Well, this is not the way I wanted it to happen. Truthfully, I never wanted it to happen. However, we don't always get what we want.

    I am retiring, effective October 1, 2023.

    I am no longer able to pastor in the way I feel I must. This long illness I have struggled with just will not let go. For every step forward I have gone back a step and a half. My last hospital stay cemented it in my mind. I struggle to make hospital and nursing home visits and I cannot make in-home visits because I fear falling on uneven ground. I cannot see to drive at night. And now I can't even be depended on to be in church on Sunday. I have never understood 'pastors' who just preach, but I have become that, and it does not sit well. The church deserves better.

    The Greek word for 'pastor' is 'poimenas' and means 'shepherd.' The Hebrew word is 'roim' and also means 'shepherd.' The meaning is clear. My job has been to care for the flock. Not rule the flock, not ignore the flock while I do my own thing, not control the flock. Simply, care for the flock. And until the last few years, I have done that very thing. But now I am no longer able.

    Oh, I won't be done completely, I suppose. I will fill pulpits, maybe do the occasional funeral, maybe do some counseling. Maybe even try my hand at writing. But pastoring is beyond me now.

    And before you start with 'the Elders need to do those things,' let me tell you that the Elders at the Yoke have been great. They have stepped in for me at a moment's notice, making visits, talking with folks, preaching, running me around. The Elders and some others in the church have stepped in when I cannot. And this is good! But there is nothing quite like having the pastor take a hand of someone in a hospital bed and praying with them before surgery or, in some cases, just before death.

    Right now, I feel like a ship that has hit the rocks in a stormy sea. Battered and breaking up. But a friend in Miami, Noelvys Betencourt, who has known me most of this journey, reminded me of the career that has been. And it has been amazing! While that ship is battered and breaking up, it sailed a long while through all kinds of seas. There is a feeling of pain and loss when you watch a beloved one die, but there is also a feeling of victory, knowing they are seeing Jesus! Walking a person through the phases of grief is awful, but seeing them get their life back is worth it. Encouraging people to rise up in their Spirituality is a privilege most people never feel. I could never have had another career.

    And I have to say, I was pretty good at this career. I have never backed away from the Word, even if I knew folks would get angry with me. But in forty eight years, I have never been asked to leave a church, and when I have left a church, it has always been on good terms. God's people will respond to God's Word, even when they don't like it.

    So that pretty much is my announcement for this Blogday. I will say this, though. I really, really want no form of a farewell. I have been part of a team here. Any accomplishments that have been made have been made by the Yoke, not by me. So, no gifts, no tears, no meals. (I know from experience that pork would be on the menu. Its like you people cannot help yourselves.) Just a few handshakes and a couple of hugs and the Yoke moves on.

    There was a plan at one time. I was Southern Baptist. An influential professor in seminary took an interest in me. He drew up a plan for me, and if this particular professor created a plan for you, you were set. Kind of like the Mafia and the professor was a Don. Actually, now that I think about it, that is kind of what the Southern Baptist Convention is like. The Mafia. Anyway, there was mission work, there was turning a church or two around, there was being elevated to a state convention post to work with crisis churches, there was a teaching stint and then there was a posting in the national convention. And then, an honored retirement and a home somewhere in Tennessee. We did do the mission work, but then the will of God intervened and we moved away from the Southern Baptists. We did work with crisis churches and I taught for a while, but neither with the Southern Baptists. And that honored retirement with the home somewhere in Tennessee? Not going to happen. In my mind, though, retiring from a country church in Indiana is the best of the best.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

         I rarely watch TV. I don't have cable or an antenna. All I have is a streaming service that comes through my internet. Lots of old movies and old television shows. I have no desire to see the liberal news cycles and college and pro sports just turn me away. But I will watch an old movie (particularly 1950s science fiction) or an old television show. And so it was that I settled in to watch a black and white movie the other night. A low budget movie made in 1962, just before the sexual revolution and the British invasion and the drug culture settled in. 

        The plot of the movie is not really important. Set in 1962 and shot in Los Angles, it was predictable in a lot of ways. However, the real reason I watched it was because of the window back in time the movie gave.

