Life, in our 21^st century world, is just weird.

          We live in the most technologically advanced society ever. I just bought a new desk lamp and it has been on now for one half hour. It is producing a bright light, but practically no heat. When I was growing up, or even ten or fifteen years ago, that would have been impossible. Where there is light, there is heat. My cell phone came with 50 apps. I only use the ‘calculator’ and that only for figuring my miles per gallon when I fill my car up. I have read that the typical cell phone has more computing power than the space craft that first took men to the moon. We can contact people anywhere in an instant and when we do, we can talk to them face to face. On snow days, children take their classes via the internet. Entertainment is extravagant. Special effects in movies and TV programs are beyond unbelievable, music can be made by computer rather than instruments, the camera work in sporting events is almost always perfect. It almost seems as though we cannot improve on anything, but we will, of course. When we do, what we have now will seem archaic.

          However, even with all of that, we are all, apparently, as dumb as a bag of rocks.

          I had to buy a car recently after my old car was destroyed in an accident. This car, not new but newer than the old one, has a back-up camera. Inside on the dash there is a video screen that lights up whenever I am in reverse and shows me what is behind me. It will also light up when I turn on my right turn signal to show me the usual blind spot on the right side of the car when I am turning. It also gives me multiple options for my radio and other things, none of which I use. But the back-up camera is pretty neat. If there was a child behind me, or a pet or a bike laying on its side, I would see it. My big problem with it at this point is that I have never had such a thing so I forget to check it to see if anything is there. I will catch on eventually. The thing that bothers me is that when I start the car, the screen lights up and words appear that inform me that the operation of the car is the driver’s responsibility and depending on the pictures on the screen will not insure safe operation. Really? What kind of person expects to drive a car by looking at the back-up camera? Why is that notice necessary? Has someone tried it and then sued the car maker when they crashed into something going backwards at 60 mph?

          I believe this all got started back in the 1980s when a lady went through the McDonalds’ drive-up and ordered a cup of coffee, and then promptly spilled it on herself, resulting in 2^nd degree burns. She sued McDonalds for 2 million dollars because they had not informed her that the coffee was hot. She won the judgment and now coffee cups at McDonalds and other drive-up places have the words, “Caution: Contents are hot!” or words to that effect. I remember when the lawsuit was announced I thought that it was a waste of time. When she won I remember one of our deacons saying that now everyone will sue over everything. Turns out he was right. A couple of years later I was in a department store looking at Halloween costumes, reminiscing about our son’s day. I was looking at the Superman costume and noticed a little tag that said, “Warning: Wearing this costume will not enable the wearer to fly.” I understand a little kid might jump off a porch thinking they can fly, would a parent really sue over such a thing? My friend Keith and I were about six years old when we put on life jackets and jumped out of a tree pretending to be skydivers. I went first and slammed into the ground chest first. We were at his house, so we went to his mother because I was crying. She smacked me in the back of the head and sent me home, where my mother smacked me in the back of the head, as well. No one even thought about suing the life jacket company and my parents never thought about suing Keith’s parents and I never, later in life, thought about suing anyone for getting smacked in the head.

          Somehow, we think that stronger and stronger gun laws will stop gun violence. We have laws against murder and attempted murder; aren’t those enough? If someone accidently shoots someone else, that is tragic. But if someone is killed in a traffic accident, isn’t that an accident, too? Do we eventually outlaw cars? At what point do we begin again to make people responsible for their own actions rather than trying to legislate everyone’s personal safety? And how can we hold gun makers or costume makers or life preserver makers or four-wheeler makers responsible for the tragedies of life and not say anything about the makers of video games that not only glorify random violence but does so with the most realistic graphics possible?

          I don’t like the assumption that we are all stupid. God gave us minds. Sometimes we have to experience bad things to make that mind work. It is called experience. It is a great teacher. It is God’s way of instruction. Not good enough, however, for society. Now we need to be protected from ourselves.

          As I said at the beginning; Life, in our 21^st century world, is just weird.

          The Roman Empire destroyed Israel toward the end of the first century after Christ. The Jews were dispersed throughout the world. The other people in the region, the Arabs, took over the entire region. Within the Arabs adopted the Muslim faith and we have the situation we have now. The Muslims are feared throughout the world, yet, for some reason, the Jewish nation, reestablished in 1948, defeats them every time they go to war.

          This whole thing fascinates me. It may mean nothing to you, but it is one of the most interesting ongoing stories ever. Please take a few moments to read this blog today.

          The Jews were called, by God, His own people. We see in the Old Testament victories against great odds against their enemies. When the Jews should have been crushed, they somehow were triumphant. And, on occasion, the opposite was true. If they had strayed from the Lord, they sometimes lost even if they were over powering. As God’s chosen, they were taught many lessons in war and in peace.

