The printed word. Years ago, they said that the printed word would be gone from existence by 2020. Everything would be electronic. That may happen eventually, but I think we will still have plenty of print left by 2020.

A typical paperback book has 300 to 320 words to a full page; that is, a page that has no pictures or the page that begins or ends a chapter. The typical paperback book has at least 300 pages, usually more. So, the typical paperback book will have 90,000 to 110,000 words. The King James Version of the Bible has 788,280 words. There are other numbers, depending on which version of the English Bible you use. Some shorten verses, some take verses out and some add verses. But, essentially, there are over 788,000 words in the Bible. All the tens of thousands of publications account for billions and billions of words, all vying for our attention. And then there are the videos and audio downloads and people talking and yelling and making NOISE! All have the answer to life’s issues, yet, for the most part, they don’t agree.

          For me, I believe that there is one set of writings for each application. For life, I say the Bible is the book to follow. And not just follow, but adhere to, word for word. If I am putting something together, I want the instructions for that item. When my son was a teenager I was trying to assemble a gift for him. The instructions made absolutely no sense. It finally dawned on me that whoever packed that particular box put the wrong instructions in it. I was really irritated and in my mind, I could see some bored guy at some factory somewhere telling his buddies about the day he put the wrong directions in a box. In my mind all of them are laughing. If I am going to play a game, I want the rules down in black and white. Baseball without a rule book is mayhem. We used to play a game when I was a kid called “Murder the Guy with the Ball.” It was football without rules. Everything has to have a set of rules and regulations to live by, even if those rules and regulations go on and on.

          Now we look at our society and we see anger and frustration and confusion. There are those calling for the reversal of the election results. There are those calling for the arrest of the previous office holders. There are those making outrageous claims about this or that and saying something should be done. And yet, there is a document of less than 7,800 words, easy to read and readily available at no charge that can settle all this nonsense once and for all. Yet, only about one percent of the people in this country have read it. It is called the Constitution of the United States of America.

          One man was breathing fire at me one day, snarling about what was right and wrong. I asked him what the Constitutions said about them issue. He just looked at me like I was an idiot. “I don’t have time to read the Constitution! We have people who do that!” Why do we need people to tell us what is in a document that is less than 30 pages long? It is not technical, it is not boring and it is not full of legalese. It is the document our country was founded on. It is our rule book and you can read it in a few hours! Why do we need people to tell is what it says?

          Wait a minute, you say. I have read the Constitution! OK, here is a test. If you are as old as I am, you had to learn the beginning words of three documents when you were in elementary school.

          “Four score and seven years ago……”

          “We the People of the United States…...”

          “When in the Course of human events……”

          What is each of those phrases from? Who wrote them? When was the last time you read any of them? Sing the song from “Gilligan’s Island.” That last one is the easy one, but don’t feel proud of yourself if you knew the song but didn’t know what documents the phrases are from.

          Some years ago I sat with my Elders and shared with them the sinful acts that their denomination was involved in. Our Elder chair looked at me in disbelief. “Don’t they read their Bibles?” My answer was, “No.” The same is true with the political unrest in this country. People are running around screaming that this or that is unconstitutional, yet they themselves do not read the document. Often, they even call themselves Constitutional attorneys. That doesn’t mean they have read the document.

          When a soldier, sailor, airman or Marine takes the enlistment oath, they say, “I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.” I have said that one myself, and meant every word. The key to the oath is supporting and defending the Constitution. Many have paid with their lives living up to that promise.

          Make the effort. The Constitution is available on-line. The government gives them out for free. If you are a Christian, you dishonor God if you don’t know the Bible. If you are an American, you dishonor those soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines if you don’t know your Constitution.

Proverbs 18:24---A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother.

          Actually, I had my doubts about that once upon a time. It only took one lesson for me to learn that He always has me on His heart and mind. But there was that time………

          January 1976. There was a lot going on that January. Marsha and I were still newlyweds. It had only been five months. We were living almost 700 miles from where we had grown up. I was a Bible college student and Marsha was working to put me through school. I was serving a church as interim pastor 85 miles away from where we lived. I was 20 and she was 19 years of age. It was a frantic time, a time when I always felt I was a little boy trying to catch up to the big kids. And then Marsha got sick one night. I took her to the ER where they checked her out. The doctor came out and told me that Marsha was very sick and needed surgery right away. If not, she would die. What did I want to do? Well, what I really wanted to do was wake up and find myself back in Ohio in my old bed at a time when my responsibilities were not so overwhelming. At that moment, I did not want to be making life and death decisions, I didn’t want to have people depending on me, I did not want to be almost desperate for money and I did not want to be living in Chattanooga, Tennessee. But I told the doctor the only thing I could tell him. Do the surgery.

