It makes us angry, doesn’t it? Every generation seems to rise up with thoughts and ideas that are contrary to the previous generations, and they are adamant to these new concepts. Their parents and grandparents have no clue as to how the world should work while they, the younger generation, have it all figured out. I suppose I was that way, too, but not like this generation. Today’s young people seem to be enamored with the concept of socialism. I recently heard a politically ‘progressive’ (someone who favors socialism) talking about the president of the United States. This individual said that the president was just like Hitler. It would be funny, except it is so tragic. Hitler started the Nazi party in Germany. NAZI is an acronym and stands for Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. In English, this translates to ‘National Socialist German Worker’s Party.’ This socialist politician was saying she dislikes the president because he is acting like Hitler, who was a socialist and who acted like all socialist leaders have acted throughout history. And the young person interviewing her had no clue and just agreed with her. Man, oh man, what do they teach in the schools these days?

On a hill far away, stood an old rugged Cross
The emblem of suffering and shame
And I love that old Cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain

          Not only that, but young folks today want to raise the minimum wage to the point that an entry level position will support a family without realizing that raising the wage will just raise prices and eliminate jobs. What, exactly, is taught in school today?

So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

          Now in school the thinking is that since the world revolves around computers, kids need to learn with computers. So, the kids have computers in school. I get that. The world has changed a lot since I had to learn how to use a slide rule. But what about classical education? Famous literary works, art, even history? What about civics? “Such things will not be important in the future.” Apparently, they are not important now, either!

Oh, that old rugged Cross so despised by the world
Has a wondrous attraction for me
For the dear Lamb of God, left his Glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary

          The thinking of today’s young people is just going to lead the country into the dumpster. I look at these kids and wonder just what are they thinking? Because they have a desire to change things, we have young people who refuse to look at common sense and instead embrace silly political notions. In my day, we wouldn’t have done that!

In the old rugged Cross, stained with blood so divine
A wondrous beauty I see
For the dear Lamb of God, left his Glory above
To pardon and sanctify me

          In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this is not really a rant against young people or political ideologies or the changes we have gone through or the challenges we face. I mean, yes, I do despair over the things I hear and see on the news. I do wonder why young people today tend to embrace things like socialism when history shows that every time it has been tried a tyrannical dictator has emerged. I do question political motivations from both parties. But I have my vote and by the time it comes to vote I am well informed and that is pretty much it for me. I have a higher calling. As a Christian (not as a pastor, but as a Christian) I am responsible for preparing myself to share the wonderful story of the death, burial and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. If I burn up time getting all fired up about other things, then I am taking time away from my real job. Besides, the US is not mentioned in prophecy, unless you want to twist Scripture, so by the time the Lord returns, America will be a weakened nation. The only thing we can do that will have a lasting impact is the sharing of the Gospel.

To the old rugged Cross, I will ever be true
Its shame and reproach gladly bear
Then He'll call me some day to my home far away
Where his glory forever I'll share

          The old, rugged Cross. We tend to not be really comfortable with the Cross. We like the stable scene with the manger. We like the picture of an empty tomb. But the old, rugged Cross was a place of death. We don’t like that very much. But, the old, rugged Cross is where the sacrifice took place that allows me to look forward to heaven. And for me to be a good tool to be used by the Master until I reach heaven, I have to keep the old, rugged Cross front and center in my mind. Political ideologies will come and go, young people will always think different than their elders think and times will always change. But the Cross, well, the Cross makes all the difference.

So I'll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

          She was from the next school over and she was really, really cute. Her name was Christine and she worked at Frizall Freeze that summer of 1973. Frizall Freeze was one of those little ice cream stands that sat out in the country, usually at a cross roads. On one corner would be a gas station, and on the other would be a little ice cream place. There used to be a lot more of them than there are now. Frizall Freeze was my favorite, mostly because Christine worked there.

