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.
Tuesday, January 27, 2026
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.
Friday, December 5, 2025
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!
- 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!”
- 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.
- 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.
Saturday, November 29, 2025
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.
Tuesday, May 13, 2025
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!