          The surgery was a success. That was a Monday night. Back then you were kept in the hospital for more than a day or two. Saturday came and Marsha was still in the hospital. She was doing well and would be released on Tuesday afternoon. I had to go up to where the church was and do my Saturday visits and spend the night so I would be ready for church on Sunday morning. Actually, I would be going up to the church without enough gas to get home, so I was worried. I stopped at the hospital on the way out, gave Marsha the all happy act, then got in the car and took off. All the way up I felt the burden of everything that was going on. I questioned God all along I-75. He had either completely forgotten me or He figured I was such a sad excuse for a servant that He was tossing me out. I was alone and in trouble.

          I got to the little town the church was in and did my visiting. It was cold in the mountains that day. Snow began to fall around dusk. I slept on the floor of one of the Sunday school rooms and it was a miserable night. The wind howled, the windows leaked and it was really cold. Sunday morning was dreary and heavy snow covered the streets in the little town. Only a small handful of people made it to church that morning. When we took the offering, there were a few pennies over five dollars. That was the money that was to pay for my gas to go home on, which was enough. Gas was less than sixty cents a gallon. But I had eaten the last of the food I had brought from home the night before and I had no way to buy more. The one family we usually ate with on Sunday afternoon was snowed in and no one else offered. Normally, we had church on Sunday night, too, then we headed home. But we cancelled the night service and I planned to leave right after church. Then I found that I-75 was closed for the day in the mountains. Truly, God was ignoring me. I was forgotten.

          Just before church ended that morning a lady walked in whom I didn’t know. In her 50s and well dressed, she looked totally out of place in our little store front church. Within five minutes of coming in we were singing the final song. She came up to me and introduced herself as Mrs. Miller and explained that she was a member of the Methodist church, but when she got there she found that they were closed. She drove to every church in town and found that all of them were closed. Then she remembered hearing about the little store front and she plowed her way over. We were opened. She was just grateful to be in church that morning. She asked about me and I told her I was a student and lived in Chattanooga, my wife was in the hospital and I needed to get home, but that would have to wait till morning. Well, she told me, I would have to come to her house and have dinner with her and her husband. I tried to say no but she said I had to go. There was no way she could drive in the snow now that it had snowed more. I agreed and drove her Lincoln across town to their beautiful home. At least, I told God, today I won’t starve.

          The Super Bowl was played that day and they insisted I stay and watch. They let me call Marsha and tell her I was alright, not to worry, then settled in to watch the game (which back then was played at the decent hour of 2 in the afternoon). After the Steelers beat the Cowboys I asked Mr. Miller if he would drive me back to the church. It had quit snowing and the roads were passable. They wouldn’t have it, though. I still couldn’t head for home until the next morning and so I would just have to spend the night. That night in bed I finally thanked the Lord for a good day.

          The next morning Mr. Miller was out early. He had a car dealership and had to see to it that it got cleared of snow and opened. Mrs. Miller made me eggs and bacon and talked a mile a minute. After I ate we started to put our coats on to head back over to the church. Then she nodded her head, looked at me and asked me to sit back down at the table. She had something for me. She came back with a box in one hand and a ten dollar bill in the other. The money was for gas, she told me. What was in the box was for me.

          I opened the box, which was the size of a book. Inside was something wrapped in what looked like butcher paper. Lying on the paper was a new, yet old, one hundred dollar bill. I jerked my head up and looked at her, but she just said for me to open the paper. Inside the paper was a brand new, though not new, Bible with the richest leather cover I had ever seen. She sat down across from me and told the story.

          In 1945 the war had ended. She and Mr. Miller were not married yet, but would be once he got home from the Pacific. She had put money away and was very excited that she would soon be Mrs. Miller. But one morning when she woke, she had a heavy heart. She went to the Lord in prayer. She had a strong feeling that she needed to go down to Knoxville that very morning and buy the best Bible she could find. She felt the Lord impress on her that He would show her who was to have it. After she bought the Bible she again felt the Lord impress on her to put the one hundred dollar bill in with the Bible. In 1945 that was a big deal. To me in 1976 it was a huge deal. She had put the Bible away and never opened it again. And that morning, over eggs and bacon, the Lord impressed her to give it to me.

