Ah! What a beautiful day! Snow is on the ground and coating the trees and bushes! A slight breeze blows to make the falling snowflakes dance! And the best thing about this day? It is the only day this week that I do not have to get out in this 'winter wonderland.' The lady on the weather yesterday promised a white Christmas, to which I say, 'BAH! Humbug!' However, there is an upside. The roads here are pretty much passable unless the snow is falling at a rate of a foot an hour. So, the roads are great. Now if I could just get the Highway Department out here to clean my car off and properly plow out the parking lot...

    Today I want to talk about Charles Wesley. Oh, I know. You know all about the Wesley brothers and you know all about the musical offerings of Charles. Those of you with a Methodist background have learned about the particulars of Methodism. But these are just the things the various Methodist denominations wish to tell you. If John and Charles Wesley were to be worshiping in a United Methodist Church today, when they left, they would look at each other and John would say to Charles, "For soothe!  What was that, brother?" To which Charles would reply, "I knoweth not, brother John. What doth 'transgender' mean and why must we support it?" The movement they started would not be recognizable to them today.

    Charles and John are the best known of the children of Samuel and Susanna, but there were nineteen Wesley children in all. Kind of blows your mind, doesn't it? Nine of these children died as infants. One was accidently smothered by a maid. Susanna herself was just one of twenty five children. The mortality rate of children was astronomically high. Samuel Wesley, the father, was a cleric of the Church of England. Three of his sons followed him into the ministry; Samuel the Younger, John and Charles. John and Charles had some doctrinal issues with the Church of England, possibly because their mother's father, also a cleric, was a 'Dissenter,' or one who disagreed with the Roman Catholic hold-over traditions of the Church of England. 

    John was the older of the two brothers, John and Charles, and John attended Oxford University for his higher education. A few years later Charles also attended Oxford, and upon the graduation of Charles, the two brothers sailed for the British colony of Georgia in what is now the United States at the request of the British governor James Oglethorpe. Departure date was October 14, 1735. The Autumn storms at sea lashed the little ship and created more than a little seasickness, but they finally arrived in the New World. John was kept in Savannah to minister to the colonists there, while Charles was sent into the interior to win the natives over the Church of England dogma.

    This did not go well. The citizens of Savannah had, for the first time ever, tasted religious freedom. John was rebuffed. But it was Charles who had the hardest of times. The natives had their own beliefs. They had no desire to bow the knee to a king so far away and they certainly had no desire to follow a God whom they could not see. The natives also had sharp spears. Charles gave up and returned to England after less than a year and John soon followed.

    The thing was, both men had been taught that the Church of England was the only true church. They both saw some issues within the Church, but to them, only those who gave themselves over to the teachings of the Church would be assured places in heaven. However, at the colony of Georgia, they found others had different ideas. It wasn't religion. It was Christianity. They were both confused and dismayed. Upon their return to England, they both found they had many questions. However, simply asking those questions could put you in prison. Both men considered leaving the ministry.

    And so, the entire Methodist Movement would have died right there. All the souls saved, all the mission work accomplished, would have never happened. Satan had to work two hundred years to begin to corrupt Methodism and in the meantime he lost many souls. John would have likely become a teacher of some kind and Charles would have become a poet. In England at the time there were many teachers, and John would have been lost in the crowd. And Charles would have likely fared little better in a nation of poets. Except.....

    On the evening of May 21, 1738 Charles attended a religious meeting at the home of John Bray in London. Keep in mind, Charles was an ordained cleric in the Church of England, he had been a missionary, he was a song writer and a poet...the work of his lord was all that mattered. And I say 'lord.' His lord, although he didn't really realize it, was the Church rather than the Savior. So it was, at the meeting at John Bray's house, Charles Wesley accepted Christ as his Savior. Three days later, John followed suit and the Movement that would change England and the Americas was born.   

