This is kind of cool, really. After all these years I can say with all truthfulness that I have no regrets in my career. There have been personal things that have happened that I wish had been different and I have had physical issues that have not been fun, but the things that really matter, all good. At some churches and in some situations there have been people who were hard to like, much less love. But in all cases the Lord has grabbed me by the back of the neck, given me a good shake and pointed me where He wanted me to go. Oh, I could get frustrated at times. For several years I was bi-vocational. Twisting wrenches and working at selling auto parts and going to school and serving a church and being a husband and father. Actually falling asleep at the dinner table. Once my head dropped right into the mash potatoes. My five year old son thought that was the funniest thing he had ever seen. (He turns forty five this Sunday. I don't know how that happened.) Later I was staff clergy at a funeral home while I also helped churches going through crisis. Always busy, always living by the clock. Frustration was natural. Yet, to me it was all a learning experience. There were times, though.....
The time in question today was a Tuesday morning in June of 2007 when I worked at the funeral home. I had been on call the night before and we had had two in-home deaths. I had spent all night sitting with grief. My principle job. But I also had other talents no one had expected, such as having a knack of caring for a deceased individual. So, here was a warm day, a very tired man who had a long night behind him with a deceased man laying in front of him whom he was setting features on. I remember being tired of death. I was thinking of going to Tahiti on my vacation, maybe even taking the wife. And then my company cell phone started vibrating. It was the boss. There was a young couple up in the funeral home who had gone into their nursery that morning to enjoy their four month old infant son and they found the little fellow had died during the night. SIDS, or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. No warning, no known cause. Happy the night before and dead by morning. The couple, the boss told me, was devastated. I needed to go and talk with them. I clicked off, took off the latex gloves, straightened my tie and went up the stairs to the viewing room, where the couple sat in despair. The wife was sobbing with deep, soft wails. The husband was trying to be strong but failing. I was tired and irritable and my first inclination to go back to the deceased, who at least was quiet. But, as always, the Lord grabbed me by the back of the neck. The thought ran through my mind, 'This is important.' So, I went over and introduced myself and we began to talk. For an hour and a half. I assured them the baby was in heaven and someday, if they were believers their own selves, they would see him again. The husband wanted to explain about being a believer, so I presented Christ. When they left, they were comforted. I, on the other hand, felt like I had been beaten up. But it was my job.
Six months later it was a cold day in December. Normally, unless I was actually involved in the funeral, I was not present. But on this morning one of the fellows scheduled to work the parking lot had called in sick. We had a new guy who was working parttime, but he couldn't handle the parking lot yet. So, I put on the heavy dress overcoat, put on the earmuffs and gloves and went out into the snow. The new guy was standing in the parking lot facing away from me. Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. I went over to introduce myself and give him instruction. "Hey guy, I'm Larry, but everyone here calls me Pastor. I would be happy if you called me by name!" He stuck his own hand out and said, "HEY! It's me! Paul." Head scrunched down low in his coat, cap pulled down, only his eyes and nose visible. Even when pulled his head up in turtle fashion I didn't connect. "I bet you never thought you would see me working here! Last time I saw you I never wanted to see this place again!" And then the mental connection was made. In between parking cars we talked at length. He and Peg (his wife) were doing well. In fact, Peg was pregnant. They had gone back to their own church but had found it did not meet their need any longer. They were new believers and wanted to really explore the Word. They wound up in a really neat church and were growing. Paul was a fireman in our county's county seat and, because he worked twenty four hour days, he had time off that most did not. He wanted some parttime work and was drawn to the funeral home. This started a really good friendship. Over the next few years, Peg would give birth to three more children. They would adopt two children, a brother and sister, who had severe special needs. Eventually the little girl died, but she passed knowing she was loved. The young man and his wife found that they had a much larger capacity to love than they would have ever been aware of because they found a Savior who had a capacity to love so much that He died for the whole world. Over the years I have been blessed to enjoy the pictures of the kids getting older, enjoying their sports and 4-H, seeing Paul get some gray hair. No pictures of Peg. She refuses that, and that is her privilege. A Mom and a Dad who gave their all for the Lord and He, in turn, gave them more than enough love for everyone in their sphere.
