While many of you have been sipping at your hot drink of choice and gazing out at our winter wonderland, I have been at work. Sunday’s message is now up to an hour and ten minutes and I am just on point two. The kitchen floor is mopped. Laundry is done. I am working on a blog series for Lent. In a little bit I will make a cup of tea and glance outside to see if my car has re-emerged from its snowy cocoon. This is the first real snow day since I have been here and I am enjoying it.

         But things changed a bit on Wednesday afternoon. At 4 o’clock I got an expected and planned call. John is a funeral director at the funeral home I used to work at. We have known each other for years and I count him as a friend. Two children not yet ten and a lovely wife who is one of those people who just makes you smile when she walks into a room. She is from Taiwan and is so happy to be in America. Marsha and I have eaten real Chinese food in their home, and it is much better than the stuff we get here. John didn’t have the best of relationships with his father, so I sort of came to fill that role.

         John could, and would, torment me from time to time. Never mean, just impish. I did just about everything at the funeral home including leading services as a minister if the family had no minister. If I was acting as the director or as the minister, I was deadly serious. Not in the sense that my words were sad and ominous, but in the sense that everything go off as planned. I never wanted the family to look back and remember the goofs. This is where John would get me. He was a musician and, as such, was the music minister at his church. He can play five instruments, but really likes the guitar. Sometimes, if I was the minister and he was the director, he would go to the cemetery early and hide his guitar, in its case, in some bushes. Then, as I was doing the graveside, he would retrieve the guitar and when I was done he would announce that he and I would sing ‘Amazing Grace,’ or some such. One sweltering day in August we were burying a lady who had loved Christmas, so he pulled out his guitar and we sang ‘Silent Night.’ It was never inappropriate but it was also something I never wanted to do or had planned to do. One time we were having the graveside for a lovely Irish woman whose wonderful Irish husband, Daniel, had died a couple of years before. Everyone gathered had red hair and freckles. As I said the final prayer, John stepped up beside me. When I was done he handed me a paper and told the gathered that Pastor Wade was also Irish, and now Pastor Wade was going to sing ‘O Danny Boy.’ The paper had the words. In that situation you cannot say no. It would mar the whole funeral. So I sang ‘O Danny Boy.’ It took a couple of days, but I finally started talking to him again.

         Wednesday’s conversation started out as conversation does between two friends. Kimberly, my daughter in law, works at the funeral home, so we talked of the baby. John scolded me for not being there yet. We talked of his wife and kids. John’s mother got COVID just after Thanksgiving and passed it on to him, so Christmas services for him were problematic. He brought me up to speed about things at the funeral home. Just general things of interest to both of us. But then we got to the purpose of the call.

         Final arrangements for my disposition after I die. The disposition is the disposal of a body. It could be burial at sea, it could be the scattering of cremated remains or it could be a traditional burial or entombment. There are a couple of others, but we won’t go there. The big issue is the transport back to Ohio. I know a few of you will say, “But there is room at Speicher or St. Peter’s cemeteries!” I know that, but I want to be near my son so he can feel guilty for not getting around to see me. There are logistics to work out, plans to make and money to pay. When I die I do not want my son to have to deal with those issues.

         And at this point I need to step away from the story. Please, please, please prearrange your final arrangements. “Oh, no! Too creepy!” I know. I have heard it over and over. But then when you sit down and you begin to hear the options, it all falls into place. And you are relieving your loved ones of a great burden. We are all going to die. Prepare for it to save you children or spouse the pain of picking out a casket and deciding clothing. Call the funeral home you wish to use and set a meeting up.

         Now, back to point.

         My arrangements are simple in the extreme. I want to be cremated in the same cremation chamber in which I have cremated over 1500 people. I want my remains to be put in a simple urn and given to my son. That is it. Nothing else. No funeral. He may wish to do something else, but that is on him, I have learned that once a preacher leaves a community, they are soon forgotten. No point in having a funeral with five people.

         As I talked to John, this was reinforced. John told me how much I had meant to him. He also told me of Paul’s expanded duties. I first met Paul and Peggy when their infant son died suddenly. Devout Catholics, they couldn’t understand how this could happen. I explained that the boy was in glory and that they could go and see him, too. But only through Christ. Paul started working at the funeral home and we talked daily. They now have three children and you could not meet a nicer Christian family. John and I talked about Mark, who is now pastoring a church. Mark was a burned out preacher who wanted nothing ever to do with the pulpit again. I got him a job at the funeral home doing odd jobs and worked to bring the 'pastor' in him back. Over so many years there have been so many like that, and that is what is important.