          I had felt the Lord had forgotten me. But back in 1945, eleven years before I was born and 31 years before this very day, He was taking care of a servant who thought he was forgotten. I have never forgotten the lesson of the day.

          On July 6, 2013, I retired my old Bible. Tattered and worn and frayed, the cover has lost its richness. Pages fall out when I open it. It has been my companion all these years and deserves the rest. But this last Sunday morning as I got ready for church, I glanced at it and thought, why not? So, my old cohort and I went to church together once again. I was blessed. And, like always, it reminded me that there is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother.

Blessings.

          I walked into Wal-Mart on December 28^th for my first after Christmas visit. I usually don’t go in that early, but I needed to pick up a prescription. What greeted my eyes was surprising.

          A rather large display for Valentine’s Day.

          It is a personal opinion that if stores didn’t go all crazy for special days, they wouldn’t be celebrated the way they are celebrated. Valentine’s Day, Easter, Sweetest Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Halloween and Christmas. “Tell her you love her this Valentine’s Day with a diamond.” Really? The only way my wife is going to know I love her is if I buy her a diamond? Commercials for Easter center on candies, principally the Cadbury Eggs. Sweetest Day is the ‘later in the year’ Valentine’s. Mother’s Day commercials aren’t aimed at kids urging them to buy a new coffee mug for Mom. They are aimed at Dad’s urging us to buy something expensive to show her you are glad she is the mother of your children. Father’s Day commercials are nothing more than an attempt to sell power tools. Halloween is rejoicing day for Hershey and Nestle. And, of course, Christmas is everything. Just buy it while supplies last!

          Imagine these holidays if there were no commercials. A husband quietly taking his wife out to eat without the kids for Valentine’s Day. Easter morning spent in church with kids not hyped up on sugar. Sweetest Day wouldn’t exist. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day would celebrate parents instead of spending. Halloween would be trick or treating with some candy, but apples, too. And Christmas wouldn’t seem to last forever and would not put people deeper into debt.

          Back to Valentine’s Day. The ministry has allowed me to see love from many angles. As a counselor, I have seen people struggle with love. Maybe it is a parent/child relationship. Sometimes the teenage years can cause a parent to question their love for their child and a child to question their love for the parents. It usually works out in the end, but it can be dicey for a while. Husbands and wives often come to odds. Mistakes are made, misunderstandings are everywhere, someone feels unappreciated. Often, the two adults act like children and the marriage comes apart. For some reason, parents will come for counseling almost immediately when their kids are giving them trouble but when it is an issue between the spouses, they tend to wait till hope is gone. Very frustrating. Love can be a hard way to go.

          There is another side of love. That is the grief side. For nine years the ministry had me doing ministry with a funeral home. In that capacity I saw the desperation and pain that the loss of a loved one can bring. Parents losing a child. Children losing parents. Spouses losing spouses. These were things I dealt with while pastoring, but for those nine years I was immersed in the part of love that entailed loss.

          During those nine years, however, I found the truest expressions of love. Nothing at all like the commercials tells you how to express love. I watched a Mom watching the funeral director start to get ready to close the casket of her teenaged son. She stepped up to the director and said, “Is it OK if I watch?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and said, “No. You can’t watch. But you can help.” He quietly talked her through adjusting the son’s clothes, pulling the afghan up just so, tucking everything into the casket that needed tucking in. He allowed her that time to be a mommy one more time. All three of us stood there in tears. Once a young mother wanted to hold her baby one last time. I lifted the baby from the tiny casket and placed the child in the mother’s arms, then led her to a rocker. The mother rocked that baby for twenty minutes, then was finally able to give her back to me. So many instances of so much grief giving over to so much love.

          Then, there was the couple who had been married over 60 years. What happened with this was, for me, the purest expression of love I ever saw between a man and a woman.

          The town our funeral home was in was Madison, Ohio. The next town to the west was Perry, Ohio, the town I grew up in. The next town to the east was Geneva, Ohio, the town I had pastored in for eleven years. It occasionally happened that someone would pass that I had known forever or for whom I had been their pastor. Sometimes those families would want me to take care of their loved one’s body. I was not a mortician, so I couldn’t embalm, but I did become fairly proficient with the other aspects of preparation. I had known this couple that had been married for over 60 years almost my whole life. The wife had been a friend of my mother. Really good, Christian folks. When her husband passed, she wanted me to do as much of the preparation as I could.