So what brings this to mind? This past Wednesday I had a procedure that left me in a lot of pain. On Thursday, barely able to function, I was grumbling to myself. In my seventies now. Fifty years in the ministry. Do I really need to have this much pain, Lord? Really? On Friday I lit up my computer, mostly to see if North Korea had nuked us during the night. What I got was a video of Paul being sworn in as Captain of the fire department. All of his kids were there and even Peg. Smiles all around. We were blessed to be there when Paul and Peg and the kids were baptized. We saw the growth, the purpose of people drawn to the Lord. And now, personal achievement. YAY!
So, I sat there in pain. Tears in my eyes, thinking back to all those years ago. I was so tired that morning. Dealing with grief, and especially SIDS, is so hard. I had so much to do. What if I had returned to the prep room? Would their marriage have endured? Would there be anymore births? Would they have taken those two little ones who had only known pain and hate and given them love and compassion? Would they ever have come to the Lord? I don't know any of that. But I do know that when the Lord puts an opportunity in front of us, we seize it with both hands. IT IS IMPORTANT! Age shouldn't stop us, fatigue shouldn't figure into it, lack of knowledge shouldn't slow us down because the Holy Spirit will fill in the gaps. Just because your kids are no longer in VBS doesn't mean you are done.
What is it I always say? BE A BLESSING!
Tuesday, April 21, 2026
Monday, March 30, 2026
Many, many, MANY years ago, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, I had a professor whom I now think of as my mentor. He shared with us one day of a Bible conference that was held that had some of the biggest theological names of the time. This professor had just returned from a twenty year mission in the Philippines and had taken a position at a Christian seminary. He was nothing special in the United States at the time and, although he would have liked to have attended this conference, he could not afford the trip. Then, just less than two weeks before the conference was to begin, he got a call asking him if he would like to come and preach. The original speaker he would be replacing had to change his plans and the dozens of others they had already called had turned them down. Sort of flattered and very flustered, the professor agreed, and it was set up. And then the thought came, WHAT DO I PREACH?
He finally decided that the greatest sermon ever preached was the Sermon on the Mount. Matthew chapters five, six and seven. He decided to simply preach the Sermon to show the power of the teachings of Jesus. To make it easier to understand, he put it all into the English language of the time. He wasn't the keynote speaker. He was the before breakfast speaker, when most of the attendees were still in bed. Still, it was an honor to be there. He brought his message, just the Sermon on the Mount in the day's English and without mentioning that it was the Sermon, and he said at the close of it everyone was perfectly still and quiet. No one spoke. Everyone on the dais just sat still. Then the clamoring began. People rushing up to him, shaking his hand, hugging him, some in tears, all asking where he had gotten his information. He was shocked until he realized that they didn't recognize his sermon as the Sermon on the Mount.
He shared the story with us to show the absolute power of the Scripture. I thought about this story when I was asked the question I am asked almost every year. In Matthew 27:46 we have this; And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus, on the cross, gasps out these words. Why would He, being God the Son, think that the Father had forsaken Him? He knew the plan and He knew what must happen. Was He in such deep despair? And as a follow-up question, only asked maybe twice over the years, why did He speak in Hebrew? A language He didn't use much and a language the common man didn't know well. These are good questions.
And there is an answer. If I am talking to another Christian about the care and love of God, I might say, "Well, think on the 23rd Psalm." Or I might sing the first verse, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound". In both cases, I have just shared a piece of Scripture or a song, both so well known that I need go no farther. At the time of Christ, the Psalms were not numbered as we have them today. But, as with "Amazing Grace," just giving the first verse directs one to the intended Psalm. (Remember, the Psalms is a collection of their songs.) The fact that Jesus spoke in Hebrew means He is referencing the Hebrew Scripture. By speaking that one sentence, He is preaching the entire Psalm. In this case, Psalm 22.
