It is a chilly day in Ohio. I stand by the front door of the funeral home, waiting for the family to arrive. The funeral director handling this funeral will be there in a bit, but because I know this family, I meet them and get them settled. I had been in their home at 1:30 that morning. The aged mother had passed away at home under Hospice care and I had gone with one of our men to retrieve her body. As my partner prepared the lady for transport, I sat down with the two daughters and son and made an appointment for them to come to the funeral home in the morning to make final arrangements. I prayed with them and then we transported their Mom to the funeral home.

          So, now I watch three cars pull up. The two daughters and their husbands, the son and his wife and assorted grandkids, all adults. One of our staff hurries to get more chairs. As they enter there are hugs and handshakes and introductions. Another of our staff takes coffee and tea orders and hurries off to prepare the drinks. I walk the folks to the table and we sit down. The family is quiet, feeling their grief. I pull out a notebook and start to ask questions. Some of these things will be in the obituary, but my real purpose is to cut through grief and fatigue and get them to talk.

          It starts slowly. What was Mom’s maiden name? Siblings’ names? I ask about family events, not because it will wind up in the obit, but because I want them to talk. The son, the oldest, tells a story about a long ago family reunion. That leads to a story from one of the sisters. One of the grandchildren speaks up and shares a tale about how grandma covered up his misdeed so he wouldn’t get in trouble. The older adults stare; it was something they didn’t know. Another grandchild tells her own story about gram’s complicity. Pretty soon there is laughter and stories and smiles. The lady who made the coffee and tea also brought cookies, and in a short while coffee and cookies are gone. Finally, the son of the deceased lady sits his cup down and looks at me. “OK, now what do we do?”

          He was talking about the funeral proceedings, but it could also have been a question about their family’s lives. It was a question that had to be asked. There is comfort, even peace, in the stories. The memories flow and those memories tend to be good memories. In this case, the long months of watching a loved one slowly slip away was, for a brief time, supplanted by the memories of her life. They were reminded that while they were fighting with an enemy called grief, that fight was preceded with a friend called love and love was greater than grief. Still, the question had to be asked. Now what do we do?

          The church I pastor is entering into a new phase. Literally, a monumental change. One that, even though it has always been recognized as necessary, will also be accompanied by grief. Stories of past times have been coming forth, and they are good tales. But the question is out there. Now what do we do? We have taken this great step of faith, but what lies beyond? There are many who read this blog who are not affiliate with our church here in Indiana. However, your life is still changing. Maybe a death, maybe a coming birth, maybe a move or a new direction in life. If nothing else, there is a new year to deal with starting in just a few days. It is not natural for any life to stop and become stagnant. There is always something that is presenting a challenge. Sometimes there is overwhelming sadness linked with the challenge, sometimes joy and happiness, sometimes uncertainty and maybe even a little fear. Every challenge brings change and every change brings the question. Now what do we do?

          What did Adam and Eve do when they made their devastating mistake and ushered sin into the world? After the dust had settled and their lives had been totally changed, they went on with the mission the Lord had given them. What did David do when he failed and became guilty of adultery and murder? After the dust settled and his heart was crushed, he went on with the mission the Lord had given him. What did Peter do after he denied Christ in a feeble attempt to avoid problems for himself? He dealt with his shame and grief and went on with the mission the Lord had given him. The Bible is full of stories of men and women who faced the same kind of issues we all will face this year. The ones who had even a little strength in the Lord rose above it all and went about the mission the Lord given them. In contrast, there are also stories of people who hit the hard place and they abandoned the mission the Lord set before them. For people like Lot and Saul and Ahaz and Ananias and Sapphira, it did not end well.

          What do we do now? Is our challenge insurmountable? Are all we have left to us is fond memories? What is marriage going to mean, or a baby? How can I see beyond the crisis that now floods my life? How do we deal with missing Mom or Dad or child or husband or wife? How can I set about finding the mission that God has for me in the midst of all this chaos?

          What do we do now? We start each day with prayer. No, you don’t feel like praying, but you must. If you have accepted Christ as Savior you have to understand He has the answer. You have to set some time aside each day to read the Bible. That is where the answers lie. Don’t try to find verses that specifically speak to your situation, but read and explore the mind of God. And, we must continue to serve. Isaiah 40:28-31 says this; Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait on the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. We like that idea of waiting for God to renew us and strengthen us, but word ‘wait’ is used in almost all English translations, yet it doesn’t mean ‘wait’ as in ‘waiting for a ride.’ It means ‘wait’ as in a waiter of waitress who serves us in a restaurant. The Hebrew word is ‘qavah’ and means to actively serve. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t rest or back away. Even Jesus tried to find solitude. But when the time came to get back at it, Jesus was there, calming the sea.

          What do we do now? I look at the man who had just asked the question. “Well, Chris, now we need to put this thing together in a way that will honor your mother.” And we get down to the business of why we are together at the funeral home.

          What do you do now? Remember the past, but don’t live there. Move forward in the Lord. Be led, be guided, be faithful.

          What do we do now? I think we know.