         The funeral is for the living, not the dead. It is for closure. But what is really important is the life we live here and the Christ we proclaim.

The Dash Poem by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend

He referred to the dates on the tombstone, from the beginning...to the end

 

He noted that first came the date of birth, and spoke the following date with tears,

But he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

 

For that dash represents all the time, that they spent alive on earth.

And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth

 

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars...the house...the cash.

What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

 

So, think about this long and hard. Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left, that can still be rearranged.

 

If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real

And always try to understand the way other people feel.

 

And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives, like we've never loved before.

 

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile,

Remembering this special dash might only last a while

 

So, when your eulogy is being read, with your life's actions to rehash...

Would you be proud of the things they say, about how you spent YOUR dash?

          Think for a minute. What is your number one priority? That is an unfair question, really. We have our lives. Spouse, kids, grand kids. Those are priorities. We have our work. That brings a whole different set of priorities. Friends are another priority. Life becomes rough without friends. There are things you can only tell a friend, things you can do with a friend. And then there are the priorities of your faith. Church, maybe a personal ministry, prayer time, Bible time. We work those things in as best we can.

I have been doing ministry now going on 47 years. (Seems like I just started and now I am looking at fifty years! Mercy!) I have seen these priorities at work hundreds of times. In fact, right off hand I do not remember anyone who didn’t have a priority. And it can be inspiring! There are some who have a priority that is strictly self-serving. They like to hunt or fish or work on engines or whatever. But mostly, people have as a priority something that benefits others. I know a man. Bob. Bob’s wife was Pat. He had come home on leave from WWII just before shipping out to England. He met this cute little thing and got her to marry him. You know the spiel, “Baby, they’re sending me off to war. I don’t know if I will ever be back. Please give me something to remember you by.” “I know what you want, Bob. If we were married it would be different. And don’t call me baby.” “Then let’s get married, Baby.” “Well, since you put it like that, OK, let’s get married!”  Bob went on to storm the beaches on D-Day with staying alive for Pat on his mind. He was completely devoted to her. Sure, there were kids and later grand kids and then great grands, but it was always Pat. In 2003 I sat with Bob and Pat as Pat passed away. The old gentleman turned to me and said, “What do I do now, Pastor?” I didn’t know how to answer. He had just lost his greatest priority. He was lost and alone in a busy and well populated hospital.

“What do I do now?” A plaintive question. One filled with pain, but a question also reflecting the sense of loss one has when the focus in their life is gone.

We all have priorities. I mentioned faith priorities earlier. I said we work those things in as best we can. That wasn’t a slap in the face. God created family way before He created organized worship. Before family came the quiet and restful conversations with God, conversations which expressed love but also received instruction. So, prayer and seeking instruction (we would say now, reading the Word) are the first priority. But when God created the family unit, it was an expansion on the prayer and seeking. They go together as priorities. Even so, most put family priority above their faith priority.

How does that affect our church lives? At the very best, our church lives should be a growth from our personal lives. We must be Spiritual in ourselves before we can be Spiritual in our church lives. Otherwise, the church, and you, will stagger along like a drunk man in a hurricane. In a perfect world the church reflects our personal lives.

In a perfect world. We don’t live in a perfect world. We live in a world where many equate Spiritualty with being of a certain political party. We live in a world that presents pleasures that are far from Godly. We live in a world that demands a change in priorities from things of God to things of the world.

We live in a world of dying churches.

Our church priority is meeting the bills, having worship in the building we want to worship in, not being too hot nor too cold, seeing our friends, starting on time, ending on time, music we like, preaching we like and…well, that is about it. Those priorities may vary from church to church in their execution, but that pretty much says it all. Because our priorities are mostly focused on what we want right now, churches have no future. The church stumbles along and the people in the church explain it away with, “All churches are going through this right now.” Meanwhile, the church continues to die.  

Read the passage below;

Proverbs 29:13-23

¹³ The poor and the deceitful man meet together: the Lord lightens both their eyes.

¹⁴ The king that faithfully judges the poor, his throne shall be established forever.

¹⁵ The rod and reproof give wisdom: but a child left to himself brings his mother shame.

¹⁶ When the wicked are multiplied, transgression increases: but the righteous shall see their fall.

¹⁷ Correct your son and he shall give you rest; yes, he shall give delight unto your soul.

