorado Springs received a boxed gift in the mail from an anonymous sender. Inside was a check for $10,000 and three $50 gift cards. The clinic offers a variety of medical services for people who have limited financial resources. The $10,000 will go a long ways in helping meet needs that never seem to lessen.

The first thought of the mission’s director was that it was a scam, so she called a local TV station about it. Further investigation revealed that it was genuine…and the praises began! Another local charity also received an anonymous check.

Even though the Christmas story revolves around expectancy it brings us the unexpected. Kids squeal and giggle over the expectation of the coming of Santa Claus, but stories of secret Santa’s take our breath away and leave us open-mouthed.

I will always remember my secret Santa! He or she sent me a gift shortly before Christmas in 1984…thirty-two years ago! Carol and I were the parents of two toddlers, and I was in my first months of pastoring my first church, the First Baptist Church of Mason, Michigan. Our financial resources were minimal. Most of the toys that the kids received for Christmas that year had been bought at the yard sales of the previous summer. We didn’t have much, but we had just enough! Carol learned how to use macaroni in numerous ways, and our home was often scented with the fragrance of digested pinto beans.

And then a $50 cashier’s check arrived in the mail from “Secret Santa.” A note attached to it said, “Take this check down to Jack Davis and buy yourself a new suit!” Jack Davis was the owner of Davis’s Men’s Wear, located on the corner of Ash and Jefferson, across from the Ingham County Courthouse in downtown Mason. Although I’ve had my suspicions, to this day I do not know who the Secret Santa was. All I know is that it lifted my spirits. That was back in the day when suits were the expected Sunday attire for pastors, and my suit selection was limited. My Secret Santa saw a young pastor with a wife and two kids who needed a little help. We had so many other needs to take care of that a new suit was not even on the list.

I thought of that story recently after receiving a check in the mail from my denomination’s retirement and benefits board. It was a “thank you” check sent to all of the retired ministers and missionaries of the American Baptist Churches, expressing appreciation for our years of ministry and service. I hadn’t thought about being a recipient of it, but rather as a giver to it, and yet here, once again, was an unexpected check!

This time, however, Carol and I have enough resources to be able to pay it forward to someone else, or some other organization. Not necessarily a check for $10,000, but rather the givers of an unexpected gift in a season of expectancy.

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Community, Grace, Jesus, love, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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The Christmas Sunday Quandary

December 10, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                          December 10, 2016

                              

It seems to be a topic of leadership team conversations at a number of churches across the country. What happens if Christmas Day lands on a Sunday? Does a church still have its Sunday morning worship service…or not?

In a 2005 survey about ten percent of churches said they would not have worship on Christmas Day. My guess is that you could probably triple that percent for 2016. Most of those who are having services readily admit that attenders will have more pew room to spread out in, as numbers will be substantially down. Many churches who are having services are scaling down for it… shortening the time frame, eliminating children’s groups and/or childcare, minimizing the number of people responsible for various elements of the service.

Almost every church that is more liturgical in style is continuing as usual. The make-up of most of the churches that are not meeting on Christmas Day are composed of congregations comprised with a high number of young adults; or churches that would be characterized as non-denominational evangelical.

In an increasing number of congregations the heavy emphasis on Christmas Eve services is the main reason for not meeting on Christmas Day. Mega-churches close to where we live are having five services during that day, with the first one beginning at 11 A.M and the last one at 7 P.M. It’s a marathon event for the church staff, thus no services on Sunday.

On Sunday many of their attenders will frequent a different establishment. Starbucks! It’s open on Christmas Day! Or they will be in front of the TV watching NFL games. They’re still playing!

Such a worship quandary doesn’t appear on the church council very often. The last time it happened was 2011. The next time after this year will be 2022, and then 2033! Besides the heavy Christmas Eve emphasis the main reason for canceling Sunday services is the word “family.” Family seems to trump Jesus! I’m not saying “humbug” to an emphasis on family, but it seems almost like going to the hospital before the birth of a new baby, waiting with expectancy, and then leaving before the new arrival comes! After all, Christmas Day is in celebration of Jesus’ coming; Christmas Eve is about Mary going into labor.

