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“The Last Shall Be…Left Out!”

March 5, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                          March 4, 2013

The four servers returned to the front with the communion cup trays. My assistant and I prepared to receive them, proclaim the words of Jesus, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood! Whenever you drink of this cup you proclaim my death until I come again. Drink of it, each of you!”
But there was a problem. We looked down at the trays that the four servers were holding.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.

Four sets of eyes looked up at us with a sense of “puppy-dogish-ness!” We had run out of communion before everyone was served. Or at least…six of us were served! It wasn’t because the sanctuary was so packed out that there simply wasn’t enough. For some reason our communion preparer has fixed less on this day than usual. In addition to that we had the celebration of communion as a part of the worship gathering in the midst of the service, as opposed to being at the end. Thus, the children who normally had been dismissed for “Children’s Church” were participating in communion with us.

The six of us at the front of the sanctuary, the last to be served, were now left out. Paul talked about the gluttonous Corinthians boozing up at the gatherings of the church in Corinth. Those who got there early were tipping back a few before late arrivers- those who had to work longer days- got there. The result would be a group that over-did and another group that did without.

But in our situation no one was tipping more than one of the tiny plastic communion cups.

And there was no “multiplying of the cups” miracle. We just did without.

“Drink of it, most of you!”

The last shall be first, except on some communion Sundays where the last are just left out.

Perhaps some regular church attenders, rigid in ritual observance, committed to the faith while also being void of grace, would look at such an event and call for a congregational meeting. Some might have qualified it as sacrilegious. For us it just was…what it was! No one felt led to run down to the kitchen and see if there was any Baptist wine still in the frig (Welch’s Grape Juice). We just went on. In some ways there was a deeper bond that became a part of our gathering at that point. Our story together had just added another chapter.

It seemed fitting that those who served were the ones who didn’t have anything left for themselves. Serving the Lord is giving it up even when we realize there may not be anything left  for ourselves.

I’ve been to a few Baptist potlucks where the end of the line got fruit jello, and the front of the line had about five different layers of food smothering their plates. Communion, however, is a little different.

Maybe I should bring to our church leadership the idea of a “BYOB Communion Sunday.” Although it might be a little unnerving to look out at the congregation and suddenly seeing a bottle being passed back and forth in the back rows. Maybe we’ll have to do a “BYOGJ” instead- bring your own grape juice.

I think I’m going to inquire of my Lutheran friends to see if they have an extra chalice laying around some place. Would that be sacrilegious for a Baptist to use a Lutheran chalice…or vice-versa? I don’t know, but for at least one pastor this past Sunday’s communion was an intimate experience even though the cup was missing.

Categories: Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Painting Fingernails

March 1, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                        March 1, 2013

There are sometimes things that a person does just because! Like taking your daughter to a Justin Bieber concert and realizing that the average age of the 20,000 attenders…not including yourself…is 13…rounded off to the nearest year! Why would a parent do such a thing? The answer: Just because!

Last week my girls’ basketball team had a team dinner. Great food, great time together…and then the fingernail polish came out! The twelve girls were painting their fingernails five different colors in preparation for the last game of the season the next day. (When my son’s soccer team was preparing for the state play-offs each of the players dyed their hair blonde!).

You may have already figured out what comes next in the story.

“Coach, it’s your turn!”

“What?”

“It’s time to get your fingernails painted!”

I wouldn’t call it peer pressure that have me cave in. It was more like allowing them to paint my nails…just because! My wife had her cell phone out taking pictures like it was a Cover Girl photo op!

Blue…red…silver…orange…and black…on each hand! I left the team dinner decorated! The next day I spent a good deal of the time with my hands in my pockets or with gloves on. I discovered where the nail polish remover is located at Walgreen’s for use immediately after the game.

What I discovered is that painted fingernails is outside my comfort zone. I was completely aware of my counter-cultural masculine look anytime I was in public. Actually I was aware of it most of the rest of time as well, because my hands are usually palms down in front of me instead of palms up. When one of those nails on each hand is painted with a glittery silver it’s distracting.

Everyone of us has things that are outside our comfort zone. Sometimes we allow ourselves to enter the uncomfortableness “just because.” Sometimes we realize that what we are about is more important that our uneasiness.

I had the sense that everyone was looking at me in those few hours when I was  polished. It felt like I had just accidentally burped in the midst of a high-priced restaurant. The blush radiated!

