Psychology. A necessary evil as far as college is concerned. Almost everyone has to take a psych class. I hated it. In seminary I took more psychology classes without complaint because I saw the need in the ministry. (They were required then, too, but I didn’t mind taking the classes in seminary.) But that first year psychology class in Chattanooga, Tennessee. What a grind. Third floor of a grungy old building. The whole floor was an auditorium. In May, Chattanooga is really hot and really muggy and always rainy. Big room, maybe three hundred students, none of whom really wanted to be there. No A/C, just open windows. The professor droning on and on about perception. Oh, for heaven’s sake!

         Then, a woman’s scream sounded out in the hall. The door in the back of the room flew open and a woman ran in screaming. “HELP ME! HELP ME!” She ran from the back of the room to the front, really moving. Just a few feet behind her came a man, obviously trying to grab her. A few of us stood up, but we got no further. Too startled to move or give chase. The woman raced out the door in the front of the room, still screaming. The man was right on her heals. In an instant they were gone.

         The room was stunned. No one was speaking. Everyone was shocked. Calmly, the professor held a handful of papers up.

         “Ladies and gentlemen, I have in my hands a test. You are going to answer questions about what you just witnessed.” None of us understood at first. He began to pass the tests out. Finally, one of the ladies, tears streaming down her face, said in a voice bordering on hysteria, “Was that a fake? A set up?” The professor smiled and said, “Yes, Miss Nance. There was no chase and no threat.” My mind was still working, my heart still pounding. I could not process what he was saying. Women were crying, men were looking bewildered. The professor got to my row and looked at me. “Mr. Wade, sit down. You cannot take this test standing.” I sat and took a test.

         The test had questions like what color the girl’s hair was and what kind of shoes she wore. Was the man wearing a pull over or a button up shirt? Jeans or slacks? Were they tall or short? Was the man making any noise? Did he have a weapon? Did you know them? The questions were all about our perceptions. Not many questions, but exactly the questions that police would ask if they were there investigating.

When everyone was finished the professor had the man and the woman come back into the room. Everyone had said they didn’t know the couple, but they were from our class and they were well known on campus. About half the class had said he had a weapon, but he did not. Some had said a knife, some a gun, others a club. No one got the clothing right, but some got the hair color. That was the way it went.

The point was, of course, that perceptions change with the individual. We perceive in a predetermined way based largely on our mindset.

I have shared this before, but it is appropriate here, too. Years ago when I was an assistant pastor in a church in Hialeah (right next to Miami), Florida, I was having a conversation with one of the church ladies. We will say her name was Jackie (which it was). She was complaining about the pastor. “Brother Larry, I am telling you, that man is as dry as toast. I don’t know how that man ever got a job as a preacher.” I didn’t know what to say. I was quite young and to hear a Christian rip on her pastor was stunning to me. So, I didn’t say anything. About a week later I was in conversation with her husband. We will say his name was Colin (which it was). “Brother Wade, I have to say, I love to hear Dr. Wilkes preach! His messages are so deep and meaningful! You know, Jackie and I were on the committee that brought him here, and I have thanked God every day the He let me be there!” Again, I said nothing. This time out of a different kind of shock. Two people sitting together in church, going home together after church and then, one would assume, talking together every day, yet they perceived the exact same thing totally different. How is that possible?

Our perceptions are based on what is within us. Jackie and Colin had invited Marsha and I over for dinner one afternoon during the week. Jackie called Marsha and asked if we could come over a little early. She wanted to show us something before Colin got home. We got there and she let us in. She and Colin had three full sized poodles. These dogs were blind. I don’t recall the story as to why they had three blind full sized poodles, but they did. Jackie had the dogs in another room and when they heard us they began to bark and go crazy in the manner of all poodles.

“Watch this!” Jackie said in a laughing way. She opened the door to the room where the poodles were and they raced into the room. They started slamming into the furniture, hard, and they quit barking. Jackie was laughing so hard she was shaking. Marsha and I were alarmed. The dogs were now walking slowly around the room, checking where the furniture was. Jackie explained that the dogs memorized where the furniture was and then they could move around like normal. They were actually memorizing as we watched. She told us, still having trouble talking because she was still laughing, that she had put the dogs up several hours before and had then moved the furniture around. She had known that when we came over the dogs would have been really excited (they were poodles, after all) and they would run out of the room and, because the furniture was moved around, they would crash into the furniture. She didn’t understand why Colin got mad when she did that.  