          By the time the New Testament rolled around, the Jews were under control of the Roman Empire. Again, God was in control. Just a bit of trivia for you. Since recorded history has been going on there has only been one stretch of 50 years without a war going on in the world somewhere. During those 50 years were the 33 years of the life of Christ. His life was lived during the only time of peace in history. But, war was on the horizon. Fighting broke out in many places shortly after the death of Christ. Soon, it broke out in Palestine, as well. The Romans took their time getting there in force, but when they did, they pounded Israel. For well over 1800 years the Jews were out of their land.

          But the Book of the Revelation made it clear that before the end times, the nation would be restored. We weren’t told how, just that it would be restored. It didn’t seem possible, not with the Arabs holding it all. Christian theologians even devised ways to new theories that explained the Book of the Revelation to make it mean something other than it said. In time, Palestine came under British rule, but they let the Arabs rule themselves because they did it so well.

          Then came WWII. By the end of that conflict the world was so shocked by what happened to the Jews in the Holocaust that the United Nations petitioned Great Britain to turn a portion of the land over to the Jews so that they could reestablish their old nation. This was done and a new nation was born.

          However, in doing this, land was taken from the Arabs living there already. The Islamic nations that surrounded the new nation of Israel were not happy and began massing troops and tanks and planes on Israel’s borders. As soon as the last British soldier left Israel, the Arabs attacked with their British trained troops

          The Jews were outnumbered. There were not enough guns to go around, let alone enough ammunition. They lacked cannon and tanks and ships and, most of all, planes. Still, they met the attackers, but it was a hopeless fight. To make matters worse, the nations of the world, including the United States during the early days, refused to join the fight on the side of Israel and also refused to send equipment. Israel, surrounded, was all alone.

          Jews around the world, though, had known this was going to happen. For several months before, war planes, surplus from WWII, were being bought up and sent to a location in Europe. It wasn’t a lot of planes. Four German Messerschmitt Bf-109), fighter craft, and three American B-17 bombers was all there was at first. They were taken apart and shipped to the secret base in Europe. There, the bombers were hurriedly reassembled. The fighters were reloaded, still in pieces, onto transport planes and flown into Israel. None of the Jewish mechanics in Israel had ever worked on the German fighters and had obviously never tried to rebuild one. The pilots had served in the U.S. Air Force during the war, so they had never flown one. The war was already raging when the planes, overnight and without manuals, were rebuilt. Everyone worked on them. One of the big problems was that the Jews were from every country and all spoke different languages. When the pilots were ready to take off, just as the sun was coming up, the planes had less than their full load of bullets, two small bombs each under their wings, a sloppy new paint job that was still wet and there was no certainty they would even fly. Their target was a long line of Egyptian and Syrian tanks that were faced with a thin line of civilian soldiers armed with pitchforks and picks. That was all that stood between the tanks and the heart of Israel.

The Messerschmitt 109 was equipped with machine guns mounted on the nose of the plane rather than on the wings like US fighters. You had to fire through the propeller. There is a small gear in the engine that causes the machine gun to fire in perfect time with the engine so you don’t shoot off your prop. The four planes made their first run on the tanks just as the tanks were beginning their attack. That little gear, called the synchronizing gear, was not installed in one of the planes, so the first thing that pilot did was shoot himself down. If you think about it, they had to look pretty puny on that attack. One plane going down immediately, all of them trailing paint, since the pilots had never flown that type of craft before they couldn’t even keep the wings level and between them they only had six small bombs. The planes made their pass, fired their guns and dropped their bombs. The guns did little to the tanks and when the planes turned around to fire the rest of their ammunition, the pilots were disappointed at their failure. They buzzed past and returned to base, absolutely sure the tanks would now crash through the thin line of Jews and destroy Israel.

But records show that the command and control tanks radioed in to headquarters that they were under heavy air attack and would have to shut down and wait it out. The tanks went no further. What huge flight of Israeli planes were they seeing? When the three planes returned a little later, poorly rearmed and with each engine sputtering from hurried rebuilding, the tanks packed it in and returned to defensive positions. What they were seeing convinced them that they could not proceed that day.

Meanwhile, the three B-17 had taken off from the European base. As they neared Israel they were close to running out of fuel. They had been armed with a load of bombs each and they were told, in flight, to divert and bomb Cairo. The three planes couldn’t do much damage and the planes would never have enough fuel to reach their base in Israel. And none of the crews had ever seen Israel. But they made their bombing run on Cairo, Egypt. The shock of the Israeli planes bombing their city, although little damage occurred, was enough for Egypt to pretty much pull out of the conflict. The Israeli bombers landed at their bases with no fuel to spare.