What the experience also gain me was a sense of how someone new feels coming into a church situation. Like a 58 year old man with painted fingernails, there is an intimidation factor. It used to be that churches would recognize first-time visitors by having them stand or raising their hands to receive a special gift. Some would not agree with me on this one, but I think someone visiting a church for the first time feels uncomfortable enough as it is. “Churched people” may have lower anxiety levels, but unchurched people aren’t sure what they are getting themselves into in just being there at all. They may be there “just because.” Like a parent at a Justin Bieber concert, it may very well be a one-and-done experience. What would prompt an unchurched person to want to come back again? Probably about three things! One would be an encounter with the “mystery of the holy.” That they would experience something that they can’t quite describe, but know that something has been stirred within them.

Two would be that the person senses in some way that what happens in worship has relevance for life. It isn’t a “how to” seminar, but rather a look at life through a different lens or from a different perspective.

And three would be that the person would have a sense that the people of the faith gathering are fellow life journeyers, who haven’t arrived, but are still on the journey. The church would convey words like “help”, “compassion”, “inviting”, “grace”, “hope”, and “affirmation”, not “judgment”, “arrogance”, “apathy”, and “frosty.” The reason I was willing to have my fingernails glitter is that twelve other girls had already done it. Even though it was uncomfortable think how uncomfortable…and weird…it would have been if they would have done my nails, but not done their own. Sometimes the church has a critical eye about those who are uncomfortably seeking. In a culture where many people desire to stand out there is still an uncomfortableness about standing out in new situations.

I’ve used the nail polish remover, but the interesting thing is that there is still some residue…okay, maybe a better term is evidence…of the polish. One of my thumbnails that are painted orange looks like I had an orange slushie that leaked. But as I look at it, weird as it seems, I have good memories of that evening…just because.

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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The Job of Reading Through Job

February 8, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                               February 8, 2013

 

I’m using the One Year Chronological Bible to read through the Bible this year. As it’s name indicates, the scriptures are arranged in order of occurrence…as best as they can determine. I didn’t realize that Job came after Genesis 10! I almost didn’t make it to Genesis 11.

Right after the story of Noah…right around January 4…Job suddenly sprung up on the pages of January 5.

Understand that I have nothing against Job. After all, he is in the Book! It’s just that I have a hard time listening to his friends Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, and late contributor, Elihu. In a modern paraphrase they might appear as a group of Baptist pastors who are all trying out the coming Sunday’s sermon. They seem to have no word quota or time limit. They flapped their jaws more than our neighbor’s barking dog.

You would have thought they were running for office. I fell asleep with the Bible open in front of me. (Kind of like people on Sundays when I speak!) Anytime Eliphaz opened his mouth I started compiling a grocery list. Suddenly I realized I was two chapters later on in the story, but had not clue what it was that I had just read.

About two weeks later in my Bible journey light appeared at the end of the tunnel. It was about the time that God appeared on the scene and set things in perspective. The Almighty has a way of doing that. When he asks, but isn’t really seeking an answer, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand…Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place?” (Job 38:4,12) there is the first glimpse of silence in the gap.

It’s better to think through your words before responding to God.

The story of Job tells me that there is much verbosity in the world, a heap of rhetoric, but the voice of God sweeps it all away. It tells me that if we measure how we should believe by the amount of verbiage that is uttered our journey would, more often than not, take us away from the closeness of His wisdom.

Sometimes our lives become based more on the rambling thoughts of others and less on the solid foundation of Christ.

The story of Job also makes me think about the church. Does our ministry flow more out of our opinions or out of the story of hope, the scriptures of wisdom? How often do we say “That sounds like a good idea” as opposed to “What is God leading us to be about?”

I’m done with Job for now. I can remember Bildad’s name, but none of his pontifications. I leave the story behind me and am reminded of “The Five B’s of Preaching”– “Be brief, Bill, be brief!”

Categories: Christianity, Faith, Humor, Jesus, love, Pastor, Prayer, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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Grace and Mayberry

February 5, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                      February 5, 2013

 

My barber’s name is Phil Hanson. I began going to him a few years ago because a distinguished elderly man in our church, Charles Slusser, always had such a nicely-groomed head of white hair. One day I finally asked Charles where he got his hair cut and he pointed me in Phil’s direction. Phil is now 78 years old, but so far he hasn’t cut anything on my head but hair. The reason I have continued to go back to him again and again is because he reminds me of “Floyd” of Mayberry, hometown setting for “The Andy Griffith Show”.  I want my barber to be more like Floyd and less about style.