          One of the truly great hymn writers in American history was Philip Bliss. American church music was mostly English church music in the 1700s and 1800s. Then, some writers came along and began writing music that reflected the American Christian experience. Fanny Crosby and Philip Bliss were two of the best and these two collaborated many times. Crosby wasn’t much at writing the actual music, but was wonderful at writing the words. Bliss wrote the music for many of her songs. But he was also very good with words. One of his lesser known works is one of my favorites.

The Light of the World is Jesus

The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Like sunshine at noonday, His glory shone in;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Chorus
Come to the light, ’tis shining for thee;
Sweetly the light has dawned upon me;
Once I was blind, but now I can see:
The Light of the world is Jesus!

No darkness have we who in Jesus abide;
The Light of the world is Jesus!
We walk in the light when we follow our Guide!
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Ye dwellers in darkness with sin-blinded eyes,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Go, wash at His bidding, and light will arise;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

No need of the sunlight in Heaven we’re told;
The Light of the world is Jesus!
The Lamb is the Light in the city of gold,
The Light of the world is Jesus!

          Now a lot of people would look at that and say, “What is the big deal?” A worthy question, and in that is our story.

          A week before Christmas, 1984. Do you remember where you were or what you were doing? I do. Seminary. Pastoring a small country church in the Panhandle of Florida. Working full time at a Firestone just off I-10. The third Tuesday evening of each month our local association of our denomination had a pastor’s meeting. So, the week before Christmas, 1984 found me at the biggest church in our association for a meeting we didn’t need to have. I seriously did not want to go to this thing. What free time I did have I wanted to spend with my family, but the wife of the pastor of the biggest church in our association had baked a lot of cookies and had prepared a huge plate for each pastor. Of course, I wanted my wife and son to have some cookies for Christmas (I don’t care for them myself). So, I went to the meeting. As a bonus, the pastor gave each of us a nice fruit basket, too. All in all, a nice haul.

          I recall it as a chilly night for Florida. No snow, of course, but in the 30s. The meeting was short but it was still fully dark as we walked out to our cars. We all bid each other a Merry Christmas and off we went. I lived over forty miles away in the deep country, so I fortified myself with a couple of cookies. Nice night for a drive. Big plate of cookies and a fruit basket. I had a smile on my face.

          I had just got on the country road that led home when I met another car. The old cars had the dimmer switch on the floor and you dimmed your bright lights by pressing the switch with your left foot. I did so and the two cars passed. When I pressed the switch again for the brights, the switch went through the rusted floor and broke the wires and clattered to the road. (I drove old cars because that is what I could afford) When that happened, all my lights went out. Headlights, taillights, running lights. Gone. A very dark night on a twisting and turning country road. I couldn’t see a thing.

          I got off to the side of the road. There was no way I could continue. It was cloudy so the moon was only out occasionally. I didn’t travel that road much. Of course, I had no phone. (no cellphones yet) Marsha was going to be worried and I had the cookies and fruit to get home. I helped myself to a cookie and pondered my situation.

          After a bit, car came up behind me. I saw him coming from a long way behind, and when he passed, I could see well down the road because of his headlights. Of course! I would wait for another car, then fall in behind that car and drive with their lights. Piece of cake. Which I did when the next car came along.

          When the car passed me, I could see it was a woman in the glow of her cigarette. It was really pretty easy to follow her if I stayed close enough. But, about a mile into this, she realized there was a car close behind her with no lights on. She picked up speed. I had to pick up speed, too. She went faster. I went faster. Pretty soon she was flying down that road. Having bald tires, I decided to back off and wait for another car. I pulled off, got a cookie and waited.

          It took about ten minutes and a truck came along. Couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman since the driver was not smoking, but I pulled in behind them. Again, it was fine for about a mile, but then the driver realized there was a car there with no lights. Again, we went through the whole speed up thing until I felt I needed to slow down. 70 mph was the limit of that car. At 70 it was shaking so hard the cookies were rattling. I pulled over and waited again.

          There were about eight vehicles that night that had the snot scared out of them. When the moon would come out from the clouds, I would proceed by moonlight. Otherwise, I waited for a passing motorist. It took a long time to get home. When I finally got to the house, every light was on as well as the porch light. I got my plate of cookies and the fruit basket together and trudged to the front door. It had scared Marsha when she saw a darkened car pull in, but then she saw it was me and she was waiting at the front door. “Where have you been? I have been so worried!” So, I set my burdens down and explained. She listened. Her only comment during the story was, “You must have scared those people to death!” When I was finished, she shook her head and sat back. “So, tell me. Why did she give you such a big plate with so few cookies?”

          A week before Christmas in 1984 I needed light. I was looking for light anywhere I could. It was just a fleeting thing, then it was gone. Life was very, very hard on that drive home. In the larger sense, the whole world was in darkness. There needed to be a light in the darkness. Humanity was looking for a light. Wise men to the far east were searching. Old people in their house of worship were searching. Shepherds on a hillside were searching. People everywhere were searching desperately for a light in their own way.

          Then, in a small town crammed with people, a lonely and near panicked couple stumbled into a barn. She was heavy with child. The man walked her to a pile of straw and made her as comfortable as he could. His heart pounding, he had to be wondering how he would pull this delivery off. It really was not his specialty. But they managed. And suddenly, there was a Light born into the world, and everything changed.