            She brought me the clothes she wanted him buried in and she brought their wedding picture. In the picture she was a beautiful young woman and he was a dashing, slender young man. He had gained a lot of weight during the marriage and it was interesting to see him as that young fellow.

          She then gave me the clothes. “Larry, you know Doug never, ever wore a suit. The only time he ever wore a suit was when we got married. This is that suit. I want him to buried in his suit.” If it had been someone I hadn’t known, I might have pointed out that getting him into that suit might be hard. After all, clothes do age and seams become weak. I could have given her a true reason to try and talk her out of him wearing that suit. But, she was my mother’s friend. Her son and I had played on the same football team. I just smiled and told her I would do the best I could.

          The fact is, at a funeral home we can make most anything fit. It might have to be cut and then fitted to the individual, but we can do it. In this case, though, he was a lot larger than the suit. By the time I was done with it all and had him in the casket and dressed, I just felt it looked rough. No one could have done it better. The owner of the home came and looked and said it was the best that could be done. It just was not possible to make that suit look like it fit. It was just too small and he was just too large. I was so disappointed in my efforts and I knew that this dear, dear wife would not be pleased.

          She came in and I walked with her to the casket. She stepped up and looked in. She caught her breath and then she began to cry. She stared at him for several seconds, then she turned to me and took me into her arms. “Oh, Larry! He looks just like he did the day we were married!”

          Real love is blind. Real love transcends earthly knowledge. Real love never goes away.

          Just as an addition to the story; when they were married all she got was a simple gold band. They were starting out, the diamond would have to come later. It never did, though. She never needed that diamond to know he loved her.

          My educational journey started out at a Bible college in Tennessee. I briefly mentioned the school in one of last week’s articles. Extremely strict in all aspects. But, when you know the rules going in, you play by the rules. A baseball game would be chaos if Team A decided in the 4^th inning that from now on they would get three balls and four strikes per hitter instead of four balls and three strikes. And, this rule change wouldn’t apply to Team B. You can’t change the rules during a game or a presidential election or at a strict college. You agreed before you got there. So this school was strict. Among other things, we were required to go to either the Campus Church or some local church that was approved of by the school. Obviously, they wanted you to attend the Campus Church. As strict as the school was, the church was even more so.

          Laughing was frowned upon. Married men and women sitting next to each other had to be at least the length of a songbook apart. If you were not married you had to sit even further apart. Outside of calling out a hearty 'Amen' or 'Preach it, Brother' you were to remain both emotionless and motionless.

          When we had services there the choir remained in the choir loft for the entire service. The choir loft was situated just below the baptistery, which was elevated up the back wall. While the baptisms were going on (we baptized by immersion) the choir would hum a song, which, I suppose, was intended to imitate the heavenly host.

          On one particular Sunday there were seven or eight people to be baptized. (They baptized every Sunday. It was kind of neat.) The second to last was a nine year old boy who could not get out to the pastor by walking, so he started to dog paddle. The whole front of the baptistery was clear acrylic and you could see down to the pastor’s feet, so it was sort of cute to see the little guy swim. There were a few titters in the crowd of about 3,000. The pastor reached out and grabbed the boy and then stared at the congregation. After a fifteen second glare he told us that this was a sacred moment and not a time for levity. While he was lecturing us he was holding the little fellow up by the shirt and we were treated to seeing the boy’s legs kick furiously under the water. It made the whole situation extremely funny, but we were doing our best to not even smile. Finally, he was baptized. 

          The last person baptized was a jolly man who was simply overjoyed with his new salvation. He only stood about 5'5", but he was also just about that same size around. When he stepped down into the water he was so happy that it made most of us smile, which further angered the pastor. He took the man and said, "My Brother, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Buried in His likeness..." At that point he pushed the man backward under the water. We all saw his feet leave the bottom of the baptistery. The next part of the phrase is, “Raised to walk in newness of life in Christ Jesus.” As the pastor said the word 'Raised' the man’s highly buoyant body surged to the surface and broke water. As his body shot upward it pushed a lot of water before it. When he got to the surface the water kept going, surging out of the baptistery and washing over the choir. The quite humming turned into gasps and squeals and screams. The congregation, already on the verge of forbidden merriment, broke out in actual laughter. The pastor was furious and kept us there an extra thirty minutes scolding us by preaching an intense sermon on proper decorum in the church. He preached this sermon while standing in the water of the baptistery, which just made it all the funnier.