Jesus. Agony. His shoulders dislocated from the process of crucifixion. Barely able to breathe, much less speak. Beaten. Spit upon. People mocking Him. People dividing His clothing. The shame of being high up, stripped of clothing and dignity. Spikes in His hands and feet. Hot sun. Lips and mouth dry in a way we can not understand. To breathe He would have had to push up on the foot spike to slide His shoulders enough to take in a little air. This would tear at His feet. Psalm 22 was written a thousand years before that day on the cross. The Jews didn't crucify. That came later with foreign invaders. The Jews of David's time, when Psalm 22 was written, stoned a criminal to death. Actually, more humane than crucifixion. Nails in hands and feet was never thought of. A spear through the heart to be assured of death was not considered. What was happening to Jesus had been around for maybe a century. In all of this, Jesus speaks the first line of a thousand year old Psalm. And with that, He connected Himself to this centuries old Messianic Psalm. The Jewish leaders, when they heard, probably had a chill run through them.
Take a few minutes to read this Psalm and see how Jesus preached a devastating sermon with the Scripture.
Psalm 22:1-31
1 My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me? Why are You so far from saving Me, from the words of My groaning?3 Yet You are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
6 But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people.
9 Yet You are He who took Me from the womb; You made Me trust You at My mother's breasts.
12 Many bulls encompass Me; strong bulls of Bashan surround Me;
14 I am poured out like water, and all My bones are out of joint; My heart is like wax; it is melted within My breast;
16 For dogs encompass Me; a company of evildoers encircle Me; they have pierced My hands and feet—
19 But You, O Lord, do not be far off! O You, My help, come quickly to My aid!
22 I will tell of Your name to My brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise You:
but has heard, when he cried to Him.
25 From You comes My praise in the great congregation;
My vows I will perform before those who fear Him.
27 All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall worship before You.
29 All the prosperous of the earth eat and worship;
before Him shall bow all who go down to the dust, even the one who could not keep himself alive.
Monday, March 16, 2026
This past Sunday, as the wind howled outside, I sat at my computer getting my notes from the day's sermon together in a readable form. No one will ever read them, of course, but I started this little habit back in 1987 so that I could go back and review my own notes. As I have gotten older it has become more needed. This old brain just doesn't process and store memories like it used to do. So, I was involved in this endeavor at 7:30 in the evening when the fire alarm went off.
I live in an apartment complex for seniors. You have to be at least 55 to be here. Each apartment has fire alarms and when one goes off the ones in the hallways all go off. It is loud and very persistent. The stairwells are all fire resistant and we are all supposed to go there. At the bottom of each stairwell there is a door that leads outside. In case of a fire we are to go down and go outside. The same fire alarm system is also in place for tornados, in which case we are to wait it out in the stairwells. With the wind blasting away it could have been either situation. A downed power line could have started a fire or a tornado could have been lurking in the dusk. Either way, it was time to head to the stairwells.
However.....in the two and a half years I have been here, that alarm has gone off maybe twenty times. Just gone off at random. At first the halls would fill as residents hurried to the stairwells. But now, TVs just get turned up a little louder. Meals continue to be prepared. If it is at night, maybe you wake up, maybe not. Sunday evening it very well could have been the real thing. But no one went to the hallway. No one was concerned, myself included. It was just an irritation.
When I finished with my notes, I realized the alarm was still going off. It had been thirty minutes since it had started. A couple of fire trucks had pulled in. Since it was the weekend there was no staff to check it out, so the fire department had to come. They knew that our system rarely worked right, so they had been in no great hurry. In just a few minutes the alarm shut off. All was quiet.
And in the silence, a thought found its way through the fog of my brain and demanded to be recognized. I have always marveled that the Jews had denied Jesus. All the prophecies of the coming Messiah had been fulfilled. Amazing miracles had been done. This man, Jesus, had been noteworthy for His compassion and love. He had not sinned. He had not sought to disrupt either the Roman Empire or the Jewish governance. He spoke the truth, certainly, but He did so without malice. He was a man of peace and that peace came from His very soul. Why had they denied Him?
The thought that rose to the surface in my brain reminded me that the first Messianic prophecy had been 4,000 years before Jesus. From histories outside of the Bible we know that there had been at least three dozen different men who had come forward as Messiah. Each had gathered around them a small following and then their movements died, usually with the death of the fake Messiah. When Jesus came, He was very much like the previous contenders. Yes, He did miracles that seemed to defy nature, but the miracles could have been staged. Even raising from death the man from Nain could have been a clever set-up. The Jewish leaders did not want their positions threatened, but they also did not want the people fooled. This Jesus wasn't all that different from those who preceded Him, so silencing Him was important. Afterall, after 4,000 year the leadership had become convinced the Christ would be a warrior king, driving out the enemies of the Jews. Jesus was a carpenter. He simply didn't fit their idea of who Messiah would be.
