Back in 1994, the Billy Graham Crusade was coming to Cleveland. I was pastoring a church in Warren, Ohio at the time. Sixty to seventy miles from Cleveland. But the Crusade would never come to our town. Cleveland was as close as it would ever be. In 1994, Billy Graham was winding down. The schedule had been cut back. No one knew how much longer he would be able to continue. So, our people were excited at the prospect of him being in Cleveland. Not only that, but the folks wanted to be involved.

          Every Crusade required scores of counselors. Each night of a three or four night Crusade needed people to be down front to greet folks as they responded to the invitation and to share the Gospel with them. This is what our folks wanted to do. Share the Gospel of Christ.

          We were a little farther out than the Crusade wanted, but I sent in the request. The event was in, as I recall, September. There was still snow on the ground when we went to the first meeting in the early Spring to learn how to share the Gospel the Crusade way. Our people went full of anticipation. They returned to Warren disillusioned.

          The Crusade had its own way of doing things. The ‘teacher’ was more like a cheerleader, firing us all up for the great opportunity that was before us. We were told that we wouldn’t be sitting together, but we would be scattered throughout the stadium. When the call for the invitation came, we were to get up from our seats and make our way forward. The idea was that when folks saw us start moving forward from all around the stadium, they would be motivated to come forward, too. Along with our Bibles, we would be equipped with a pamphlet that had a plan of salvation on it with the verses already printed out. We were not supposed to engage the person before us in conversation about anything else other than salvation. We were to get their names and addresses and then scan our list of ‘qualified’ churches for a church in their area. After sharing the Crusade Gospel and getting their contact information, we moved onto the next person. We all came away from that first training session feeling that it was all too formulated. To cut and dried. Geared toward the numbers. Impersonal. Uncaring. Our church dropped out.

          I have done some reading on the earlier Crusades. They weren’t always like that. But as time went by and Graham became more and more sought after, the preparation for an individual Crusade gradually slipped into the hands of promoters. Slick operators. People with a plan. By 1994 it had become a program

          And maybe that is what has happened to Christianity. Everything has become a program. Youth Group---we have a program. Sunday School---we have a program. Choir---we have a program. Funerals, weddings---we have a program. Bible Studies---we have a program. Evangelism---we have a program. Even preaching. If you are pressed for time or have a hard time coming up with ideas---we have a program. Programs are not necessarily bad, either, if used as a guide. But when they take over, then it becomes a problem. We move further and further away from God.

          Years ago, I was having coffee with another pastor one morning. He was telling me of his handball exploits, his golf game and his bowling night with his deacons. I asked him when he had time to prepare. He looked at me blankly. “Prepare what?” “Your sermon.” He laughed. “Oh, I run over it before I go to bed on Saturday.” I was confused. I understood running over it on Saturday evening, but when did he actually prepare? I asked him that. “You mean you don’t preach the Lectionary?” I had no clue what he was talking about. But I found out. The Lectionary is a program. It is on line now. For this Sunday the Lectionary would give me six Scriptural choices. Looking at the choices I pick John 6:24-35. From that I am given topics, two sermons and eighty nine illustrations. See. There is a program for everything.

          Some time back I was asked to teach an evangelism program on Sunday nights for ten weeks at a very large church in Ohio. We started with around a hundred people in the class. By week six we were down to maybe thirty. I was discouraged. Before the class started one of the ladies came up to me and told me she was dropping out. “Why? Why would you drop out?” “It’s all great, but it is to much to remember!” And it hit me. It wasn’t just the Crusades, it was every teaching on evangelism. Everything has a program. There is a way to do it and it MUST BE FOLLOWED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

          And yet, what does the Bible say on the subject? On the day of Pentecost the disciples preached and multitudes accepted Christ! That would be the program to follow! What was the program? Before they went out, the Bible says they were gathered together in prayer, giving themselves over to the Lord. Oh. But the Holy Spirit came!!! Yes, but after prayer. Jonah and Nineveh. An entire walled city. Based on the description Nineveh was huge. To walk halfway across was nearly the distance from Urbana to Marion. The entire city turned to God! Tough program, though. Jonah swallowed up by the great fish and then spit up after three days. Yes, but before the creature spit him up, he prayed and gave himself to the Lord. In any evangelistic event in Scripture, it was preceded by prayer and the giving of one’s self. Think about that for a bit.