The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Like sunshine at noonday, His glory shone in;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Chorus
Come to the light, ’tis shining for thee;
Sweetly the light has dawned upon me;
Once I was blind, but now I can see:
The Light of the world is Jesus!

          Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.

          It was the perfect Christmas. All I really wanted was a dog. A big dog. A dog you could go into the woods with or wrestle with out in the yard. Oh, we had always had dogs. My father’s favorite pastime was coon hunting. He raised his own and also trained dogs for other hunters. I interacted with as many as a dozen dogs a day, depending on how many were chained up out back to dog houses at the time due to training. Since I was the one who brought them food and water, they were always happy to see me. And when I was a very little boy, we had a pet dog named Tiger. He was a little yappy dog that was a family pet. We all loved the little mutt. When he died we were all heartbroken. But he was ours, not mine. Now, I was in sixth grade and I wanted my own dog.

          So, on Christmas morning, there he was. Already big, he was only half grown. A big, happy cur pup. He zeroed in on me and was all over me. We wrestled in the living room, rolled into the dining room and then back into the living room. I took off upstairs to my room to get something and the big goof raced up the steps with me. We wrestled in the hallway, into my sister’s room, back into the hallway and then into my room. Finally, we trooped downstairs and ate breakfast. Then boots, heavy coat, gloves and knit cap, and the dog and I were ready for our first tramp in the woods. My father tossed me a leash and told me that he was still a pup. He needed to learn who was boss. Keep him on a leash for now. Yeah, yeah, OK. I clipped the leash on and as I walked out the door, I grabbed my gun. “Hey, boy!” (My father never called me by name until I was an adult.) “There’s no open season right now.” “Just for protection!” And then we raced out the door. Who knew? Maybe I would have to protect myself against a gang of killer squirrels.

          As soon as we hit the woods, I unleashed the dog. Boom, he was gone. I called for him and called for him, but to no avail. So I tracked him in the snow. After a half hour of that he showed up again, having circled around and coming up behind me. I sat down on a log and took his face in my hands and explained that he had to stick with me until I told him he could go. It was about a five minute lecture and he sat there, his head in my hands and listened to me with the intensity of a young scholar in college drawing knowledge from his professor. When I had finally made my point, I released his head and he turned and bolted through the woods again. Out of sight in seconds. I was eleven years old and disappointed. What does an eleven year old boy who is disappointed and sitting on a log in the woods in the snow with a gun do? Well, he target practices. I couldn’t do that, because it would be a waste of bullets and my father would not be happy. But so what? I spotted a tree some distance away, picked a point on the tree and started banging away. I was breaking all sorts of rules. I had taken my gun for no good reason, I had unleashed the dog, I was wasting bullets, I was shooting a tree (which was a real no-no) and I was shooting at an up angle. We did target practice some, but there was either a hill we were shooting into or we were shooting down. You didn’t shoot up with no backstop. Even a .22 can carry for a mile. But I didn’t care about any of that at the moment. I was an angry boy with a gun and I thought I knew all the answers.

          To my surprise, the shooting brought the dog back. He was extremely interested in the noise. I had a couple of rounds left and as I fired them off I watched the dog. Just a slight, tiny little jerk each time the gun fired. Well, there was hope for the dog yet. Certainly not gun shy. I quickly clipped the leash and headed back toward the house.

          The dog had burned off a lot of energy, so he was content to walk on the leash. As we walked along, I tried to concoct a story to explain my actions. If I hadn’t decided to go to war with that tree and hadn’t fired a single shot, I would be golden. But I had and my father would have heard. Telling the whole story would be disastrous. I know I was thinking pretty hard as we got to the yard.

          We had at least two dozen barn cats. That number went up and down with litters and cats trying to cross the road and all. But as a rule, we had around two dozen. My father didn’t like cats, but he put up with them because they had a purpose around the barns. We were pretty much rodent free. He didn’t even let us name them. (They all had names, of course. I have two sisters.) There was, however, one cat he was quite partial too. On his way out every morning he would feed the little creature and stand there to keep the others away. Suzy-Q. None of the other cats liked her because she got special treatment. If my father was sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard, Suzy-Q was in his lap. No other cats would be around for fear of the man, but Suzy-Q had her place.

          All of a sudden the dog bolted, pulling the leash from my hand. He had spotted Suzy-Q. He was new to the neighborhood, just there since that morning. He had no idea of the cat’s place in the order of things. He just knew that he hated cats. Between Suzy-Q’s screaming and the dog’s barking and growling and my yelling, there was quite a commotion. My father burst through the backdoor and took it all in. He leaped over an embankment that ran along the backdoor to where I stood yelling at the dog. The cat was already in the dog’s mouth and, probably, dead. But my father grabbed my gun and raised it and pulled the trigger. Of course, it was empty. He reversed it, grabbing the barrel, and started beating the dog until the gun broke in half at the point of the chamber. My father was a drinker, to put it lightly, and I had seen violence in him before, but never with this intensity. And, just like that, on a cold Christmas morning, my father lost his cat and I lost my dog and my gun. The fresh snow was a deep red. The perfect Christmas was no more.

          My father taught me many lessons. Most of them were lessons on how not to act, how not to treat people and animals. How not to treat your kids, your son. He also taught me to not like Christmas. The drinking increased starting just after Thanksgiving and escalated all the way through February. Every year, just after Christmas, he would leave for some other woman and would be gone till it was time to get ready to plant. And my mother would let him come home. I never really understood. But many kids grow up that way.