¹⁸ Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keeps the law, happy is he.

¹⁹ A servant will not be corrected by words: for though he understands he will not answer.

²⁰ See a man who is hasty in his words? There is more hope of a fool than of him.

²¹ He who lovingly brings up his servant from a child shall have him become his son in the end.

²² An angry man stirs up strife, and a furious man abounds in transgression.

²³ A man's pride shall bring him low: but honor shall uphold the humble in spirit.

          There seems to be very little in common from one verse to the next in this passage, except each individual proverb has something to do with relationships. Much of Proverbs is like this, so folks have a tendency to just take a single verse out of context and let that speak to them. However, this is a writing technique in the Hebrew language. Many translations arrange their passages in paragraph form as they were intended. In Proverbs, this collection of verses seems to be disjointed and unrelated. But, in this case and most others in the book, you are to look to the sentence in the center of the paragraph to bring it together. Here, the central sentence is verse 18; Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keeps the law, happy is he. Now the disjointed quality of the passage begins to make sense. When we lose our vision, our revelation from God, we begin to disrupt relationships. We can see what is going on, we can even identify the problem, but we do not have the vision, or desire, to do anything about it. Call it not having a priority.

          Once the Urbana Yoke Parish made a decision as to what to do with the buildings, it became a priority. We began to work together in unity, and we, through the power and inspiration of the Lord, did something truly special. The priority came from the congregation. It was sustained by the congregation. It has become a source of pride. Not self-pride, but pride in what God can do among His people. Following close behind all those changes came the pandemic and the mandatory closing of the church. The Lord had prepared us with the equipment to deal with that, but we needed a committed core of people to play it out. God gave a vision, a priority, to a small group of people to learn on the fly and to be faithful to His call. It was a church wide priority, but one where only a few were physically needed. Others participated through prayer and support.

          But where are we now? What is our vision or priority, that thing we feel strongly about? Have we accomplished everything and we no longer need a vision? If we think we have accomplished everything there is to accomplished then we have but one reality…

          Urbana Yoke Parish is a dying church.

          There is much to do if we are to be strong and robust in the next decade or two. And there is much to lose.

          We need vision. We need a priority.

          For two Sundays in a row, it has been announced that we are putting together a feasibility committee to look at what is needed to start a Youth group. Exactly TWO people have expressed an interest. The general feeling is, yes, it would be good to have a group, but who would run it? I’ll kick in a few bucks now and then, but who will run it? Boy, I remember when (put in a name here} did the Youth! Yeah! That was pretty good! We need someone to step up!!!

          OK. Will you do it? No time? Too old? Other priorities? Everyone is in that boat. But look around on Sunday morning and think ten years in the future. We are OK now, but where will we be in ten years? It is a scary thought.

          So, a feasibility committee. What will it cost? Where will it meet? How long before it is a functioning entity? A feasibility committee will look into it. We call a real Youth pastor. He/she has to live, they will need materials and, if they have a family, they will need other things. Will the upstairs be OK for the Youth? Most likely, unless there is someone who is handicapped. And since anyone coming in will be starting with nothing, it will take five years to really get rolling. Now, I can almost hear some of you thinking…”If we have no Youth, why do we need a Youth pastor?” It is the difference between driving on a road on a nice, sunny day and trying to drive through heavy woods without even a path to follow, in a storm. Unless the infrastructure is there first, you will not succeed.

          A committee like this costs nothing except a commitment of time and the ability to do away with preconceived ideas. Two people have taken an interest. We had a feasibility committee to look into the church building situation, and that was great. This should be no different.

          Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keeps the law, happy is he. What is your vision for this church?

          If you would like to be involved, check in with Chris Hann. He is the president of the church Board. He will set you up.

          Blessings.  

         

          My birthday was this past Monday. On that day, 27 inches of snow fell in my son’s town, which is also the town I pastored in for a long time. When the weather service says that 27 inches, they mean 27 inches in a sheltered space. Drifts are much higher and the more wind, the higher the drifts. The whole area was shut down for a whole day, which doesn’t sound like much. But in an area where they are very proud of their ability to keep the roads clear, a day is a big deal.