          I was having a test done a couple of weeks ago. The technician and I began a conversation about the Lord. Turned out we were both born again and that began an enjoyable couple of hours. She said something very interesting. “Every morning I pray and ask the Lord to give me someone to share my story with.” Wow! That was her program. 1.) She prayed, and 2.) She shared her story. Some days the Lord said no. No one to share with. Some days the Lord said yes and put a seeker in her path. And once in a while the Lord played a trick on her and sent her a preacher.

          Remember Jonah? All he said was repent or the Lord will destroy you. Remember Pentecost? The message that day was Jesus died for you. There is nothing hard about taking the message the Lord has given you and sharing that message.

          When I woke up from my by-pass surgery, I had no pain. Felt great! Talked to my family. I was ready to go home! Several hours later I came awake, racked by pain. It was dark outside. The lights in my ICU room were turned down. A young, pregnant nurse was doing something off to the side. I could hear her crying.

          “Hey, are you OK?” She jumped turned and apologized to me. I asked her again if she was OK. She replied that she was fine.

          “You’re fine but you’re crying. OK, then am I dying?”

          She laughed. (Apparently, she thought I was joking.) She quietly told me that she was worried about the baby.

          “Would you come here a minute?” She did and I took her hand. I prayed for her and for that baby forming inside her. She began to cry. Then she thanked me over and over. For the next five days I couldn’t get rid of her. We talked. She was a believer, but hadn’t been to church in a long while. She promised to go back. The only message I had in the dark was my concern and I shared that message.

          You know by now that I believe that if Christians did their job in sharing their precious stories, the political landscape would be much different. But we don’t do that. We say we are fearful of hurting someone’s feelings. We are fearful of driving them away. Folks, that is Satan. That is not reality. You state your political views and you don’t worry about feelings. You don’t worry about driving others away. You have a story that could change their lives, but you don’t tell it. Can you give me a reason?         

          Summer of 1964. Two little eight year old boys standing near the end of the driveway, trying to see around the bend in the road. Around 3 PM. The local paper was a daily and didn’t come until around 3 PM. It was mid-summer and hot, but that didn’t really matter. Their baseball team, their mighty and powerful (and actually pretty awful) baseball team had played the night before. They weren’t always on TV and their radio home didn’t have the best reception out in farm county. So the boys had started waiting for the local paper, The Telegraph, to come and read the account of their mighty team’s game against the likes of the Tigers or the Red Sox or the Yankees or whoever. Trying to see past the bend in the road to see the car coming that would bring the paper to put in the paper box for the two boys to grab and read and see how their heroes had made out the night before. The team did surprisingly well that year, finishing with 79 wins and 83 losses, which was better than anyone had anticipated. Those were two excited little boys.

          Last month, June 2021, one of those little boys died. He left behind a wife and two sons and daughters-in-law and grandkids and a sister and her family and a brother and his family. And that other little boy who had peered down the road with him, trying to see that rusty, green car that carried the newspaper. He was left behind as well, along with a cherished childhood.

          And last week, July 23, 2021, that heroic baseball team caved into the ‘woke’ crowd and announced they would be changing their name from the Cleveland Indians to the Cleveland Guardians. Another piece of a cherished childhood memory.