        There was the mother and father and the son and the daughter. Frankie Avalon played the teen-aged son, even though he was in his 20s in real life. Not one of his most memorable rolls. The family is going on a camping trip. They have loaded up the camper, which is going to be pulled by a Mercury Monterey, a rather small car for the time, but with an engine bigger than most pick-ups boast now and with more horsepower. As they are loading up, Mom is wearing a skirt (below the knee) and a nice tucked in top, and the daughter is wearing a pretty dress (with a daring hemline that came all the way to the middle of the knee). The son was wearing jeans, but they had a crease, and a bomber jacket. But Dad was the one who caught my eye. He is practicing casting in the front yard while waiting for the family. He is wearing a sports coat (with no tie), slacks and a neat little businessman's cap. Later, along the way, they causally stopped at a hardware store and purchased ammunition for their two rifles and two shotguns they had in the camper and Dad picked up a handgun. And, of course, everyone is smoking.

        A young person today would laugh at the clothes (and really, Dad did look stupid) and be appalled at the guns and the smoking, but it was common back then. In one scene, the daughter was raped, but you didn't see any of that and they didn't actually say the word 'rape' afterward. And when they sat down to eat, Dad prayed over the meal. 

        As unreal as that might seem today, it was also unreal for people in 1962. Maybe not in California, but certainly in the rest of the country. My father would have made fun of a fisherman in the nifty businessman's hat and he would never have worn a sports coat to fish in. He had one suit he had bought the year before I was born, and we buried him in it fifty years later. It didn't smell of fish, either. When we went fishing, we took the old farm truck, which was nothing like the sleek trucks of today. And our engines of that time displaced in inches, not liters. The only time I saw my mother and sisters in skirts and dresses was if they went to church on Sunday or, in my sisters' cases, to school. The only thing from what I remember from 1962 that was like the movie was that everyone smoked.

        People are different wherever they live and everything is different now than it was sixty one years ago. In California they now would not have had the guns or be able to buy ammunition or a handgun. Clothing would be different now as well as how they interacted with one another. Everything is so different. Except......

        There are still Dads who pray before the meal and at other times. I know it was just a movie, but the same God he was praying to in 1962 is the same God I pray to every morning. We approach the Almighty in the same manner.

        I don't really like devotionals because they tend to take two or three verses and then tell you what you should get from those verses. So I want you to read all of the fourth chapter of Ephesians. Pay particular attention to verses thirteen and fourteen, but read the whole thing. In verse fourteen it urges us to not be pushed around by every wind and doctrine that comes along. Be strong in your faith. Everything around you might change, but the Word of God is eternal 

         

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

        What a week!

        Medical appointments every day. Last Friday I killed my phone (justifiable homicide), got a new one and spent the week learning how to use it. On Tuesday my home internet and television quit working. Called the server people and they said it looked like utility work had severed a line. They will be out on Monday afternoon. And then Marsha's Alaskan adventure, which seems to get worse with each day, has ended with her confused and scared in a Seattle hospital. Any one of these things could give several blogs, but not this week. So, odds and ends.

        The hospital Marsha is in is shut down to visitors for COVID. Is COVID worse on the west coast than here or are we just not insane? I am just amazed at that. They told me to not come and visit. I wasn't going anyway, but still. 

        Even though my internet has been out since Tuesday, I still get home and turn on the computer to check for e-mails. It is funny how our habits overcome our thinking. The power goes out or a bulb burns out, and we continue to flip the switch when we walk into a room. We were once hosting a football Sunday at our house. Good game, good company and some really good snacks. I excused myself to go and get a cup of coffee. On the way toward the kitchen I decided I was over doing on the coffee, so I poured some Pepsi in my cup. Right then something exciting happened in the game and I looked up to see the play. When it ended someone yelled for me to come back. "In a minute!" My mind had reset on coffee and I put cream in my Pepsi. I stood there for a few seconds watching my Pepsi bubble before I realized what I had done. Not wanting to look foolish, I went back to the TV room with my cup and just sipped at my creamy Pepsi that everyone assumed was coffee. And that was when I realized that Pepsi and milk was a good drink. But it only happened because my thinking was overcome by habit.

