Before I get into the meat of this blog, I think I need to explain some things. Way back when I was in kindergarten we all went to the post office in our county seat. In the process of showing us around, the postmaster showed us the mailboxes. On the backside they had no doors and the person loading them just went from one to the next putting the mail for that box inside. Then the postmaster took us around to the public side. There we saw the doors. Open the door and inside was the mail. Nothing earthshattering there, but to a five year old with an imagination, I must have applied it to myself. Thereafter, I found I could take anything that happened and put it in the back of a huge collection of compartments, or boxes, and then later unlock the door to that box and take the memory out. Just as if it happened earlier in the day. Smells, lighting, conversations. All of it. This is a good thing and a bad thing. Most of my life has been interesting and good. But then there have been a few things that have not been good, and those things I have locked away until needed, because to do otherwise brings the memory back full force.

    But then, as I aged, something changed. I lost control of the doors. A word, an action or something else could make a door pop open without the mental key. I had little control over it. It is not always a bad thing. In fact, it rarely is a bad thing. As I said, most of my life has been interesting and good. But there have been things, deaths, actions of others, mistakes on my part and other bad things that I would have just preferred locked down. One of those things is in the news right now.

    Back on January 24, 2023, a young mother of three strangled her three kids. Amazing that it is just now in trial. People have very strong feelings about Lindsey Clancy. Many feel she was driven by her own mental health problems and should be acquitted. Others feel she should be punished to the full extent, which in Massachusetts would be, I believe, life in prison. You feel however you want. All I know is that it completely blows the door off one of my mailboxes. Just like it was yesterday.....

    1989. I was pastoring a church in Warren, Ohio. I was always putting myself out there for people. And it wasn't always the folks in my church. The Lord gave me a deep desire to help those in painful situations. It opened a pathway to present the Gospel to someone who otherwise would never hear. And I stayed very busy because of it. Particularly through one of the hospitals in the city. I received calls from them at least twice a month for people not affiliated with any church. And so it was on a warm summer day in 1989.

    The call was from the psych ward. "Pastor Wade, I was told I could call you. One of our patients here needs to talk to a minster and her minister will not come." I was interested. "Sure, I'll come down. What is the patient in for?" "Well, actually, I would rather not say just now." 

    So I went. Reported to security and was escorted to the top floor of the hospital where the psych ward was located. There I was presented to the psychologist who had called me. A very tired looking lady in her 50s. She led me into a room with a table and a couple of chairs on each side. There she told me. "We have a woman here who killed her three week old baby yesterday. She is asking for her pastor, but as I told you, he won't come. Please talk to her." Understand, for me a baby's life, whether born or unborn, is the most precious thing I can conceive. And now they want me to talk to a mother who has just killed her baby? I just dropped into the chair. Not in readiness to meet this woman, but in shock. The psychologist walked out and I imagine I sat there with my mouth hanging open. I wanted to get up and walk out. I didn't want to meet this monster! I wanted out! But I couldn't move. The magnitude of this was more than I could process. In retrospect there was something else at work, as well.

    The first person into the room was a police officer. Following him was the psychologist and following her, in a hospital gown and handcuffs, was a woman with her head down. When she looked up we were both surprised. "Pastor Wade?" One of our ladies lived across the street from her and her husband. I had met them both before and just over a month earlier, while I was visiting our lady, I had seen them both in their front yard. I had walked across the street to talk with them. They were excited about the first born child. I had invited them to church before, but they were Catholic and locked into that. As I looked at her I understood why her priest had refused to come. Emotions surged through me. MONSTER! Yet so happy about the coming baby. For a moment I could say nothing. And then the Holy Spirit kicked me good and hard and I remembered who I was and why I was there. "Susan, come sit." I held her hands across the table. She cried. She told me about feeling overwhelmed. Unable to think, feeling unable to care for that little person. It was a struggle. And then, just the day before, husband at work, the baby would not stop crying. She remembered it all. She got a pillow off her bed and went into the nursery and pressed it down on the baby's face. Long after the crying stopped. Then she called her husband and then the police. Now, today, she wanted to die, to be punished and put to death. No excuses, no reasons. Just kill me. At some point I had gotten up and come around the table. Sat next to her. Put my arm around her shoulders. Held her shackled hands. She cried and cried. The police officer was not too happy with me, but the psychologist put a hand on his forearm and he said nothing. 