          The way the baptistery was set up there lent itself to humor anyway. As I said, the front was clear. When anyone went forward at the close of the sermon for salvation, they were baptized immediately. Since you only went forward due to the moving of the Holy Spirit, it was unplanned. Therefore, when folks were baptized they were baptized in their street clothes. Women were not allowed to wear slacks at that church, so women were baptized in their skirts or dresses. When a woman stepped into the baptistery she was to keep her arms rigid to her sides to hold the dress down. She was to stay like that the whole time, even while she was put under. Now, the natural reaction to being pushed over backward and forced under the water is to reach up and grab the person's arm that is pushing you under. It happened about half the time, which allowed the dress or skirt to float up. You would think that after all those years they would have caught on. But then again, maybe not.

          Before I forget again, please visit Mary Earle’s blog at http://mary-marysmoments.blogspot.com/    Thanks!

As of this writing it hasn’t happened yet, but today is the inauguration as president for Donald Trump and as vice president for Mike Pence. What makes this interesting, at least to me, is that here we have a president who owes his election more to the disdain of his opponent than to his own likability. The country is divided more than ever before, protests are planned, celebrities have said they will leave the country (Wait, that’s the good news. I forgot.) and destruction is imminent. At least that is what we are told.

          So, it seems dark. It isn’t, of course. The end of the country may come, but it will be God’s doing. The real question a Christian who is unhappy must ask is; what do I do as a Christian? How do I live under this man rather than my first choice?

          As always, the answer is in Scripture. The Jews lived under harsh rule. From historical sources, we know that when Pontius Pilate first entered into Caesarea, which was the city from which he would rule, many of the Jews were angry because the standards that his Roman garrison carried had the image of Caesar on them. The Jews, of course, allowed no graven images. This was considered more than an insult. This was a far greater slap in the face than anything Mr. Trump has said or is supposed to have said. This one event had the potential to lead to civil war. Cooler heads prevailed, though, and a peaceful demonstration was planned for the colosseum in Caesarea. The Jews occupied the floor of the colosseum. The place was packed. Roman soldiers showed up. One thing led to another, some rocks were thrown and the soldiers replied by drawing swords. Again, something was said or done and all of a sudden, the soldiers attacked. The Jews were unarmed. Hundreds were slaughtered. Records say that the blood was nearly as high as a horse’s bridle. Jews responded throughout the Holy Land and the Jews were put down. This all started within the first week of Pilates rule, which is why he tried to walk the fence with Jesus. The Jews had to pay the Temple tax and the imperial tax. They lived as second class people, just a little above slaves. They were an occupied people.

So, what did Jesus say about these oppressors? Matthew 5:43-48---¹"You have heard that it was said, ²'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. ' rences for Matthew 5:43

·Cross References

But I say to you, ³Love your enemies and ⁴pray for those who persecute you, ×

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⁵so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and ⁶sends rain on the just and on the unjust. ×

References for Matthew 5:45

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⁷For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? ×

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And if you greet only your brothers,^a what more are you doing than others? Do not even ⁸the Gentiles do the same? ×

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·Footnotes

You therefore must be ¹⁰perfect, ¹¹as your heavenly Father is perfect.

How does that set with our ‘feelings?’ Jesus said that they were love these people who could kill at the slightest provocation and pray for these people who were taxing them to death. Is it Godly for us to do any different, especially toward those for whom we might simply politically disagree? I have despised the politics of some of our political leaders, but I have also prayed for them. For salvation, for health, for their families. God loves them; can I hate them?

          So what do you say? Why don’t we act like Christians? Let’s really, honestly and fervently pray for our leaders.

          Yesterday was my birthday. We didn’t do anything exciting. In fact, I did nothing. There is this problem with chronic back pain. There is always this low, dull, pain, but sometimes it flares up into the white hot miserable pain that makes you appreciate the low, dull, pain. But still, it was my birthday.

          And since I was doing nothing, I had time to think. Not about getting older. That is inevitable. Instead, I thought a lot about birthdays in the Bible. This, because I am wired weird, led to me thinking about funerals in the Bible.