Yes, that was cold and heartless. But it illustrates why her perceptions were so messed up and why she and Colin viewed the pastor so differently. My perception of Dr. Wilkes was somewhere between the two of them and Marsha’s was different from mine. Perception is an interesting thing.

Which brings us to our perceptions today. Some look at this whole pandemic thing as a dark, dark time. Others see it as a time when they rediscovered something that had felt as though they had lost. Some look at church as though it is some burden they have to bear. Others see it as a time of joy and peace. Some look at their relationships as though they are struggles. Others see their relationships as precious jewels. The perceptions of our minds are based on what is in our hearts.

How does God perceive our perceptions? And, how can we change our perceptions to be more honoring to God? The answer is right there. God. It is all about God. Seeking to please Him. Letting ourselves be His handiwork rather than seeing things through our own filter. Walking with the Lord is a wonderful thing. And it shows in how we see things.

       Blessings.  

         It was the usual group gathered for prayer before the service was to begin, but there was a different feel about this particular morning. It was, after all, the morning the church was reopening. So, we were gathered, ready to pray. But it was odd. We were in a tiny little room. It didn’t seem unusual, actually very familiar to me. Yet, there was a strangeness. We should not have been in such a tiny little room. No one else seemed bothered by it, and I wasn’t, either, really. Just something out of place.

         We prayed together and then we went up the four steps to the pulpit area to exit the room. Wait, though, that also seemed odd. Four stairs to exit the prayer room? At the same time, it was as it should be. We always went up those steps. Strange I hadn’t noticed them before. A lot was strange, come to think of it, but everything was as it should be, too.

         We exited the prayer room into the pulpit area and I stepped up to the pulpit. Again, not quite right. A single pulpit in the middle of the area. When did we do that? I adjusted the mic and looked out. These were our people. Smiling, delighted to be back, some in masks, some not. All waiting to get started. The place was packed. But the church was small. Very small. The windows were not stained glass and they were open, letting in the breeze. Why did this seem strange and yet right at the same time? Then I realized what it was, what seemed out of kilter.

         The church building was Sandy Creek Baptist Church in Ponce de Leon, Florida. I smiled back at the folks and I felt the tension drain from my back and shoulders that had been building for the last few months. It was SO good to be back in this little building that was literally at the end of the paved road in the middle of nowhere.

         Then I jerked awake. The clock said 3:58. It was Sunday morning. The image of the church began to slide away from my mind. Quickly, before it was gone forever, I brought the dream to mind so I could remember it. It was then that I realized I was smiling. Not just a little smile, but a large, pleased smile. The first time I had come awake with a smile in two years.

         Sandy Creek church was the first church I ever actually pastored. I had been on staff before that and had acted as an interim pastor at two other churches, but Sandy Creek took a chance on a young man with a young wife and a toddler. Sandy Creek was the church that ordained me. It was a church filled with your regular church folk, some sweet and some conniving and some disinterested and a few sold out for Jesus. But it was wonderful back then.

         I learned a lot there. I learned that if we filled that place up, front to back, some of the folks would be unhappy. I didn’t understand that at all. I thought that was the point. But, maybe not. I also learned that when tragedy struck a family, the church rallied around that family with love and compassion. I learned that if I stood my ground for the Scriptures, some folks would get upset. But I also learned that if someone in the community said something bad about that young preacher or his wife, someone was going to get knocked senseless. All in all, it was a great place to start.

         So why, thirty five years after leaving that little church, did it reappear in my mind, only with Yoke folks in the pews?

         Well, I do know something about dreams. In counseling courses, we had to study dreams. Typically, dreams have common elements. Normal things like water and sky and fields. All these things mean something. They provide connection. And, usually, dreams give us familiar themes. Some of those are sweet and nice and some are terrorizing. By the time one reaches their mid-teens, the tone and theme of the dreams are pretty well defined. Major events or trauma can change the themes, but in normal circumstances, out dream types are set. Often, we see relatives or people we love. In my dreams I have a couple of people who are reoccurring characters, always themselves, but not always in a starring role. They could be driving a car that is passing by or someone you walk past. I almost never have a bad dream and never a scary dream. But some do. When they do it usually reflects back to some trauma. You can tell a lot about someone by their dreams.