As the weeks went on, more planes came in. More guns and ammunition entered Israel. More Jewish soldiers from WWII joined up. It took 10 months, but Israel won a war they should have never had a chance to win. Now, they had their nation. They have won every conflict since with the Arab nations, too. God needed Israel in place before the end times came, so He made trained soldiers see an air armada that was just three poorly put together fighter planes and three worn out B-17 bombers. When the lines of Arab soldiers who were taken prisoner were marched back to the rear of the Israeli lines, they were amazed that there was nothing there to fear except civilian soldiers with farm implements for weapons. Intelligence had warned of cannon and ranks of soldiers and overwhelming odds.

Never think it cannot be done. If God is involved, you will have the victory.

Blessings.

       

          I am having trouble getting excited about this solar eclipse thing. People have been rushing to the areas of total eclipse for days now. All kinds of things on the news about how to view the eclipse, which is good since you could conceivably go blind, and explanations about what causes a solar eclipse. A little further on the edge are stories of people resurrecting old pagan myths that sought to explain such things, which I find interesting. And then there are the Christians who are saying that a solar eclipse is a warning from God. It expresses the dark of sin and evil. Bryan Fischer, apparently a well known Christian radio host on the American Family Radio Network, is telling his audience that this is a warning. Meanwhile, Anne Graham Lotz, daughter of Billy Graham, likens the event to the Biblical story of the hand writing on the wall as a warning that no one is heeding. While many people will grow fearful because of these things that ‘Christian leaders’ are saying, the truth is there are at least two solar eclipses a year and can be as many as five. Just not in the United States. Evidently, when it happens somewhere else it is not a sign. Just when it happens here.

          I think many people are profiting on the event. Dark glasses are being sold, full prices are going up to get a little extra from the travelers, offerings are increasing in some religious coffers. But why? This eclipse has been on schedule for decades and decades. It would be real news if it didn’t happen. This is not an unusual event. If anything, it is evidence of the steadfastness of the Lord. He put the universe in motion and it follows a precise a precise plan.

          A number of years ago the planet Mercury was going to pass before the sun early in the morning, just at sunrise, and could be viewed from certain locations in the northern United States with binoculars just before the sun came up enough to blind you. Seconds only. This event was much rarer than a total solar eclipse, yet there was practically nothing in the news. It takes 88 earth days for Mercury to completely orbit the sun, but we almost never see it because our orbit coupled with the nearness of Mercury to the sun works against us seeing the traverse. But on this one early morning it would be visible. Where we lived there was a long jut of land that extended into Lake Erie. From there we could watch sunrise over the water on every Easter morning. I made my way before daybreak to that location with my binoculars to watch this unusual event.

          I had gotten settled in with the binocs trained at just the right place. Just as daylight was starting to break and the very edge of the sun was coming over the horizon, I heard a car pull up. A quick glance showed me it was a policeman. I was in a park and the park didn’t open until 8, which I hadn’t even considered, so I kept watching until he would make me stop. He ran up to me and said, “Is it there yet?” I figured I was safe after all. “Not quite, but should be along.” The officer was excited. “Oh man, let me see, too!” I knew our county was cheap, but you would think they would equip the cops with binoculars. But just then the sun rose above the rim of the earth. Right there I could see a tiny black dot speeding across that tiny sliver of sun. “There it is!” I watched for a few seconds, then handed the glasses to the anxious officer. “Wow,” he breathed. I started into my witness. Still looking at the sun even though I couldn’t see the planet, I said, “Yes, it is amazing how God put the earth and universe in motion all those eons ago. His plan is so perfect for all the cosmos, and His plan is perfect for you, officer.” At that point, I heard a door slam. I turned to see the officer starting his car and leaving in a hurry. I hadn’t heard his radio squawk, so I suppose he was getting away from the religious kook. He had laid the binoculars on the top of a post as he had hurried away. I had to laugh as retrieved the glasses and went on my way.

          Pay attention to the event today, but remember that it is not a sign of doom. It is a glorious sign that this is our Father’s world.

Blessings!  

       

         

          Walking down the hall of a local, small town hospital. Two men, one wearing a tie with his slacks and shirt and the other a suit,  meet walking in different directions.

          “Bob, how are you?” Good, Larry, how are you?” “Doing pretty well. I’m up here to see Gladys Bittner. What about you?” “Naomi Price. She’s had a slight stroke. She’s going to be fine, I understand, but I just wanted to pop in.” “Sure. Need to do that. Hey, meet me in the cafeteria in about 45 minutes and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” “Hey, free coffee? I’ll be there!” The two move on. A couple of doors further down another man, also in a suit, steps out of a room.