          I cannot think of a single birthday celebration in the Bible. I may be wrong, but there is nothing that I can recall. There are births, of course. Lots and lots of births. But did anyone celebrate their own birth later? For that matter, are we given exact dates for any births? We have some general times. We know that Jesus was born during a registration for taxation. These were not done often, but when they were done it was always done in the late Spring/early Summer time of the year so people wouldn’t have to travel during the rainy season. We also know that this was the taxation when Cyrenius was the governor of Syria. This establishes the time of year that Jesus was born (sorry, it wasn’t Winter so it wasn’t December 25) and it gives us the year He was born, but not an exact date. In fact, the word ‘birthday’ is only mentioned three times in the Bible. First in Genesis 40:20, where it is referring to the Pharaoh’s birthday, then in Matthew 14:6 and Mark 6:21, where it is referring to the same event and specifies Herod’s birthday. Even in these events which are about non-Jewish rulers, there are no dates set.

          Then, there are funerals. Mostly, when someone died the Bible says that they died. In the Old Testament it might say they were buried with their fathers or family in a certain place, but that was mostly it. In Genesis 38:12 we find that Judah is comforted when his wife dies, but in the same verse it says he then went to shear his sheep. Doesn’t sound like much of a funeral. In Luke 7 Jesus interrupts a funeral procession that is carrying a man out to be buried. Touching the platform that the man is on, the bier, Jesus raised the young man back to life. A very different ending to a funeral. But in neither of these cases do we have details of the funerals.

          Did the Jews not celebrate birthdays or have some sort of ceremony for death?

          Actually, we know a lot about Jewish life during the Biblical era from non-Biblical sources. All sorts of histories were kept among the Jews, just like any other civilization. In the histories of other nations we have information of the Hebrews whenever the two societies interacted. The Bible is the only source that is inspired by God Himself, but we do have knowledge of their daily life from other sources. Birthdays were recognized, just not to the extent that we do so. Funeral practices tended to vary based on the individual’s financial status, but they did have funerals.

          So then, why doesn’t the Bible record these things?

          The Bible is inspired by God through the Holy Spirit. It is God’s Word. I believe that God doesn’t want us to focus on the beginning of life or the ending of life, except to have us know that life is sacred. I believe the Lord wants us to focus on the living of life. Living a life that is pleasing to the Lord. Living a life that is beneficial to others in a Spiritual sense. Living an honorable life. We are not told to ignore the births and the deaths of people, but we need to zero in on the life we live.

          Most of you know that there is a big portion of my life that has been spent in funeral ministry. I have heard many sermons preached by other ministers, as well as having done hundreds myself. In listening to others, I have heard many poems read, some to the point of not wanting to hear that particular poem again. But there is one that really got to me the first time I heard it and I will close with it now.

​The Dash
by Linda Ellis

​I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
that they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own,
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real
and always try to understand
​the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives
like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.

​So, when your eulogy is being read,
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?

This one is a little longer, so get a cup of coffee.

While in Bible college in Tennessee the ministry students were urged to take part in the school’s church program. The school owned and operated 83 little struggling churches in the Tennessee countryside surrounding Chattanooga. Marsha and I were newly married, just 19 years old, when we were called to one of these churches as the Youth Pastor. It sounded kind of fancy, but it was a church of around 20 people in a storefront with only a couple of Youth. The Pastor was also a student and we both got credit for working in this little church in the mountains. The biggest problem we faced was that the church was 85 miles from the college in Chattanooga. We didn’t even take in enough offering to pay our gas. But I knew that we were going to have a MIGHTY Youth group.

We went to the church in October 1975. The pastor was going to graduate from college in December. He resigned from the church in November and, at 19, I was the interim pastor of a storefront church 85 miles from home in the backwoods. To the locals, it was an old former restaurant. To me it was a cathedral.

Of course, I didn’t consider myself an interim pastor. I was the pastor. At 19 I had arrived. Fearless. Bold. Dumb as a stump. I decided to start preaching against all manner of sin. Bootlegging earned a few sermons, as did various other sins. But, it was the bootlegging that got me in trouble.

Typically, we would go up to the church on Saturday morning, fix the church bus (1957 International) by replacing the parts stolen off of it during the week, and then visit folks in the community for the rest of the day. We would sleep in one of the Sunday school rooms and then be ready for church the next morning. On Sunday we would have morning services followed by visiting in the afternoon and then church that night, followed by a two hour trip back to Chattanooga. Not a problem, normally.