Phil has a loyal customer base of mostly older gentlemen who come more for the conversation and less about a cut. Floyd was like that, too. He may have been the only barber in Mayberry, but his shop was a place of conversation.

But, like most of the characters on Andy Griffith, Floyd required some grace. He, Goober, Gomer, Howard, Otis, and especially Barney Fife, all had their stumbles and bumbles. Their talent for doing boneheaded things was the basis for most of the 249 episodes of the series. Otis tried and failed to get sober numerous times. Barney carelessly first his pistol more than once. Even Aunt Bee needed grace in a few episodes.

For some reason Mayberry didn’t hold grudges. Forgiveness found a home there. (My favorite is the episode entitled “Citizen’s Arrest! Citizen’s Arrest!”) In a majority of the episodes Andy at some time would shake his head in disbelief and say, “Bar…ney!” By the time the thirty minute show was over, however, all had been forgiven.

Perhaps our world needs a little more Mayberry, and less of “The Real World.” Grace seems to be harder to come by these days as people seek their corner in the ring before they come out swinging.

Jesus was very gracious when it came to his disciples. Kind of like Andy Griffith dealing with his cast of Mayberry characters, Jesus dealt with men who wanted to know who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven, wondered why they couldn’t cast out demons, doubted the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, and weren’t sure what was going on a lot of the time.

I sometimes have to step back and realize that the picture I have of Jesus is one where he is battling with the Pharisees, or getting perturbed with the teachers of the Law. My picture needs to be updated with the Jesus of grace. He had the first group of trail-and-error followers. There was not a manual for them to follow, so they needed to follow Jesus closely…and sometimes they messed it up.

I think the church needs to be more like Mayberry, a place of grace. There’s a little bit of Floyd, Otis, Barney, and Aunt Bee in each one of us. A bit of waywardness, cluelessness, and falling short in various ways. The church is a cast of characters trying to get it together, but knowing there may be an episode next week that will cause some head-shaking.

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Trading Pulpits

January 24, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                           January 24, 2013

 

Last Sunday was the seventh year in a row that the pastors of the five neighborhood churches in our area traded pulpits. A Mennonite can become a Lutheran, a Presbyterian can experience being a Baptist, and a Methodist can be anyone of the aforementioned. We change preaching venues on a Sunday in mid-January to early February…and go at it.

The congregations love it. In fact, most of the members of each congregation look forward to it. When the Lutheran pastor came to our church a few years ago and delivered an eight minute message I had people the next Sunday asking when he could come back. I enjoy speaking in different churches because there are plenty of jokes I can tell about being a Baptist pastor. I’ve got a lot of bizarre stories as well, because “truth is stranger than fiction.” Being a Baptist pastor for almost 34 years now I can attest to the truth of that statement.

The value of trading pulpits for one is that as pastors, we visibly display our belief in, and commitment to, a church that has many shapes, sizes, emphases, colors, and looks, but one Lord, one Savior, and one Spirit.

The other value is a growing sense that other churches aren’t the enemy. Or even the competition. Just as I say that it takes the church and the school to partner together in creating a healthy community, I also believe that it takes our churches linking together in proclamation and ministry to be light in the midst of darkness.

There are many things that Dan Holt, Senior Pastor of Ascension Lutheran Church, and I can spend our time disagreeing on, but what we are united about is that Christ means Hope and Life and Truth. Of our eight pastors serving in the five congregations I am probably the most conservative theologically, but we don’t belabor our differences. We respect and value each other. To often value gets attributed only to people who resemble us.

Last Sunday I spoke in the Methodist church. I told them early on that the good news was that if I screwed anything up not to worry, Pastor Larry would be back next week. I had a good time delivering the word of the Lord. I’m almost afraid to say this, but they were perhaps even a little more receptive to what I was saying than my own congregation, because I was a new voice to them. Sometimes the familiar voice is respected and honored, but not necessarily heard with as much attention.

When our neighborhood pastors meet again the first Wednesday in February we will talk about how it went. There will be a heightened sense of connectedness with one another because we trusted each other, and our congregations trusted us to provide someone who would be faithful in bringing the Word of the Lord to them.