         But then there are dreams that seem different. Back in 2004 my secretary, Denise, at the church I pastored in Ohio came in very troubled one morning. Her daughter, Jenny, was getting married the next year. She told me she had a dream of the wedding, or at least she thought it was the wedding. But she and her three kids, including Jenny, were sitting on the front pew and they were all dressed in black. She couldn’t stop crying and she felt so sad. Things had to get started and Frank, her husband and my friend, was not there yet. But why would she feel so sad and what was the dark clothing for? I made a joke about she was dreading the marriage, but she wasn’t. I didn’t give it much thought. Two months later, at a hospital in Cleveland, Frank died of a heart attack. He was 48. At the funeral in the church I looked down at Denise and her three kids on the front row, all in black. At that moment Denise looked up at me in alarm. It had just registered to her. Itwas exactly like her dream.

         I don’t think we really understand how the mind works, nor do we understand all the ways God deals with us. But I do believe God can use anyway to communicate with us that He wants to use.

         So, my dream. I was so excited to get back to having actual people in church rather than a virtual congregation. It was hard to sleep the night before. Perfectly understandable to dream about it. But what did Sandy Creek have to do with the situation? Did my mind take a left turn somewhere, or did the Lord choose to spark something in my mind?

         I don’t know. But it has been working around in my brain. Sandy Creek to now. Wow, a lot has happened. Soon I will be in the ministry for 45 years but, starting with Sandy Creek, I will soon be a pastor for 37 years. Serious stuff has gone on. Good and bad. I have been thinking about it, however, mostly my mind has been regretting that the one with whom I started the journey is no longer on the journey. But this dream was so happy, so joyous. There was no sadness. It did not seem to come from my mind.

         I look at it as something from the Lord. I have always been able to look back. Because my mind works the way it does, I remember things in detail. If it had come from my own memory, I should have seen Reese Haughton and Darius Blankenship and dear old Miss Mary Powell, not the crew from the Yoke. No. It was something else. This wasn’t just looking back to a time when everything was new and exciting, a time when we never considered pandemics and services on line.

         I know I am a lot closer to being done in the ministry than I am from the beginning of the ministry. Anyone who really knows me will tell you I am my own worst critic. But there was so much joy there, I have to believe that the Lord was giving me validation for my ministry. I know, and you all know, I am far from perfect. But I have always worked to do the will of the Lord. And He knows that.

         Also, the folks that were at the Yoke on Sunday morning were packed into Sandy Creek in my dream. Sandy Creek was small, maybe able to seat 45 to 50. You all fit nicely!

         God bless!  

         Sometimes, through no fault of your own, you get caught up in something that you want nothing to do with. You look around yourself and you try to figure a way out, but you are well and firmly stuck. And, not very happy about it.

         I do not know if they still do it, but every year the city of Cleveland held a huge Christmas parade. It was televised two or three times on Christmas day on one of the stations, but it was actually held on Thanksgiving morning. I think the thinking was that there was a better than even chance that the city would be snowed in on Christmas and no one would want to be in it on Christmas, anyway, so the Christmas Day Parade in Cleveland was always held on Thanksgiving. Whatever station was going to broadcast the event always built it up starting the second week of December, as though it had not yet been held. Everyone knew it was done on Thanksgiving but it was like everyone pretended that it was done on Christmas morning. That was just the way Clevelanders thought, I guess. It usually started snowing on Halloween and kept it up until Easter, so it made a weird kind of sense.

         But, even if it made sense, it never interested me. For one thing, my only trips into Cleveland were to go with a neighboring farmer when he took produce into the Westside Market, the huge farmer’s market that is open year round. The city was only 50 miles or so, but it may as well have been on the moon. I hated going there. Big and dirty and congested. Our television stations came out of Cleveland and Cleveland is where the Indians and the Browns played, so I knew a little bit about the city. But the city’s cruel nickname, the Mistake by the Lake, seemed pretty appropriate to me. (Some of you might wonder why I didn’t mention the Cavaliers playing in Cleveland. First, they didn’t play in Cleveland. They played in a little town called Richfield, south of Cleveland. And second, they didn’t come into existence until 1970, and I never had time to get ‘branded.’)