One Sunday night I was in another part of the church as people were coming in. Marsha stuck her head into the room and said, “Uh, Honey, there is someone here who wants to speak with you.” We hadn’t been married long, but I could tell she thought something wasn’t quite right.

I stepped out into the main room and there sat the biggest man I had ever seen. Once, when I was in high school, I had the opportunity to eat dinner with the Baltimore Colts. Bubba Smith era. This son of the mountains was bigger than any of the Colts I met that night.

I stepped up to him and started to introduce myself. He interrupted.

“Ah know who you are, preacher boy. My name’s Big’un.”

Well, I had heard about Big’un. He was a legendary bootlegger. Rumor had it that he had killed a government agent who was investigating an alleged whiskey still somewhere in the mountains two years earlier. No body was ever found and the government didn’t send anyone else to investigate. The only thing anyone would say about it was that Big’un had the biggest and best bootlegging operation in the mountains. He was something of a local hero, both feared and admired. As for his name, I had assumed it had to do with his successful business enterprise. Now I knew it had to do with his size.

He continued. “Ah hear you got something agin moonshiners.”

Remember now, I was young and bold. And stupid. This is why wars are fought with young men. At these early ages you feel as though you can handle any situation. So, I agreed with his statement.

“Yes sir,” I said, lifting my chin. “I think bootlegging is one of the things that is keeping the folks in these mountains from moving forward. It is not only sin but it holds you all back.” Fighting words.

Big’un reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. He held it just where my wife and I and our one Deacon could see it.

“Okay, preacher boy. Ah’ll just sit here on the front row and listen tonight an see what you have to say about moonshininers.”

Now that made me mad. It scared Marsha, but it made me mad. What’s more, she knew I was mad, which scared her all the more. I had another sermon topic in mind for that night, but I turned and stepped into the pulpit and started preaching against the bootlegging trade. We didn’t sing songs or take an offering or anything. I just preached. Big’un sat there for awhile with his hand in his coat pocket, then he got up and left.

I was euphoric! I had stood up to the biggest bootlegger in the mountains. I was tougher than tough. I was also stupider than stupid. Looking back, I have to admit that I don’t know what I would do in the same situation now. Time has a way of tarnishing the brass of youth.

As it turns out, I hadn’t quite won yet.

Marsha went with me every other weekend. We lived and worked at an orphanage in Chattanooga and Marsha worked every other weekend. The next weekend I went up alone.

Early on Saturday morning I arrived at the church. There was a Lincoln sitting in the parking lot and behind the wheel sat Big’un. He emerged from the car and told me to get in. We were going for a ride. I told him that no, I had much to do and couldn’t go for a ride. He produced his pistol and told me that I was going to go for a ride with him. Right now.

Knowing what I know now I am sure would not have shot me. But at that moment I was sure that he would. I was also fairly sure he was intending to take me off somewhere in a lonesome valley and shoot me, but if I could prolong the shooting I thought I might have a chance. I got into the car.

We took off and headed up a mountain. As we neared the top I realized that all the homes here were extremely nice. This was the upscale neighborhood. We passed many fine homes until we came to a home that was a showcase type of a home. Big’un hadn’t said a word to this point. Now he pulled to the curb and turned to me and explained what was about to happen.

“Preacher, this is my home. Years ago Ah met this pretty li’l gal up in Knoxville name of Victoria. She was perfect, an’ Ah knew Ah had to marry her. She wanted to marry me, too. Her daddy wasn’t for it because Ah was a mountain boy an’ because there was no way Ah could provide for her like he wanted. An’, she’s stone cold deaf. He didn’t think Ah could handle it. Well, preacher, Ah knew Ah was in love, so Ah set out to prove my love. That’s when Ah got into shinin’, to make enough to provide for her. She doesn’t know what Ah do and we’ll keep it that way. Ah learn how to talk sign language, too. Finally, after a couple of years Ah went back and showed her daddy my bank account and Ah talked to them in sign. All that time we had been writin’ back and forth, and she really did love me. We got married and we have been just real happy.

“But lately Victoria’s been wondering what happens when a person dies. Ah don’t know about them things, so Ah can’t help her. Ah been goin’ around trying to find a preacher. Ah want one who ain’t a coward, though, so Ah kinda been trying to scare’em a little. You’re the only one who didn’t back down, so you are going to walk in there and tell my Victoria about what happens when you die.”

