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!   

When I was eleven, the funniest kid in school was Greg Rinyo. Of course, you never heard of Greg, but you knew someone like him. That is, if you were an eleven year old boy. Greg told these really dumb jokes that left us in stitches. One of the great things about being a boy, there was always a Greg. Girls, however, were different. You never saw girls laugh so hard that it was hard to breathe. No real sense of humor. Even at eleven years old they were talking about the boys. Judging them. Putting them down while secretly sizing them up. Serious stuff. Girls were too sophisticated. Unless they were away from boys. Then they could be silly. I had two older sisters. They could be laughing and cackling in their bedroom, but if I walked in the laughing stopped and a shoe would be on it's way to my head in an instant.

Of course, the boys outgrew all of that silliness. We grew up, took on responsibilities, fought wars and raised families. We longed for those days with Greg at the lunch table.

The good news is, THOSE DAYS ARE BACK!!! And it isn't an eleven year old kid telling the jokes now. Men are telling the jokes! Now, we call them DAD JOKES! And the girls still don't understand. Even so, today's blog takes us back in time. If you are a female (or identify as a female today) have your son/ brother/ Dad/ boyfriend/ husband explain it to you. I give you something non-theological....Dad Jokes! Although, I think even the disciples would laugh.

What did the ocean say to the beach?

Nothing, it just waved.

Why can’t a nose be 12 inches long?

Because then it would be a foot!

How do trees get online?

They log in.

Why don’t eggs tell jokes?

They might crack up.

Why was the math book sad?

It had too many problems.

What do you call fake spaghetti?

An impasta!

Why don’t skeletons fight each other?

They don’t have the guts.

How do you organize a space party?

You planet.

Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?

It was two-tired.

What did the grape do when it got stepped on?

Nothing, it just let out a little wine.

Why don’t some couples go to the gym?

Because some relationships don’t work out.

How does a penguin build its house?

Igloos it together.

Why did the scarecrow win an award?

Because he was outstanding in his field.

What kind of shoes do ninjas wear?

Sneakers!

Why don’t seagulls fly over the bay?

Because then they’d be bagels.

Why did the coffee file a police report?

It got mugged.

What did one wall say to the other?

“I’ll meet you at the corner.”

Why do cows have hooves instead of feet?

Because they lactose.

What did the janitor say when he jumped out of the closet?

“Supplies!”

Why was the computer cold?

It left its Windows open.

Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?

In case he got a hole in one.

How do you make a tissue dance?

Put a little boogie in it.

Why did the chicken go to the séance?

To talk to the other side of the road.

What kind of car does a sheep drive?

A lamborghini.

How do cows stay up to date?

They read the moos-paper.

What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?

Nacho cheese!

How does a snowman get around?

By riding an “icicle.”

What do you call an alligator in a vest?

An investigator.

Why did the invisible man turn down the job offer?

He couldn’t see himself doing it.

What’s brown and sticky?

A stick.

Why don’t ants get sick?

Because they have tiny ant-bodies.

Why don’t skeletons ever use cell phones?

They have no body to talk to.

What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?

You might think it’s “R,” but it’s the “C”!

Why was Cinderella so bad at soccer?

She kept running away from the ball.

How do you catch a squirrel?

Climb a tree and act like a nut.

Why did the tomato turn red?

Because it saw the salad dressing.

What do you call a factory that makes good products?

A satisfactory.

Why did the barber win the race?

He took a shortcut.

Why don’t oysters share their pearls?

Because they’re shellfish.

Why do fish live in saltwater?

Because pepper makes them sneeze.

OK, I am done. Resume your normal day now. 

What is regret? By definition it is something you have done that impacted you or others negatively and now it weighs on your mind. It really isn't something that someone else has done that impacted you in a negative way. That really isn't 'regret.' Maybe someone rear ended you while you sat at a red light. That is something that happened. But regret something you could have avoided.

Having said that, I was asked recently what was my greatest regret in life and in the ministry. 

"Hmmm. Well, let's see. Hmmm. Well........ Nothing comes to mind." "WHAT? Nothing comes to mind? Your life has been perfect?" "Hah! Certainly not! There are things I wish had not happened and there might be some things I wish I had done differently, but no, nothing I regret. The Lord has been really good to me! Not in a material sense, but in a Spiritual sense, which is a lot more important to me."