          She always seemed happy to see me. Of course, she would have been taught to look happy if Dracula walked up to her window. I was certainly happy to see her. Being a smooth seventeen year old guy, I had devised a plan to get her to go out with me. I would go there a few times and chat with her, then I would take my dog to show her I was sensitive and loving. (Girls really like dogs.) That was it. That was my plan. I thought it was brilliant.

          So, I loaded Rocky in the car one summer evening and headed out. (Rocky was not named Rocky because of Rocky Balboa of the “Rocky” movie fame. He was named for Rocky Colovito, right fielder for the Indians. Its not like I am weird or anything. Besides, Rocky the movie didn’t come out for three more years.) He was excited. I told him we were going for ice cream, but he just knew we were in the car going someplace. We got to Frizall’s and I let him out. Now he understood the ice cream. He had been there before. “OH! HE IS SO CUTE!” All the girls came out to pet him. Yep, the plan was solid. He even got a free ice cream. What is more attractive than a guy and his dog?

          I still had about half my cone and the girls needed to get back to work, so I got Rocky back in the car and then I got in and cranked it up. I backed up, then turned to pull out and at that point Rocky leaped across the seat and grabbed my cone. Startled, I jerked the wheel and ran into the telephone pole that was, for some reason, in the middle of the parking lot. I had no real speed going, so the only damage was the sign they had hanging on the pole advertising their hotdogs or something. The sign cost me $50 and there was no damage to the pole or my car because back in the day they put a serious bumper on a car. The budding romance with Christine was over, though. My pride was badly damaged.

          From 1973 to 2019 has been forty six years. A pretty long time. Since that time, I have driven a lot, a lot more than most people. I have had a few accidents, but none were actually my fault. I have totaled two cars, but on one the other driver went left of center and hit me and on the other, two hears ago, the doctor had cleared me to drive after my heart surgery but was still playing with my meds. I passed out at the wheel and rolled my car. The police didn’t cite me and my insurance didn’t increase. So, forty six years. Pretty cool.

          Until two weeks ago.

          Wal-Mart. Huntington, Indiana. I had just entered the parking lot and was driving on the outer perimeter looking for the lane I wanted. I was looking for traffic and looking for my chosen lane and all of a sudden there was a bump and the car stopped. I had run into a stop sign. At the Wal-Mart in Wabash they don’t have stop signs at the end of the lanes. Actually, there aren’t many in Huntington. But I found one. The stop sign had yellow concrete around the post about four feet high. Kind of hard to miss, actually, but I never saw it. I backed up and parked in a handy parking place. I got out to check damage. The pole was fine. There was paint on it, but nothing my color. I checked my car. The hood had a crinkle, the grill plastic was broke, the fascia (that is the plastic part that covers the flimsy bumper) was bent a little. The car was perfectly drivable except the radiator was leaking. The hood lock was stuck, so I couldn’t see the damage and therefore didn’t know if the radiator was damaged or if it had just popped a hose. I knew I couldn’t drive it like that so I called my insurance. I figured a day or two in the body shop, straighten out a few things and I would be on my way. I had barely been moving, certainly not as fast as that day back in 1973. The air bags didn’t even deploy. No big deal.

          $8200 and I might not get the car back till next month.

          I was stunned. How? I asked the body man. How could that be $8200? He went into this long explanation about how all cars and trucks are built today. In a head on, they are made to crumble. This cushions the blow. The frame has no real strength until it gets back to the cabin area. It used to be a motor could get shoved into the cabin of the vehicle. Not anymore. Now the design pushes the motor down and the vehicle accepts the impact. The car I rolled over because of the mix up on meds was a Honda Fit. The cage that surrounds the cabin area in that car is made of super hardened alloys just for such an event. I didn’t have a scratch. When I replaced that car, I got another Fit. The first one had saved my life by not collapsing like almost any other car would do. But the front end of the Fit is made to fold up, just like all trucks and cars today. Now, my car is in the shop and it is going to cost $8200.