        Speaking of Pepsi and milk, you should try Pepsi and eggnog this Christmas. Oh, wow, that is good! Non-alcoholic eggnog, of course. And next time you are in a restaurant that serves it, try the calamari. It is squid tentacles, but once you get passed the rubbery texture, it is very good. I grew up in a meat and potatoes home. We ate what was grown in the garden, caught in the river, shot in the woods and the beef that was in the freezer. My father hated Eye-talian food, Kraut food, Frenchy food and he really hated Asian food. He fought the Japanese in WWII, but he equated all Asian food with the Japanese. I didn't have pizza until I was an adult and I didn't like it then. Marsha, though, had eaten some weird stuff. She was always after me to try Chinese. I refused. I didn't need to try it, I knew I hated it. And then, we moved to Miami. Coconut Grove to be exact. There I was introduced to various foods. I found out I really liked frog legs. Made in a nice sauce...very good. I have eaten alligator and goat and fried lizard tails (a lot of lizards can grow their tails back, so it was like a renewable resource). I could eat a lot of things, but I hated Chinese. Never had it, but I hated it. Then came the evening I wanted to go see a particular movie. We had seen the trailer on TV and it was action and adventure. Marsha wanted to see a chick flick. Finally, Marsha made a deal with me. She would go to the movie I wanted to go to if I would take her to a Chinese restaurant she had heard about in Coral Gables. I wanted to see the movie, so I agreed to her terms. I figured I could fill up on popcorn later at the movie. Popcorn was not needed. I couldn't believe how good Chinese food tasted! I ate so much we decided to go home instead of seeing the movie. It became my new treat meal. That restaurant became my go to restaurant. Just amazing food.   

        Carla put up a sign at the church this week. LIFE IS A GARDEN. DIG IT! It might not seem like a church sign at first, but everything is sweeter with Jesus. 

 

         My 30-ish doctor was explaining an ailment to me a year or so ago, and he started out by saying, "As we age...." Now, it did not make me angry, but it did make me laugh. I had to explain to him that he might understand the medical side of aging, but he does not understand the reality of aging.

        Steve and Paula are lovely Christian people. Married now for 52 years. They love each other, but Steve kind of took her for granted. Then, about fifteen years ago, Paula had a heart attack. Marsha and I sat with Steve in the middle of the night at a hospital while she underwent emergency surgery. It all went well, but then about five years ago, Paula got cancer. Aggressive surgery and aggressive treatment and now Paula is cancer free. Steve realizes now just how close he has come to losing this gem of a lady and she is his focus.

        However, there are limits. Both were quite active before all this started. However, Paula is now limited somewhat. By late afternoon, she is beat. Steve, on the other hand, has as much energy as ever. By late afternoon he wants to be puttering with his boat or working in the garden or trimming the shrubs. He does not want to sit and watch TV before dinner. Paula, on the other hand, needs to stop and sit and, since she is sitting in front of the TV, she watches it.

        Steve will come in occasionally and watch at least a part of what she is watching, just to be with her. And this is where I was brought into the story.

        It seems Paula enjoys watching reruns of something called My Strange Addiction. Marsha and I had watched part of an episode back when I was at the funeral home. In a seven day period we had five people die in our community from overdoses or other addiction related issues. I tuned into this show to get a better understanding of addiction so I could better serve the families. Turned out, it had nothing to do with that kind of addiction. In the episode we partially watched, it featured a man who was romantically involved with his Volkswagen Beetle. I don't think I have ever seen anything so stupid. It had to be staged. Just silly. But Paula enjoyed it and she was watching the program when Steve walked in and sat down.

        The episode that day was about a woman who drank gasoline. She apparently couldn't help herself. Steve started to say something about the absurdity of the show, but Paula shushed him. She was really into the program and was showing concern for this woman, so Steve shushed. She poured herself a glass of gas and started drinking it when the program broke for commercial. 

        "Pastor, I'm telling you, it was stupid. But Paula was on the edge of her seat. I mean, she had tears in her eyes! When it came back on, the woman was lying on the kitchen floor. Paula kind of wailed and said, 'Oh, she's dead!' And Pastor, I don't know what came over me, but before I could stop myself, I said, 'No honey, she just ran out of gas!'"

        OK, OK. Steve and Paula are real, as are her ailments and that particular television series. But the rest of it is a joke. The point here is that there is humor to be found in almost any situation. And, 'as we age,' we need to find the humor in life. Our time here is way too short to grump around filled with worry or fear or concern. We are human and we naturally have worries and fears and concerns, but there are things that make us smile, too. Search them out.

        Blessings.