    After a while it ended. They led Susan back. When I left the room, I was met by met by someone who interviewed me. Not a reporter, but someone filling out a form. As I was leaving the ward, Susan's husband was coming in. He was shattered. We sat down and talked. Finally, I was able to leave. The security officer who had escorted the husband up, escorted me down. 

    She pleaded guilty. No muss, no fuss no real trial. She was sent to a mental health facility just south of Cleveland. She was there just over three years. You can feel about that however you want, but that was the way it came down. I had the opportunity to share the Gospel with both husband and wife and they both came to Christ. When she got out her husband brought her home. Her husband told me he loved her and that was what he was going to do. She had her tubes tied and they started over. Last I heard, they were doing fine.

    The point is it is never as cut and dried as we tend to think. Susan did not get a team of lawyers and try to fight it. Just guilty. Take me away. Shoot me. The political climate has exploded the Clancy case way out of proportion. Liberal vs conservative. It isn't about that. I always look at things like this; they need Jesus and we need to pray. 

    Susan and Jeff will one day see their child again. Heaven will be joyous. But for me looking back on it, it was a dark, dark time. One of only a few times I just wanted to quit and walk away. Even knowing how it ended... A baby, a distraught mother, a father torn up inside. Since then, I have seen some terrible things, but nothing compares to that. And if I was ever to face the same situation, well, I hope I would man up and be a pastor. 

    You hear about it occasionally. A parent snaps. Or maybe not. Sometimes the unwanted child is just tossed into dumpster, alive. The world is full of evil. Forget your politics. Give it to the Lord.

    Be blessed.              

    There is just something about fireworks being shot out over Lake Erie. The exploding rockets reflecting off the water, hearing the sizzle when the hot embers touch the Lake and smelling the cordite as it drifts in on the breeze. If the Lake is rough with big waves, which is often the case, it doesn't reflect the sparkle so much as it seems to infuse the surf with light. You don't hear the sizzle, but the booming of the waves gives it a whole other feeling. Lake side fireworks are amazing. Which is why three communities right close to where I live have displays. The venues are thronged, the booming goes on for an hour and then everyone bolts to whatever free space they parked in and they all hit the roads at the same time. Which is why I don't go anymore. From where I curl up at night it sounds like Canada is making an amphibious assault and we are defending gallantly. All I really want is to sleep.

    All around the country this year the Fourth of July was filled with celebration. The country was two hundred and fifty years old, which is reason enough to celebrate, even though a former first lady has recently said that she is not proud of the United States at this moment. Because this is a great and mighty nation, she has the right to her opinion. That alone should make someone proud. But, I don't want to go down that rabbit trail.

    What I think is important is what we should be as citizens. Fifty years ago, at the two hundredth birthday, the country was divided. All the riots and assassinations of the 1960s were still fresh on our minds, the National Guard shooting at Kent State University was still churning in the psyche of the country and the resignation of a shamed president and the consequent pardon issued by the new president had left a bad taste in the mouth. We were divided. But we still had our big party. We woke up on July 5 with all the same problems, but we had the memory of, well, the fireworks.

    Fifty years later the problems are different, but the core attitude is the same. We are divided. We are so focused on what we believe that we can't even talk decently to someone who disagrees. And this goes for both conservative and liberal thinkers. Who is right? Who echoes the feelings of the founding fathers? Who is the good citizen? If only there was a blueprint that pointed to good citizenship.

    I don't consider myself a conservative or a liberal. I consider myself a Biblicist. The Bible covers six thousand years. During that time the Jews we governed by an assortment of kings and empires as well as periods in which they were self-governing. By the time of the New Testament they were governed by Rome. In the time after Christ the Jews were persecuted by the empire. Christians were also persecuted because they were seen as a part of the Jews. This wasn't the type of persecution we have now. Now two ICE agents walk into a Dunkin Donuts and they are refused their coffee and cream filled calorie buster and we call it persecution. The century after Christ was filled the kind of government sanctioned persecution that often led to violent death. How were Christians to handle this?

    Along comes Peter. Older. Wiser. Perhaps one the Christians could look to as the leader who could lead them in their struggle. And Peter says this in 1 Peter 2:13-25;

Be subject for the Lord's sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good. For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people. Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor. Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust. For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in His steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in His mouth. When He was reviled, He did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly. He Himself bore our sins in His body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By His wounds you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.