    As Christmas time drew near in 1738, Charles, still filled with the joy of his salvation, wanted to write a song that would reflect the joy in his heart. He had already written many hymns (altogether he would write over 6500 songs in his lifetime) but they were mostly in the old style that pleased the leaders of the Church of England. However, this year, this Christmas season, his heart overflowed. He wanted to put to paper and music the depth of feeling he felt. He did so and the song was published in 1739 in a collection of hymns. Much of his wording was Old English, as the custom was for poets at the time, so George Whitfield and others later updated the language, but the song we have today shows the joy of a man whose lord became the true Lord. When you hear this song at Christmas, perhaps when you sing it, remember this is the joy of a man released from a religious prison into the Light.

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!

1. Hark! The herald angels sing,
   “Glory to the newborn King;
   Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
   God and sinners reconciled!”
   Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
   Join the triumph of the skies;
   With angelic hosts proclaim,
   “Christ is born in Bethlehem!”
   • Refrain:
     Hark! the herald angels sing,
     “Glory to the newborn King!”
2. Christ, by highest Heav’n adored;
   Christ the everlasting Lord;
   Late in time, behold Him come,
   Offspring of a virgin’s womb.
   Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;
   Hail th’incarnate Deity,
   Pleased with us in flesh to dwell,
   Jesus our Emmanuel.
3. Hail the heav’nly Prince of Peace!
   Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
   Light and life to all He brings,
   Ris’n with healing in His wings.
   Mild He lays His glory by,
   Born that man no more may die;
   Born to raise the sons of earth,
   Born to give them second birth.
4. 
   

   To begin this story, we have to do something 90% of people cannot stand. We are going to take a brief look at......HISTORY! I know, I know, I know. But I promise you, it works out in the end.
    Back in the 1500s, there was an English king who went by the moniker King Henry VIII. At this time, England was a Roman Catholic country. In fact, most all of Europe was under the religious (and political) control of the Church of Rome. There were underground religious groups, most of which held the Bible above the Pope, but these groups were hunted down and imprisoned or terminated. It was not so hard to do this in Europe because it was all accessible by land. England, however, was another matter. Separated from the Continent by the English Channel, England's religious climate rose and fell. Sometimes harshly Catholic, sometimes less so. It depended on the king.
    For the Church at Rome, they had a strong ally in King Henry VIII. Stanchly Catholic, England was solidly under the Pope's control.
    Except for the fact that King Henry VIII was a randy fellow who liked the women. And to be fair, he was concerned because he and his wife, Catherine of Aragon, were not conceiving a male heir to continue the kingly line. King Henry sought an annulment from Pope Clement VII. Clement would not allow such a thing! Not because of any Biblical reason. That was unimportant. No, no. It would have been political suicide to have allowed such an annulment. This created years of intense negotiations between Rome and London. Negotiations made all the harder because of distance.
    And then, Anne Boleyn became pregnant with King Henry's child. The king cut off the Church at Rome, created the Church of England and named himself as the top dog. England had been a Catholic nation for centuries and so this created quite the stir. This is usually called the beginning of the English Protestant period, but that is untrue. If anything, the clamps grew tighter on the so-called non-Conformists. The Pilgrims sailed to the Americas for religious freedoms. The Puritans sailed to the Americas for religious freedoms. Even the Catholics sailed to the Americas for religious freedoms. In the New World these groups despised one another, but in England they would have died together.
    There were a few groups that stayed in England. The Congregationalists were one such. They held to Biblical beliefs. They also held the notion that each individual congregation could govern itself. This was frowned upon by the Crown in London, but so much was going on, and the Congregationalists were such an insignificant group, that the Church of England just concentrated on the most outspoken within the group.
    And this is where today's story really begins.
    Isaac Watts was a firebrand. He espoused the Congregational ideal far and wide. And he was imprisoned for his views in 1674. He had just been trucked off to prison when his wife gave birth to their first child, whom she also named Isaac. It was hoped that the younger Isaac would have the robust defiance that had sent his father to prison.
    Young Isaac, however, had health issues. Brilliant, he accepted Christ at an early age. He could speak and write Greek, Hebrew and Latin while still a young teenager. He was a dedicated Congregationalist, eventually pastoring a flock. But his health issues limited him. While his father had been a firebrand, young Isaac was more a candle.
    At a young age he left the pastorate due to his health. But his intellect was such that he was in great demand as a speaker and teacher. Born as he had been, during England's chaotic religious era, his outlook was colored by that crisis. However, rather than being angry and resentful, he was drawn ever closer to the Savior. Even as his health suffered, young Isaac spoke of the grace and love of his great Master.
    And he wrote. Oh, my, how he wrote! Poetry was a preferred style at the time, and young Isaac wrote hundreds and hundreds of poems of various lengths. At least 750 poems. Some he even set to music, although that was not his forte. Most of those poems that he set to music were later, even a hundred years later, given new tunes, but the words stayed the same.
    In 1719 young Isaac published a large work of poems based on the Psalms. These poems reflected the depth of his love for Christ, for His compassion, for His grace. As he read Psalm 98, he was moved to tears. So much religious turmoil had marked his life, so much religious turmoil soiled the world at that very moment. People had died unspeakable deaths and others had suffered great physical and emotional distress. And yet, all that Isacc read in Psalm 98 was joy and praise and the power of Almighty God. Better to share the Gospel with an open hand than a closed fist. And Isaac began to write. This had nothing to do with Christmas. In fact, the Congregationalists took a dim view of that holiday. It was never intended to be a Christmas carol but was intended to invoke the deepest feeling of thankfulness. Sadly, it is only sung at Christmas today (except where I pastored, when it was a year round song) but this a song for the ages. Pure praise. As You read the words, think of a man, health failing, plague by memories of man's hatefulness in name of Jesus but also awed by the grace of Christ. See these words with different eyes.