The raising of Lazarus began to cloud the issue a bit. By all accounts, he was really dead. Then Jesus Himself was killed. Absolutely. On a cross. With a spear run through Him. Put it a tomb. Sealed up, A guard put in place. Dead and gone with a guard to prevent tomb raiders. And then He was alive and there had to have been a dawning, a realization, that maybe this time it was real. No one else had ever done these things before. Yeah, maybe.....
Looked at this way, we can excuse at least some of their certainty. They were wrong, of course, but they had precedent.
But what about us? From John 11 through the end of the book, we have the most electrifying narrative in history. But it has become so very common. So common, in fact, that we need to spice it up. Colored eggs, bright flowers, calling Resurrection Day easter, which is derived from the goddess Estre. The most powerful moment in all history is marked with rabbits and chicks to denote fertility of Spring. And beyond that, Jesus is coming again. But it has been 2,000 years. Many have come forward with dates, and every date has passed. 2,000 years? Is He really coming?
Please, please, please do not let this moment go unnoticed. It has been said that the cross is the hinge upon which the door of all history swings. Cast away the silliness and embrace the majesty. The love. Let your heart break and then let Him put it back together.,
Be blessed.
Wednesday, February 18, 2026
We are in a new place in civilization. And most everyone is just listening and nodding their heads. We worry about riots, we worry about a divided nation, we worry about climate. We worry about anything we are told to worry about. But there are things that lurk in the shadows.
I have been spending a lot of time in doctors' offices lately. In these places they used to have piles of magazines of all kinds, but COVID put an end to that. Some offices had TVs before, but now almost all do. The television is set on whatever the person behind the desk wants. Game shows, round the clock news, weather, whatever. I usually ignore it. I don't watch TV anyway, so ignoring is easy. However, this one caught my attention.
The pictured showed a Bible. The voice over explained that the Bible was the bestselling book of all time. It has brought comfort, peace, joy and inspiration for all of recorded human history. And then the voice over said, "However, with AI, new secrets have been revealed." That was what caught my attention. (Let me say, I call the voice a 'voice over' because I suspect the voice itself is AI generated. You can tell when the voice mispronounces a word that is common in the language. The voice pronounces it phonetically, but the actual pronunciation is different. Anyway...) For those who don't know, 'AI' stands for 'artificial intelligence.' Computer tech has gotten so sophisticated that they have figured how to get computers to think ad reason. Already songs are being written by AI, performed by AI generated voices and marketed with AI. Books have been written with AI, but carry a real person's name, as though they wrote it. Recently an AI video dropped of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt fighting one another. It is said that it is so realistic that actors are now worried. Who needs actors when you can use AI. Sadly, we will probably have to use real flesh and blood politicians for a while yet. Apparently, they can't dumb down AI that much right now.
I do not like the concept of AI. It is a program. It may 'think,' it may 'reason,' but it was created by man. They use complicated mathematical algorithms in which massive amounts of data are absorbed. Everyone is impressed because it really is impressive. However, going back to the beginning of computer programming, there was one word that took precedent above all others. 'GINGO.' It stands for 'garbage in, garbage out.' Whatever man puts in will come out. And man's mind compared to God's mind (or the mind of the universe, if that makes you feel better) is garbage. AI is a human created program. GINGO.
But back to the program on TV. The voice over said that AI was given the task of identifying every prayer in the Bible and finding a pattern in these prayers. "What AI discovered went far beyond what any theologian, pastor, priest or any theological writer ever came up with. Only with AI could this pattern be discovered. Every legitimate prayer in the Bible, that is, a prayer to God, has four distinct elements. This holds true in both the Old and New Testament. 1.) Each prayer gives place to God. 2.) Each prayer acknowledges our dependence on God. 3.) Each prayer has confession and asks for forgiveness. 4.) Each prayer asks for protection from the world and/or Satan. Scriptural prayers included other elements, depending on the need, but all contain these four elements. AI has given us new insight." A lady sitting nearby looked amazed and whispered, "Wow, the Bible must be amazing!"