It was good!

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Puttering Along With The Sheep

January 8, 2013

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                      January 8, 2013

One of the stories in the Bible that stands out as an incredible moment of connection between the Holy and a person is the Exodus 3 account of Moses encountering a burning bush. It is the distinctive call of God to the person he has prepared to lead his people.

But it took a bush to catch on fire for Moses to notice! It’s a bush that has an angel in it (Exodus 3:2)! Moses comes over to look for the bush isn’t burning up. He knows from his knowledge of nature that when a bush catches on fire it is quickly toasted!

It took a bush!

You see, Moses seems to have become content with the direction of his life. Growing up in Pharaoh’s palace was a distant memory. It’s as if he has lived two lives- one before he was s shepherd, and now the current one. He seems content to just putter along with the sheep. I can see him sitting on a hillside looking at the herd that belonged to his father-in-law (another Jethro! Go figure!), with a strand of straw sticking out of his mouth like Jethro from the old TV series called “The Beverly Hillbillies.”

The sheep needed some new grazing ground, so Moses puttered along with them to the next field over.

If God hadn’t lit that bush on fire Moses would have been a “career putterer.”

Zipporah: Moses, dear! What did you do today?

Moses: Well, let’s see, I puttered along behind the ewes over to the north 40; and then this afternoon I puttered back here with them.

Zipporah: That’s the same thing you did yesterday.

Moses: That’s the same thing I do everyday, dear!

 

For some of us God has to light a match to get us going. Some of us have to see something that doesn’t initially make any sense for God to get our attention. For others it is a journey that has us constantly in a state of spiritual discovery and awareness.

But let’s be honest! Many of us putter through life like a spiritual zombie putting one foot in front of the other and not having a clue as to what it happening.

“Puttering” is easier than pursuing!

I once heard that every episode of The Beverly Hillbillies was based on mis-communication or a lack of communication. Seems like walking in spiritual putter has the same plot.

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Willie the Baptismal Whale (part 2)

December 27, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                  December 26, 2012

 

The pastor had to do a little pushing and pulling to get the inflatable properly positioned. It was a snug fit. Inflatable whales are a little wider than Baptist church baptisteries. Finally it was in place with the tail out the backside of the one entrance tank. Perhaps it was built that way to eliminate escapees who began to doubt at the last moment…or if the water heater wasn’t working!

The pastor went home…hopeful that Sunday morning he would not be deflated by having dry baptisms.

He arrived early on Sunday to inspect, pray, and pour. It was a long walk from the kitchen to the baptistery, but that’s where he had to go to fill bucket after bucket with hot water. Willie’s “belly” slowly started to fill up. The tail flopped back and forth like a fin out of control.

It took twenty trips with the five gallon pail to get Willie to the brim. The pastor’s upper back and arms were aching and he secretly was longing to be a Methodist. Sprinkling is a lot easier than total immersion.

That was another fear that kept creeping into his mind. Would Zach fit? He had visions of “partial immersion.” What if Zach’s muscular body couldn’t go all the way under all at once? Was it okay to baptize his upper body and then his lower body immediately after? Did that qualify? He thought back to his adjunct preaching professor in seminary who was a Presbyterian pastor. Baptist seminary students usually want to know that they have all the right answers…and that others don’t. Discussion with their professor about the validity of any baptism that involved less than five hundred gallons was a point of debate.

The wise mentor from a different tradition looked at his inquiring students and asked them a question in response to their question: “Is it the amount of water that is important or the condition of the heart?”

Silence like Pharisees before Jesus.

Zach’s heart condition had been washed clean. A sense of peace fell upon the pastor’s spirit. Sometimes his faith got lost in the fret about the details.

Thirty minutes before the worship gathering was to begin the pastor checked the water level. Willie was holding. The water was still to the top of his sides. He hoped that the temperature would hold just as well. Toes turning blue were not on his bucket list!

The sanctuary began to fill with people, familiar faces and unfamiliar. Baptisms brought the body of believers, as well as others who perhaps wanted to see if it would happen. Zach’s guests included a former high school teacher who prayed for Zach frequently, worrying about his life’s direction and consequences. There was also his boss who had taken Zach under his wing, and treated him like a son. In fact, there were a number of people sitting in different pews throughout the sanctuary that has a hand in guiding him to this point.