Perhaps Christmas Day worship should be an even higher priority this year as we go through a time of national disunity, and a time when peace seems to be fleeting. The birth of Jesus is the trumpeting of new hope, and God’s saving grace.

This will be my first Christmas as a retired pastor, a has-been! The first time in the past 38 Christmas Eves when I have not been involved in a Christmas Eve Candlelight service, and the first time I will be given the choice of being of the congregation as opposed to leading the congregation. I can sleep in on Christmas morning…or until my bladder wakes up! I can sit by the fireplace and drink egg nog and wait for the grandkids to come over. I can turn the TV on and watch a worship service that is well produced…or I can show up with some of the saints and sing of new life, new hope, and “God is with us!”

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Grandchildren, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Worship Visitor

December 5, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                       December 5, 2016

                                         

Deacon John raised his voice. “Lord, we know you love us, and now we ask that you would guide us in these coming days. Lord, if it be your will, please give us a sign of encouragement! We’re few in number, but massive in hope. We praise you and thank you! In Jesus name! Amen!”

The scattered few echoed his closing word as they sat back down in the pews ready to hear the Word of God for that day. Friendship Bible Church had existed on the street corner in the small rural village for close to a hundred and fifty years, but it had been dying a slow death for the last fifty. The town had decreased, as had the church’s effective ministry in the community. Young people had been raised in the church, grown up, gone off the college or to serve in the military, and never returned.

But there was hope in the midst of the gathered twenty!

The guest speaker introduced herself. She had served as a medical missionary at a hospital in India, and was back in the area for a few months telling her stories of mission work.

“There was a little boy who arrived at the hospital one afternoon…alone…bloodied…and frightened. My nurses asked him questions trying to find out his name, where he had come from, and what had happened to him? All he would tell them was that his name was Bontha and that he had been beaten by someone. He was bleeding profusely from a deep cut on his arm. We suspected that the “someone” was related to him and he did not want to say who it was. We treated him, stitched up the cut, cleaned him up, prayed with him, and asked him how we could contact his family. He kept telling us no, he did not want his family to know. One of the nurses left him for a few moments to go get him something to eat. When she came back he was gone. We searched and searched but could not find him, and Bontha never came back.”

“Years later I was doing my rounds through the pediatric ward one afternoon and a young man came up to me. He said, “Dr. Jan!” I looked at him, not recognizing who he was. “My name is Bontha!” Suddenly I could see the little boy appearing through the young man’s face. He showed me his arm. “You stitched up my arm when I came here bleeding.”

“My Lord! Bontha, I will always remember that day.” The questions started flowing out of me. “How are you? What happened to you that day? Where did you go? What are you doing now?”

He smiled at me and said that when he left the hospital he did not know what to do and where to go. His father had been in a drunken rage and had beaten him fiercely. When his father stumbled for a moment he escaped from the house and ran away, but as he was jumping over a fence he caught his arm on a piece of metal sticking out of the top of it and tore the skin open. He knew that our hospital was close and people had talked about “the Jesus Doctor” who worked there, so he ran as quick as he could, blood flowing from his body, and made it to the hospital. When he left our hospital he knew of a little church a couple miles away where a man named Pastor John was, and so he went there and told him what had happened. Pastor John went to Botha’s home and confronted Bontha’s father, brought him to a point of complete remorse and repentance, and told him that despite the abuse he had inflicted on his son that God  still loved him. Pastor John took Bontha in for the next month until he believed Botha’s father was ready to have him back. In that time he shared the story of the gospel with both Bontha and his father, and how the son of God was beaten even though he had done no wrong. Both father and son accepted Jesus.”

There were “Amens” wrong most of the people. They were caught up in the story.