          I have two older sisters. By Christmas my senior year in high school they were both married. The oldest, Cathy, had a baby boy. The next, Debbie, was pregnant. They had their own places and their own lives that Christmas. A couple of years earlier the farm had failed. Even though the failure was due to my father’s drinking, he saw no reason to stop. My mother’s life was miserable and I was not helping, I suppose. A month before I had stepped in to protect my mother, something I hadn’t done before, and I had hurt my father pretty bad. I had accepted Christ the previous summer and I had a hard time dealing with fighting with my father and hurting him. I protected my mother, so that was reason enough to stop him. But I had felt a surge of anger and even hate that I didn’t know had existed. If my mother hadn’t stopped me, I really don’t know what I would have done. He left that night and this Christmas he was not home. I was wrapped in my own guilt and shame. It was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

          Morning came. I woke around 5 AM. Not for the anticipation of gifts. I just wake up at 5 AM. My bed was next to the window. I rolled over and gazed outside. So much on my mind. I wanted to go to college next Fall. But how? I was being recruited for football, so that was my way, but I didn’t want to leave my mother alone. There were lots of jobs to be had, I didn’t have to go to college. The great bust hadn’t hit yet. That is the area of Ohio/Pennsylvania now mockingly called the Rust Belt. Then it was called the Steel Belt. All kinds of jobs. We didn’t know that in a few years they would start leaving. But I was conflicted about a lot of things that Christmas morning. Guilt, confusion, responsibility. As a new Christian I had no real understanding of giving it all over to Him.

          However, looking out that window at a landscape covered in snow, the Lord put into my mind the words I had just heard two days earlier in Church. Surely my eyes were playing tricks, or was it just my imagination? I saw a hillside covered in grass where there had just been a hillside covered in snow. I saw men sitting on the hill and flocks settling down around them. A light from a fire sprang up and I felt strangely peaceful. Then a light surrounded them. A voice! An angel! Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  Amazing really. In my mind the angel spoke in King James English, just like I had heard in church. Anyway, the men leaped up and raced down the hill toward the town. Then, in my imagination, my perspective changed. I was looking down on a small barn. Oddly, the barn looked just like the barn that really was outside my window, except that the snow covered lane was a dusty dirt road and there were buildings and shops there in my mind. The shepherds slid the big door open (Well, the actual barn had a sliding door. How was I supposed to know that they probably had swinging doors?) They raced in and then my perspective changed once more. I was inside the barn, upstairs where baskets and small equipment usually clutter the place. But now, in my imagination, there was loose hay. I was looking down upon a scene that was amazing. A man and a woman and a Baby. Usually, in that barn, there was a tractor and a plow and a disk, but now it was just the man and the woman and the Baby, and then the shepherds.

          My mother called to me and asked me if I was awake. Coffee was on. I called back and told her I would be down in a minute. I tried to recapture the moment, but outside it was just snow and cold. Inside though, in my head, it really was Christmas. The. Best. Christmas. Ever.

          I know. You doubt it was really like that. But for the first time in my life I was looking at the holiday with hope that had nothing to do with gifts. The Lord was new in me and it was incredible. Believe me, it was like that.

          Blessings to you all during this season.

                    “Baby, its Cold Outside.” Written by Frank Loesser in 1944. Loesser was well known as a writer of music for Broadway type musicals. “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” wasn’t for a production at the time it was written. He and his wife sat down on a very cold winter’s night and put the song together. It had popularity for a while, and then it faded. A few years back it was featured in the movie “Elf” and not only regained popularity, but became a Christmas song.

          This year it is gaining more fame because a radio station in Cleveland has pulled it from their Christmas play list because of the suggestive nature of its words. Considering it was written in 1944, the words are really pretty racy. The man has had the young woman (who still lives with Mom and Dad) out on a date and has somehow talked her into coming to his place for a nightcap. She really does want to stay over, but is making all the excuses she can as to why she has to leave. Meanwhile, a winter storm is raging outside. In the end, it is implied that the man won the evening.

          In its way, I suppose, it is kind of a cute song. I never liked it, though. Listening to music is hard enough for me, but when two people are singing at the same time and singing different words, I just can’t take it. I never really thought about it, other than I don’t like it.

          And then, about ten years ago, a friend asked me to listen to a radio station in Cleveland that played Christmas music for 24 hours a day, from midnight Thanksgiving night to midnight Christmas night. There was a short break at the top of each hour for a news capsule and a quick blurb to tell you what local company was sponsoring that hour, and then it was another solid hour of Christmas themed music. My friend had discovered that during the hours of 6 AM to 10 PM, when the stationed played a sacred, or religious, song, it was only music. No words, just music. After 10 and until 6 they would play the songs with the words. It was during this time that I really listened to the words to “Baby, it’s Cold Outside.”

          Two things struck me. One, the words are suggestive. Certainly not like the music that is heard up and down the radio in the present time. Explicit sex, violence, killing, racism and so on. But still, the words don’t evoke a pleasant Christmas holiday. The second thing, the song has nothing to do with Christmas. Why was it included in a 24 hour Christmas play list? I had never seen ‘Elf,’ so I didn’t know of that connection. I was puzzled. (And my friend was right about the sacred music. No words until later at night.)