And that pretty much ended that conversation. The closest I have ever really come to real regret was having to leave the last church I pastored. My health would not let me continue and I became depressed. For about a week. As time has gone by I see it was all a part of God's plan. They now have a pastor who can do the things I had become unable to do. They have the best Elder body I ever worked with and have now brought in a wonderful addition. The people are great. It was just time for everyone to move on. My health is greatly improved, and they are in very good hands, so there is nothing to regret.

In fact, looking back at life I don't see missed opportunities or anything like that. What I see is.....well......weirdness. Not weirdness in a bad way, but weirdness in a weird way.

1982. Hialeah FL. (suburb of Miami) We had taken our Youth somewhere in the church van. We had returned to the church and the kids had exited the van and were standing in a group on the sidewalk talking to Marsha. Recently a strange man had been attending our church. When I say 'strange,' I mean in a frightening way. He was building a spaceship in his back yard so he could go to a planet that was experiencing drought and help them out. His name was Phil. As I came around the front of the van he walked up. "Hey Phil! What's up?" "I've come for Noelvys. Taking her with me to that planet." Noelvys was one of our Youth. "You know Phil, I don't think Noelvys wants to go to that planet." With that, Phil pulled out a pistol and said, "Doesn't matter. She's going and you aren't going to stop me!" I have no idea what came over me, but I grabbed his hand and slammed it against the door of the van. I heard crunching and he dropped the gun and ran off crying. The police picked him up the next day, so I guess he missed his flight.

Now, dealing with a guy with a gun would be weird for anyone in the ministry, but I dealt with three other people with guns over the years, as well. Now that is weird.

2002. October. Different church, different state. The church was going to celebrate 135 years of existence. The church's first baptism had been on the very first Sunday in October in 1867 and had been in Lake Erie. By 2002 the church had a baptistry which we had used for all our baptisms. However, for the 135 anniversary the Elders wanted to have a baptismal service in Lake Erie. We had seventeen people awaiting baptism and I was sure they would say no. Lake Erie is not user friendly in October. But to my surprise, they all thought it was a great idea! So, I grudgingly went along with the plan.

Lake Erie was not friendly that day. Sunny, but cold. Waves very much over our heads. I nearly lost the first person I walked out. A wave crashed over us and he came up spitting and asked if he was baptized yet. I told him no. When the baptizer goes down with the baptizee, it really isn't a baptism. Just a near drowning. Finally, after sixteen people had been properly (more or less) baptized, the last one came splashing out. Twelve years old. I was beat. Couldn't wait to get back. Turned to face the beach just as the biggest wave hit. Because she was smaller, we had moved inshore quite a bit. The wave hit and smashed my face into the pebbled bottom of the Lake. I came up bleeding, she came up choking and I very quickly baptized her. But the real bad one was number eight. She came out wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I had come in to lead her out and I said to her softly, "Why the sweatsuit?" "Cause it is cold and I don't want to get cold!" "That thing is going to fill up with water and it will be heavy and you will freeze!" "No no, I'm good. Let's go!" By the time we got we got to the depth to baptize, the sweatsuit was soaked. She weighed twice as much as normal. Baptized her and really struggled to bring her up. Walked her part way back and then her husband splashed out to take her. When she got up to where she was only about knee deep, her soddened sweatpants fell down. Most of the folks on the beach were drinking coffee and one of the men said to me later, "Wow! Drinks and a show!" At the time I was not amused, but now it is really funny.

Many other things have happened that would be discouraging to some, but to me they have taught lessons and, at times, made me laugh. I mean, I passed out at the wheel once and ran one of our church ladies off the road! Today we can laugh at it (sort of). One day at a funeral home a lady gave me a hug and I didn't even know I needed a hug, and it was awesome. And I suppose that is the point here. When we follow the Lord, He takes care of things. Not always the way we want. In fact, almost never the way we want. But then we see His way is so much better than our way. We think of the great figures in the Bible. They didn't know where following the Lord was going to take them, but they followed anyway.

And if they didn't follow Him, they had nothing but regrets.  