          “Skip, what brings you out on a rainy day?” “Hey, Larry. Curtis Prine is back in. This looks like it might be day.” “Oh, man, how is Esther doing?” “Well, you know, she was expecting it, but now that it’s really here it is pretty rough on her.” “Oh, my, she’s had a hard way to go. Hey, if you need a break, Bob and I are meeting in the cafeteria in 45 minutes. I’m buying the coffee.” “Thanks, but no. I need to stay here with Esther. Her kids are on the way.” “Alright, buddy, we’ll talk later.”

          A little over an hour later, Bob and Larry step into the room. Skip rises to meet them and they go over to give Esther a hug. Then, with Skip on Curtis’ right hand and Larry on the left and Bob at the foot of the bed, the three men join hands and pray over the dying man. A Lutheran pastor, a Baptist pastor and a non-denominal pastor praying over a Godly Lutheran man, who would soon see the Lord. 2002, Geneva Memorial Hospital, Geneva, Ohio.

          Funny how things change. Just fifteen years ago. The change had already started, but Bob and Skip and I were from a different era, I suppose. Now they are both retired. Bob has just lost his wife, Judy, of 47 years and has moved to Florida. Skip and his wife are living in Rio Grande, Ohio, where Rose Marie teaches at Rio Grande College and Skip, apparently, eats breakfast every morning at the original Bob Evans. I no longer run into pastors at hospitals or nursing homes. It just isn’t something pastors do anymore, I guess. It saddens me.

          For the nine years I worked at the funeral home I made many house calls when someone died at home. It was part of what I was hired to do. A person folks recognize as a pastor walking into your home at such a moment can be a great comfort. I was hesitant at first, not because I didn’t want to go to the homes, but because I didn’t want to offend any pastor. Some pastors, oddly, take offense at another pastor visiting their flock. But, in those nine years, in all of the house calls I made at the point of death, I only encountered two pastors. At that traumatic time. I can’t understand it.

          I mention this now because of a rich blessing I received just last night. This week I have been visiting Sonny Lawson in the hospital. Brenda Ead’s Dad. He is slipping away. He and his wife are wonderful Christian folks who raised their kids in the way of the Lord and always had them in church. They have seen their grandkids come along and now they have 35 great grandkids. They have a musical family and have sung for years and years the great Gospel songs. A magnificent saint of God, getting ready to go Home. I am not his pastor. I don’t really know him that well. But his own pastor doesn’t visit much in that situation. Last Sunday evening, Brenda got hold of me and asked if I could come to the hospital and pray with the family. Dad was getting close. Marsha and I went to the hospital and had that time of prayer. Just to show everyone who was still boss, he rallied and got pretty good over the next few days, even shaving himself one day. But, it turned and he started the slide. Late last night, Brenda texted me an update. Could be any time. I put on my shoes and went up to the hospital. In the darkened room, surrounded by family, I prayed with him again. I haven’t heard yet this morning how he is or even if he is still here, but last night I was overwhelmed with the feeling that in just a short time he was going to be conversing with the Savior. To me, there is no other feeling quite as amazing as being with someone who will soon be with Jesus. Why would anyone pass on it?

          I’ve heard some of the reasons. It’s depressing. It’s time consuming. It is not what I do. There are many others and I refuse to judge. But I still don’t understand.

          A Ministry professor started asking random fellows in his class one day what they wanted to do in the ministry. The answers were pretty standard. Some wanted to build a large church, a few wanted a radio or TV ministry, all, it seemed, wanted to make a great impact. “Well,” the professor said. “You may as well all get out of ministry right now. The word ‘ministry’ means to serve and care. What you all want to do is called ‘being the boss and soaking up fame.” It is true, someone with a heart for ministry wants to minister.

I haven’t been able to that as much here as I would like.  Last October I had my first severe chest pain. For a variety of reason, it was April before I had my by-pass. A month and a half after that I rolled my car over. I am improving, but my chest, from the surgery and then the seatbelt yanking before it was healed, still hurts when I do very much. My ribs still hurt some, too, especially when I sneeze of cough. I have not been able to visit like I want to, but I still plug along. But there is a joy in being a pastor that cannot be explained. I never wanted to be anything else and I thank you for letting me be your pastor.

I think of Sonny Lawson. He is not an ordained minister, but he has been a faithful servant for a long time. Soon he will go home, if he hasn’t already, and that will be a great day! Let’s all minister and serve together.

         

          Forty two years. That is how long Marsha and I have been married as of today, August 16, 2017. What do you do to commemorate forty two years? Especially since Marsha’s birthday was just four days ago. Early in our marriage I made the mistake of getting her a birthday/anniversary gift. It seemed so obvious to me; only four days difference, just get one nice gift. I found out fairly quickly that I was making a mistake. The birthday and the anniversary could be on the same day, it would still have to be two separate gifts. So, the question is the same; what do you do to commemorate forty two years?