“But the story doesn’t end there,” continued Doctor Jan. “For you see when Bontha reappeared that day he told me he was a student in medical school. He was in training to become a doctor. He told me that his experience that dark day when he was so young left a lasting impression upon him. Every time he looked at his arm and saw the scar from that day he remembered the loving care of my nurses and my words of concern for him. It changed his life, and Pastor John, the pastor of a church about the size of this one, took him in and told him of the love of God.”

“I wept as I heard his words! It was a story of misery turned to hope, a life rescued from abuse and changed to promise. Just a couple of years ago Dr. Bontha joined my staff at the hospital. He is now the primary doctor in the pediatric ward. When the Lord tells me that my work is done there he will take my place as the head of staff.”

“And it all began when a frightened little boy showed up one afternoon.” The missionary lady looked around the sanctuary. She saw tears running down the cheeks of some of the saints. There were moments of awed silence. “You never know what is going to happen when you ask the Lord to use you.”

The worship service closed with a time of heartfelt prayer of several people. They sang the hymn “I Love To Tell The Story” with loud committed voices in praise of their calling. Deacon John gave the closing prayer and people began conversing.

And then the front wooden door of the sanctuary creaked as it opened and a young boy that no one recognized wearing tattered clothing came through the door. It was at that moment that everyone knew that God had answered Deacon John’s prayer for a sign!

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Christmas, Community, Faith, Grace, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Rethinking About The Little Thankings

November 18, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                             November 18, 2016

                        

As Thanksgiving Day descends upon us it has caused me to think about the little things I’m thankful for. Perhaps you have your own list that resonates within you. Here’s a few things that cause me to stop, ponder, and be continually thankful for:

1) Sitting on the couch with my three grandkids watching TV, especially if one or two of them are leaned up against me. It causes me to remember when I was growing up and sitting beside my mom and dad in church, leaning into their warmth and presence. Now Reagan and Rennie lean into me and warm my soul!

2) Sunday early evening phone conversations with my dad. Since we’re two time zones apart it usually happens right after I’ve eaten dinner and he’s getting ready for bed. My dad is 88! His pleasant Eastern Kentucky accent carries a flood of family memories with it. As I talk with him I’m thinking of many of those things that he has brought to my life. He taught me how to drive, using our ’66’ Chrysler Newport as the guinea pig. In fact, the first time I drove it in the Ironton Junior High School parking lot I was trying to turn it so hard that I broke the power steering. Although he thought about killing me, patience won out!

3) Being married to a woman with a heart for kids who have needs. Carol is sensitive to those who have limitations as she works with special needs students in middle school. Although she retired at the end of the last school year she gets called EVERY SCHOOL DAY…Trust me! EVERY SCHOOL DAY!…to substitute! She comes alongside students who sometimes are ostracized in the midst of the middle school culture. At the end of the school day she is one tired puppy!

4) The ability to reflect and write. God has gifted me with an unusual talent. Most days as I sit on my Starbucks stool and peck out my blog post I have no idea what I’m about to write until I start writing it. Sometimes it comes as I put the Half and Half in my first cup of coffee; sometimes it comes as I sit and stare at Pike’s Peak for a couple of minutes…but it always seems to come! Most of the time it even makes sense!

5) A renewed passion for the church! As I help First Baptist Church in Simla, Colorado navigate the future it excites me. My excitement is definitely not based on compensation, but rather on “mission and purpose.” I love this congregation of twenty, who are anxious about their future. Thirty-seven years of pastoring has prepared me to offer advice and lead them to the questions that they need to be asking themselves.

6) The memories that pain me! That probably sounds strange, and yet I’m thankful for the wounds of my soul! In the past two months I’ve presided over the funerals of two dear people- a 95 year old saint named Rex and a 41 year old friend and father named Greg. I cried at both of them, and I am thankful that my life was blessed by them to the point that I was deeply impacted. Even now as I write these words the grief once again is like a wave that rushes over me.

We often think about the big reasons to be thankful, but the lake of thanksgiving is held together by small pebbles of gratitude!