          The insurance adjuster told me not to sweat it. “Mr. Wade, you have all kinds of insurance! Your good!” And it is true. Insurance costs me more than other people. I drive my car for work. I could get it cheaper if I didn’t disclose that, but I could also get in trouble if I had an accident on church business. And, because it is a work vehicle, I have to have some serious insurance. But I was barely moving!

          Still, I understand. Back when Rocky decided he wanted my cone the idea was that a really good bumper and a really good frame were going to protect people. In time, they discovered that all those things protected was the vehicle itself. People were thrown forward into the steering wheel or dash or windshield. Everything was hard and unmoving. There was no cushion. People died in cars that could be driven away from the accident. Vehicles were reengineered and a lot of lives have been saved. I understand.

          And it does have a Spiritual application. For someone who has put their faith in Christ and has accepted Him as Savior, it is understood that life will still be rough. In fact, there is nothing in the Bible, unless you are taking verses out of context, that tells you that if you accept Christ as Savior you will have a great life. Many Christian leaders will say that any hard times you face come because you don’t have enough faith. Keep in mind, though, that these people are also hitting you up for money to buy new jets. No, the Bible talks of struggle and hardship, but it also tells us that the Lord will always be with us. Jesus promised a Comforter. Why, if everything was going to be all happy and candy, would we need a Comforter? The Lord is with the true believer, absorbing the impact of life’s ‘fender benders.’ The Lord is with the true believer, protecting and covering that believer. Life’s misadventures can be really hard, but the Lord is taking more of the impact than we know.

          Rocky lived with my Mom for a long time after that, eventually dying at 17 years. Twice a week she gave him ice cream and he loved her for it. I sold that old car for $50 to a junk hard. That little accident actually made me a better driver. And Christine, I assume, eventually married, had kids and maybe even grandkids. She probably still tells the tale about the kid who tried to act cool and then hit their sign. All of these things make up our lives. It is just so much better with Christ.

          Twenty one years ago. Seems like last week. It was a Saturday morning. I had been in the garage getting the lawn mower ready to go. (1958 Wheel Horse. You always spent a fair amount of time getting it ready.) I came into the house to check the time (we had plans for later in the day) and the phone rang. Marsha was right there so she answered it. From a smiling face she went to a frown, then three shouts of NO! “We’ll be right there!” In a pastor’s home you sometimes get tragic calls, but the expressions and the reaction from Marsha made me think this was a family incident. Our 17 year old nephew, Marsha’s brother’s son, was dead. They lived three towns over, so we were pretty much up on everything that went on in the family. The week before his girlfriend had broken up with him. He seemed hurt, but also seemed OK. He hadn’t come home on Friday night, so that was concerning. His Dad went out early on Saturday morning to walk the trap-line. Sometimes our nephew would camp at a certain place along the trap-line. His Dad found him. Marsha’s brother kept his guns under lock and key in a closed in cabinet, but his son knew where the key was because they hunted together. He had gotten a shotgun and closed the cabinet so his Dad wouldn’t see a gun was missing. Once deep in the woods, our nephew put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and killed himself.

          Of course, we dropped everything and raced to their home. Marsha took the house over. People came in and brought bakery and food. Marsha worked at keeping people fed and she organized people so that the house was not overwhelmed. I was the pastor, talking with people and holding hands. Kids from the high school kept coming in. They were shocked and highly impacted by what had happened. Marsha and I were crazy busy. Finally, 6:30 in the morning, we were able to fall asleep on the couch.

          I jerked awake at 9 AM. Church! It was Sunday! I had called the secretary before we left the house the day before, but had given no updates since. I needed to get to the church.