          Before you get started on me, I know it is just a name change. If it was for some viable reason, I would be OK with it. If tribal leaders from several tribal entities had presented a formal request, that would have been fine. But it has been called a racist name. A name given to incite ridicule and mockery. A name to shame the noble Native American population. Anyone who would bother to learn the history of the name would see otherwise, but history is no longer important to those who are righting the wrongs of an evil America. The intent is to erase history. This name change was instigated by the same group that killed the Washington Redskins. Elitist white and (dare I say it) black folks who claim it to be an insult and leave only the pure, Aryan race…..Oh, sorry, I slipped in NAZI speak because erasing history is how the NAZIs started.

          However, since history has been mentioned, let’s look back into history and see where the name Cleveland Indians came.

          The Cleveland team was named the Cleveland Forest Cities in 1865. In 1882 they became the Blues. In 1889 they became the Spiders, supposedly because so many of the players had long, skinny legs. In 1890 they became (for some reason) the Cleveland Infants. Seriously. In 1900 they became the Lakeshores, which was a much better name. Then they became the Bluebirds in 1901. Then, the best player in baseball, Napoleon Lajoie, came to play in Cleveland and in the latter half of the 1901, they became the Cleveland Naps. After Lajoie left in 1914 a contest was held to seek a new name. The first Native American to ever play professional baseball was a man named Louis Sockalexis, who had played with Cleveland at the end of the 19th century. Clevelanders had loved Sockalexis, who had just died in 1913. In 1914, in honor of Sockalexis, the team was named the Indians. But, history does not matter. All that matters is what the new ‘woke’ crowd deems worthy.

          Just to take the history lesson a tad further, the new name, the Guardians, comes from four statues atop the Hope Memorial Bridge in Cleveland. These statues are called the Guardians of Traffic. So, the name has been changed from a name honoring Native Americans to a name for glorified traffic cones.

          So, you have seen the history. There was no outcry from the indigenous population. Certainly, Native Americans have every right to cry foul. They have been treated terribly by the government in this country. Broken treaties and lies are what they can look back too. But in many cases they have been honored by the people of this country. Many place names, rivers and lakes draw their names from the native tribes that first lived there. Was Indiana named such to mock the Native Americans? Was the Ohio or Mississippi rivers named to poke fun. Were the names Erie or Huron or Ontario or Michigan an attempt to belittle a proud people who used to live around those lakes? Of course not.

          But this is our reality. People who care nothing for pride or tradition have control now. If left unchecked, names will fall. Three mighty rivers run through Pittsburgh (which makes that city a miserable place to drive). The Allegheny, Monongahela and Ohio. All native American names. One day it will be the Wet River, the Wetter River and the Very Wet River. And that is only slightly in jest. As the names fall the Native American memory will fade and the ‘all is equal’ socialist spread will continue.

          Please look around. This whole ‘woke’ thing is a disaster. It is amazing how out of control it has become. And it is everywhere, folks. It is the crushing of all things American and the hammer is a new, perverted form of racism. Where does it end?

          Because I have been so sick, Barry Swanquist brought me a box of Popsicles the other day. The first one was amazing, as were all the rest. I cannot tell you when I had a Popsicle last. But it brought back that memory of looking down the road for the newspaper delivery. I don’t know how often Mrs. Marty gave us Popsicles. It couldn’t have been often. But in my memory I saw two little boys with sticky hands, and it started my mind. It might have just been one day with the Popsicles. I don’t know. However, the gap between 1964 America and 2021 America is stark. As eight year old boys, Keith and I never discussed gender confusion, we never agonized over the fact that we were both white, we never hated our fathers because they had fought a war now deemed racist. Those two eight year old boys were not weighed down with the problems of a world out of control. No. We were just two kids with sticky hands waiting for word on our heroes. Keith’s little sister had to be close by, because she always was, talking and pestering. There would have been at least one dog nearby, probably two, licking at our hands. Not much else mattered except the Indians. Today’s kids don’t have that. They are woke.

          What a shame.