          So, the current ban of the song on that Cleveland radio station doesn’t really bother me. Except, if there is no real limit on rap music or any other music that gets down right explicit, how can you single out “Baby, it’s Cold Outside?”

          One reason, of course. Someone has had their little feelings hurt. Someone is offended. I know of a group of Christians scattered across the country who have been protesting with cards and letters to stations around the nation about certain rap songs. That has done no good. The stations’ management know that these people will not buy the products they advertise with their music, so they ignore the protests. But, give a station an opportunity to ban something they think might increase sales, they are on it.

          This morning on the FOX online news, I read about a principle of an elementary school in Nebraska who has banned her teachers from decorating their classrooms with Christmas themed ornaments. Her thinking is that it will offend the students who do not celebrate Christmas. Apparently, the school does not share her zeal. She has been placed on leave. But before that, she sent out notification that said themes like sledding and warm clothes and the character ‘Olaf’ from the movie “Frozen” (another movie I have missed) are OK. But, decorations and themes that included Santa, Christmas trees, reindeer, green and red colored items and even candy canes. The reason sacred stuff wasn’t included was because the Supreme Court and the ACLU took care of that years ago. However, her thinking on candy canes is religious, albeit a little skewed. The principle says that the cane is shaped like a ‘J’ and that stands for Jesus, and the red stands for His blood and the white for His resurrection. The school says that Santa, Christmas trees, reindeer, green and red colored items and even candy canes are secular emblems and can be used for teaching. That sounds like someone straddling the fence. Can be used for teaching.

          When I was growing up, we had a Jewish family in our town. Very small town. Urbana’s Post Office is much bigger than our Post Office was then. We had more churches. Two Baptist, one Methodist, one Christian and one Catholic. Of course, our Jewish family did not attend any of those. They would leave Saturday morning and come back on Saturday afternoon. I have no idea where they went to synagogue. When the Jewish holidays came around the mother would send in holiday appropriate treats with her kids, and we all enjoyed. When it was Christmas time and there were treats for the kids, the Jewish kids also enjoyed. No one’s feelings were hurt, no child felt threatened, no one’s little minds were corrupted. It was all fine. Now the concern is offending someone.

          So, they have banned “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” from the airways. Can “Silent Night” be far behind? Or even “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer?” “Silent Night” talks about Jesus, and you can’t have that. “Rudolf” talks about bullying, and we can’t have that. Mercy, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” pushes elderly abuse, and we can’t have that. Bit by bit, our right to even have a traditional, enjoyable holiday is going away.

            82,000,000 people (give or take a dozen either way) in the United States identify themselves as Evangelical Christians. Should that great hoard of people organize and seek to overturn the oppressors? There are another 65,500,000 Roman Catholics (give or take a dozen either way) in the country. They would join with us! We could end this! Except, we are still outnumbered. And, to be honest, this is our fault. As Christians, we are to share the Story. Prophesied 4,000 years before His birth. Born of a virgin. Lived a perfect and sinless life. Died as our sacrifice on a bloody Cross on a hot hill in a dusty city. Buried in a tomb and sealed up against someone stealing His body. Rising again and going to live at the Father’s dwelling place, giving us a plan of salvation. Do we tell the story? If we had been telling the story, prayer would not be out of school. Nativities would be part of the decorations in third grade classrooms. Our rights would be secure. But we quit telling the story. We find it more exciting to march on Washington to oppose abortion. It is more satisfying to get upset at “Happy Holidays.” We want to be up front with everything, except for sharing the great Gospel of Christ.

          82,000,000 on a picket line would be an impressive TV clip. 82,000,000, in their churches and in their homes, on their knees seeking God in every aspect of their lives and 82,000,000 sharing the Gospel of Christ would change the world.

          “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” is a silly song. People are standing up for it, though. Here, though, is a song and an attitude worth the effort of living up too.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, Ye soldiers of the cross;
Lift high his royal banner, It must not suffer loss.
From victory unto victory His army shall he lead,
Till every foe is vanquished, And Christ is Lord indeed.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, Stand in his strength alone;
The arm of flesh will fail you, Ye dare not trust your own.
Put on the gospel armor, Each piece put on with prayer;
Where duty calls or danger, Be never wanting there.

                     Stand up, stand up for Jesus, The strife will not be long;
                      This day the noise of battle, The next the victor's song.
                        To those who vanquish evil A crown of life shall be;
                          They with the King of Glory Shall reign eternally.

          It is kettle time. You are going to Wal-Mart or maybe Jefferson Point in Ft. Wayne or some other chopping complex somewhere. There is a Salvation Army kettle set up outside and someone, all bundled up against the cold, ringing a bell to draw attention to the kettle. As you walk into the store, or as you walk out, you have this guilt feeling urging you to toss some money into the kettle. It is as much a part of Christmas as lights and decorations. You feel sorry for the bell ringer because it is cold. (In Miami they wore their Salvation Army uniform and sweated up a storm.) You know the money will go for good and, maybe, you want your child or grandchild that is with you to see you are generous. So, you toss in a few bucks and smile and then you have this slight feeling that you have been used.