    Ah, June! The month for weddings! Such a beautiful time filled with tradition and meaning. So wonderful!

    Except I really don't care for weddings. There are reasons for this that only another minister would really understand. I have often said that I would rather do ten funerals than one wedding.

    The TV program America's Funniest Videos has a lot to do with my dislike. Before AFV came on the air, weddings were dignified things. Once AFV became a thing, there were those who decided that they could make something funny happen and it would be hilarious! But a planned mishap often turns into something mean. This is a serious thing that this young man and woman are doing and someone who thinks they are funny is going to ruin a perfectly good wedding.

    June was always a busy month. One year I did five weddings in June. One of those weddings was sandwiched in between two funerals. At the wedding, the bride and the girls were late. The concerned groom asked what we were going to do. At the rehearsal, I always tell the folks that if anyone is late to the wedding, we will start without them. So, I told the groom that we would start without the bride. If she still wasn't there by the time for the vows, we would end the proceedings. My schedule was really tight that day. One of our men was a photographer and was shooting the wedding. Just before time to start he motioned to me from the back of the church that they were all there. The first girl started down the aisle, and she looked rough. Her make-up looked like it had been done in a fast car on a bumpy road. Her hair was a mess and she looked exhausted. As she got to the front, the second girl started down, and all the people turned to watch her. If anything, she looked worse. I stepped over to the first girl and whispered, "Where have you been?" She looked close to tears. She told me there had been an accident and they were coming from ER. The girls were going to get dressed at the bride's mother's house, so the dresses were all there. The mother had brought them to the hospital, along with the wedding dress, so everyone could get dressed. That had to be a scene. 

    In case you are wondering why they never called anyone about the accident, the answer is, I don't know.

    The bride finally started down the aisle. She wore a fresh leg cast that clumped with each step. She could barely walk, largely because of the massive amounts of pain medicine. We did the wedding, after which I went and did my second funeral. Marsha and I then went to the wedding reception. Everyone seemed to have a great time except for the bride and her girls. The bride slept through most of it and the girls just sat, not even talking. 

    Now, I am not saying all weddings are bad. Some are beautiful and memorable in a good way. Especially nice are the weddings in which I have seen one of the participants grow up. In 2018 I did my cousin's daughter's wedding, and I had watched her grow up from a baby on. But weddings are a ton of work. The people involved have no idea how weddings actually work and they want to fool around and crack everyone up. When you go to a wedding and see how pretty it is, you have no real idea of how every little detail has been worked out. Many weddings have wedding planners, but I have never been that lucky.

    When our son got married, they used Kimberly's pastor. Folks thought I would be upset, but I was thrilled. I don't think I could have made it through that one. But there was one wedding I would have liked to have been a part of. You may not believe this story, but it is true.

    I was at the Cleveland Clinic one day (and this was 30 years ago, at least) to be with a family as their loved one had surgery. I was finally going home, but when I stepped off the elevator at the main entrance and there were about a hundred people in suits and fancy dresses standing around and looking toward the chapel doors. I was intrigued and I ask a lady standing there what was going on. Apparently, a young couple was going to get married on that particular day. But a few weeks earlier the groom to be had been T-boned in his car by a semi. Somehow, he lived through it, but he had to have extensive surgery and more was coming. Still, he wanted to get married on his wedding day. The hospital arranged it and the wedding was held in the hospital chapel. It would seat only about 20 people, so the guests were assembled outside the chapel doors. The young man would leave the chapel and go straight back to intensive care. And, the lady told me, they had arranged for him to stand by his bride. That part didn't resonate with me, and it went past my head. Just then someone called out, "Here they come!" And this is the part you won't believe. The groom was in a body cast and was being push along on a hand truck. He was strapped to the hand truck with an appliance strap. A couple of men walked along side of him to help his balance, and his bride, who was just beaming, walked right next to him holding his hand. He was pushed by a maintenance man who had a tie on for the occasion. And to make it perfect, some clever hospital worker had painted a full tux on the body cast. I kept up with the story until he was released. Back then there were no rules like they have now and if you were a minister registered with chaplain's office, they would tell you anything. The groom eventually went home. Doctors were hoping he would walk again, but that was up in the air. However, it will always be an interesting memory for anyone who was there.

    So enjoy your June. And, if you feel the urge to get married, I can find you a minister.