So, what bothers me about this, given that this lady was impressed? Well, I lit up my computer when I got the chance and went to the individual churches I have pastored. From 1987 until now, I have kept all my notes. From 1987 through 1994 they were handwritten, but when we got our first home computer in 1994, I typed those notes in. Computers change, systems change, so everything has been updated several times to be compatible to whatever the new system that is in use requires. Bible studies, sermon notes, weddings, funerals. I have a LOT of Biblical notes. And, without the use of AI, I found a pattern.
From 1975 to 1987 I served mostly as a minister of youth and sometimes, regrettably, minister of music. From 1987 on, I have pastored. Even while I worked at the funeral home, I still worked with churches. Sometimes as pulpit supply, but more often as an interim pastor. The pattern I discovered was that in EVERY church I have been in, within the first month I would teach a series on prayer. My thinking is that prayer is the most important thing we can engage in. If we are engaged in prayer, the rest will fall into place. Now, those four elements that AI discovered? Well, I have taught those four elements for all those years. They are the four elements contained in the model prayer, commonly referred to as the Lord's prayer. In Matthew 6:9 we are not told to pray that prayer, but we are told to pray in that manner. And it is not that I have been teaching a mystery for five decades. I was taught this in college and seminary. These elements have been known and practiced for all time since Eden.
So, what is the danger in the AI? Afterall, it did get the four elements right. Isn't that good? Yes, I suppose so. But saying that this could only be discovered through the use of AI is terrible. What that means to anyone casually watching the program is that God encoded messages in the Bible that were never meant to be discovered until now. Only through the use of AI and other such programs will we ever know the truth. The casual listener will think that AI is from God. Practically every cult ever has claimed to have new revelation. God has held back certain knowledge until the truly anointed has come along. Will GINGO lead people to Jesus or will it lead to man. GOD WANTS US TO UNDERSTAND HIS WORD. He would not withhold new mystery for thousands of years.
We are told to study the Word. This requires more than listening to or reading drivel. It involves actual reading of the Word. Open your heart to the Spirit!
Tuesday, January 27, 2026
Good day in Christ! For a lot of us it is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. I feel kind of strange about this weather, though. Living up here just a mile or so from Lake Erie, we usually suffer more from the snow than most. The dreaded 'lake affect' snow. The evaporation of lake water mixing with the cold air out of Canada results in a great deal of snow fall, particularly within ten miles from the Lake and in the higher elevations. But as of this morning, Lake Erie is 92% frozen over, which eliminates the evaporation and really cuts down on the snow. This most recent storm came directly out of the west and pounded a 2,000 mile swath across the country, creating havoc in the South and throughout the heartland. But here we were on the northern most edge and did not receive as much snow. Around a foot. Plenty of cold, lots of wind, but less snow than we thought we would receive.
However, this has nothing to do with this blog. With all the craziness going on up in Minnesota and overseas and south around our border with Mexico and around the rest of the country, it is easy to miss some of the problems that fall in the cracks so deep that neither the conservative nor the liberal media seem to notice. And yet, these problems have an impact on the other, more noisy problems going on.
A couple of weeks ago I read that modern hymnals are omitting certain songs because of disturbing imagery. Now we know that the hymnbook industry is suffering. It is far more economical to put the music on a big screen or project it onto the wall than it is to buy the books. And music is going through a flux. More and more churches are switching to contemporary worship music, which is fine if you like that type of music. As a side note, I prefer Christian music that tells a story. Music just hurts my head and organ music particularly. But drums and clashing guitars and yelling lyrics make me think we are not listening to a story as much as we are listening to a bombing raid. Even the traditional music gives me a headache just because of the way I hear things. For over fifty years I have gone home from church and popped a couple of Excedrin. But I do love the lyrics of the hymns that tell a story.
So, it is disturbing to me to know that more and more of the great story telling hymns are being canceled. Lost in contemporary music and eliminated from traditional music. The one that caught my attention was 'The Old Rugged Cross.' I did a double take. Eliminated because of disturbing imagery? How....? Now, some hymns have non-Biblical imagery. 'There is a Fountain Filled with Blood' is an example of non-Biblical imagery. There is no fountain filled with blood the comes from the veins of Jesus. The only time a fountain of blood is mentioned in the Word it is referring to woman's menstrual cycle. You can say that the song is using poetic license, but I can tell you that as a five year old kid, that song terrified me. I did not want to be plunged beneath the blood to lose all my guilty stains. I told my mother I would just rather be a sinner. But when a song uses Biblical imagery, how on earth does that warrant elimination? Obviously, I missed something in the lyrics, so I looked it up.