         Still, not the worst snow ever. Late November of 1998, a lake affect storm blew in off of Lake Erie and dumped about three feet. On Saturday I had a funeral and when we got to the cemetery we could not get to the grave site. So they set the casket on a picnic table, we all huddled together and I did the graveside. The deceased’s son said that it was fitting because his Dad had loved a good snowstorm and he had loved picnics. It snowed all night and the next morning was the only time we ever called off church. Because of drifting, many churches had their doors blocked and because the Lake was still warm, the snow was wet and heavy and the roofs of two churches in the area caved in.

         Still, not the worst snow ever. Late January of 1978. Yes, we all remember that little bit of joy. South Bend got 36 inches with drifts well double that. Our area in Ohio got four feet. All along Illinois, Indiana and Ohio, 80 mile per hour winds howled along. With wind chill figured in, it got to 40 degrees below zero. If people really needed to get out of their homes, it was easier to go out an upstairs window. A lot of people died, but it would have been so much worse except for those who had snowmobiles going around and checking on people.

         Still, not the worst snow ever. 1949. From mid December through mid January, 27 different snowstorms swept across the Plains states. I wasn’t born yet, but it was legendary in northeast Ohio. The winds swept in to Indiana and Ohio, bringing mostly just wind. However, in northeast Ohio, those winds blew over the Lake and led to the highest lake affect snow fall ever. Bill Vandervort, an Elder in the church I pastored, told me he was working at the electric company and got stranded there by the snow. Everyone’s power was off but they could not get out to fix the lines. Almost everyone heated with coal, so people could stay warm, but even so, many died. Bill told me that about one o’clock in the morning a man got to the power company, nearly frozen to death. He said his wife was ready to deliver a baby and the pain was so much worse than before. Could they get to their house and get her to a hospital? The power company did have a couple of big surplus WWII trucks with plows on them to keep the lots clear. Bill said that he and another man walked on top of the snow and then dug down when they thought they were there. They found a truck, sort of dug it out and cranked it up. They managed to push through the snow to the house. There they helped deliver the baby. The husband/father told them that they had already picked out a boy’s name and a girl’s name (that was the way you did it back in the day, kids) and since it was a boy his name was going to be what they had decided on. BUT, in honor of the power company men who came in and saved the day, the boys nickname would be Sparky.

         Where is all this going? Whether it is snow or hurricane or earthquake or whatever, we are like dust mites compared to God Almighty. We think we can control things, we even understand what causes it all. We think we can predict, but we cannot. It is all in His hands.

         And yet….His love for us is so amazing that He will stop and listen to a small child’s prayer for her puppy. His love for us is so great that He knows us as individuals. His love for us is so intense that we can cause Him to grieve. Do you ever wish you could pick up the phone and call the President? There is a number and I called it once, but it was just a switchboard. However, I can talk to God whenever and I KNOW He hears and I KNOW it will be answered for the best.

         Whenever the pandemic hit, people were saying it was the worst thing to ever happen. Really? Not even close. One commentator wondered if it was related to climate change. Wow!

         GOD IS IN CONTROL, and He still has all the time in the world for you.        

      

          I am a real, honest to goodness, action hero.

          I am in college in Chattanooga, Tennessee in 1976. I am twenty years old and married. My life is school, work and church. I want to spend time with my wife, but that isn’t always possible. We have rent and utilities to pay, groceries to buy, a car to keep up and school bills. Marsha is working at a Revco drugstore in Cleveland, Tennessee and it makes sense for me to get a job in that town, too.

          I am hired at McCoy, Inc, an auto parts store that has been there forever. The big draw for me is that if I work here, I can get the parts I need to keep my piece of junk on the road. And they will schedule me around school and church. And they will pay me $2.50 an hour. As it turns out, I work fifty hours a week. Thirty six hours during the week and fourteen on Saturday. I am young. I am strong. I am exhausted.

          I am also extremely disliked by our biggest customer. Mr. Cordin. About six foot six and close to three hundred and fifty pounds. He owns the John Deere dealership in town and, this being farm country, he is a pretty big deal. He also owns seven dirt track stock cars that he races on Friday and Saturday nights. Well, he doesn’t race them. He hires mechanics for the dealership who can race the cars. To satisfy his needs we have to carry parts for nearly every tractor ever built as well as parts for his cars. His dislike for me is two-fold; I talk like a $%@# Yankee and I go to college. He will come in and make a big deal about having something hard and he needs to talk to the college boy. First he wants a lower radiator hose for a VW Beetle. Next he wants some little obscure valve for a 1939 tractor. Next he comes in and makes up a non-existent tractor that he needs a non-existent part for. He does everything he can do to make it hard for me. The owner tells me that if I ever get lippy with Mr. Cordin, I will be fired. It is hard because I really do not like him at all.