Joy to the World

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!

Let earth receive her King;

Let every heart prepare Him room,

And heav’n and nature sing,

And heav’n and nature sing,

And heav’n, and heav’n, and nature sing.

Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns!

Let men their songs employ;

While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains

Repeat the sounding joy,

Repeat the sounding joy,

Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,

Nor thorns infest the ground;

He comes to make His blessings flow

Far as the curse is found,

Far as the curse is found,

Far as, far as, the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace,

And makes the nations prove

The glories of His righteousness,

And wonders of His love,

And wonders of His love,

And wonders, wonders, of His love.

Have you noticed that the world seems to be in extra turmoil? Wars, earthquakes, storms. Crazy people doing crazy things. Some crazy person killed a dear friend's family member on Maundy Thursday. (I know some of you may object to using the word 'crazy.' Sorry. But when someone shoots and kills someone else who is simply walking across a college campus just because he wants to kill someone, well that is crazy. Sue me if you like.) Everything is going weird. So, when the suggestion is made to go to a high school girls' softball game, you grab at it because in that is some normalcy. 

You see, I used to go to games and meets all the time. I had a pretty nice Youth group and they were into everything. Football, cross country, volleyball, girls and boys basketball, girls and boys track, baseball and softball. Even.....soccer.😒 And plays and concerts and 4H events. And it was fun. Well, maybe not soccer, so much, but they were my kids. Of course, eventually I got older and sick and going to games became problematic. But now it is different, so when the chance came up, I slapped on the old ball cap (sunburning my bald head is not an option) and climbed into the car. 

Marsha's brother Joe coached girls' softball at his high school alma mater for a decade. He loved coaching and did really well there. He liked it so much that he coached traveling teams and all levels of the sport. He got involved when his daughter started and just kept going. He took it very seriously and became a top notch coach.

And then, at the close of the 2024 high school season, he stepped down. A very respected coach, he was getting older, energy levels not what they had once been, some health issues. Time to give it a rest. As the 2025 season approached he got a little wistful, but the alma mater had a new coach. Maybe he would go and watch a couple of games but, sigh, that would be it.