First, it was written by George Benhard. Born in Ohio, he came to Christ early. As a young adult he ministered with the Salvation Army and then spent the bulk of his ministry pastoring in Michigan and Wisconsin. He was well known for his devotion to the Word. His hymns reflect that devotion. So let's look at the lyrics of this hymn, verse by verse.
Friday, December 19, 2025
War has a way of shaping many of our Christmas songs. I think this is because in violence we, as a people, seek peace. And we know that true peace is found only in Christ. The Civil War, the Napoleonic Wars, our own Revolution, England's constant wars...we struggle to find sanity. As time has gone along wars have become more tense, more destructive, more terrifying, more involved than ever before. And here is where we start.
August 1922, in the French town of Strasbourg, near the German border, a child was born. Leon Schlienger was born on the ninth of that month, during a period of peace. But it was deceptive peace. World War One had concluded just four years before. At that time, it was referred as to the Great War and was dubbed as the war to end all wars. Never again would such violence grip the world. Men now knew better. For baby Leon, there was an assurance of peace and prosperity.
Except that was not the way things were headed. The victorious nations had sought to punish Germany for the war and had placed extremely harsh conditions on that nation. By 1922 that nation was being crushed by those hardships. The German economy was gutted, people were starving and resentment was running deep. Because Strasbourg was very close to the German border almost everyone grew up speaking both French and German. Many people of German heritage lived on the French side of the border and the tensions were beginning to grow there before anywhere else. Leon wasn't born into peace. He was born into a time of continuing conflict.
Finally, the inevitable happened. On September 1, 1939, World War Two began. Young Leon had just turned seventeen. He had read of the violence in Italy when Mussolini seized power. The Spanish Civil War had dominated the news. War, death, hatred. And now, war just on the other side of the Rhine River. His Roman Catholic faith was shattered. War was everywhere. Peace had never really been something he had known.
France fell quickly and Leon, coming from a mixed culture of French and German, was forced to fight for Hitler. A bright young man, he could see the evil in the Nazi push and he eventually deserted the German forces and became a part of the French Resistance. For those who don't know, in the decades following the war, the French were viewed as soft and weak because of the swift capitulation to the German war machine. Much has been written about the French collaborators who served with and aided the Nazis. But, when the conversation turned to the French Resistance, the tone changed. These were men and women who operated behind German lines, who performed daring feats of mayhem and sabotage. These were not soldiers. These were killers. Heros to the Allies. Respected, honored and feared. Leon entered into this legendary group. He learned to kill swiftly and silently. He was wounded at one point, but continued on. He vowed he would not rest until all the Nazis were dead.
And then, as happens in all wars, the fighting stopped. This time the Americans stepped in and stopped the victorious nations from beating down the Germans. But there were still tensions. Now it was the conflict between democracy and communism. Leon, sick of war and his part in it decided to go to the United States and embrace his first love, music. In this he became quite well known as a composer. In post war USA, he finally found his place.
As odd as it seems, he also found that there was already another figure in the entertainment business named Leon Schlienger. That person was already famous as the creator and voice of Porky Pig. Knowing he could never compete against Porky Pig, Leon decided to change his name. A new identity, so to speak. Separate from war and killing. But what to choose? Something unique. Something different. In the end, he took his own name and kind of turned it inside out, becoming Noel Regney.
He found moderate fame and success in the New York music scene. He married Gloria Shayne and set about writing music. Sometimes jingles for radio commercials, sometimes bigger contracts for more complex pieces, sometimes music for popular songs. The duo wasn't going to shake up the music world, but they made a living. But in Leon, or now Noel, there was still the struggle. True peace would never come. He hadn't had faith in any kind of peace since his late teens. His dreams still focused on war and his part in it. And then, there was the whole new issue of nuclear proliferation. Someday, he was sure, the Soviets and the Americans would burn the world.