So much to write about today! I could write about the weather. Miserable cold. Supposed to reach all the way to Central Florida. Back in the 1970s they tried to scare us by saying there was going to be so much pollution that the sun's rays would be blocked and we would freeze to death. Then in the 1990s, when we weren't freezing after all, they said we were in the midst of global warming and we were going to fry. But that didn't happen, either. Some glaciers melted, but some also had their ice increase. So, then they said climate change, and we are going to die. Well, I don't see much in the way of change except for the regular seasonal change. Weather has always been unpredictable.

Oh, wait, I know! The National Championship Game! Well, I guess I won't write about that, mostly since I don't really care and didn't even watch the game. But, I do feel it is my obligation to point out that Ohio State beat three Indiana schools by a combined score of 117-38 on the way to winning the National Championship game. And, if OSU can play enough high school teams, their basketball team might play .500 ball this season. 

We did greet a new president. I didn't watch it on TV or listen on radio. When I got back from my morning appointments, I lit up my computer. It was interesting. Fox Online had wall to wall reporting of the day's events. But I always check the liberal outlets for news, too, and then I make up my own mind. One of those outlets carried weather news, information about the Big Game that night and lots of mindless fluff, but nothing about the inauguration. It was actually funny. The first article of the day that they ran was one that said Mrs. Trump was standing next to her husband during the swearing in holding a stack of Bibles and the president didn't lay his left hand on them. The 'stack' was two Bibles (I don't know, but I imagine one was hers and one was his.) Donald Trump is human and I assume in the excitement he simply forgot. The Bibles were there, so they were part of the plan. What was sad was that this outlet has openly made fun of Christians and Jews and then they act offended that the president did not lay a hand on the Bibles. 

I could write about all of that, but another thought has been perking around in my head. 95 out of 190 USA Ambassador posts around the world are not currently filled. Half of all nations that we have diplomatic relations with have no US Ambassador to represent our country. There are many reasons, but those gaps need to be filled. It is not just a matter of putting a body out there, either. The American Foreign Service has to train people. There needs to be serious background checks. They are representing the United States, for heaven sakes! They must present our country in a sterling way. And when they get to their embassy, they MUST be near perfect. I looked up how many Ambassadors our country has had that have been expelled by their host country. Some have been expelled because the host country doesn't like the US anymore. A few have been expelled because their transmissions to Washington reporting about the activities of the host country (which falls within their job) were intercepted by the host country and they took offense. However, I did not come across a single incident of an Ambassador being expelled for committing a crime or acting in a lewd or immoral way. I have to believe that with Ambassadors all over the world and 248 years of exchanging Ambassadors with other countries, someone has slipped up. But if so, it has not happened very many times. Our Ambassadors know how to act!

In 2 Corinthians 5:16-21, we have this; 16 From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard Him thus no longer. 17 Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 18 All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; 19 that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. 20 Therefore, we are Ambassadors for Christ, God making His appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. 21 For our sake He made Him to be sin Who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.    

I hope you get the meaning of this passage. God has a ministry of drawing the world to Himself and He has chosen us to do the actual work. You, me and every other believer who lives or has ever lived has the title of Ambassador! What an honor! What a high calling! And yet, over the last week, have you let that office down? This last week I was talking to a lady who says she is a believer. She got caught up in her rant and fired off a couple of sentences that could turn the air blue. She caught herself, dropped her head and said, "Pardon my French." I told her I know a little French and I am certain those words were not French. And then I told her this, "If you want people to treat you like a Christian, you have to act like a Christian." You get frustrated or angry, what comes out of your mouth? If someone badmouths you, do you heap coals of kindness upon their heads? When the world slaps you, do you turn the other cheek? 

Are we effective Ambassadors?    

 

 I enjoyed last Friday's Miss Mary's post about change. If you haven't read it, go to Mary's Moments and give it a read. It won't take but a few minutes and it is much worth your time. 

From a pastor's point of view, change is a nasty thing. Most pastors take change in stride, but it is the church that the pastor is going to that feels change is nasty. I wish I had a dollar for every time I have sat in a Board meeting, Deacon's meeting or Elder's meeting and heard the phrases "We've never done that before" or "That isn't the way we do it here." I was in a church in Binghampton, New York because they had called me for help. The building was massive but the congregation had dwindled too next to nothing. In a meeting with the church leaders on Saturday night I had suggested they do something in particular and one elderly lady spoke right up and said, "That isn't the way we do things here."  To which I replied, "Well, your way of doing things here is killing this church. Trying something new might actually help." This was not well received. Churches hate change even when change is the only thing that will save them.