          I drove straight there and got in about fifteen minutes before church was to start. I must have looked a mess. I was still dressed in my grubbies from working on that mower. Unshaved. Maybe even a little smelly. I met with the Elders for prayer and walked out to the sanctuary. I walked to the pulpit and just started talking. We sang a closing song that morning, but no other songs. Totally ignored the bulletin. I just talked. The Scripture I used was not what I had prepared. The message was not anywhere near what I had prepared. I just talked. I talked about our nephew, about the vitalness of life, how he thought he was only worth death. I don’t know even what I preached. I never listened to the tape. I was in pain and I wanted to be back at my brother-in-law’s house, but I knew I needed to be in that pulpit that morning, too. At that time, all of our Youth sat together, away from their parents. Pretty normal. But after I had talked for about forty minutes, something strange started to happen. One by one the kids started getting up and going to their parents. The kids were sobbing and weeping. The parents were stunned. No one knew what was going on, but the kids were shattered. Some, whose parents were not there, began to seek out church leaders. They were all devastated.

          After we were done, I hunted John down. He was one of our Youth, the oldest of the group at that time. In fact, I spent quite some time on the phone with John last month. He had been asked to do his mother-in-law’s funeral and was asking me for help. On this morning, John hugged me and wouldn’t let go. I waited till he calmed down and I asked him what was going on. It seems that the kids were all under a lot of pressure at school and home. They were trying to live like Christians in a worldly society. They had finally decided that they would all kill themselves, all together, the next Saturday night. Obviously, I was shocked. I got the kids together and we talked. No parents were allowed in. Just the kids and their pastor. We settled some issues then and there. We had a Youth group before, but that was the beginning of the greatest group ever.

          By now it was after almost two in te afternoon. I had to get back to my brother-in-law’s house. I went into my office to get something and one of the men in te church was sitting in a chair with his head down, weeping. I called his name, then I shook his shoulder. He looked up and blinked a few times, then he focused on me. “Pastor,” he said in a quiet voice. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it over?” “Yes,” I replied. “Church is over.” I was mystified. “No, is it over?” “Is what over?” “I don’t know.” Then he began to tell me his story.

          He had gotten to the church that morning with a heavy heart. He knew about our nephew and he was concerned. Every week we had someone praying during the morning message, and this Sunday it was his turn. After the Elders and I had left my office after praying together that morning, he had slipped in. They normally waited till the sermon was about to begin, but he felt he desperately needed to pray. You could pray where ever you wanted to pray, but most people used my office. He said that as he prayed, he began to feel a great weight come on him. He went deeper in to prayer. He had never felt such a thing. He didn’t realize almost four hours had passed while the service had gone on and ended and I had gathered the Youth and spent that time with them. He didn’t know what had been said in church or anywhere else. He had been with God. And then I had shaken his shoulder. After all of that, he again asked, “Is it over?”

          If you were to ask the people now who were there that morning what was my best sermon there in my eleven plus years, most would name that morning. I know the Youth would all say that it was a great sermon. But then, if you asked them what it was that I preached that morning, you would get blank stares, some sentences that started and stopped, uncertainty. When I got back to my brother-in-law’s house, Marsha asked me what I preached. I told her that I had no idea. It wasn’t a great sermon after all. It was a man sitting in a room all by himself, totally wrapped up in the Lord.

          This is directed to the people of Urbana Yoke Parish, but I also know that there are many readers who live elsewhere. If your church has someone praying during the service, be a volunteer. Go into the prayer room and meet the Lord. If your church does not have a prayer time during the service, start one.

          Now, to the people of the Yoke, we have a prayer room. Someone is in there every Sunday while the preaching is happening. But for a long time now, we have only had two go in and take their turns. Alan Coverdale or Jim Hartley. Praise the Lord for their faithfulness. But, what about you? Can you share a Sunday? The response I normally get when I ask someone if they would take a turn is, “I just don’t want to miss one of your messages!” Yet, vacations come up, ballgames, fishing, chores. We all have things that take us away from church on the occasional Sunday, so I know that my preaching isn’t all that mesmerizing. And, seriously, would you rather sit and listen to me drone, or would you rather sit talk to God?