           This blog entry starts with a health update. I am not feeling well. More to the point, I really don’t feel well. It turns out that when I was in the hospital the second week in July, I was prescribed a couple of new prescriptions. Understandable. Doctors rarely wish to leave well enough alone. A week later I had to call an ambulance to the apartment because I was so sick. Back to the hospital. There they discovered that I had been prescribed two different types of antibiotics. The two combined had killed all the bacteria in my system, including the good bacteria which aids in digestion. So they took me off the antibiotics and sent me home. No real improvement for several days. And then, Wednesday night, Ed Fitch and Brian Chamberlain came by to see me. Dr. Brian suggested I eat some yogurt to jump start the digestive bacteria. Sounded like a good idea. He went over to then store and grabbed some. I was so sick I couldn’t eat anything just then, but I ate two containers at 4 AM and I do believe that I feel better. Brian should send a consultant bill into Medicare. I am not feeling the best, but I may be getting better. I know I miss everyone.

          The actual blog portion of this blog entry begins here, but is connected to medical, at least at the beginning. I am currently undergoing various tests and treatments at various doctor’s offices. The other day at Parkview/Huntington, I was sitting in a treatment room and the nurse suddenly looked up with recognition in her eyes. “I know who you are! You’re the new pastor at Urbana! I go to St. Paul’s County Line!” My response was, “Well, I am the pastor at Urbana, but I’ve been there for five years. When does ‘new’ end?”

          To me it is a legitimate question. When does ‘new’ end? In Ohio I had served at a church longer than any other pastor in that church’s 145 year history and one day I struck up a conversation with a man who snapped his fingers and said, “Yeah, sure, you’re the new pastor at Park Street Church!” When does ‘new’ end? I was going through the refrigerator at that same Park Street Church one day with the secretary sorting food that had been left for the Food Pantry. There was a jar of peanut butter that had been in the refrigerator since I had arrived at the church. I took it out, looked it over and told the secretary I was throwing it out. “You can’t throw it out!” “Why not? How long has it been there?” “Not for long.” “We have been using UPC seals for over twenty years. There is no UPC seal on this peanut butter jar.”

          I think the newness of something is dependent on perceptions. If we become used to something’s presence, it really isn’t old. The people who thought of me as the ‘new’ pastor had spent some time with the former pastor and still had him in mind. The pews in the church are old. They really are. But when you wander in and sit down, you do not think that they are old. You have spent considerable time with those pews. They cannot be old. However, pew manufacturers have designated twenty five years as the life span of a good pew. Of course, those are the manufacturers. You would expect that from them because they want to sell pews. Fifty years might be a little closer to the truth. I had asked the question at a previous church and got the answer that the pews were not that old. A little check showed them to be forty eight years old. A month later an entire family, three generations, came in just as we were starting and the pew snapped. Now, honestly, it was funny. Even more so when we found out no one was hurt. But what could have been?

          I think ‘new’ also is viewed by subject matter. Religion. There is the New Age Movement, which is now old. There are the Eastern Religions, which in the 1960s was wild and groovy, but now they are followed by old hippies. The Moonies, the Hare Krishna’s, the Universal Salvationists…..all had their new day, but have all grown old and weary now.

          You can do this with anything. Sports, movies, television, communication, medicine, whatever it might be grows old. It was great at the beginning, but now is outdated. So what is really new?

          I would point you to the Bible. Most would scoff and point out that it covers 4,000 years and the newest part is 2,000 years old. And that is true. But there is ‘new’ in the Bible; 2 Corinthians 5:17-21, Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making His appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake He (God) made Him (Jesus) to be sin Who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.

          But that is old writing! Yes, but it carries a new thought to every generation. Christianity becomes old only when we let it become old. We hold onto the old thoughts as though they, themselves, were sacred. For me, as a child, church was a scary place. The wrath of God was awaiting you if you laughed. I do not remember talk of a ‘new creation’ and a ministry we all are a part of. There was a lot of damnation and hate. It is that thinking that the world sees and rejects. Let’s look at the above passage. We can become a new creation. We all have a ministry of reconciliation, which means we have a job to do of bringing people to Christ so they can be made whole in Him. There is no ‘down time’ in real Christianity. No Sunday Christians and do whatever during the week. But a real joy in service, for our service is to be loving people to Jesus.