    'OK, wait a minute. Peter's time was different that our time!' Yes, it was worse. 'But Peter didn't know our times and issues!' That is true. His government leaders were absolute rulers. What they said was what went. The man in the street had no say over who the emperor was. One emperor made his horse a member of the Roman senate. Several emperors had sexual relationships with their sisters and at least one had a relationship with his mother. Not only were there ongoing wars but there were plagues and forced religion and horrible punishments and executions. Peter himself would soon go to the cross for his beliefs, asking only that he be crucified upside down so as to not be mistaken as a Christ figure to future generations.

    'There! You see! Peter went against the government! So can we!' Go back and read the passage. Peter said that our faith shows Christ. Not our belligerence, not our political self will, not the claiming of our rights. Our faith. We are to express our faith and we are to do it in love and grace.

    And only when we start to act as God's children will we be good citizens. 

    What kind of Biblical mother do you think of when you think of Mother's Day? Of course, Mary. She was God's servant and would do His biding. There are little nuances in the story that make it even more interesting, but Mary probably pops up first in your mind. Then you might consider Eve or Sarah or Rebecca or Leah or any of the beautiful stories of mothers that decorate the Bible. If we really want to get deep and study the Word, we also need to follow up on the little things. The Bible is written to us, but the writers originally were writing to a much different audience. Things that might slip past us today that the Jewish people would have understood because it was their way of living. These are the 'nuances' mentioned above.

    And this is what makes the story in 1 Kings so compelling. You would never see this on a Mother's Day card and rarely in a Mother's Day sermon (although I have preached it). Mostly we want the sweet and tidy. But 1 Kings 3:16-28 leaves sweet behind.

1 Kings 3:16-28, 16 Then two prostitutes came to the king and stood before him. 17 The one woman said, “Oh, my lord, this woman and I live in the same house, and I gave birth to a child while she was in the house. 18 Then on the third day after I gave birth, this woman also gave birth. And we were alone. There was no one else with us in the house; only we two were in the house. 19 And this woman's son died in the night, because she lay on him. 20 And she arose at midnight and took my son from beside me, while your servant slept, and laid him at her breast, and laid her dead son at my breast. 21 When I rose in the morning to nurse my child, behold, he was dead. But when I looked at him closely in the morning, behold, he was not the child that I had borne.” 22 But the other woman said, “No, the living child is mine, and the dead child is yours.” The first said, “No, the dead child is yours, and the living child is mine.” Thus they spoke before the king.
23 Then the king said, “The one says, ‘This is my son that is alive, and your son is dead’; and the other says, ‘No; but your son is dead, and my son is the living one.’” 24 And the king said, “Bring me a sword.” So a sword was brought before the king. 25 And the king said, “Divide the living child in two, and give half to the one and half to the other.” 26 Then the woman whose son was alive said to the king, because her heart yearned for her son, “Oh, my lord, give her the living child, and by no means put him to death.” But the other said, “He shall be neither mine nor yours; divide him.” 27 Then the king answered and said, “Give the living child to the first woman, and by no means put him to death; she is his mother.” 28 And all Israel heard of the judgment that the king had rendered, and they stood in awe of the king, because they perceived that the wisdom of God was in him to do justice.

    "Oh, that's not Mother's Day! That is Solomon's wisdom! She was a harlot, for goodness sake!" Yes, it does show the wisdom, but don't forget the nuances. There is more to this than meets the modern eye.

    Why were these women prostitutes? "Well, that's pretty obvious! Making money without working hard! They should have gotten jobs! Neither one deserved children!" Or so our modern mind works. But let's examine this. These women could not go on public assistance. They had none. They couldn't go back to school and get an education. Education was not for women. Women were not in the workplace. It was the rare woman who had some sort of business. They ate because they had a husband or an adult son who took her in. If her husband died, she became the charge of the husband's brother or other close relative. But it none of that was available, what was she to do? Even begging was dominated by men. There was just one job that guaranteed food on the table. "Still, they should have done something else!" When I went to seminary I looked and looked for a job. There were none to be found. Nothing. Nada. Zero. There was, however, a small field just outside of town. This field was covered in manure. The owner would hire people to come in and crawl on their hands and knees through manure and gather worms for a nearby bait shop. I really didn't want that job, but I had a wife and a baby and it was all there was available. So, I finally pulled on my nasty old tennis shoes and tattered jeans and old tee-shirt and made ready to go pick worms. You see, we will do what we have to do when we have to do it. A harlot in the Bible might not have had another choice.