In the Fall of 1973, I was a senior in high school. We were a farming community and our schools were poor. In 1969 our schools had to close because of financial difficulties. But the community pulled together and the schools began to emerge from financial ruin and it became something of an inspiring story. The parade always had the Cleveland high schools participating (and there were a bunch of those) but the organizers always invited and spotlighted a few schools from outside of the city that had good stories attached to them. They invited my high school, which was an honor, but it didn’t matter beans to me. Our art department entered a float and the float had to be built on site in Cleveland because judges had to make sure the floats were built by the rules. YAY. No big deal to me.

 Until one morning about two weeks before Thanksgiving, the assistant principle called me to the office. A load of building material had to be picked up at the local lumber yard and taken to Cleveland for the float. I got to pick a partner and skip classes and go to Cleveland. He said this like he was doing something really good for me. I told him I didn’t want to go. Someone else would probably love to go. No, the only truck we had was not mechanically sound and he figured if something went wrong, I could probably fix it. I was going to Cleveland driving what was affectionately (but correctly) known as The Death Trap. And I got to take a friend.

 We got into Cleveland with only a little mechanical difficulty. (Driver’s side door kept flying open. Normal for that truck.) We found where our art department was putting together the float and unloaded the truck. We helped a little and then headed to the truck to go home. But another school asked if we could help and then another and then another. They had given us the whole day off, so we didn’t mind. Plus, girls from another school are always prettier than girls from your own school.

 Next day, I get called to the assistant principle’s office. “I hear you and Frank helped some other schools.” Wonderful, I thought. He was going to chew me out for helping the opposition. But, no. It was worse.

 “The parade organizers were impressed because you two just jumped in and helped. They really liked your attitude!” Oh, cool! We stayed around to talk to girls and get praised for it! But there the good news ended. “Yes, sir, they were so impressed they want four of our guys to carry the banner at the parade! Way to go! You fellas will lead the parade down Euclid Blvd!”

 “Uh, golly, sir, uh, Thanksgiving and all. Really can’t be gone for that. Someone else……”

 “No, they specifically asked for you and three others. It will be great! You pick the other three and then I’ll meet with you guys in the morning and go over it with you.”

 My mother was a school employee, so I went to her to ask if she would intercede on my behalf. But the assistant principle had already talked to her and she was so proud she was ready to bust. Her baby was going to be on TV! It was shaping up to be a nightmare. I had to get three guys to help me. We all needed to be roughly the same height and fairly strong because we would be carrying that heavy banner a long way. I finally settled on Wally and Gary and Jerry. I didn’t ask them. I told them that the assistant principle wanted us to do this. They did not want to do it, either, but the next morning we sat down with the assistant principle and he briefed us. We would have to go to one of the downtown theaters. (Cleveland has a well known theater district. Not movie theaters, but stage theaters.) There we would get dressed in costume, given our orders and off we would go. It was actually an easy assignment.

Or not.

Thanksgiving morning, before daylight, I picked everyone up and we went to Cleveland. Finding the theater was not easy, but we finally got there. They showed us into a large dressing room and gave us our costumes. Two were going to be clowns and two would be elves. The clowns would wear clown suits while the elves wore tights and tunics and shoes that curled at the toes. We drew lots. Wally and I, the linebackers, were the elves. We looked stupid.

And then, we had to wear makeup, which they put on before we suited up. While we were being made up, a beautiful woman walked into the room. Now, we four high school seniors are not dressed and we are terribly self-conscious. But the make up guys are guys, so it is OK, sort of. But this beautiful woman walks in and there are four really red faced boys. And then she undresses to put on her costume, which was the Snow Queen. These are theater folks and it is no big deal to them. For us country boys, it was a bit much.

Then we were ready. We walked to the head of the parade and they gave us the banner. “The Higbee Cleveland Christmas Day Parade.” (Higbees was a large department store in Cleveland) The thing weighed a ton. We had to carry that thing for miles. And, we were not actually leading the parade. In front of us was a unit of the Cleveland Mounted Police. Horses. When a horse has to relieve itself, it relieves itself. So, we had two clowns and two muscular elves dodging horse plop, on camera, for miles. A heavy wind blowing off Lake Erie, snowing, people lined up for the parade making remarks about the clowns and elves. Towards the end, people started throwing snowballs at us. The cops did nothing.

We were at the front of the parade and the Snow Queen was at the back of the parade, so when we four finished we had almost an hour before the Snow Queen got back to the dressing room. We gave someone the banner and then we ran back to the theater and our dressing room to change and get out before she got back. And, of course, the camera got some video of two clowns and two elves sprinting down a back street with people still throwing snowballs at them. It was miserable.