          Personally, I like to find a place out of the way to stand and watch the people as they pass. Some are enthusiastic contributors, putting money in and then talking a bit to the bell ringer. Others try to slip by, but the bell ringer speaks to them, usually just wishing them a Merry Christmas, and they stop and grudgingly reach into their pocket or purse and pull out a little money.

          The kettle, nationwide, will bring in around $136,000,000 this year. The Red Kettle Drive goes from the last week in November to Christmas Eve. Throughout the year they have other ways to draw money through donations. Corporate sponsors, thrift stores and regular donations, just to name a few. Most of that money goes into programs to help folks who need help and it assists in a variety of ways. Many of their people are volunteers throughout the system. The officers (they are actually organized along the lines of a military army) do draw salaries, but those salaries are far from extravagant. The foot soldiers who draw salaries are paid even less. The money they bring in, mostly, works its way back into the community.

          Having said that, I have to say that you will never see me giving money to the Salvation Army.

          Why?

          Well, first, they are actually a church. They are an international organization but they are also a church with congregations in urban areas. I have no problem with them being a church, but I already give to a church, both in tithe and offering. Certainly, the church I give to cannot generate $136,000,000 in a month and the church I give to does not have the far reaching affect the Salvation Army has, but it is the church I belong to and when I choose to give to charity, I give through my church. If I want to give to another group, be it a mission organization or a food kitchen or whatever, I will know exactly to what I am giving. I also do not give to large religious organizations or ministries because I do not know for sure where the money goes. With my church I not only know where the money goes, but as a member, I also have a say. Also, I know what my church believes. The Salvation Army has a different theological view than I do. Nothing big or dramatic, but I wouldn’t support any other church with those theological beliefs, so I will not support the Army, either.

          Secondly, I will not give to the Army because they support organizations I do not want the money I donate to support. Primarily, the United Way. The United Way does a lot of good, but there are aspects of the Way that I find disgusting. I am not one to weigh the good against the bad. I don’t have to weigh the good against the bad. I give to my own church.

          I always felt I was weird about this (I am weird about a lot of things, so I never know when I am unusually weird) until one year in Ohio. The local Rotary Club had a kettle location they manned every year. One year they thought it would add to their donations if the members of the various churches saw their pastors ringing the bell. So, they asked for a meeting of the pastors and presented their idea. The pastors in that town were a fun loving bunch and we enjoyed doing things for the community and we enjoyed doing things together. To my surprise, there was not a single pastor who volunteered. It just wasn’t something they were going to do. So, I am not the only one.

          Understand, I am not telling you to do as I do. Each person has to respond as they see fit. There are a lot of charitable organizations out there you can give to, so you need to be sure you research each one. Some organizations give only a few cents out of every dollar they collect to go into their programs. The Army is not one of those. But there are other aspects to examine, as well. I am telling you this in case you see me walking past the kettle. I will speak to the bell ringer and I appreciate the effort made, but I won’t feel guilty. And you shouldn’t feel guilty, either. I give to a church I feel good about and where I know how the money s spent. And that is the command of te Lord.     

          It is, as I write this, six AM on Wednesday morning, November 14, 2018. This is, altogether, the hardest morning of my life. I had thought that the morning in the hospital following my by-pass could never be eclipsed. I thought my hospital room was in an airplane and the airplane was streaking straight into the ground. But this morning is far worse. It is real, not drug induced. And, even if that other dream had been real and we would have crashed, at least it would have been over. This morning, and all the mornings too follow, will be met with the same crushing realization.

This morning, at 5:30, Marsha drove out of our driveway. She has left me. No yelling, no screaming, no accusations. That is not the way we have ever done things. This was not done suddenly, but over a period of three months. Marsha’s desire, not mine, but no fussing or arguing. Sunday, we went to Marion for lunch. Monday, we did Chinese in Huntington. Lots of talking, but that is normal for us. These conversations were hardly normal, but if you had been casually observing us for the last several months, you would not have seen anything alarming.

In the middle of August, I noticed a change. Marsha has never been able to hide her feelings. She has always thought that she has this great poker face, which has always been funny to me. So, I noticed a change. I asked if everything was OK and I was assured that everything was fine. I have always felt that everyone is entitled to their privacy. However, I was alerted. Vacation came and we went to Ohio. It was an OK kind of vacation. Not great, not awful. There was a cloud. A few days after we got home, Marsha told me she wanted to leave. My first thought was that her medicines might be affecting her. I got her to go to the doctor. He felt she needed counseling, so she was sent to counseling. Weeks, nothing changed. Marsha just wanted, even needed, to leave.

At one time I was a member of the American Association of Christian Counselors. I do know a lot about the human psyche and I know a lot about Marsha. It would have been wrong for me to have tried to counsel her, but I believe I can go back to the beginning of this problem.