Little Bethany also had her guests, aunts and uncles, neighbors and playmates. Her stomach was starting to turn flips in anticipation. Truth be known, she was anxious about the water temperature. She had been telling herself all night “Don’t squeal! Don’t squeal!”She didn’t want an ice-cold whale to cause her to scream.

When the pastor touched down into the pool, however, the temperature was just a little cooler than bath water. He gave the thumbs up to Bethany and her mom and dad who were standing behind her. She stepped down, and accepted the help from the pastor as her right foot stepped over Willie’s inflated head.

Her mom and dad joined her. The increase in weight on the bottom of the pool caused the air to shift to the tail end, and Willie’s back flipper came to attention. Her dad led Bethany through the affirming words of her faith. The pastor stepped to the side and Bethany’s dad, a hair over six foot three himself, dipped his daughter low. She submerged and emerged with not even a gasp, let alone a squeal. All that the congregation could see was a little girl with a big grin that circled around the gap created by her two missing front teeth.

The congregation applauded. Aunts cried. Mom embraced her daughter.

Parents and child stepped back out of Willie and carefully went back up the steps. Zach was next. He came down the steps looking bigger than he actually was. He smiled at the pastor, who moved towards Willie’s tail to give him a little more room. He wasn’t sure how this was going to work, but he was going to make it work…even if it meant to a snug fit in between Willie’s sides for Zach.

The pastor looked out and caught sight of some of Zach’s family. Several were already tearing up. They knew his journey. They knew that there had been more doubters in his life than believers. Some of the doubters, oddly enough, still hoped for failure. The need to be right was greater than the hope to see transformation.

The pastor stood on Zach’s right side.

“Zach, who would have thought that you would have a Jonah moment this morning?”

A chorus of “amens” sounded in different parts of the sanctuary. Zach’s facial expression widened with raised eyebrows and a smile that stretched his cheeks as wide as they could go. The pastor led the new believer in words of profession and identification with Jesus.

“Let’s see if we can all of you under!”

“I’m good with that!”

The words were said, and the young dad was dipped. The pastor swished him around a little bit in Willie’s belly just to make sure; and then he was up…drenched…chuckling…triumphant.

The pastor embraced him. The congregation applauded.

As if in approval, Willie’s tail waved for a moment.

 

 

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Pastor, Story, Teamwork, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Willie the Baptismal Whale (part 1)

December 24, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                          December 23, 2012

The water dripped out of the bottom of the baptistery. It was not a good sign! The renovation of the pool had been completed, but a testing of it a few weeks earlier had shown that it was leaking. The experienced, but aging pool man had come and reworked it. He was sure it was as sound as a steel horse trough!

Little Bethany and solidly-built Zach were ready to be the first two tip-and-dipped below the water’s surface.

Bethany, just a bit under reaching her tenth year of life and missing her front two teeth, was excited to proclaim that she knew Jesus. Her older brother, Josh, had been baptized in the frigid waters of the leaking baptistery, even though the depth was kept at just under a foot. Cold is cold, however, and when Josh’s father dipped him under all the congregation heard was a chilled whimper rising up from the walls above the water. Bethany was sure that her experience would be… warmer! Her shyness showed as she would lean against her mom as the pastor talked to her about what baptism meant; but, inwardly, her excitement could have enabled her to jump across a flowing river.

Zach was a football player turned husband and dad. He had gone through some dessert experiences, but had come to know Jesus in a personal way. It’s not that he understood everything, but he knew a few months ago that his life had come to a “fork in the road”. It was a decision point, and he chose to be a follower of the way of Jesus. His wife and kids were excited to see his life slowly but gradually change.

But on Saturday night the water was continuing to drip out of the tank. It seemed like God was giving this Baptist church an object lesson of some kind. Was there some unresolved sin that was keeping this Baptist church from performing baptisms? Or was it simply the error of a pool guy who hadn’t had much experience doing baptisteries? There was Ezekiel’s dry bones, the ram caught in the thicket for Abraham, Jeremiah buying a field as a sign. Could the dry baptistery be a sign of the absence of the Lord’s blessing on this church? People didn’t want to think about it in that way, but the thought tumbled around in many people’s minds.

The pastor sent out a plea on Saturday night to see if anyone had an inflatable pool that might be used.