    So, we have two prostitutes. They have a dispute and they take it to the king. Which is the first nuance. In ancient Israel, the king decided many of the conflicts between people. In cities away from Jerusalem there would be a judge appointed by the king, but in Jerusalem the king did most of the work himself. Imagine that kind of personal involvement by a ruler. Moving on, the first woman makes her case before the king. We will call her A and the other B. Not catchy names, but we don't have their real names. A says that they live in the same house. Doesn't say they are friends or sisters, just that they live in the same house. Likely the place where they were employed. Woman A has a baby, a son, and three days later B has a son. Presumably a short time later B's son dies because she lay on him. I have always wondered if this happened because she had resumed her profession. In any case, A tells the king that B switched the babies during the night, which A discerns in the morning that there has been a switch. B denies this and says the living child is hers. B knows there is no way to tell and she can possibly win. She needs to win. Having a male child in Israel at the time brought a certain amount of prestige. As the child grew, he could be hired out as an apprentice and this might be a source of future income. Afterall, the window for prostitution would close in time. It was vital to have a male child. 

    Solomon ponders the problem. And then he says something unheard of. He demands the baby be cut in half and each woman be given half. Imagine those gathered. Shock, dismay. Never had this been done! The king had lost his mind! Woman A is appalled. "No! Spare the child! Give him to the other!" What an example of a mother's love! But then we have the last little nuance in the story. Something a Jew would know because it was their law, but something the modern mind would not consider. Woman B says to go ahead and cut the child in half. Why was this? Was she really that evil?

    Evil, yes. But also cunning and greedy. The Jews had a law called the Kinsman Redeemer. This law said that one who killed someone by premeditation could be killed themselves by the nearest kin of the deceased, unless the one who killed could reach a city of refuge. There they would be tried. If found guilty, they would be killed by the nearest kin when they left that city. If they were found not guilty by reason of self defense or the action having come about as a crime of passion, they would be free to pay restitution to the avenging kin and then be on their way. Woman B would know this. The king would not be held to premeditated murder but would pay restitution. So, for woman B, this was easy money. Solomon was on his way to being the richest man in the world. Restitution from him for the life of the baby would be great and would go to both women. Woman B was likely counting her shekels as she stood there.

    Of course, Solomon knew that to the real mother the restitution would mean nothing while the fake mother would embrace the idea. This was the wisdom, and that is the principle point of the story. However, the subplot centers on a mother's love. Hannah willingly gave up Samuel so he could be raised by the High Priest. Jochebed set her son adrift down the river to where Pharaoh's daughter was bathing, thus believing she was giving her son Moses up so he could be saved. True acts of love, but no more pure than this prostitute who was willing to give up her child so that he might live.

    No one is perfect. No matter how high we might raise our mothers up, they are, or were, still flawed. But a good mother has a love so pure for their children that there are no words to describe it.

    Thank you, ladies, and happy Mother's Day!   

    I don't watch TV news and rarely listen to radio news. I read the on-line news feeds. Same news stories but written by people who are more concerned about their content than they are about their hair and make-up. I read both liberal and conservative feeds. I figure somewhere in the middle is truth. I did watch the aftermath of the shooting Saturday evening because reading it does not tell the active story. Anyway, I learned some interesting things in my reading.

    Sunday morning, I opened up MSN, which used to be MSNBC. I wanted the liberal take on the shooting. The lead story was about a college football player who was expected to be drafted by an NFL team in the first round of the draft, but who didn't get selected until the second day. Shocking. Then there was the aging Hollywood star who still looks good in a bikini. Amazing. Then there was the US drone shot down somewhere. Frightening. Finally, fourth story in, something about the assassination attempt. Not much, but at least a little something. 

    I then went to CNN. First story. Gunman had been shot and killed. This was something they reported, and it was wrong, Saturday night in the frenzy and it was still on their feed on Sunday morning with no correction.

    Then, FOX News. Almost every article was about the shooting. The articles didn't have the breathless feel of CNN or the 'I really don't care' from MSN. Articles on the shooter. Trump's remarks. FBI's involvement. Praise given to the Secret Service. Update on the Secret Service agent who was shot. Actual news. 