In October of 1962, Leon was asked to write something for a Christmas presentation. He almost turned it down. The Cuban Missile Crisis had just started. This would be the trigger for the war that would set the world on fire. His religious faith was long gone and his hope for peace was shattered. No, he didn't want to write something sweet and cheesy for Christmas. But the money offered was good and who knew, maybe the young American president could find a what to navigate this mine field. So Leon took the job.
But as he walked the streets of New York, he saw that there was worry everywhere. War could begin at any moment. Men walked along with hard set faces. Women looked anxiously at their children. Lean sat down on a bench, feeling his own despair build.
And then, two women were walking toward him. Each was pushing a stroller with a child inside. The women were in conversation with each other, but the children were communicating, too, in that way only infants can do. Giggling and laughing in the Autumn sun, they passed Leon by. The mothers were worried, but the babes didn't have a care in the world.
Something sparked in Leon. Something long buried. Something pushed aside when he himself had killed his first German. A Child, a Child! The promise of old! A Child! A Child coming into a violent world and changing that world forever for the true believers!
Leon jumped to his feet and rushed home. His wife was there. When they worked together on their music, she usually wrote the words and he wrote the music. But this time, with his reawakening, he wrote the words and she wrote the music. And the words, oh the words, flowed from his pencil. Peace had been waiting for Leon all along, and here it was:
Do you hear what I hear?
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear?
A song, a song, high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea
Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king,
Do you know what I know?
In your palace warm, mighty king,
Do you know what I know?
A Child! A Child shivers in the cold
Let us bring Him silver and gold
Let us bring Him silver and gold
Said the king to the people everywhere,
Listen to what I say
Pray for peace, people everywhere!
Listen to what I say
The Child, the Child, sleeping in the night
Friday, December 12, 2025
He was an insurance agent. Life insurance or health insurance wasn't a thing in Glasgow, Scotland in 1869. Life or medical wasn't a thing anywhere back then, for that matter. But in the United Kingdom at the time, maritime insurance was vital. The young man in question, Mr. William Dix, was not a particularly good agent, but he wasn't terrible, either. Twenty nine years old, he was still learning the trade. Nothing special about William. He liked to dabble in the writing of poetry (common for the time) and he enjoyed his family. He married Juliet in 1864 and she was soon with child. Life looked promising.
But then, in 1865 he was struck down by a fever. It was doubtful that he would live, but he did pull through. However, the neat brush with death left him depressed. For the first time in his life, he fully realized that death loomed and that someday it would claim him. What would happen to Juliet and his unborn child. Life would be cruel to them.
William and Juliet were members of the Church of England. They followed all the rules, observed the sacraments, attended the church services, but nothing calmed his soul. It was during this time, while he was recovering his health, that William had his conversion. He went from church member to actual Christian through the witness of a friend. After accepting Christ, William began expressing his faith in Christ by writing. He was not trained as a writer, nor was he particularly gifted. But he was inspired. He continued as a maritime insurance agent and as a husband to his Juliet and as a father to their eight children, but in his spare time he wrote. Poems mostly. Many of those he set to music. Not a musician himself, he used tunes from common music. Easy to sing as well as being catchy. Mostly songs that had a brief life. But this would change.
In the 1860s, Great Britain was ruled by Queen Victoria. The country was a somber place at that time, mostly because the Queen was somber. They were at war again, as was the custom in Great Britain, this time in Africa. The wars, the somber attitudes, the iron grip on religion by the Church of England all made for an attitude of constant tenseness. Hymns and religious poetry and writings reflected this crushing atmosphere. Into this came Dix, with his lighthearted writing and his hopeful poetry.
William could not contain himself. His poetry had hope and reflection. There was joy. There was pleasure in His grace. In 1869 he wrote the piece he is most remembered for although it was not published until 1871. In it you can see the joy and wonder of a man who has escaped death and has embraced the thrill of salvation. The Birth, the Sacrifice (verse two) and the love.
What Child is this who, laid to rest,
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;
Haste, haste to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you;
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
So bring Him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby;
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.
A far cry from the heavy and cumbersome songs of the day. Most thought this new music would pass away. But the simplicity of the song, the earnest wonder of a new Christian and the desire to Raise, raise a song on high, makes “What Child is This?” one of the great songs of the season.