Well, okay. Maybe I wasn’t going to die at a young age and leave Marsha as young widow. I did go in and sat down with the two of them. Victoria was everything Big’un wasn’t. She was small. She was elegant. She was refined. She was beautiful. But, as we walked into the house, Big’un changed, too. It was as though that rough shell came off and he became a gracious host and a loving husband. I had never seen anything like it.

This was the first of several visits. I would talk and Big’un, whose name was actually John, would sign. She would ask questions in sign and he would translate to me. Not only was she deaf, but she could produce no sound at all. She would laugh and make no noise and I found out that she could cry without noise, as well, as she did when she heard that Jesus had died for her. Big’un came to think of me as a friend, although I never got to where I was comfortable with him.

Both Victoria and John accepted Christ. The school supplied a new pastor shortly after that and I don’t know what became of them. They would be in their late 70s now. I pray it has been a good life.

            This is not a political weblog today, so bear with me for a bit.

            When they talk about “Russia hacking the US elections” on radio or TV or newspaper or on-line, that is all they say. Russia hacked US elections. Most people will hear that and automatically assume they mean the Russians got into the system and changed the vote count, thus allowing Donald Trump to win. Then they wonder why someone doesn’t do something about it? The fact that it is not explained just lets the confusion grow.

In a December 16 news article on the CNN website the headline talks about what the Russians are supposed to have done as far as influencing the US elections. (During the campaign, CNN was so pro-Clinton that the joke was made that CNN stood for the Clinton News Network. In other words, they are biased.) In the article, it is said that they believe the Russians were the ones behind the exposing and making public the Clinton e-mails that were embarrassing and slanderous. In the same article, CNN said that the Republicans were hacked, as well, but apparently, nothing came from that.

That is all there is to it. CNN believes Russia allowed the country to find out the kind of person Mrs. Clinton is and what she thinks of people. In other words, they are upset because they believe the Russians did what the news media in this country is really supposed to do; dig for the truth. Whether or not the Russians did anything other than sit back and enjoy the show is not important. I imagine this will all blow over in due time.

But it does call to mind other political shenanigans. Oh, not the present-day kind. People today are so arrogant and so self-important that we believe we invented all this nonsense. No, I am thinking of the political hijinks of yesteryear.

The government was pretty secure in their control over the people. They were far enough removed from the real power, the super power, that they were mostly allowed to control their own interests. Little things would pop up and the government would handle it. There was intrigue, there were power plays and there were back room deals. And then a rabble-rouser appeared. Oh, he was a cunning one, the government felt. He talked peace and fellowship and even stressed that laws needed to be followed. But this newcomer had to have a disruptive agenda hidden away somewhere. People were starting to flock to him to hear what he had to say. Somehow, he was turning rallies into feasts. There were even rumors that he was getting medical attention for those with extreme illnesses. The guy had an angle somewhere, the leaders of the government just had to track it down.

They planted spies, they tried to get him to show his hand and trip up, they even made up fake news. To no avail. It was like the man was untouchable. He said the words people wanted to hear. To let this fellow go on would eventually call the power of the super power down on them all. The power of the local government would be smashed away. There was nothing to do but take drastic action. So, they got some people to present false stories, to implicate this man in slanderous and treasonous conduct. Lies were told, money was exchanged, the populous was convinced. In a rushed trial the man, who had done nothing wrong other than ruffle some feathers, was found guilty and was sentenced to die. The sentence was carried out almost immediately via crucifixion. All in the name of politics.

Understand, I am not comparing Donald Trump to Christ. It personally hurt me to vote for Mr. Trump on election day. But, I am pointing out that we all get caught up in the nonsense of today and we tend to put the most pivotal moment in all history on the back burner to be brought out once a year. Folks, Jesus went through it all on purpose. He didn’t flinch one time. He could have called angels down to take Him away from the Cross. And, as He hung there between heaven and earth, with blood running from Him onto that roughhewn cross, He didn’t rail at or curse the ones who had put Him there. He asked God to forgive them.

Is this a make or break time for our country? Maybe. I don’t know. This will be my 12^th president. They come and go. The thing I am absolutely sure about, though, is that I don’t owe who I am and I don’t owe where I will go when I die to any government official of any time in history. I owe it all to that peaceful yet despised God/man who allowed Himself to be powerless at the Cross. So do you, for that matter. Worry less about our feeble political situation and worry more about what you can do for the Lord God Almighty.

Pastor