But hold on there, bubba! In March the phone rang. A small school was in need of a coach. Could Joe help out? Next thing you know he is jumping in the truck and heading out on the 40 minute drive to that small school in need. Didn't even tell his wife. Had no clue about the program there, or even if they had a program. Someone needed a Coach!

Joe is the kind of coach who demands a lot from his players but is so caring and considerate that his players want to meet his demands. It is a natural thing with him. When he called all excited a few nights ago and passed the news that his girls were going to be playing for their league championship, I was surprised, but only a little. So, I decided to go to the game.

I took Marsha and off we went. It was quite a drive, but the car did the work. We got to the field, found some really good seats and settled in. Both teams were warming up. You really can't tell much about a team in warm-ups. They catch, they throw, they laugh and have a good time. But then the game starts.

Joe's team was the home team, so they took the field first. The girls ran to their positions. Meanwhile, the girls who were not starting ran wind sprints down the right field line. I sat back. "Interesting." "What's interesting?" "Joe's girls really hustle out there." The top half of the first inning went pretty quick. When the sides changed, the other team walked out to their positions. The girls on the bench sat there gabbing. "Interesting." "What?" "Joe's girls are going to blow them out." "How can you tell that?" "Because teams that hustle win games and championships. Teams that don't hustle, lose." I know, I know. Just a generalization. Doesn't mean anything. Except Joe's team won 13-3, and it really wasn't even that close. One situation stands out; a girl doubles and is on second. The next girl draws a walk. But then the girl on second sees the lackadaisical attitude of the catcher and breaks for third. Meanwhile, the girl who drew the walk has been sprinting to first. She sees the girl on second go and the girl who drew the walk doesn't even slow down as she rounds first. The catcher is caught unaware and is confused. Both girls get to their bases ahead of the throw and instead of runners on first and second they are on second and third. The next hitter gets a base hit and both girls score. Hustle.

How does that deserve a blog? 

A lot of churches have lost their hustle because the people in the pews have lost their hustle. We are going to have our get-togethers and special services, we are going to bury our old and marry our young and we are going to be in church on Sunday, maybe. The older folks are going to rest and relax in the same pew they have been wearing out for decades and the younger ones are going to be dissatisfied and leave to go to that other church that is doing something. That other church is hustling. It is not just Sunday for them, it is every day. Things are happening, things are moving. And it has less to do with the style of service than with the attitude of the people. 

It starts with personal prayer. Next is personal commitment to be of service to the Lord. And then, serving the Lord. Of course, I am stepping on some toes. But did you pray today? Did you read the Word today? Did you share some of the Lord's love with someone today? Have you shown your Christianity?

You aren't too old, you aren't too tired, you aren't too sick, you aren't too weak. The Lord has just the right job for you to do! 

    March 12, 1826. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A tiny baby, named Robert by his mother, was born to an Irish immigrant family. Life was already hard for the family, and the introduction of another mouth to feed was daunting. The infant's father, Crozier, had come to America from Ireland as a Presbyterian preacher, so money was tight. In Philadelphia there was a large Irish community, but that community was mostly impoverished. Religion was a strong and driving force within the Protestant Irish community, but even so, money for the church and the pastor was almost non-existent. In time, when Robert's parents died, they were buried in a cemetery that was for the poorest of the poor. 

    Robert's early years were spent on the streets of Philadelphia, along with his brother Crozier (Robert was always pleased that his brother got their father's name). Crozier was one who often got in trouble while Robert was just a little bit less daring. Not because he disliked his brother's activities. Rather, he was held back by his love of music. While Crozier was planning some mighty scheme, Robert was learning to play whatever instrument he could lay his hands on. It should be noted, however, that the tunes he played (and even wrote) were not always what his father wanted to hear. The Associated Presbyterian Church of Philadelphia was a stern church, a church where the great hymns of the faith (hymns that went back to the 1500 and 1600s) echoed through the rafters on Sundays. The elder Crozier often pondered which son gave him the most grief.