          When I was in a very strict Bible college in Tennessee, we had a preacher in chapel tell us that hell was talked about seven times more in the Bible than heaven was, so we needed to make sure people understood their peril. And there is peril. Hell is real. But he told us an absolute lie. Hell is mentioned 54 times in the Bible, either as hell or sheol or hades. Heaven is mentioned over a thousand times, either as heaven or as the Kingdom or in some other fashion.

          So, let’s make the message new. It is all about redemption. Reconciliation. The Good News. In these dark, dark times, we need to show the new light of love.                                                                                                                       

           I am watching the events in Cuba with great interest for four reasons. First, having lived in Miami, Florida for several years, I got to know a lot of Cubans who had fled the island rather than be imprisoned or killed for either their faith or for their desire for democracy. These people passionately loved their country. Most said that when communism dies in Cuba (as it will, for communism/socialism will always feed on itself after it has exhausted everything else) they will return. Many of those people are dead now and their children and grandchildren are fully Americanized, but those older Cubans loved their island home.

          The second reason I am watching the current uprising is that much of the rising socialist feeling in this country looks to Cuba as the example of successful socialism. I am hoping that American socialist will wake up and see that Cuban socialism is just as evil as any other socialistic government ever. Several years ago I was talking to a young man who wanted this country to become socialist. He was a big Bernie Sanders fan. This young man told me that the US naval blockade was what was keeping Cuba from reaching its full potential. When I told him that the naval blockade ended in 1963, he would not believe me. But there isn’t a blockade. Cuba’s biggest trading partner is The European Union. They are free to trade with anyone except the US and US companies. Cuba’s ills come from socialism being socialism.

          The third reason I am watching this is a selfish reason. The Cubans are a great, energetic and honorable people. And they are fanatical baseball fans. We call baseball our national pastime, but for Cubans, it really is. They love the sport. They are my kind of people.

          The fourth reason, and most important reason, I am pulling for the protesters in Cuba is because these people have become an amazing people of faith. Not faith in an institution like the Catholic Church, but faith in the saving power of Jesus Christ. Under totalitarian regimes, institutions like the Catholic Church lose their luster. But the pureness of simple faith in Christ offers freedom we have a hard time imagining. Stories of great faith have been coming out of Cuba for decades. One of the great joys of my life has been to sit in groups and listen to stories (translated from Spanish) given to us by recently escaped Cubans about their faith in Jesus.

          I was an associate pastor at a church in Hialeah, Florida, which is part of the Miami Metro Area. Our church had the sanctuary first and then our ‘Spanish Mission’ had the sanctuary. The mission was about ten times larger than the Anglo church. Made sense. Hialeah was about 90% Spanish. Sometimes their sound man (name of Edwardo Fitchiaro) would not come in and I would stay over and do the sound for them. Typically I was lost as to what they were saying. These people talk fast. You may think you can speak Spanish, but you better have your ears tuned up. However, it was always a fascinating thing to watch those folks when they sang. Many of the songs were the same tunes as our hymns. The words are a little different than a direct translation to make them fit meter and rhyme, but very much the same. But there were a few songs that were totally different. People would start to weep. They would look to heaven with pleading eyes. They would tremble. One Sunday I took one of their hymnbooks home and found a couple of those songs. I had a Cuban friend translate. They were songs of freedom in Christ when there was no other freedom. Joy in the Lord when there was no other joy. They were songs of pure emotion, emotion spurred on by the grace of the Lord.  Very much like the Negro Spirituals of time past in this country. Touching on an emotion we cannot begin to feel. For us, Jesus Christ is common. For them, He is precious.