We rushed to get dressed and scrubbed some of the make up off. That stuff is hard to get off with soap and water. But we were leaving as her majesty was walking in. She invited us to stay and chat, but we were out of there.

My mother had given me some money to treat the guys to dinner somewhere on the way back. Back then, everything was closed on holidays, but we did come up on a Howard Johnson’s on the highway that was open. Tired, worn out and with some clown and elf make up still on, we had Thanksgiving dinner at a corner table at the HJ. Almost my worst Thanksgiving ever. But we did the school proud.

Of course, this seemingly has nothing to do with anything. However, we all have things we have to do or things we get caught up in. Like this virus thing. You do what you have to do. You don’t let it define who you are. You deal with it and move on. We will get past this, as well.

About ten year’s ago Wally and I ran into each other at the funeral home. Hadn’t seen each other in years. So, we are standing and chatting. Someone walked up and said, “Hey, do you guys remember when you were elves?” We just walked away. Somethings are not to be mentioned. Ever.    

         About two months ago we were told by those in the federal government who make these high and benevolent decisions that they had finally decided to send out stimulus checks to every tax payer. The money could go to buy frivolous things or necessities or tide one over on bills until their jobs would resume. The decision was driven, I believe, more from political motivation than from any kindheartedness. This was evidenced by those who tried to tack on political pork into the bill. But still, checks were on their way.

         May 18, 2020. I finally got mine.

         Over the lock down, I have not missed a day because I consider my job essential. The church has been good to me in all this, making sure my checks kept coming. And the folks in the church have been very good to the Lord with faithful giving. My stimulus check went right into my savings. I didn’t need it to make ends meet.

         But, what if I had needed that money? What if I had needed it to make two car payments? What if I needed it to pay some urgent bill? What if I couldn’t afford my medication? What if I had needed that money for food? That is what it was for, right? By now, my car would have been repossessed, I would be delinquent on my bills, I would either be in the hospital or dead because I would have been unable to buy my medicines (Would that then have been a COVID-19 death?) and I would be mighty hungry.

         So much for faith in the government.

         Or faith in anything. Medical: We have people who have had serious medical needs postponed because of the virus. Scholastic: We tell our kids to work hard and there will be a good ending to it, then they are told they cannot finish the year out. You can graduate on line. Employment: We are told the economy is great and then 10s of millions lose their jobs. Family: Birthdays, anniversaries, funerals, weddings and more; events that draw families together. Canceled. Church: We are a church family. We love our people. But then, we can’t go to visit or be with someone in the hospital.

         But, Pastor! These are unusual times! We can’t help the situation!

         Completely true. That doesn’t help the man who needs surgery to stop an infection and he is turned away. That doesn’t help the senior who has worked hard for years and now cannot have her moment in the light. That doesn’t help that sole bread winner who suddenly has no job. That doesn’t help that couple who is celebrating fifty years of marriage in a big, empty house. That doesn’t help the young lady who has had a stroke and is in the hospital and is confused and frightened and doesn’t even have someone to pray with her.

         We trust in things and, through no one’s fault, that trust is burned and disappointment comes.

         In the Bible, the word ‘trust,’ in all its variants, is used 147 times. It is either telling us to trust in the things of the Lord or it is telling us not to trust in the things of man. In Deuteronomy 28:52 we have a verse that is talking about the punishment given to God’s people for their lack of faithfulness. It easily applies to right now; They shall besiege you in all your towns, until your high and fortified walls, in which you trusted, come down throughout all your land. And they shall besiege you in all your towns throughout all your land, which the Lord your God has given you. Everything we have trusted in has been laid ruin in just two months. The scourge has been nationwide.

         Have Christians been faithful to the Lord? Do we cut corners in our service and in our worship? Have we told the world about Jesus with our words and our deeds? We are besieged. The metaphorical walls we have built have come crashing down. This ministry, this that we have been made stewards of, is under direct threat.

               However, it is not over. Proverbs 3:5-6 tells us this; Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. This is that moment in time when Christians can make a real difference if we will just put ourselves in His hands. Do you know anyone who trusts in the government anymore? Does anyone trust all the conflicting views we get from the medical profession? The fact is, this is all new territory. Learning as we go along, mostly from the mistakes we make. But while no one wants to trust the experts, I have only ever had one person in forty five years of ministry who refused to let me pray for them. People are seeking for something. Let’s give them the Lord.