    And then, everything changed for Robert. In 1843, seventeen year old Robert accepted Christ as Savior. The particulars of that event are lost to time, but we do know that he immediately left the Presbyterians and joined the First Baptist Church of Philidelphia. At that time the Baptists were the only ones who were really forming Sunday Schools and their music was moving away from the 'great hymns of the faith.' These may have been factors for young Robert since we do know he immediately immersed himself in the Sunday School and music ministries. For Robert it was a revelation. Suddenly his life began to have meaning.

    The next year he began to study for the ministry. He was absolutely sure of his calling to preach and pastor and never once varied from that call. Much later in his life he was asked to take on a prestigious position with a large music concern that gathered hymns and published hymnals. It was an honor to even be considered, but he would not leave the pastorate to do this thing. Finally, the publisher allowed him the time to pursue his first calling.

    But music had always been a part of his life. He became known as someone who could take someone's else's poems and make them into a wonderful hymn. He had several collaborations with Fanny Crosby as well as writing his own heartfelt and moving hymns. One such hymn, "Shall We Gather at the River," was one of the most sung hymns of all time. Yet, Robert considered that moving hymn as just a trifle, certainly nothing to be compared to the preaching of the Word. He was a preacher first and last.

    Still, music was in his soul. Often when he was struggling with a sermon or endeavoring to nail down an idea, he would sit at his organ and idly play as his mind focused. So it was, in the days leading up to Resurrection Day of 1874, Robert sat at his organ and mindlessly ran through various cords and bits of hymns as he contemplated a message for Resurrection. After all, he had preached for many years. People knew of the Resurrection, but they needed to hear it again and with a new emphasis. As I read of this moment, it was as though I sat in that study, near the fire, watching this great man. Miss Mary would understand the thinking. It is how our imaginations work. Then, according to his own recollection, notes and words appeared in his mind as though they were on a large piece of sheet music in the air before him. Now, in my mind, I see the face of this mighty preacher light up, I can feel the electricity of inspiration! He began to play. For the first time, perhaps the most powerful Resurrection hymn of all time, was lifted up in music and song:

Low in the grave He lay, 

Jesus, my Savior,

Waiting the coming day, 

Jesus, my Lord!

Up from the grave He arose,

With a mighty triumph o'er His foes! 

He arose the Victor from the dark domain, 

And He lives forever with His saints to Reign!

He Arose! He Arose!

Alleluia! Christ Arose!

Vainly they watched His bed,

Jesus, my Savior,

Vainly they seal the dead,

Jesus, my Lord!

Up from the grave He arose,

With a mighty triumph o'er His foes! 

He arose the Victor from the dark domain, 

And He lives forever with His saints to Reign!

He Arose! He Arose!

Alleluia! Christ Arose!

Death cannot keep his Prey,

Jesus, my Savior;

He tore the bars away,

Jesus, my Lord!

Up from the grave He arose,

With a mighty triumph o'er His foes! 

He arose the Victor from the dark domain, 

And He lives forever with His saints to Reign!

He Arose! He Arose!

Alleluia! Christ Arose!

    Robert Lowry, a celebrated preacher of his time, is barely remembered for his wonderful sermons. Oh, if you are a young seminary student and are pouring through the dusty old library of your school, you might come across that thick volume of his messages. Actually, it is probably still in same place I left it decades ago. However, it is his music for which he is remembered. Music that struck the soul in a way modern songs cannot. Music and words from a kid from Philly.

    In a few days we will observe once again the remembrance of the defining moment in all history. As the dawn springs up, remember the words--- 

Low in the grave He lay, 

Jesus, my Savior,

Waiting the coming day, 

Jesus, my Lord!

Up from the grave He arose,

With a mighty triumph o'er His foes! 

He arose the Victor from the dark domain, 

And He lives forever with His saints to Reign!

He Arose! He Arose!

Alleluia! Christ Arose!

    Oh my, how I wish I could stand with you all on Sunday morning and see the sun come up. But it is enough for now to know that one day we will all be in the eternal light of the eternal Son!

    Blessings.