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Freedom, Grandchildren, love, marriage, Parenting, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Slow to Listen…Really Slow!

November 9, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                 November 9, 2016

                                    

Frank Luntz is a CBS new correspondent who has covered elections and done group interviews for two and a half decades. Last Sunday night 60 Minutes aired parts of an interview that he had with a mixed group of voters. Luntz left that interview a bit downcast because of the outrage of the group that communicated several things.

One of those key learnings he pointed to was that people don’t listen. That might sound simple and uncomplicated, and yet there’s a lot more behind it. He made the point that he lost control of the group five minutes in. People wanted to talk, but people didn’t want to listen. The presidential election simply mirrors that fact in our nation. People are slow to listen…really, really slow!

Another way of stating it is “I’m going to say something and you’re going to listen, but you, on the other hand, have nothing of value that I will listen to.

Luntz made this revealing statement: “People listen to anything that affirms themselves instead of informing themselves.” We’ve taken the Book of James statement to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry (James 1:19) and reversed it. Now we are deafly slow to listen, NASCAR quick to speak, and unstably quick to become angry!

Social media has unknowingly encouraged this. Someone can spout off venom and not hang around to hear the reactions. It is easy and, in some ways, relationally shallow to speak on Facebook, and exit out before hearing the thoughts of others.

This slowness in listening runs through a variety of systems in our world. Parents don’t want to hear the concerns of their child’s teachers concerning his behavior. Students don’t want to listen to their teachers, who they have often written off as irrelevant. And sometimes teachers don’t want to listen to students who disagree with an idea or are slow in understanding what is being taught.

In the youth sports world there is a decreasing number of officials. One main reason is the verbal abuse that is heaped upon them by parents, coaches, and players. And think about it! A sports official is simply someone who is making judgment calls…rulings…on situations that occur in the midst of a game. A number of officials have been physically attacked in the midst of athletic contests in recent years.

We don’t want to listen to anything that we have decided we disagree with! We have become very skilled in not listening!

Yesterday my 8th Grade boy’s basketball team got waxed. We went into the game 4-0 and left 4-1. But, and here’s what I told them after the game, hopefully we learned from the experience. We didn’t leave the game talking about how bad the officiating was or what poor sports the other team’s players were. On the contrary, the game was well officiated and the players on the other team acted just as well as my players did. We just got beat…and we listened with our minds to what was being taught to us.

In the coming days may each of us strive to be quick to listen and a lot slower in speaking. We need that. Our country needs that. I’m hoping that when Frank Luntz does another group interview before the 2020 election he will be able to hear what is being said, not just a room full of disgruntled folk who have a lot to say and nothing to hear!

If you want to respond…I promise I’ll listen!

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, coaching, Community, Freedom, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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World Series Spiritual Revival

November 6, 2016

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                           November 5, 2016

                                   

Pastor Fred was shocked when he walked into the sanctuary of his church, the Northside Free Temple, and witnessed an overflow crowd. His congregation, which usually ran about 45 to 50 in attendance on any given Sunday except Easter, was jam packed with close to 200!

What was going on? His first thought was that it was November 6 and Daylight Savings Time had ended early that morning. In the past, however, any time people had a chance to move their clocks back an hour did not translate into more people in the pews on that Sunday. Now people were packed in like sardines! So many new faces he had never seen, and many that he hadn’t seen in church in ages.

Perhaps someone was having a family reunion in town and the whole family came to church as part of the festivities. Probably not, however, since he could see a handful of ethnic groups represented.

And there was his butcher, Clyde, who was number one in cutting up a side of beef but about as crass and crude as they come…and that was around Pastor Fred!

In the back he could see his long-time barber, Phil. Was this the Bears’ bye week or something? Phil was usually either in Soldier’s Field on football Sundays or planted in front of his TV. He even had a haircut named “Ditkut”, named after Mike Ditka!