          One man, sitting alone in a room, saved the lives of a bunch of kids who were fed up. What can you do?

          If you are interested, talk with Alan Coverdale. You can call him at 260-901-0242 or you can talk to him on Sunday morning.

          It really is all about prayer.

On June 2, 2017 I presented this post. Since then, a lot of people have started reading this blog other than the folks in our church. This week I have not had the time to write and post a blog and I have let our church folk know. But, for the rest of you, I give you this edition of the blog, almost 2 years old. God is good.

          I don’t like being confused. When something does come along that confuses me my mind kicks into overdrive and starts figuring it out. Confusion only lasts for a moment. Until recently, that is. On April 6^th I had triple bypass surgery. Coming out of surgery, I had no confusion. But then the pain meds started and I felt confusion for about three days until I began to request the pain meds to be taken away. At home, they had prescribed pain meds and for a day and a half they drove me crazy, until I quit them. I was OK. But then I passed out at home. When they brought me around they were preparing to load me into an ambulance to take me to the hospital. That was totally confusing, completely different from the pain pill thing. My blood sugar had dropped below the level that a glucometer can read, causing me to pass out. But, readings that low also scramble your brain. It is like a jigsaw puzzle where a bunch of the pieces are cut in the same pattern and you have to tell where the piece goes by the image on the piece. You can get the puzzle together, but the whole picture can be fouled up.

          That had never been a problem for me before, even though I have had diabetes for a long time. I had gotten low before, but I could tell the symptoms. This was new, though. No idea that it was coming, just ‘BOOM,’ passed out. What caused it was the highly trained endocrinologists at Lutheran Hospital in Ft. Wayne. When I went in for the bypass they determined that I should have more than just oral meds. I should have insulin. I had never had a problem with the oral meds. My diabetes was under control. But, they are the smart ones. I went on insulin and passed out three days after getting home from the hospital.

          A little tweaking here and there, and I was OK, they said. I take my blood sugar three times a day. Sometimes it is really low. I eat a piece of fruit or drink some juice and it runs it back up a little and I back off on the insulin. It is a balancing act. The problem with the insulin, other than the needle, is when it is getting low, I can’t tell like I used to be able to tell. The highly trained endocrinologists at Lutheran tell me that I can tell when it is dropping, but I really cannot tell. But, what do I know?

           On Wednesday of this week my blood sugar in the morning was 170, which is high. I did the insulin, got in the car and headed for McDonalds in North Manchester. (Coffee, for me, has been one of the joys in life. Since my surgery it just hasn’t tasted  good and has left me queasy. McDonalds has always been my favorite, so I am reintroducing myself to it. It is working.) Running to McDonalds is something I do a couple of times a week.

          This where it gets confusing.

          I pulled out of McDonalds onto Rt. 114 and immediately turned left, back toward Urbana, on Rt. 13. My mind was busily going over the things I had to do that day. Everything normal. The next thing I was aware of was lying in the grass with my hands handcuffed behind me and a young man trying to rouse me. There was at least a half dozen police cars around the scene, all with lights flashing. The confusion was total. Had someone run into me? Why did my shoulder hurt so bad? What was going on?