First, ministry is very hard on families. People on the outside looking in rarely see the struggle. Ministry families are human. They have all the regular stresses regular families have. But they also have other stresses. Every problem someone has becomes the pastor’s problem, as well. That is why we are here, but it can create tensions and stress. Usually, the pastor can deal with it, but knowing her husband is struggling affects the wife. If the church is having problems, it is the pastor’s fault. When I worked with churches in crisis, almost every church I talked to had issues with former pastors. I would explain that after you have had five or six ‘bad’ pastors, the reality was probably that the issues were actually the congregations rather than the pastor, they were just blaming their pastors. It didn’t go over well, but it was true. So, the pastor is to blame. The pastor is often considered the ‘hired help’ and that is transmitted to the rest of the family. The first time Marsha heard one of the men in our Ohio church say to our young son, “You are the pastor’s son! You need to set the example!” she came unglued. He and another boy were running in the church. The people were mostly out and they were coming to me to ask permission to do something. Just like any other kid. But he was different. And Marsha. She was never just Marsha, one of women in the church. She was Marsha, the pastor’s wife. She was expected to act different, cook better and always have a wonderful attitude. Other women would complain to her about this or that, fully expecting her to tell me their complaints. When the pastor was being blamed for the church’s short comings, the pastor’s wife was expected to keep quiet. There is more, but you get the idea. Pressures and stresses for the wife that no one thinks about. Toss in Marsha’s health issues, it has not always been pleasant. Here, in Indiana, she has felt more at home than at any other time in ministry. But these things build up over time. Still, there is another issue.

The church I pastored in Ohio for eleven years was having an ongoing situation with their denomination when we got there, very much like the issue the Yoke had with their denominations a few years ago. In this case, I lost my retirement. Men have a different thought process than women. I went away with the assurance the Lord would provide. Marsha did, too, but not with the same conviction. Still, that was almost twenty years ago. You don’t let it eat at you when you are young. For all these years I have taken care of situations, challenges and major bumps. Of course I would handle the retirement problem.

But then I was in that hospital bed on that plane that was heading for the ground at supersonic speed, screaming into the night. Marsha had never seen me like that. Then, as I recovered, I was feeble, struggling to get around. Marsha had never seen me like that, either. Then I passed out and rolled my car over. Still hurts to sneeze or cough deeply. Now it seems that maybe Larry can’t handle these things. All of that has played on Marsha’s mind. Finally, the only recourse she sees is home.

I know it doesn’t make sense. However, Marsha is not your regular person. I talked about men and women being wired differently. Well, Marsha is wired even more differently. Our son asked me once how I could follow her reasoning on things. “How do you do it, Dad?” That was asked with awe in his voice. I guess I just know how the wiring runs. I know that there are 110 plugs that are wired for 220, and the other way around. Like I say, I know how the wiring runs.

There are, as you might suspect, another couple of issues. Marsha deserves what everyone else deserves; privacy. You might ask the question about reconciliation. That is so unlikely as to be almost impossible. Again, it has to do with the wiring. The stresses over the years have taken their toll. A man in our church in Ohio once asked Marsha how she put up with the scraps. She looked at him with confusion and so he explained that everyone needed me, so all she had left were the scraps. That was just before he and his wife went to Florida for the winter. On Christmas day I spent several hours, something like six hours, on the phone with this man as he gave me live updates of his wife’s agonizing death. He needed me, he truly did need me. He never considered the ‘scraps’ he was leaving for Marsha on Christmas day. All of that adds up.

There are other ramifications that will more directly affect the church.   

In 1 Timothy 3:1-5 we have the real qualifications for a pastor. The word ‘pastor’ is not used, but it is only used in two or three places in Scripture. But in this passage, it speaks of the one who has the responsibility of seeing to the church. Thus, the ‘pastor’ in our understanding. There are those who would disagree and say that this doesn’t apply, but if this doesn’t apply to jus today, then nothing applies. 1 Timothy 3:1-5 reads---The saying is trustworthy: If anyone aspires to the office of overseer, he desires a noble task. Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God's church?  One whose family has fallen apart is not qualified to pastor. Pretty clear. Some will say that this will pass. Yes, I imagine I will get to the point to where it doesn’t hurt quite so bad or there could always be a reconciliation. If a reconciliation happens, we will see. But that is down the line. This is now.

          I have resigned as pastor to the church Board. February 17, 2019 will be my last Sunday. The Board was extremely gracious to me. It became something of a prayer meeting. They love Marsha and they love me. This is a blow to everyone.

          HOWEVER, THIS IS NOT A TELLING BLOW! This doesn’t even have to a major setback. This church is doing some great things under the leadership of the Lord. When Satan hears the sounds of the pounding hammers and the whine of the saws, when he sees the workmen working hard but laughing and joking, when he sees excitement in the congregation and when he feels the attitude, he is powerless. So, he attacks where he can, where no one is looking and no one expects. And he draws a little blood. But he cannot kill it. Only you, the congregation, can let this new time die on the vine. You are better than that, and you know it. February 17 will probably be the last sermon I ever preach as a pastor, but that doesn’t kill the vision God has for this church. You will move on and you will reach higher heights than you thought possible!

          The word ‘Christian’ was used in the early church as a mockery to believers. Those early believers took the mockery and made it a sign and a name of joy. A pastor pointed out this fact to me forty years ago. “The word changed them. The way I remember it is like this. CHRISTIAN. Take away CHRIST and all you have is IAN. To me that means, without CHRIST, I Am Nothing.” That has always stuck in my mind. You folks have Christ, therefore you have everything, and you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you.

          Blessings.