Like all kids, she had issues. The trick to working with kids is to identify those issues and making them productive. But it was hard with Tina. She was sarcastic, irreverent and sometimes obnoxious. But there was a deeper Tina. All of those things were a part of her mechanism to cover a heart that was to tender. It was her way to keep from crying when she saw kittens playing, or (growing up on a dairy farm) when she saw a new calf born. It was hard to get to that tender heart, but possible. I was with her mother when her Mom told her that her father had died suddenly that afternoon. She tried to be strong for her Mom, but broke down. She cried on my last Sunday at the church. She fought it, didn't want me to see it, but she just couldn't do it. And, like all kids, she had a dream. When I first met her, she was seven years old. First thing she said to me was, "I'm Tina and I am going to be a lawyer." Cute, right? But that never changed. All through the years she had that dream. And in 2014 she passed the Ohio Bar and became a lawyer. The last four years she worked as a public defender. Yes, she could be sassy, especially with me. Even so, I was always 'Pastor Wade' to her and always there was a little hug waiting. 

A few nights ago, her mother, who had been my secretary, called me. Tina had been at work and began to have trouble breathing. They got her to the hospital, where she began to have chest pains. Then, at age 37, she died. Her father died back in 2005 in exactly the same way. Tina's mother, Denise, and I were standing at Frank's bedside at a Cleveland hospital. While Denise talked to Frank, my eyes wandered to the sonogram machine that was monitoring his heart and lungs. I saw something pass from his lungs and go to his heart. A blood clot. He died. I imagine that was what caused Tina's death, too. The autopsy will tell.

Tina had bought a nice little home a few years ago. She had plans. Not 'grand' plans. She had already accomplished the grand plan. Now she had the job she loved. She finally had the guy she loved and wanted to spend her life with. She loved being an aunt, but didn't want to be a mommy herself. She was very active in her church. Tina was living the dream. Then the light went out.

As someone said at the funeral home, "We know she is in a better place." Very true. I was with her when she accepted Christ. (She cried then, too.) I baptized her. She would argue about anything at the drop of a hat, except the Bible. She took the Word seriously. Kind of an oddity, actually. A Christian lawyer. So, I do know where she is right now. But it really, really hurts anyway. She was one of my kids. 

Death seems abstract to us as we live our lives. Oh, we see it. Some fear it. We know that each day brings us closer. But we manage to put it on the back burner. But it is coming. Maybe at the end of a long illness, maybe in just a few minutes.

Are you ready? Have you come to the Lord and settled your salvation? Have you put aside your anger or frustrations with others and offered the hand of friendship? The time draws close.

Tina leaves behind a mother, Denise, a sister, Jennifer and a brother, Jason. She also leaves behind a mountain of friends and relatives who are all hurting today. And she also leaves behind a testimony for the Christ she went to join. What will you leave behind? Consider it now for soon it will be to late.    

For the first ten years of ministry, I was bi-vocational. That means I did ministry (music and Youth at the start and then pastoring) and I also held down a fulltime job. Actually, during most of that time I was going to school as well. And then came McKinley Community Church in Warren, Ohio. They needed a fulltime pastor. I sent in my resume, and I was the only person they wound up interviewing and then calling. I HAD ARRIVED! But there was also the responsibility. Opportunity, sure, but I also had a church full of people who would be depending on me for Spiritual guidance, preaching weekly sermons, doing Bible Studies, visiting them when they were sick, doing their funerals and their weddings and all the rest of the things a pastor does for his congregation. In time, all those things became a part of who I was, and still am, but at first it was more than a little overwhelming.

I was into a week of this fulltime ministry when the church secretary came to me and said, "I am going to need your article for the November newsletter on the 27th of this month." Surely, I hadn't heard that right. "What now?" "Your article for the monthly newsletter. You know, the pastor's article. It is part of your job." Well, this was news to me. But apparently this was a tradition at McKinley. "Oh, wow, what do I write?" This earned me that look women reserve for really stupid men. "Something inspiring. It will be November so Thanksgiving will be coming up. That will make it easy." Right. Easy. I could write. I knew the rules of writing. I had written 'technical' papers in school, but I was pretty sure writing about Hebrew grammatical structure was not going to be 'inspiring.' I can't tell you now what I wrote in that first offering, but I can tell you it was a huge relief to get it done.