          The story is bizarre and was explained to me at the hospital. Evidently, just after I turned onto Rt. 13, my mind passed out. I say my mind because the body continued to function. I began to drive erratically, but I was keeping the car in the road. Most of you know, Rt. 13 can be quite busy. Some motorist called 911 with the information about me. A sheriff’s deputy caught up with me five miles down the road. He tried to get me to pull over, but I kept driving. I ran five people off the road, but didn’t hit anyone. At one point the officer pulled up next to me and said that I was white knuckle on the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. No acknowledgement that he was next to me or anything. He knew then there was something wrong with me, but, being a cop, he was thinking drugs, even though it was not yet 8 AM. They show, in movies and on TV, the officer using his car to force the other driver off the road, but that is much easier said than done. This officer, a veteran of the force, got back behind me. He told me later that I never exceeded 45 mph, so at least I was under the speed limit. He continued to follow me, praying all the way that I wouldn’t hit someone. I passed through Urbana, which meant that by that time I had driven in a basically unconscious state, for seven miles. On down the road to the curve in front of the drive in, which I negotiated. It was now eleven miles. I drove through the intersection at Rt. 24 and Rt. 13 on the red light. This is, arguably, the busiest intersection in Wabash county. I wasn’t touched. I went another half mile, went off the road, rolled my car multiple times and came up on my wheels. But it doesn’t end there. By this time there is a lot of back up. I am now in the city of Wabash, 12 miles from where I lost consciousness, and I have destroyed my car. The officer, still thinking I have been on drugs, opens the driver’s side door and I, the Rev. Larry Wade, local pastor, hit the officer. He hits me back. I become combative. He draws his taser, still thinking this is a drug thing, and uses it as a stun gun and zaps me in the leg. I become more combative, so he zaps me in the shoulder, which puts me on the ground. There I am handcuffed. As proof that I was out of my mind, I should note that officer Hicks is 6’7”. I am not stupid, normally anyway. I don’t know how much time passed until them EMTs started to bring me around, but I remember them saying that they had been able to finally bring my sugar blood count up to 23. A regular glucometer cannot read below 20. That is getting to the level that the heart stops.

          So, what do we learn from this? That I was extremely lucky? No. What I learned was that the Lord never leaves the believer nor forsakes them. Let’s review. I pass out on a State Highway, one that typically has more semi-trucks than cars, and never hit one head on. I drive 12 miles all over the road and never hit anyone, although I drive 5 cars off the road (one of whom was one of our ladies in the church), but no one is hurt. I make it through a dangerous curve and then cross an intersection that usually features speeding semi-trucks, and I do that by running through a red light. Then, I roll my car multiple times and all that happens to me is two small bruises on my left hand and a fairly nasty bruise just under my right shoulder. There is more to that part of the story. Honda reinforces the window frames on their doors more than other companies. In 2012 a driver went left of center and hit my good, solid American car, totaling it out. I got my insurance settlement and went to get a used car. They had the Honda there. It got 40 mpg, which is needed in the ministry, and I bought it. If I had been driving any other kind of car, I would have been killed Wednesday morning. The roof was caved in except at the window frames. Back to Wednesday, the officer who subdued me was a veteran officer. If he had been a young, nervous and angry officer, who knows what might have happened. Personally, I am grateful that the only thing he did was stun me. Another blessing was that the ambulance crew that responded was the same crew that came to the house when I passed out there. They recognized me and checked my blood sugar. Another crew would have assumed I was out of it because I had been subdued and I probably would have died before I reached the hospital. Seven short weeks ago my chest was cut in half and my ribs broken so they could do the bypass, and nothing that happened damaged the surgical area. And, lastly, the hospitalist at Wabash hospital explained to me how to take the insulin to avoid such an event far better than it was explained to me by the highly trained endocrinologists at Lutheran.

All of that can be called a coincidence. If you believe it to be so, then you are really, really gullible. I am His, and He will take care of me.

          Last Sunday our church here in Indiana took a major step forward. We left a building that, while loved and revered, was nearing the end of its useful life. One thing everyone knows, whether they acknowledge it or not, is that when you build something it will one day have to be left behind. This Sunday the church takes another major step forward. This week we move to our other building, refurbished and prepared. To those of you who read this who are not here, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal. But to us, it is huge.

          So, in today’s blog, I want to talk about the thing that brought us to this place in the life of the church. Courage.

          Courage, you say? How does courage figure? Faith, OK. Determination, OK. But where does courage come in?