          All Americans should be cheering the Cubans on. All Christians should ben praying for the Cuban Christians. I want you to think about the passion and hope in this sign seen at a protest:

Si nos oedamos callados

Nos matan! Si hablamos

Nos Matan! Entonces

Hemos decidido Hablar para!

No morir callados!! S.O.S.

The translation is, IF WE STAY SILENT, THEY KILL US! IF WE SPEAK, THEY KILL US! SO WE HAVE DECIDED TO SPEAK SO WE DON’T DIE SILENT! S.O.S.

          Could you live like that? These are people who need prayer.

           Good morning folks. I pray that you have a wonderful week.

          This posting of my blog fills two purposes. The first, and least important on my mind right now, is my health. My hospital stay last week didn’t really tell me much I didn’t already know. I have A-fib. The uneven beating of my heart causes a number of problems, chief of which is fluid retention. They are working on the fluid retention. I had a cardiologist appointment scheduled for August 11 before I went into the hospital. That appointment has been moved all the way up to…..August 11. The difference now is, the first August 11 appointment would have been a consultation to get the ball rolling. Now the ball is rolling, so by the August 11 appointment I will have several tests already done. It is frustrating, but I suppose it is necessary. Meantime, my energy level is very low and my frustration level is quite high. Another lifelong friend has passed away. Her funeral is today. I cannot go. So, I am frustrated. I do want to thank Barry Swanquist for being my taxi service last week and Brian Chamberlain for filling in for me on Sunday. And I would remind all of you men of the Bible study on Thursday night at 6:30, presented by Barry.

          But enough of that. On to the second purpose of this blog. I want to start by saying I absolutely despise people who claim to be ‘faith leaders’ and then use that platform to talk politics. The purpose of being a ‘faith leader’ is to lead people to faith in Jesus Christ. There is nothing wrong with talking politics. Just do not try and link Christ to the discussion. During the time of Jesus the whole area of Judea was seething with political intrigue and unrest. The furthest Jesus went into politics was to say that we give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and we give to God what is God’s. He also called the scribes and the Pharisees a generation of vipers, but that was not a political statement. The scribes and the Pharisees were the faith leaders of the day, and they were involving themselves into politics.

          Again, talking politics is not wrong. Just don’t try to claim that your political belief is also God’s political belief. I try and steer clear of the whole political debate scene because it is important that people see me as an instrument of the Lord.

          Having said that, I am now putting the ‘Pastor’ part of who I am aside. If you have no desire to deal with politics, please quit reading. The views and opinions contained in this blog do not necessarily reflect those of then staff or management of Urbana Yoke Parish. On Friday we will return to our regularly scheduled program. For now, I am greatly offended that the Vice President of the United States of America has suggested that rural Americans are idiots.

          I have been around big city folk when they venture into what they like to call ‘Americana.’ Their concept of rural America. Norman Rockwell paintings. Rustic America. They are amazed at the simple folk they meet. The slower pace of life. In their minds they envision Pa out in the field and Ma churning butter on the porch. John-Boy out in the barn milking ole Bessie and Mary Elizabeth hand feeding the chickens. Simple folks with simple minds. That is what they see because that is what they believe is out there. Maybe John-Boy and Mary Elizabeth have gotten to the eighth grade, but they need go no further. Simple folk don’t really need education.