          Late 1980s. Pastoring a church in Warren, Ohio. One of our older ladies was at the grocery store and she ran into someone she hadn’t seen in years. In the conversation she invited the other lady to visit our church. Since it was a Community church the other lady had no quick way to reference what we believed. We were not Baptist or Methodist or Church of God or anything else she might recognize. She asked our lady, “What do you folks believe?” Our lady told her, “Whatever our Pastor tells us to believe.” Not surprisingly, the lady never came to visit. When our lady told me the story, I came halfway unglued. Our lady thought she was paying me a compliment, but the reality was that she was telling the other woman that they were pretty much mindless and couldn’t figure it out for themselves.

          What is the problem in thinking for one’s self? Why are people so easily moved by the words of someone else? God gave us minds, we need to use those minds and come to our own conclusion. Obviously, I believe I am right in all my opinions. That statement is not meant to be funny. I believe I am right, but I have not come to these notions by listening to others. I do my homework.

          This week I read an article about a dire warning delivered by an actor named James Cromwell. I have no idea who Mr. Cromwell is. The article listed his biggest movies, which I have not seen. I have heard of two, but I haven’t seen them. He must be a good actor, though, because he was receiving an award when he made this statement. “This is nascent fascism. We always had a turnkey, totalitarian state — all we needed was an excuse, and all the institutions were in place to turn this into pure fascism,” Cromwell said. “If we don’t stop [President Trump] now, then we will have a revolution for real. Then there will be blood in the streets.” I haven’t heard of him as a political type, either, so I don’t really know his qualification to make such remarks. But I do know he used some big words, the same kind of words I hear on the radio occasionally in relation to the conservative movement. The way in which these people always use these big words irritates me, because they clearly have no idea what the big words mean. They are just parroting what they have heard.

          Mr. Cromwell, during his acceptance speech, was attacking the conservative movement about the upcoming midterms. The first thing I thought as I read the article was he said there would be blood in the streets, as in there would be a real revolution. Does he mean he will lead the charge up Pennsylvania Avenue where the president lives? Will he take up arms to back up his fiery words? Or will he cower in his home and watch the revolution unfold on TV? But then I looked at his words and marveled at the news outlets that think this drivel is important enough to print. “This is nascent (The word ‘nascent’ means having recently come into existence, as in being born) fascism (‘Fascism’ is a political movement that is a belief that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition. This is how Webster’s dictionary describes it. What he is saying is that Conservatism is the new fascism. Since real fascism is everything the liberal agenda is pushing, new fascism cannot be to terribly bad.) We always had a turnkey (Turnkey means built, supplied, or installed complete and ready to operate), totalitarian state (This means centralized control by an autocratic leader or hierarchy, so he means that we had a ready made totalitarian state ready to go and the conservatives have come in and are ready to set it off. Which begs the question, how was it that it was ready to go when the conservatives came in unless the previous administration had set it up?)  — all we needed was an excuse, and all the institutions were in place to turn this into pure fascism (but he said it was a new fascism, not the old and pure fascism),” Cromwell said. “If we don’t stop [President Trump] now, then we will have a revolution for real. Then there will be blood in the streets.” All of my definitions are from the Merriam-Webster. My point is, this man is using big words (for him) that he has heard and he has no idea what they mean. Yet, the media prints it out as if it has any meaning at all. They don’t even realize how confusing and silly it sounds.

          Most people do not want to sound foolish. They want to sound intelligent and informed. So why not research? I put in hours each week on my sermons and Bible studies, simply because you folks deserve my due diligence. The reason I haven’t seen Mr. Cromwell’s movies is because I am putting forth effort into something I see as more important. What is so hard in making the effort?

          Getting back to the original story, I was much younger thirty years ago. Since then I have read many more books and listened to many other Christians talk and I have come to the conclusion that even Christians just give back what other Christians say. Most Christians do little of their own work. A few years ago a lady from our old church in Geneva, Ohio called me and said, “Our pastor (I had been gone from that church for eight years and they were already on their third pastor) said that speaking in tongues is the only way to really talk to God. Is that right?” I said, “What does the Bible say?” She replied, “I don’t know! That’s why I am calling you!” “OK,” I said. “You look it up first and then we will talk about it.” Of course, that isn’t what she wanted to hear. She didn’t want to look it up. She didn’t want to go to the trouble. I have no problem with answering a question if a person doesn’t understand something, but if it is there, in black and white, why not look it up?

          Every cult that ever was got started because people believe what they hear rather than what they have researched. Life is full of mysteries as it is, why make it worse when the answers to so many things are clear? Look at Christianity now. Why are so many struggling with cut and dried Biblical realities that have no wiggle room whatsoever? Because someone said abortion is really OK, that marriage is disposable by our choice, that homosexual activity is not sin, that promiscuity is permissible until marriage, that the truth of the Scripture is only in how you see it. One retiring pastor said to me a few years ago, “I am so glad to leave these issues behind!” I wanted to smack him. They are not issues! It is God’s Word!

          One day I, too, will walk away from the pastorate. Until then I will continue to do due diligence. I will study, I will stand for the Word, I will be a pastor to the people God has given me stewardship for. And when I have to walk away, I will miss it terribly. But, never, ever take what I say as the last word. Look it up and be right.