When the conventional doesn’t work go with the unconventional. Just get it done! Don’t be deterred!

Within a few minutes of his email plea he had a call from one of attenders about a wading pool he had at his house. He would load it in the back of his truck and be right over. The pastor breathed a sign of relief. A short time later, however, his relieved spirit was trumped again as he discovered that his friend’s wading pool was made of sturdy, inflexible plastic and it was too wide for the baptistery.

“Lord, why?”

Being December inflatable wading pools were not an item that stores stocked. The pastor had already thought of that route, and had received a few strange looks from hurried store employees trying to find Tonka Trucks and Barbie Doll accessories. One store employee when asked about wading pools looked around trying to find out where the hidden camera was filming the conversation.

The pastor’s email clicked with another message. Another family from the congregation had an inflatable pool that could be used. Baptism was going to happen!

An hour later Keith carried it into the sanctuary in a Sears shopping bag, not because it was brand new and recently purchased, but rather to keep it bundled together so it didn’t sprout into eighty different directions.

“It should fit fine!” Keith said. “The only thing is this…it’s Willie the Whale!”

“Willie the Whale?”

“Yes, when it’s inflated it becomes Willie the Whale…complete with tail…or fin…of whatever a whale has at his back end!”

“Baptism in a whale?”

“Actually, it is almost like the belly of a whale since the pool part is the inside of Willie.”

A few minutes later after his cheeks had grown weary from blowing into the inflatable, the pastor gazed upon Willie the Baptismal Whale…complete with tail. He carried it to the baptistery and dropped it in.

Perfect! Thank you, Jesus! A modern version of the story of Jonah would happen Sunday morning!

 

Categories: children, Christianity, Community, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized, Youth
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Christmas Silence

December 19, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                December 19, 2012

My guess is that the most popular Christmas carol is “Silent Night”. Traditionally, it is the song that we end our Christmas Eve Candlelight with. The congregation is standing, each person with their candle glowing. A stillness settles over the congregation as the music begins:

“Silent night, holy night! All is calm, all is bright!”

Perhaps it is the offer at a change of pace that makes the carol so appealing. Christmas is amplified with noise it seems. I was in Walmart the other day and had several toys talking to me as I passed them in the aisles. Seriously! The sound of a monster truck accelerating made me exit a toy truck and cars aisle quickly. In the next aisle a stuffed puppy started panting at me.

Christmas noise. Christmas echoes echoing echoes. Christmas jazz rock.

And so “Silent Night” seems so soothing and comforting. I don’t want to dramatize it too much, but it seems that the birthplace of Jesus…off to the side…out of the banter and bustling…was more about the lack of noise. Perhaps there was some livestock standing around, but what I mean is that no one thought it important enough to make noise over.

In fact, most of the Christmas story characters had journeys that included silence. For shepherds it  was important to have quiet so their hearing could be attuned to any predators lurking close to their herd of sheep. The silence helped them hear any uneasiness in their flock.

The wise men from the East had spent a long period of time traveling in the quiet of wilderness and through valleys. In the Luke account it mentions that after Elizabeth found out she was pregnant she went into seclusion for five months (Luke 1:24). Obviously her husband, Zechariah, wasn’t making any noise!

Silence in the incarnational event punctuated the point that God was doing something incredible.

I’ll be visiting my parents back in Ohio the week after Christmas. My mom is at that point in her life where silence is the norm. She has trouble verbalizing what she is thinking and so there are long periods of uncomfortable quiet, because I’m expecting that the next words are going to come. It’s a hard adjustment seeing your mom, who always talked to you…and even more than you got to say…suddenly be silent. I, however, will always opt for a silent mom over a noisy supermarket, a quite moment sitting by her bed over screaming consumers at the mall.

They say that silence is golden. If that’s true why don’t more people just keep quiet?

“Silent night, holy night!”

Categories: children, Christianity, Christmas, Freedom, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Prayer, Story, Uncategorized
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The Chauffeur and The Three Wise Ladies

December 13, 2012

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                                    December 12, 2012

 

The four-door Civic, affectionately known as “The Spaceship” because of it’s design, pulled up in front of the smiling saint’s house. The first passenger pick-up was peaking out the window in her front door, and, after recognizing the car, she opened the door sporting a smile as wide as the Mississippi River. The volunteer driver helped her into the backseat and the godly saint thanked him profusely.