But then, something odd happened. After a few days of feeling relief, I began to get ideas for the next article. Of course, Christmas was coming, which would make it 'easy.' But after the Christmas article more ideas began to flood through my brain. I couldn't shut them off! I would write the ideas down and once written down they seemed to take on a life of their own and grow! I found out that I could express myself better with writing than I ever could preaching.           

After a good long ministry in Warren, Ohio, I resigned (on very good terms) and went to a church in Geneva, Ohio. There they mailed out over 200 newsletters a week! Now I got to write all the time! One day I got a letter from someone in New York state who had picked up a newsletter at a yard sale. The article touched him, and he sent a check to the church. A Christian publisher was sent a couple of newsletters from one of the ladies in the church and suddenly I was writing for a couple of Christian magazines. The publisher then asked if I would mind if they put together a collection of articles in book form to sell and to benefit a particular mission. I agreed to this (yes, indeed, I have sort of written a book). This in turn led to speaking at some conferences. It was all very heady stuff. Until one day when I was sitting in a plane on a runway in St. Louis waiting for the weather to clear and the Lord pricked my conscious with the thought that He had called me to pastor, not all the other stuff that was robbing my church of time. I stopped the rest and went back to pastoring and writing the weekly article.

And then came Indiana. The notion of a weekly blog was put to me by one Eileen Weck. I had no idea how to do this, but the wise and caring Miss Mary explained the process and got me set up. She already wrote a blog and the platform she uses keeps track of the number of reads and the various countries in which they are read. I posted my first blog on January 12, 2017. This particular blog that you are reading now is number 532. Most weeks there has been one blog, but there have been weeks of two or three blogs, and once there were four. With those blogs I had nearly 87,000 reads in 86 different countries. These efforts since January 12, 2017 have extended far beyond the scope of all the rest of my ministry efforts in the last 50 years combined. The internet has a lot of trash on it, but it can also be used as a vehicle for putting the Word out to the world. To say that I am humbled by His use and awed by His power and scope is a complete understatement. 

I love to write and would be glad to just do the writing.

However.....I have a pastor's heart. Where I live now has 119 apartments which house around 140 people. I conduct a worship service on Sunday morning, and it is not well attended. Our service is for seniors who want to go to a worship service but who cannot go to their own church, for whatever reason. If we have 15, it is a crowd. But that is a worship service. Pastoring is seeing to the Spiritual needs of people, visiting in their homes and the hospital or rehab facilities. With that in mind, I pastor anyone who has a need. It is what God has called me to do.

Anyone who thinks writing is just putting words on paper has never really tried to write. Writing, at least for me, involves time and research and proof reading. And since I am a poor typist, the actual writing is time consuming. Time I don't have. So, for now, this is the last From the Pastor's Desk. I have used that title for forty years. It reminds me who I am.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for the kind words. Thank you for the support. But mostly, to those of you who have allowed me to be your pastor, thank you for the privilege. 

Be blessed and be a blessing!  

  

 

When I make an appointment, I make it as early as possible. Very few want to be walking into an office at 7:50 for an 8 o'clock appointment. I like it because 1, I usually have other things to do later and 2, I hate to wait in the office. So it was that I was struggling through the parking lot of my apartment building, a parking lot filled with ice, frozen slush and fresh snow on Monday at about 7:15 in the morning. Arriving at the car, I had to brush the snow off and then work on the half inch of ice that covered the whole thing. Finally, I got into the car and got it started, backed out and headed on my way. Being a holiday (President's Day) the snowplows were delayed and the roads were covered in the same mess that filled my parking lot. I turned on the radio to hear traffic updates and while I waited, I listened to an expert who was telling the local host that this bad weather was the result of climate change and that eventually the earth would not be a place on which humans could live.