         On Monday I got an e-mail from a young lady who is a former Youth of mine. “Got a joke for you. You will like it!” She was always one of the kids who loved to run jokes by me to try and crack me up. I was mentally swept back in time fifteen years to a gawky teen trying out another joke. As I read the e-mail I prepared myself to groan at the silly joke. This one, though, was quite good.

         It seems a Secret Service agent was promoted to President Trump’s personal detail. The young man was nervous there on his first day, and he was extra vigilant, even though all they were doing was walking with the President across the White House lawn to a waiting helicopter. Vigilance paid off, because the new agent was the first to see the man with a pistol jump out from the bushes. The agent stepped between the gunman and the President and shouted in a commanding voice, “Mickey, MOUSE!” The would be assassin was startled by the shout and hesitated just a fraction of a second. In that brief time, another agent was able to get to the gunman and subdue him. Of course, the President was very grateful. The President and his people loaded into the helicopter and the agents formed a perimeter around the helicopter while others searched for any additional gunmen. While they stood there, the new agent’s supervisor stepped up next to him and quietly said, “That was good work back there. But why did you shout out “Mickey, MOUSE!” The agent blushed and said, ” Actually, I got flustered. I meant to yell Donald, DUCK!”

         It caught me by surprise, especially because she had gifted me dozens of lame jokes all those years ago. The joke stayed with me all day. It made me realize how serious we all have become. The uncertainty, the politicizing of the virus, the tension all around. I always look for humor, but for the last couple of years, humor has not been with me much. Perhaps for you, as well.

         So, rather than being serious, here is some humor. Enjoy, if you will. And if you are just too serious to enjoy a smile, turn on the news.

         It seems a new teacher was working with a class of 5 and 6 year old children in Sunday School. She decided to test them to see how well they were picking it up. She particularly wanted to see if they understood the concept of getting to heaven. She asked them, "If I sold my house and my car, had a big garage sale and gave all my money to the church, Would that get me into heaven?"
         "NO!" the children answered.
         "If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the yard, and kept everything neat and tidy, would that get me into Heaven?"
         Again, the answer was, "NO!"
         By now she was starting to smile. Hey, this was fun! "Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave candy to all the children, and loved my husband, would that get me into Heaven?"  
         Again, they all answered, "NO!"
         By now the teacher was just bursting with pride for them. "Well," she continued, "then how can I get into Heaven?"
         A five-year-old boy shouted out, "FIRST, YOU GOTTA BE DEAD."

         Many of us have stories about the things little kids say. Back when Marsha and I did a Children’s Church, we introduced a little song called ‘Four Letter Words.’ Love, care, nice, Words like that. At the end a little girl jump up and said I know some other four letter words. She got about three of them out before Marsha swept her up and hustled her out.

         Sometimes, a quiz can be funny. Here are some questions with their answers.

Q. What kind of man was Boaz before he married Ruth?
A. Ruthless.

Q. What do they call pastors in Germany?
A. German Shepherds.

Q. Who was the greatest financier in the Bible?
A. Noah He was floating his stock while everyone else was in liquid...ation.

Q. Who was the greatest female financier in the Bible?
A. Pharaoh's daughter. She went down to the bank of the Nile and drew out a little prophet.

Q. What kind of motor vehicles are in the Bible?
A. Jehovah drove Adam and Eve out of the Garden in a Fury. David's Triumph was heard throughout the land. Also, probably a Honda, because the apostles were all gathered in one Accord. 

Q. Who was the greatest comedian in the Bible?
A. Samson. He brought the house down.

Q. What excuse did Adam give to his children as to why he no longer lived in Eden?
A. Your mother ate us out of house and home.

Q. Which servant of God was the most flagrant law breaker in the Bible?
A. Moses. He broke all 10 commandments at once.

Q. Which area of Palestine was especially wealthy?
A. The area around the Jordan. The banks were always overflowing.

Q. Who is the greatest babysitter mentioned in the Bible?
A. David. He rocked Goliath to a very deep sleep.

Q. Which Bible character had no parents?
A. Joshua, son of Nun.

Q. Why didn't they play cards on the Ark?
A. Because Noah was standing on the deck.  

Q. Did you know it's a sin for a woman to make coffee?

A. It's in the Bible. It says . . . 'He-brews'

         Not your normal blog, but then again, I am not a normal pastor.