Then he noticed a red-haired middle-aged lady sitting halfway back with a Chicago Cubs baseball jersey on, and it hit him! Were a lot of these people here because of what had happened last Wednesday night in Cleveland?

Edith Pride rushed up to him before he could get to the pulpit. “Pastor, isn’t it marvelous? I’ve been praying for a spiritual revival for our church for years and God has answered my prayers! Look at all these people seeking spiritual understanding and guidance! I’ll be praying that God will inspire you with his words that need to be said this morning.” Edith usually was of the opinion that Pastor Fred was uninspiring. In fact, a couple of years ago she had tried to gain a following to have him removed as the pastor. Any problem, any time someone left the church or stopped attending for a while, she blamed Pastor Fred. In her opinion “scapegoat” was part of his job description.

“Pastor, there are souls here today that are hungry to be brought into the Kingdom!”

“Lord,” thought the pastor, “save me from Edith!”

A family with four young children had been funneled into the third pew on the left. The young ones had matching t-shirts, all with a Cub on the front. The mom decorated her neck with a thin scarf that also sported the name of their city on it. The dad modeled a polo shirt with the Cubs logo over his heart.

“Could these people be here because of the Cubs winning the World Series?” It was starting to sink in.

The service started and Pastor Fred read the Call to Worship from Romans 5. “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into out hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. Amen.”

A hundred “amens’ echoed through the sanctuary, mostly from the new faces present. Gladys Watson came to lead the gathered saints in a hymn, “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less.”

The singing was loud and sung with heartfelt emotion. The pastor thought he heard someone in the second row complete the phrase “My hope is built on nothing less” with “Rizzo’s bat and Lester’s arm!” 

      After the last verse Pastor Fred invited people to greet some people around them. He walked down to the family in Row 3.

“It’s good to have you with us this morning.”

“Thank you, Pastor! We had to live up to our promise.”

“What was that?”

“The wife and I both prayed to the Lord on Wednesday that if the Cubs won Game 7 we’d go to church on Sunday.”

“Oh, really?”

The wife resumed the explanation. “We figured that if we believed in God enough to pray to him about the Cubs, we should believe in him enough to come into his house.”

“Well, it’s good to have you, and it’s great the Cubs won!” He wondered how the part of the service where people shared their praises and concerns would go? He found out about ten minutes later.

“Are there any praises and concerns today?”

Edith jumped up like a turned loose spring. “I just want to praise the Lord this morning. I can just feel the Spirit’s movement in our midst. God is so good, and faithful!” Edith took her seat, smiling smugly.

A hand was raised in the back and Pastor Fred encouraged the person attached to the hand to stand and share with the congregation.

“Pastor, I just want to give God the praise for Anthony Rizzo. What a first basemen he is, praise the Lord!”

“And, Pastor Fred!” The voice came from the pew in front of the Rizzo-lover. “I got on my knees in the top of the tenth and unashamedly shouted, “Lord, if you are who people say you are I know you can move mountains! So I’m asking that you move the runners along so our beloved Cubs can win this game. If you do that for me I promise to be in church each of the next seven Sundays- one Sunday for each game of the World Series.”

The amens thundered through the congregation.

A smaller voice rose from the left. It belonged to a little girl who couldn’t be any more than seven years of age. “Pastor, I love the Cubs and I think God does too! And I think Kris Bryant is cute!”

There was laughter throughout the church, except for Edith! Her revelation about spiritual revival did not have the Cubs as part of the vision. She’d be talking to the deacons this week about repentance and getting right with the Lord.

The Cubs’ spiritual revival sharing went on for another fifteen minutes. Everyone from Jack Brickhouse to Ron Santo was mentioned. By the end of the service Pastor Fred was beginning to think that this spiritual renewal, at least for one Sunday, WAS because of what happened four nights earlier. He started wondering if God could use the end of a 108 year drought to bring new life to a dried up church. One thing was for sure! He was going to the nearest department store and buying a World Series Champions t-shirt. He might even wear it under his suit and tie next Sunday.

Go Cubs Go!

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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