          In 2007 I was scheduled to speak at a church in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Lancaster is famous for its Amish population and the Amish population there makes full economic use of that. In the couple of days leading up to the Sunday I was to speak, Marsha and I drove around to look at the countryside. It was Father’s Day weekend, so the crops were in and growing nicely. The farm boy in me appreciated the neatness of the farms and the hard work put into that neatness. Out on a country road we came to the top of a hill and had to stop. Two big tour buses were in the process of parking in the farm yard of an Amish home. The husband/father was directing the buses in while the wife/mother was standing on the porch watching the parking while drying her hands on her apron. The teenaged son was across the road in a small field plowing behind a beautiful draft horse. One of the buses was parked already and the riders had left the bus and were taking videos and pictures of the boy. I started laughing. Marsha asked me what was so funny. Understand, Marsha was, and is, a city girl. She didn’t see it. The middle of June. Crops are in and growing. Yet, here is a teenaged Amish lad plowing a field that has already been plowed, probably many times. He was doing it for the sake of the tourists. It was a small field. They were making a lot more off of it by repeatedly plowing it than if they actually planted anything. Smart city folk.

          While the smart city folk might enjoy their strolls into Americana, they have a very low opinion of the inhabitants. In the last presidential campaign a democratic operative suggested that farm folk are farmers because of low intelligence. They simply cannot rise above their environment. They are easily led by crackpots. Perhaps they shouldn’t even be allowed to vote. Many believe in God. Most own guns. Almost all feel the Constitution holds as much weight now as it did back in 1700s. Clearly simple minded folk.

          So what did the Vice President say? In an interview with BET News (BET used to refer to the Black Entertainment network, until it became public knowledge that BET was wholly owned and operated by white folk. Now BET stands for Breaking Entertainment. You cannot make this stuff up) the Vice President was arguing against voter ID laws. This is what she said, “I don't think that we should underestimate what that compromise on voter ID laws could mean. Because in some people's mind, that means you're going to have to Xerox or photocopy your ID to send it in to prove who you are. Well, there are a whole lot of people, especially people who live in rural communities, who don't –well, there's no Kinkos, there's no OfficeMax near them. Of course people have to prove who they are, but not in a way that makes it almost impossible for them to prove who they are." So she wants voter ID laws relaxed because rural Americans have no way to photocopy their IDs. Isn’t that sweet?

          Big city folks, well educated, all worried about us ignorant yokels. I wonder if she realizes that Kinkos no longer exists. It was absorbed by Fed EX years ago. I also wonder if she realizes that Office Max has severely cut back on their copy stores (Copy Max). The reason for that is because so many Americans have printers for their computers that double as photocopiers. Photocopying an ID is a simple process. (if you need, I can copy your ID for you on my printer for a low, low cost) Yes, we simple folk are struggling to get into the 21^st century.

          What really burns me is that these pompous liberals really believe this tripe. We are uneducated and low intelligence. The Vice President served, politically, in San Francisco. She must be smart because San Franciscans are smart. I consider our congregation a decent representation of the overall community. Just in our congregation, the percentage of adults who have some college education is higher than San Francisco’s percentage. The Vice President’s education is good, but not outstanding. The percentage of crime and homelessness and addiction is way higher than here. If you earn $50,000 a year here and live OK, you would need to earn $96,593 to have a comparable life style there. And this one gets me; Wabash County has an earthquake rate 21% above the national average while San Francisco’s rate is 7368% above the national average. Yes. 7368% above national average. How is it that they are so much smarter than we are?

          I have lived in urban America. I have lived (and grew up in) rural America. The first time I saw skyscrapers, I thought, “Why?” And I wonder why those people in urban America are considered so smart while rural Americans are so stupid. Remember it was the smart people who built the building in South Florida that collapsed and killed around 150 people. It was the smart people who wrote the laws that ultimately allows the homeless to defecate on the streets of the big cities. It is the smart people who are defunding the police. It is the smart people who are intent on creating a paradise for non-producers by heaping more and more financial obligation on those who do produce. Likewise, it is the simple minded Americans who respect things like gravity and foundation when we build. It is the simple minded who exhibit charity and do all we can for the homeless. It is the simple minded who respect the police and appreciate their work. It is the simple minded who believe the worker is worth his wage and the one who doesn’t work, out of choice, doesn’t eat.

          But, maybe the whole country is crazy. We elected these elitist people who believe we rural folks cannot get an ID copied. How dumb is that?