          Get her something she really wants? Marsha has come to that point in her life when her wants are few. It hasn’t always been this way. It might be jewelry or it might be clothes or it might be a really cool vacation or it might be whatever. But that rarely worked out. August would come along and school clothes had to be bought for our son and school fees had to be paid and the summer was winding down and there were always a ton of things happening at the church and, well, it was usually hot and miserable and all we really wanted was to be cool. By the time our son’s school years were over the want of things had waned. As for clothes, I have found that for women’s clothes, August means winter clothes. (Maybe for men, too, but I don’t buy clothes.) No matter how nice the article of clothing, it is something for winter given in August, which is kind of gross. I know I could think of something in, say, April, but it is enough to think about our August anniversary by her August birthday. Cool vacation? Who has money for a cool vacation? School clothes, school fees, tons of things happening at the church. Turns out, August is not the best time for an anniversary.

          Looking back over the forty one anniversaries that have preceded this one, I can’t recall any that have been particularly memorable. Christmases are memorable. Some birthdays stand out. Mother’s days are very special. We even have just because days. But somehow, anniversaries have just come and gone with good intentions and hot days. Marsha would probably disagree. She tends to remember these things better than I do. The only one I really recall was our second. Marsha wanted to do something really special, so we went to Quail Hollow, which is a really nice restaurant in Ohio. Dinner and dancing. The dinner part was nice but the dancing part…….I can’t dance. It is not that I don’t want to dance. I cannot dance. To dance requires a little rhythm. I have no rhythm. I have no grace. I cannot be taught. I can’t dance. So, our second anniversary, I am dancing with my wife. People are clearing out of the way, the band can hardly play because they are laughing so hard and I am practically breaking Marsha’s feet by stepping on them. Yes, that is a wonderful anniversary memory.

          But, really, what is an anniversary? Isn’t it a day when we remember a marriage and the years that have gone before? If that is so, then the Mrs. and I have some stirring memories to relive on our anniversaries. Memories from the whole year, not just from the anniversary day itself.

          Danger? Caught out in a small car as daylight turned to dark in a flash and hail pounded on the roof so loud we couldn’t converse. Little did we know that the cars racing toward us and blowing their horns as they passed were trying to out run a whirlwind along the shores of Lake Erie. Made the heart pound. Pne night we drove a little girl who had been sexually molested across the state of Florida in the middle of the night to safety while Marsha watched out the back window for pursuit. We have had our home hit by gunfire. We have had danger. One night we were visiting with my mother and her husband and telling some stories and they just sat there and stared. They thought we had lived a quiet, ministerial life.

          Worry? The worries we all have about our sick child or our sick parents, certainly, but because of the ministry we have had the worries of the other folks in the church, as well. There was the Christmas day when one of our members died while on vacation. Her husband called me about every hour to give me updates, right up to her death around 6 PM. Marsha’s worry when I would get called out at night. We deal with worry better than most because we have had much.

          Joys? Oh, gracious yes. Personal joys for sure, but joys in the ministry, as well. Marsha and I have made each other laugh for 42 years. I have often wondered what people think who see us laughing in the car as they drive past. At a wedding reception once we discovered that our son is even more rhythm challenged than I am as he a couple of other preteen kids went out on the floor to dance. One teen brought her prom date to our house for a visit. I don’t know why she brought him to the house the night of the prom, but I do know the boy was very uncomfortable and I also know I kind of freaked him out by just staring at him.

          Our forty two years have been filled with living. Maybe we can’t look back to wonderful anniversary days, but we can look back to wonderful years together. I once was reading a novel about the old west. A man had met an unusual woman who seemed to complete him. Near the end of the book he thought to himself, ‘this is a woman I can walk the trail with.’ I have thought about that line a lot. Someone you can depend on, someone who will make your life better, someone who has your back.

          We will do something today. It won’t be something most people would consider worthy of an anniversary, but it will be our thing. I think of when our son got married, five years ago next month. The pastor was our daughter-in-law’s pastor and at one point he said something that startled me a bit. What he said was true of him and true of me, but I just hadn’t thought about it. He said Adam and Kim had good examples for marriage. Her parents had been married 40 years and his had been married 37 years. Then he said, “I cannot tell you how long it has been since I have done a wedding where I can say that, because I don’t remember a time when both sets of parents have given their children such an example.” We didn’t set out to be an example. Forty two years ago we were just two kids in love. We are not kids anymore, but we are still in love.