          Well, first, we have a church filled with courageous people. When you farm, you are faced with life and death decisions all the time. Not instant death, but a slow and grinding death. What crops to plant, when to plant, what chances to take? A wrong move, a wrong decision can put a farm on a long, downhill slope to oblivion. If you do not have the courage of your convictions, you are lost. Certainly, faith plays a tremendous role, but without the courage to step out on faith, faith is useless. A farmer gets up in the morning and heads out with no guarantees. For our people here, men and women, courage is just a regular part of life. I doubt if they even see the courage. But it is there.

          Second, that courage has propelled these folks in a Spiritual sense. Seventy years ago, there were two churches in town. Two churches doing quite well. Two churches right across the street. The one on the west side of the road was largely populated by farmers and their families. The one on the east side was populated largely by the town folk and business types. Though different denominations, both churches preached the Bible more than they sided with their denominations. People in both churches were friendly with folks in the other church. There was not a problem. But they were different churches.

          As time went on, though, the town changed. Like all the small towns around here, people began to move out and go to the bigger towns. The church on the east side of the road, Grace, began to suffer because of the exodus of their people. It affected the church on the west side, St. Peter’s, less, but they were affected to some degree. At some point, leaders from both congregations met and decided that both churches would benefit if they shared a pastor. Some would look at that and say it was a necessity, but not so. To pull back on your pride and start to emerge from the whole “my church” thing, takes courage. Simple, unamazing courage, but courage all the same. The country side is dotted with small churches which are struggling, yet lack the courage to shelve their pride to do something positive. And, the country side is dotted with empty and boarded up churches that never had the courage to step forward. As time went on, it was decided that the two churches would start worshipping together. More courage. Now the “my church” thing was becoming even more blurred.

And then came the real test of courage. Both denominations were distancing themselves from the Bible. Homosexuality, abortion and other nonBiblical ideas were gaining in popularity in the denominations. One of the denominations embraced these concepts whole heartedly, the other denomination lacked the courage to stand up to those who favored these nonBiblical concepts, even though the Bible declares such things as sin. The two churches here took the deep breath, clothed themselves in courage, and withdrew from their denominations. That is a massive display of courage. Now you have no denominational safety net, no help when it is needed. Courage to step out in faith.

Along with these decisions came the decision to legally merge into one congregation. You would think that this action was already done, since they were worshipping together. (six months at one church building, six months at the other) This was another step. Many became angry. “Their church” was going away! Pride plays a big role here. Of course, it never was anyone’s church, other than God’s church. It was an act of courage to move forward with the merger.

 And then, at a Board meeting, another act of courage. One of the men stepped up and said we needed to consider the possibility of going down to one building, one worship center. The Board agreed. A committee was formed to explore and make recommendations. It was brought to the congregation. In another act of supreme, but quiet, courage, the church voted to phase out one grand old building and prepare the other, after a complete makeover, to become the single worship center.

 This Sunday, a group of courageous and joyful worshippers will gather together and worship the God they have chosen to follow rather than the god most of the world follows. It has taken just over fifty years, but it has come.

 When we think of courage, we first think of things like battlefield bravery and bravery against long odds. But there is another courage. A quiet and simple courage that doesn’t seek glory and doesn’t embrace pride. The courage that says, “We need to do this thing because it is right and decent and will stand for the future.” No fanfare, no big splash. The splashy kind of courage is often the spur of the moment thing. Certainly courageous, but impossible to sustain. However, that daily courage to face the elements or those who work against Spiritual growth….well, that is a special courage. A courage that walks hand in hand with faith.

 Imagine if politicians had that kind of courage. The courage to put their own agendas aside and do what was right and decent. Imagine if business owners and factory workers and teachers and doctors and all the rest had that courage. Imagine if preachers and other religious leaders had the courage to walk with the Bible, and therefore walk with the Lord. What kind of America would we have?

 Quiet, dedicated courage in action. Sunday morning at 9:30, Urbana, Indiana. Come join us.