Now, I have seen a lot of life. I grew up in the area in which I now live. Northeast Ohio. I have done ministry right here for thirty two of the last forty years. So, giving my growing up years and those thirty two years, I have lived in Northeast Ohio for fifty years. During that time, I have seen fifty winters. Bitter cold, heavy snows, Lake Erie freezing over from the US to Canada. Year after year after year. Springtime is beautiful, summers are hot and humid and Fall is breathtaking. Every year, year after year. And yet, people talk of climate change. Maybe Northeast Ohio is immune to climate change. Tornados roar through Tornado Alley every year. Evidence of climate change, except that it has happened for as long as people have lived there. Hurricanes ravage the Gulf states and the Eastern Seaboard. Evidence of climate change, except this has always happened. Drought plagues various regions. Evidence of climate change, except droughts have always happened. In conversation with a young man once, he pointed out that there were many more named storms now than ever before. Evidence of climate change, except years ago we only named hurricanes. Now, tropical storms, winter storms and summer storms are named. Interesting.

There is one other evidence of climate change that tops the list, though. Glaciers are melting and sliding into the sea and are going to raise sea levels and destroy humanity. Climate change will kill us all! However, just this past week a scientific paper was published that says glacier movement is not a result of glacier melting. Instead, it is the weight of the glacier forcing the ice at actual ground level to break up and melt and thus allowing the glacier to slide downhill. The melting process begins as the glacier nears the sea, JUST LIKE IT ALWAYS HAS HAPPENED. The paper's proof is indisputable, being accepted by all the scientific councils. The upshot of the paper, which is the result of years of study, is that the predictions of sea level rise are way over blown. It is a natural event and is happening at a very slow rate. The sad thing is the people pushing the sea level rising narrative have known all along that it was fake. When the Obamas left the White House, one of their home purchases was on Martha's Vineyard, right on the Atlantic Ocean and just seventy two feet above sea level. Why would you spend 6.8 million dollars on a property you really believed was going to be unlivable in a few years? 

The whole purpose of the climate change narrative is to promote fear. Fear makes people easier to control and exploit. Why do people fall for such tactics? Because people love to be scared.

For instance, over the years I have been asked many times to teach the Book of the Revelation of Jesus Christ (that is the actual name of the book, not Revelations. One Revelation given by Christ. Just a pet peeve of mine.) So, I have taught the book. Strangely, most people quit while I am taking weeks to work through the messages to the churches. They want to get to the exciting stuff of the punishments even though most of them will not even be there to see it, because it is scary! The whole story of Moses is pretty ho-hum to people until one gets to the plagues, because the plagues are scary! We climb on roller coasters and we bungee jump because it is scary. We read mysteries and stories of wars. We like to be scared. So, we allow ourselves to be told nonsense. One older gentleman told me once that when he read the Old Testament, it was all about war. Much more of redemption in the Old Testament than of war, but it depends on your selection of topics.

There is a Psalm that is requested at many, if not most, funerals. I have read it literally hundreds of times because it was requested, but it has to do with life rather than death. Another example of hearing what we want to hear.

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteous for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

You have probably heard that more at funerals (and in the good old King James version) than anywhere else. But read it for life rather than death and be comforted knowing the Lord is our Shepherd. We need not fear.

On a personal note: I have written on a regular basis for forty years now. Church newsletters, blogs, magazines, newspapers and those little funeral memorial folders you get at funerals. (Didn't know I had the soul of a poet, did you?) I have often said that I would rather write than preach, which is totally true. I have never considered myself a good preacher. However, my pastoral activity is increasing, which I guess was to be expected, living in a seniors' apartment complex. My time is more and more limited. So, I am closing out this blog. Next week's will be the last From the Pastor's Desk. Some of you have been so very kind over the years! But my readership is way down and I have to look at priorities. This is a very hard decision, but next week ends it. Thanks so much!