In school we had a Ministry professor who addressed this issue. He told us that all things either change or die and the way to get a church to change is slowly, with baby steps. "And fellows, never go into that first meeting with the leaders when you are a candidate and tell them what changes you want to see them do. They know their people and they know their history and they know the struggles they have faced. Watch for about a year and then slowly introduce your thoughts." Very sound advice and advice that I adhered too. Until that one church.....

I was contacted by a church to see if I would consider coming to their church. I was already pastoring a church and the church that was contacting me was just a few towns away from where I had grown up. I didn't want to return to my home area, so my first inclination was to say 'no', but then I thought that I should at least go and talk with them. So, a time was set and Marsha and I went. When we got there we were introduced to the group. "Wait, are you all Elders?" The response was affirmative, so I said, "Well, that's not right. There should be regular church folks here, too. I would not be very comfortable in an Elder controlled church." They all looked at each other with uncomfortable glances. Marsha and I were still standing, so we said our good-byes and turned to leave. The Elder chair spoke up and said, "Well, this is just how we do things. First couple of meetings it is just the Elders." Which was just fine. It was their way. But I was going no further. Another Elder spoke up. "Well, OK. Maybe you could just sit and talk with us and we could use this as practice?" Marsha and I looked at each other and communicated by our glance and I said, "OK, that would be fine." So, we all sat down and started our little chat. 

The church had some funds that had been donated by folks over the years. These Elders were very proud of the fact that these invested funds could support the church. I told them that this was not good because it gave folks no incentive to tithe. I asked if they each tithed and they all dropped their eyes. I told them that not tithing was a Spiritual problem and since the Elders, Biblically, were the Spiritual leaders of the church, they should be tithing. Now they were really uncomfortable. I went on and asked them if they, individually, shared the Gospel. The eyes dropped to the floor. Again, that was their primary function. When we were led in we passed through the sanctuary and I noticed a floor to ceiling crack in the plaster. I asked how long that had been there. Someone mentioned a small earthquake from about ten years earlier. Marsha spoke up and pointed out that the crack was a bad testimony, especially when they called the building "God's house." No one was even trying to meet our eyes now. The community the church was in had a grape festival each year and I asked if they participated. (I had no problem if they did. I was just curious.) Oh yes, came the proud reply. Their church was known to have the best grape pies in town! "Is the church known for anything else other than great grape pies?" By this time everyone was examining their shoes pretty well.

I was anxious to leave and I told them that we needed to go. They asked me to close in prayer and we went our separate ways. I told them I would be praying about it, but I showed no enthusiasm. When we got into the car Marsha said we probably shouldn't have been so hard on them. I said that since we would never hear back it was our one chance to point them in a different direction. Looking back on it, we were pretty hard on them.

But I had told them we would pray about it.

A week later, Marsha and I sat down to talk about it. We both said that God was leading us there. However, since we had raked them over the coals, we knew we would not hear from them again. And then they called and wanted to set up another meeting. Folks from the church were there and again I told them that there were things they needed to do to live and it involved change. The secretary had given me a bulletin when we walked in and the order of services was so crammed full 'things' that I asked how long I had to preach. I was told they wanted out in an hour and so the pastor got about ten minutes. I laughed and told them they would have to do away with a lot of stuff or expect an hour and a half service. Still, we moved ahead and one thing leading to another, we accepted the call.

We started out on the wrong foot, but it was just the foot God wanted. Six years later the terror attacks happened in New York on 9/11. That evening we opened the church for any of our folks who wanted to come and pray. The church filled with folks from the community. I asked one fellow why he had come to this church, and he said that he knew that this church would meet for prayer. The next day all the pastors met to plan a community service for one week after the attacks. The first thing brought up was the location. They all wanted to be at our church. I protested. I named two other churches larger than ours plus the Community Center was more than willing to host. One of the pastors said no, this service needed to be in the most Spiritual church in town. I sat down and let the tears flow. In six years we had gone from being a church known for making a great pie to being the church that was known to never fail to stand for Jesus. Then, after eleven years, I stood in that pulpit for the last time. I spoke into a state of the art sound system. The walls and windows and floors were in perfect shape. New pews filled the sanctuary and every seat was taken. In the beginning they needed that gifted money to survive. Just eleven years later we had spent a small fortune and didn't even think of that money anymore. And we had baptized one hundred people in those eleven years, up from the one hundred in the previous century. 