    Which tells part of the story of where we are in America today. A media that mostly refuses to share the truth. Look, it was the correspondent's dinner. The place was packed full of reporters having a good time and adjusting their hair and make-up. Then the action begins. What should a good reporter do? Should they keep pondering on which wine goes with what food or should they drop their forks and start actually reporting on a big news story? What a shameful display of self-indulgence.

    Something else I noticed. It may have been different on the TV broadcasts, but on the news feeds I found there was no mention anywhere that the shooting shows just how much we need stronger gun laws. So, after Sunday worship, I started looking things up. He bought the weapons in California. Strictest gun laws in the nation. He did the whole qualifying thing such as shooting at the gun range and taking the tests. He left California heading for D.C. by train rather than by plane because they would have found his weapons at the airport. He arrived at Chicago and was there for a time. The article did not say why he stayed a bit in the Windy City. But Chicago is in Illinois. That state has the sixth toughest gun laws in the nation and Chicago adds more. Then he traveled on to D.C. where the gun laws are the ninth toughest in the country and he checks into the Washington Hilton. Somehow, in spite of all these gun laws, he was able to cross the country and secure a room in a hotel where the president and high ranking government officials would soon be all in the same place. This is known as a target rich environment and should be protected, in advance, from nut jobs with guns in their luggage. In the end, law enforcement won. But what if he had managed to get into that ballroom and began to spray bullets everywhere. He would have been lucky to have hit the president, but with all those people, there would have been some real tragedies. Could it be that the anti-gun activists are thinking, 'Hmmm. He got past the toughest gun laws in America. Hmmm. Maybe it is true. Guns don't kill people. People kill people and sometimes they use guns.' But no. Their thinking probably runs to 'It's too soon. We'll start squawking next week.'   

    But what really bothers me is that Earth Day was last Wednesday. On April 19 and then April 26 in churches all over the country the services had climate change and glacier melting and old growth forests and rain forests rather than the Gospel of Christ. If we were focused on presenting the Gospel to the world more than the plight of the polar bears, we would be better all around. We are where we are because Christendom has failed on our mission. "Oh, that just isn't so!" Really? When was the last time you shared the Good News of Christ? Prayed over your meal in a restaurant? Given your neighbor an invitation to your church? 

    We have dropped the ball. We have failed and continue to fail. We are not truly sold out to serving Jesus. It begins with you and me. We can change ourselves and, in turn, see others change. Either we do this, or our world will quite literally go to hell. 

    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!     

    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?

2 O my God, I cry by day, but You do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.

3 Yet You are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.

4 In You our fathers trusted; they trusted, and You delivered them.

5 To You they cried and were rescued; in You they trusted and were not put to shame.

6 But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people.

7 All who see Me mock Me; they make mouths at Me; they wag their heads;

8 “He trusts in the Lord; let Him deliver Him; let Him rescue Him, for He delights in Him!”

9 Yet You are He who took Me from the womb; You made Me trust You at My mother's breasts.

10 On You was I cast from My birth, and from My mother's womb You have been My God.

11 Be not far from Me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help.

12 Many bulls encompass Me; strong bulls of Bashan surround Me;

13 they open wide their mouths at Me, like a ravening and roaring lion.

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;

15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and My tongue sticks to My jaws; You lay Me in the dust of death.

16 For dogs encompass Me; a company of evildoers encircle Me; they have pierced My hands and feet—

17 I can count all My bones—they stare and gloat over Me;

18 they divide My garments among them, and for My clothing they cast lots.

19 But You, O Lord, do not be far off! O You, My help, come quickly to My aid!

20 Deliver My soul from the sword, My precious life from the power of the dog!

21 Save Me from the mouth of the lion! You have rescued Me from the horns of the wild oxen!

22 I will tell of Your name to My brothers; in the midst of the congregation I will praise You:

23 You who fear the Lord, praise Him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify Him, and stand in awe of Him, all you offspring of Israel!

24 For He has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and He has not hidden His face from him,
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.

26 The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek Him shall praise the Lord! May your hearts live forever!

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.

28 For Kingship belongs to the Lord, and He rules over the nations.

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.

30 Posterity shall serve Him; it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;

31 they shall come and proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn, that He has done it.

    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.