          As we get older our perspective changes. We see more, we learn more, we begin to understand things in a different way. A young person would think of it as someone selling out and going along with the flow. A dynamic individual who quit trying to reach for the stars and instead has settled for the reflection of the stars in the water. The reality is of this change is, however, called maturity. Maturity sneaks up on you, too. You don’t change your fundamental self, you just begin to change the way you see your objectives.

          I was hugely competitive. Always had been and, truth be told, I still am to a degree. I think most people are competitive to one point or another, even though now there is a concerted effort to take the competitive nature out of kids. Soccer leagues that don’t keep score, everyone gets a trophy, it’s the experience that counts. I have read that competition is bad for children because losing will damage their fragile psyches and winning will make them boastful. If that sort of thing keeps up we are one day going to have an election that the little darlings lose and they will go nuts and riot and scream and cry………oh, right, that happened last November, didn’t it? So, the truth is that competition is good because it helps you to prepare to become an adult in the real world, where there are no safe places to cower in and no relief from reality.

          But competition for me went well beyond my teenage years. Everything was a test, a game. And don’t feel bad for Marsha. We played board games a lot and she would cheat anyway she could. I let her cheat, too, because beating her then was so much sweeter! There does come a point, though, when competition has to cool off some. I had not reached that point.

          Our son, Adam, was 11 years old and had taken an interest in bowling. I loved to bowl. League bowling, bowling with Marsha (when we lived in Miami and before Adam was born we would sometimes go at 2 AM), bowling with friends. If there was no one to bowl with I would go by myself. My opponent then would be just me. Before Adam came along and we actually had extra money, I would go twice a week by myself and bowl ten games each time. It really was the only thing I did for myself. When Adam decided he wanted to bowl, I was all for it.

          It was New Year’s Day of 1993. I was pastoring in Warren, Ohio. Adam wanted to go bowling, so we went. We got to the lanes and there we saw four men from our church. These four guys had all been in the military before Pearl Harbor, since it was one of the few places a man could get a job back in the 1930s. They had fought their way through the South Pacific and had all been on Guam when word came of the Japanese surrender. Back home they all got jobs, raised families and became four of the best church members you ever saw. Now, all retired and growing feeble, these four old friends got together twice a week to bowl. Once, just the four of them and then the second time as a team in a senior’s league. We headed over to say hi and we were quickly invited to bowl with them.

          I really didn’t want to bowl these guys. Old Everett was getting quite feeble. The day after Christmas he had taken a fall at home and still wore the bruises on his face. Bob was so uncoordinated it was kind of funny. I had seen a movie as a kid and there was a soldier in it who was so uncoordinated he once picked up his rifle and put the muzzle to his shoulder and the stock toward the enemy. That was how I imagined Bob during WWII. Ben was actually blind. He could see light and, if he was close enough, forms, but that was all. Lou, a man I had come to love like a father, was in the best shape of all of them, but he was also the oldest. I didn’t want to bowl them and show them up (for I surely would) and I didn’t want Adam to see these four men whom he respected do so poorly.

          But they kept after us and Adam wanted to bowl with them, so I finally said OK. They expressed fear that Adam would blow them away and, when he took a warm-up throw, they acted like he was the best ever. I was really going to hate beating them so badly.

          Everett went first. He tottered up to the line. It looked like he couldn’t get the ball up. But once he toed the line, he looked different. Calm, sure of himself, in control. His approached was perfect. His throw, while lacking power, was right on the mark. Not a strike, but he got his spare. Well, I thought, lucky. Bob was next. He even dropped the ball as he came to the line. But once there, he changed. Not clumsy now. He did get a strike. Ben, the blind man, came up. Lou walked up with him, holding his elbow. He made sure Ben was centered on the line and then he let Ben bowl. Nine pins down. Lou told him what pin was left, centered him on the line and let him bowl. He drilled the solitary pin. Spare. Lou was next and he nailed a strike. Adam came up and left two standing, but to hear those men whoop and holler, you would have thought the boy got a strike on three lanes all at once. I came up and got eight and then picked up the spare.

          As the game went on those four guys gradually pulled ahead. When it was over, Lou and Bob had scores over 200, Everett was in the 180s and Ben had a 179. I remember that because my score was a 177. I felt humiliated. I had done just about as good as I could, yet these ‘old’ men had beaten me. They just bowled the one game because they had already bowled. They packed up and left, wishing us well and a happy new year. Adam and I bowled two more gems with little being said. Finally, we were done and we packed up to leave.

            It was cold and snowy in the parking lot, so we hurried to the car. Once in with motor running Adam said, “Dad, I was really proud of you back there.” I was still smarting from the pasting I had received. I suspected sarcasm. “Oh,” I said, “What do you mean?” “Well, the way you let those guys win.” Surprised, I said, “I didn’t let them win! They were awesome! They beat me!” Adam smirked a little. “Come on, Dad, I’ve seen you bowl. You could have crushed them!” “Son, when was the last time you saw me bowl that well? Mr. Aldrich and Mr. Burns got over 200!” He looked at me in pride. “Sure, when you bowl me you hold back, even bowl left handed sometimes. But you could have wasted those guys.” It didn’t matter what I said, he knew in his heart I could have beaten them.