           I am the guy who opens up on Saturday and I am the guy who locks up. Saturdays are always killers because when I get there, there are ten to twenty guys already there to get parts for their race cars that they broke the night before. Everybody is already angry because they have to do this and it makes life difficult. Mr. Cordin is here every Saturday morning. All the other men defer to him. He gets to go first. After all, he owns the John Deere dealership and most of these guys owe him money.

          I am ready for him this Saturday. I have prayed about it. He is grumpier than usual, but I ignore that. He has a two page list and I jump right into it. With race cars you can’t just look up a differential for the 1961 Chevy it is going into. It likely has a Ford differential. Most times, only the shell is identifiable, the rest of the car is all mix and match. However, I actually enjoy that. Makes it interesting. I soon have everything on the counter and I am ready to ring it up when Mr. Cordin reaches into a bag and pulls out a broken motor mount. “College boy, Ah don’t think you’s can find this here mount. Ah’s a coming with you to match it up.” By sight I thought I recognized it, So, I invite him to come along. It will be sweet to walk right to the box and pull it out.

          I am a little nervous, though. The part of the rack that holds the motor mounts faces the old wooden shelves that hold all the batteries. And there are a lot of batteries. We don’t carry just for cars and pick-ups. No sir. We carry for tractor trailers, we carry deep wells for boats, we carry all kinds of batteries for various pieces of farm equipment. The whole wall is shelving for batteries, floor to ceiling. Old wooden shelving bolted to the wall, which is an outside wall. When someone needs a battery that is at the top, we climb a tall ladder to get to the top and then carry a heavy battery down. I have always had a fear of heights anyway, but here I can imagine that top shelf breaking and batteries raining down.

          I am thinking this while I am getting down to get the mount out. What I don’t know is that Mr. McCoy’s (the owner) son’s wife has just whipped into the parking lot. She does our books and she is very angry that she has to work Saturday to do end of the month. She’s driving too fast and when she goes to slam on the brakes she just pushes the accelerator to the floor. She is going into her parking space, which happens to be on the other side of the battery wall. When she hits the gas she accelerates right into the wall.

          I am kneeling on the floor, reaching a mount up to Mr. Cordin to match, when I hear the crash. Instantly, I am on the move, coming up from the kneeling position. Mr. Cordin is right in front of me. Big man. My shoulder buries into his stomach and he doubles over me. By the time we are at the end of the aisle, batteries are smashing down behind us right where we had been. Some are bursting open, spewing acid everywhere. Finally, with Mr. Corbin’s bulk on me, I go down. We hit the floor (no acid there, yet) and slide into the racks holding exhaust pipes. I give Mr. Cordin a hand up and we go down several aisles and then head to the front, where everyone is exiting the building.

          I am bending over and retching. So is everyone else. The vapors from the acid have gotten to everyone. Except Mr. Cordin. I had knocked the air out of him and now he was just trying to get his lungs to work. But when he does get the lungs working, he comes to me and stands me straight up. “Boy, you saved me! You saved my life! You saved me!” I try to tell him that he was just in my way, which is the truth. But he isn’t buying it. After that, he brings me a bag of White Castle hamburgers whenever he comes in.  

          I am an action hero.

          I am also a literary hero. I wrote that whole thing in present tense, which is hard to do. I also started every paragraph with ‘I am.’ Also very hard to do. Just did that for a hoot.

          But accidently saving Mr. Cordin’s life does not make me a hero. Seriously, if I had been facing the other way, Mr. Cordin would have died then and there. As it is, I remember it as a funny story. And it explains why I can’t stand White Castle now. But there was nothing heroic about it.

          I got word this week that Jim Wilson, a friend, has died. He owned a string of gas stations and was quite wealthy. He didn’t accept Christ until he was in his 50s, but he spent the last twenty years making up for time lost. To me, he was a hero. Martha Chamberlain will not be remembered much beyond the boundaries of Urbana. But her gentle spirit and steadfast faith made her stand out. Church seemed better when she was there. To me, she was a hero. After forty six years in the ministry I have been blessed to encounter many such heroes. I hold all of them close in my heart. Some people go their whole lives wanting to meet a sports hero or a music hero or whatever, never realizing that there are heroes close by.

          Which brings the thought. YOU can be a hero to someone. Just let the Lord lead. Be His instrument.

          Blessings.