Now, one could say that they would welcome change if they thought that would happen in their church. But that is not how the Lord works. He leads us into change and we may not see any benefit for a while. That isn't the point. The point is to follow the Lord and leave the blessings up to Him.  

Either welcome the Lord's change or accept death.

I knew a gentleman a few years back who was a 'name dropper.' This is a phrase that is not used as much as it used to be, so you may be a bit unclear as to what it means. A name dropper is someone who talks endlessly about the people they know. Now, someone who served in the Secret Service might talk of presidents and leaders that they had the privilege of protecting. This would be expected since they had actually met these people and had known them. Yet, these types of people really don't talk of the ones they have known all that much. But a name dropper will talk of people as though they actually know them well, even though they only had a chance meeting.

My name dropper was a new minister in our town. My usual response to a new minister was to take him out to lunch. If he was someone who had been in the ministry for a while, I wanted to pick his brain. If he was new to the ministry, I wanted to encourage him. This fellow was in his mid-fifties but had spent his working career in business as an accountant. His career change to ministry came late. Going from a business background to the ministry was a huge step. The two are often assumed to be very much alike, but the reality is that they are completely different. One of my goals in this first lunch was to help him bridge the gap between the two worlds.

We had made our orders and had just gotten our salads when he casually mentioned that he knew Muhammad Ali. This was so out of the blue that it took me off guard and I asked him how he knew Ali. He said he had met him the first time at a fund raiser in Cleveland. Then he went on talking about other people he knew and things he had done. In subsequent conversations, it was disclosed that this man knew many people, from Ali to Trump to the manager of the Cleveland Indians, Terry Francona. He knew them so well that he called them by their first names or by their nicknames. For instance, he referred to Trump as Don and Terry Francona as Tito. And he always referred to these people as 'the salt of the earth' and he would assure anyone who was listening that when you really got to know these people you found out they were regular folks.

After that first meeting I came away feeling that he was so unsure of himself that he created this little world to show others how well connected he was to the important people. This is not an unusual trait amongst businessmen. Some of them do know the movers and shakers in business, but when someone starts talking about famous people from all walks of life, they are usually insecure.

People began to ignore him. No one really believed him when he talked like that, but I tended to overlook all of it. He was still in business mode and this was his way of making a temporary connection that was needed in business to close a deal. Ministry, of course, is about long term connections. Because of this habit, people became distant from him. I tried to talk to him about it, but he would switch to something else.

Marsha knew about all of this and she knew how I felt. This pastor was nearing retirement and was then going to move to Arizona. We were going to go to one last lunch. Marsha put a thought to me that morning. What if he really did do all those things and what if he really did know all those people? Actually, I had never considered that. I had made a judgement at that first lunch and never wavered from it. This was something I always tried to avoid, but in this case, I had made a steadfast decision. What if I was wrong? Whoa! I would owe him an apology!

At this last lunch together, I asked him how he had come to know Ali. He laughed and said that it was a funny story. Back in the early 1980s, Ali was going to have an exhibition fight in Cleveland against a popular local fighter. The purpose was to raise money for a hospital that mostly served the black community. The news conference announcing this fight would be at the hospital. Our hero was the accountant at the hospital. Even though the hospital served mostly African-Americans, this retiring pastor was of a Swedish background. When you say someone is white, that actually includes a lot of variation of colors. But Swedes are WHITE. Apparently, Ali had just stepped up to the microphone during this news conference, when our Swede entered the room right where Ali was standing. Our Swede had no idea this was going on and he was taking a short cut. His hands were full of papers as he was going from one office to another. So, here was a snow-white man in a room filled with black men and women, including Ali. The story was Ali's eyes grew large and he took on that comic menacing face he used sometimes. No words were exchanged and our Swede ducked out in embarrassment. That was it. No other meetings. We had a good laugh. And I then knew my original judgement was correct.

Name dropping of famous people makes you look silly. However, there is one name you can pass along happily. The name is Jesus. If you are a believer, you do know Him. His name may draw ridicule, but it is the Name above all names, the only Name that can change lives. However, if you use that Name, make sure your actions do not bring Him embarrassment.

Be the best name dropper this week and pass the name of Jesus along.