          I came to realize that day that winning is not always important. Being right is not always the issue. Proving a point can be counter productive. What is really important is love, weather it is the love of a son for his Dad or the love a pastor has for his people or the love we have for others through Christ. And if you love, that is a greater accomplishment than anything competition can give you.

          I related that story at Everett’s funeral. Ben and Lou and Bob were sitting with their wives, but they were all together. It gave them one last laugh together for the four of them.

Could I have beaten those guys? Not a chance.

          Blessings.

         The boy, Norris, was 15 years old. His parents were divorced but still lived in the same town and had joint custody, with his mother being the primary. Basically, he lived with her but the court had set it up so that he could split his time between parents. That would have been the best possible thing for him, except his father rarely exercised his rights. So, the young fellow mostly lived with his Mom, forever disappointed in his father’s lack of care.

          Christmas came and he spent that holiday with his Mom, but his father wanted him for New Year’s. He told his son he was going to do better from now on and he wanted to start the year out right. In fact, he told his son, you can have a New Year’s Eve party at my place. Invite your friends, boys and girls. You can have the basement. No beer or anything like that, but you can party.

          And everything went as planned. He invited boys and girls, the music was loud and everyone was having a great time. It was almost midnight and the kids had mostly paired off. Someone wanted to know where Christy was and everyone started to look around. She wasn’t in the basement. Norris said she had probably gone up stairs and someone else remembered she wanted an aspirin for her headache. Norris took off upstairs looking for Christy.

          The boy couldn’t find her, but he did hear a somewhat strange sound coming from his father’s room. He opened the door and found his father and Christy on the bed. The girl was obviously unconscious and the father was in the process of raping her. Norris yelled for help and ran to pull his father off. The father began to beat his son. While he was doing that two other boys ran in and grabbed Christy and dragged her outside. A girl grabbed a couple of coats to wrap her up in and two more of the boys jumped on Norris’ father to try and help Norris. Another girl called the police. By the time the police got there, followed closely by an ambulance, the father had run off into the night. The temperature was close to zero and it was snowing and he was naked, so the police were able to find him pretty quickly. A naked man running through a neighborhood on a snowy and freezing night draws attention. He was arrested.

          It seems Christy had gone looking for the aspirin. The father had given her two pills and she took them, passing out pretty quickly. The next thing she knew was waking up in the hospital just as daylight was dawning, with no recollection what had happened. Norris was in the same hospital, badly beaten with a broken cheek bone. On the radio, TV and newspaper the kids were all cast as heroes. The police had searched the house and the only alcohol and drugs were the father’s. It was a shocking and disgusting crime.

          I heard about it on New Year’s morning as I got ready to go to work at the funeral home. (Death doesn’t do holidays, so even on holidays there are some active at funeral homes.) The horribleness of the crime took my breath away. I thought about the girl who, even though she remembered nothing and was certainly not at fault, would always be associated with the events of that night. I thought about the son who, again through no fault of his own and who was also not at fault, would always be remembered as the kid whose father went crazy one night. In fact, all of those kids, who had acted so well and bravely, would forever be changed. It made me sick to my stomach. Later that day, the owner of the funeral home, Trevor, came in to work with me for a bit. He had three daughters, the two oldest were twins of eight years old. I had known him a long time and I could see the signs of anger in the way he carried himself. He was thinking about it, imagining if it had been his daughter…….

          The next day it was on the news that the judge had set a bail. Later, it was reported his brother had posted bail and the man was free. This really angered me, and everyone at the funeral home. We were all parents, although my son was grown. We all had strong feelings about it. But, anger or no, we had jobs to do.

          That night, January 2, the evening news reported that the man had gotten home around 3 PM, dug a pistol out of his secret hiding place, put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. A part of me was actually somewhat satisfied. Justice served at no cost to the tax payers. I also thought about his son and how this new development would affect him. But, mostly, I felt that the issue was now closed.

          On the morning of the 3^rd I walked into the funeral home to start my day. Trevor and I shared an office and as I walked in I was a little surprised to see him already at his desk. Not that he was normally late, it was just that I was normally quite early. He had a weary look on his face. I sat in my chair and turned it so I could look at him. “Well…?”  I said.