The ice spots on the asphalt made pulling the “Spaceship” away from the curb a slow take-off, but finally the Civic headed on down the road to the next pick-up location. The smiling saint was delighted to be on a day trip to a celebration in the big city an hour’s drive away. Her life had been marked by triumphs and tragedies, rough roads and glorious adventures, but her faith in Jesus was a constant. “Jesus never fails” echoed in her soul. The callouses on her knees were a sign of where she spent a lot of her time. Today she was going to a celebration related to a young family she had prayed for many, many times.

The compact car pulled into the alleyway and stopped behind the flower lady’s home. She was ready, and slowly made her way down her back steps with her walking cane supporting her. She was beaming and dressed for the Senior Prom…if there was such a thing! The driver helped her navigate the last few steps around patches of snow and ice and made sure she settled safely in the front passenger seat. There was a little fumbling to get the seat belt attached, but weathered trembling hands finally found the connection and she breathed a sign of relief. She was a radiant 83 year old who was ready for an adventure. Her growing up days on the eastern Colorado plains had instilled values of patience, gentleness, and peace-loving into her spirit. She believed in a God who was always loving and kind and a provided whether the crops came in or not.

The smiling saint and the flower lady conversed with hellos and laughter, and squeals of delight that could be mistaken for not-quite-teenage girls.

The chauffeur eased on down the alley and onto the street and headed to the third stop a few miles away. A few minutes later “the Spaceship” pulled into the driveway of well-maintained older home. An African-American woman finely dressed stepped out the front door. The driver got out of the car, walked to her, and hugged her with a “Hello Mom!” greeting. She was not his birth mother, but had instead only arrived for his decade in the fifties. Wisdom for the beginning of his later part of life…and she had a lot of wisdom. She knew of a time when blacks and whites couldn’t ride in the same car together, and no Caucasian male would ever have been opening a car door for her. She knew what separation looked like, and it gave her a resolve to be the proclaimer of a Gospel that brings together, not drives apart.

Mom crawled into the back seat across from the smiling saint and greeted her spiritual sisters with vigor and excitement.

“This is no nice! To celebrate this occasion, and to ride to the big city with you all.”

“God is so good!” declared the smiling saint. “When I grew up Daddy would get all dressed up once a week, and that was to go to church. My brothers and I would take one bath a week, and it was on Saturday night. We’d get all spic-and-span for Sunday church.”

“A bath once a week?” quizzed the driver.

“There was so many of us, and we had to draw the water from the well, we just couldn’t do it more often. Summer though…summer was a different story, because we’d go down to the creek about a half-mile away and splash away like trout in paradise!”

The flower lady chimed in. “People worked hard on our farms, and the farms around us. Nobody took anything for granted. We trusted in God to get us through the hard times. My guess is that most people today would look at how we lived and would shake their heads in pity. They would probably think we were poor and deprived, but you know something? We always thought we were richly blessed. We never looked at life as being without. We looked at what we had. We had each other. There is nothing better than knowing that you are loved.”

“And there’s a a lot of people today who don’t know that,” added Mom. “We’d get a Virginia ham once a year at Christmas. Do you know what ham does?”

“Gives you gas?” asked no one in particular.

“No, honey! It gathers a family together around the dinner table. Let me tell you! My mother would put that ham on the dinner table on Christmas Day and we thought we had died and gone to heaven.”

“Sweet potatoes with that?” asked the smiling saint.

“Sister, we had sweet potatoes, and we always had sweet potato pie later on. My father was like a kid in a candy store when that sweet potato pie was about to be introduced.”

“Dinner conversation was the evening entertainment,” said the flower lady nodding her head in deep reflection.

“Now it seems like people can’t let go of their cell phones long enough to follow the conversation. Why is what your friend is texting from the mall more important than what your mama is telling you seated right next to you?” Mom was having a hard time with the disconnect.

“That’s why this is so good,” offered the smiling saint. “To just be together for a while, and to know that we have a a common bond through our Lord.”

The driver just drove and breathed in the warmth, the laughter,
and the wisdom. His life had just gotten richer…and no money was involved. The three wise ladies imparted gifts to him that they didn’t even realize.

Categories: Christianity, Christmas, Community, Faith, Grace, Humor, Jesus, love, Parenting, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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