         It reminded my parents of one of the churches ‘back home,’ that being Russell Springs, Kentucky. The little building in Leroy, Ohio had been a bar for years until a car mechanic from West Virginia who had a call to preach bought the place and renovated it into a church. I was five years old when I first walked into that church and for the next three years I spent Sunday morning, Sunday evening and Wednesday evening, terrified.

         We had two revivals a year, one in the Spring, just before planting, and one in the Fall, just after harvest. Those revivals were two week long affairs. West Virginians and Kentuckians came from all over Northeast Ohio to those revivals. We always had the same evangelist from somewhere in West Virginia and, apparently, he was a super star down in those parts. The only reason we always had him was because he was Miss Tillie’s brother. Miss Tillie was the pastor’s wife.

         Our regular services were scary enough. A whole lot of screaming and jumping and people falling to their knees. I remember the pastor running down the aisle one night and grabbing my father by the arm and dragging him to the alter, very much against his will. I believe that was the last time my father ever went to that church. However, as scary as the regular services were to a very little kid, the revivals took the spooky level up several notches. The evangelist only had one arm, having lost the other in an accident. But with that one fist he would pound the pulpit until you thought it would shatter. He would run up and down the center aisle waving his Bible and calling God’s judgment down on all us miserable sinners. There was one little man who always showed up for those revivals. It was like he was a groupie of the preachers. When the preacher started running down the aisle, this little guy would jump up shouting and start throwing hymnals toward the ceiling. Once he got so happy, he ran to the back of the church. But instead of using the aisle, he jumped up on the back of a pew and ran to the back by leaping from one pew to the next. I remember my sisters, both older than me, crying during every service. I never knew if they were ‘in the Spirit’ or if they were just scared.

         The piano was a holdover from the days when the building was a bar. It didn’t matter what was played on it, it just sounded honky tonk. Miss Tillie played the piano and she could seriously beat that thing. Each service seemed to have ten songs at least. It probably wasn’t that many, but it was excessive. Miss Tillie played by ear and sometimes it took her a couple of verses nail it down. Then it got loud and fast. I was a teenager before I found out ‘Amazing Grace’ was not a racing song.

         But there was a song that Miss Tillie played and sang as a solo sometimes that always calmed my spirit. The only time I ever heard it was in that little church and it nestled away in one of the empty spaces in my mind, always a comforting though. Some of you may know it, but no one sings it anymore that I know of.

         Last Sunday it surfaced in my mind. I hadn’t thought of that song in years. I was sitting in my living room thinking about the young woman who had the stroke. How confusing it had to have been to be in a rehab place, unable to see anyone but nurses and therapists. Did she understand why no one was there? Was she able to reason that her kids and her husband love her? Did she know it was Mother’s Day but her kids were not there. I felt depression on my soul. Depression for her and for all the those people who have been affected by this virus in some way. And it was then that the Lord woke that song up in my mind.

The Last Mile of the Way

1.   When I walk in the pathway of duty,
When I work till the close of the day,
I shall see the great King in His beauty,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

Refrain:
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way,
I will rest at the close of the day;
And I know there are joys that await me,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

2.   Here for Christ I proclaim the glad story,
Here I seek for His sheep gone astray,
And I know He will show me His glory,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

Refrain:
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way,
I will rest at the close of the day;
And I know there are joys that await me,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

3.   Here the dearest of ties we must sever,
Tears of sorrow are seen every day;
But no sickness, no sighing forever,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

Refrain:
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way,
I will rest at the close of the day;
And I know there are joys that await me,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

4.   Here on earth I have earnestly striven,
And have sought all His will to obey,
’Twill enhance all the rapture of heaven,
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way.

         

         Why did that song come to mind? I think it was to remind me that everything here is just passing by. Someday we will walk that last mile of the way. But until then, we have to walk the pathway of duty. We have to work until the close of the day. We have to proclaim the glad story and seek for the sheep that have gone away. Here on earth we lose the ones we love and tears flow like rivers. But we strive forward and follow His will.

        We face this virus, but it is not the end. The word of God tells us there will be things like this and there has been all through history. But it doesn’t change our purpose, our calling. While we are here we have a job to do. There is coming a day when we walk that last mile of the way, but for now we don’t let depression rule. We pray, we work and we give God the glory!

         Philippians 1:20-24--- as it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account.