          He took a deep breath and explained. The night before he had taken a call from the coroner’s office from the county that all of the aforementioned events had occurred in. The family wanted our funeral home to handle the details, quietly. I was a little surprised. Why, I asked. Because the brother lived close to us and they figure if folks didn’t know where the body was, there would be no trouble. Then he told me who the brother was, and I was shocked. I knew the brother, by reputation. He was a rock in his church, the kind of person that churches are judged by. A Godly man whom no one could have ever found fault. I hadn’t connected the last names, probably because it had all happened some distance away.

At that moment in time, we were shorthanded at the funeral home. We wouldn’t get the body of the deceased until late that day or early the next, depending on when the autopsy was completed. The family was coming in the next morning to make arrangements and to view the body. After that he would be cremated. At our funeral home, even that viewing before cremation was important, and we would make the deceased look as good as we could so the family wouldn’t have a negative memory. There would be no embalming. If we received the deceased that afternoon or evening, Trevor would prepare him for viewing. If it was the next morning, it would be my job since Trevor would be meeting with the family. We both had intense feelings about this situation, and I am sure we both wanted the other to have to do the preparation.

          The deceased came in early the next morning. I won’t go into detail, but a bullet to the head does frightful things. The skull had to be reconstructed and the wound hidden somehow. Usually by hair, but in this case, he was one of those who shaved his head. I finished and dressed him and got him on the gurney. My emotions were so intense my hands were shaking. I couldn’t tell you now what my emotions were, actually. I was just on edge.

          I took off the gloves and apron I had been wearing, put my tie on and my suit coat and put the deceased on the elevator and ran him up to the funeral home level. I went up the stairs, pulled him off the elevator and put him in position. I quickly put the blanket on him, with the idea of clearing out before Trevor and the brother got there. But in this, I failed. Just as I finished I heard the door open. There was no way I could gracefully exit. The family and Trevor came in.

          The wife of the brother came in first, followed by the brother. Then, a young fellow whose face was swollen and bruised with some of the worst bruising I had ever seen. Of course, this was Norris. All three were in tears.

          It seemed that God had just hit me with a baseball bat. For all this man’s evil, for all his sins, he was loved. He was loved by the brother he had grown up with, the woman who had entered his life by marriage but who had become like a sister, and a son, who had wanted a loving relationship with his father, his Dad, but had never gotten it. Now, I felt sick again. Not because of the evil this man had committed, but because of the sudden realization that he had also been loved by the Lord Jesus Christ, so much so that Jesus had willingly died for him. And here I was, for the past several days, having nothing but loathing for this man and despising the fact that I had to deal with his body. I felt an overwhelming rush of shame. I looked at Trevor and I saw his struggle as well. We were both fighting to hold back the tears.

          Trevor introduced me as Rev. Larry Wade. The brother knew me by reputation, as well. He thanked me for coming (not knowing my place at the funeral home) since his own pastor couldn’t make it. I learned later that even though this was the only showing, essentially the only ‘funeral,’ he refused to come. The three family members gathered around the gurney and shared some words together. The brother talked about growing up with a little brother he always had to protect. The son talked about one particular fishing trip, which was likely the only one. The sister-in-law just cried and held onto her nephew and husband.

          Something that people tend to forget is that funeral home personnel also have feelings and emotions. Sometimes people will be offended when they see someone from the funeral home laugh at something during a solemn moment, but most people have to build a wall to shield themselves from the daily pain of other’s suffering. But on this day, there were no walls. Emotions were too high. I am pretty certain that my boss, also a Christian man, was going through the same revelation I was dealing with. It was agony.

          The brother finally stepped away and turned to me. “Pastor Wade, if you could say a few words, I’d appreciate it.” Well, of course. He didn’t know I had just worked for a couple of hours to make his brother presentable and that I had rushed to get him in place, hoping I could escape the room. As far as this Christian man knew, I was there as Pastor Wade. I looked him in the eye and said, “Sure, Bill.” Appropriate Scripture flowed into my mind, which was really good since my Bible was still downstairs in the prep area. The words I spoke came naturally and sincerely. It was a sublime moment, a moment when God spoke through me. Inside I was quaking with emotion, on the outside I was exactly what I had been for decades; Pastor Wade. Amazing.

As the family was leaving, the brother and sister-in-law spoke nice words to me. Then, Norris stepped up to me. “Thank you, sir.” It was all he could manage. All he had experienced the last few days. He was spent and in physical and emotional pain, but he still managed to mumble his thanks through that battered face. Then, Trevor was stepping past me. Actually young enough to be my son, he put his arm on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. No words were passed between us.

          I have never shared that story with anyone. I have always been ashamed of my feelings. Don’t let your emotions grab you and make you think and act in an unChristian manner. A person may act in a deplorable fashion, in a way that is beyond comprehension, but they are loved by someone and they are loved, above all else, by Christ.

          Blessings.