When I went to work at the funeral home, it was owned by two brothers. They did not get along at all. They argued about everything. The principle owner (the older brother) very often did stupid things. He once had a family that came in to make arrangements and they wanted a casket of a certain design. Our regular supplier didn't carry it, but it so happened that a supplier in Cleveland had the exact casket in stock. So, the older brother decided to drive to Cleveland to get it. It was about 3 PM and the supplier closed at 5 PM, so he had to hurry. There were three vans in the garage, but he chose to take the hearse because you never see a hearse pulled over. He figured he could speed in the hearse. Which he did. Picked up the casket and came back. No problems. 

    EXCEPT, he hadn't told anyone he was going. When he got back, he did not unload the casket. (Unloading a casket by yourself is easy with the right equipment, which we had.) Instead, he just went home. And he didn't leave a note. Apparently, he assumed that the maintenance guy would get it in the morning when he got in at 8 AM. What he didn't know, because he never really paid attention, was that there was a funeral first thing in the morning at our other funeral in another town. So, the hearse driver shows up at 7 AM, washes the hearse and leaves the garage at 7:30, waving to the maintenance guy as he was coming in. 

    He gets to the other funeral home and parks in the spot reserved for the hearse. Customs vary even from town to town. Where the main funeral home was, people came out and got into their cars and waited for the procession to pull out. But in this other town, the people gathered round and made a human aisle for the casket and pall bearers that went from the steps of the building to the hearse. Then, after the casket was loaded, they would go and get in their cars and the procession would leave. The younger brother was in charge of this funeral and he proceeded the casket to the hearse. Imagine his surprise when he opened the back door of the hearse and found another casket already there. Is the casket full, is it empty, are they looking for it back at the other funeral home? That is what I mean about the older brother doing stupid things. He didn't think it through. 

    Eventually, the two brothers decided to retire. The youngest brother had a son (Trevor) who was really into the business. He was a licensed director and mortician and was the one who did most of the work. The brothers decided to sell it to him. I really liked this young man. He was a few years older than my son and had gone to the same high school. I had known him since he had been in junior high. He was serious and thoughtful and really concerned for the families we served and he taught me with both respect and patience. But sometimes he did stupid things. He had traits of both his father and uncle. All in all, though, the brothers did the right thing selling the business to him, but he had his moments.

    It was a joy to work for Trevor. A good Christian man, very active in his church and concerned for the Spiritual and physical welfare of his workers. One of the fellows who worked there (Mark) had a sister in Pennsylvania who got very sick. She wound up in a hospital in Pittsburgh. Mark had been there for a week with his aged parents to be with her as she struggled for life. After our morning meeting one day, Trevor took me aside. We didn't have any funerals for three days. He asked me to take the lead car, the car the funeral directors drove to the cemetery, and get my wife and go to Pittsburgh and be with the family as a pastor. We could spend the night in Pittsburgh and come home the next day. Pittsburgh was quite a drive, motel accommodations were not cheap and I was to feed everyone while I was there using the funeral home credit card. All so a family could have some Spiritual comfort. 

    On the other hand, Trevor occasionally did things that were not too bright. A gentleman had died from cancer. Trevor met with the family and at the morning meeting the next day he informed the staff of the plans. I was writing everything down in my notebook because I always wound up involved in some way and I wanted the whole story in my head. Everything was fine until Trevor said that the family wanted the man's motorcycle next to the casket. Trevor sat at the head of the conference table, I sat at the other end and the staff sat in the side chairs. When he said that the family wanted motorcycle next to the casket, we all looked up. It was his tone. I just knew something was coming. So did everyone else. 

    "Trevor, a motorcycle is a lot heavier and awkward than a casket." I was trying to reason with him because I could see the same gleam in his eye his uncle would produce just before he told us his nutty plan. "We're going to have to put down plastic sheets for oil drips. And if some little kid tips it over on himself, we would be liable."  "Lar, (He called me Lar when it was really going to be stupid. My head began to ache.) sometimes you are worse than an old woman. It can go in through the crematory and up the elevator. No problem." We all waited for the other shoe to drop. "But we aren't going to do that! We will go right up the casket ramp." And I knew we were going to have a problem. The casket ramp was a rather steep ramp in the back of the funeral home that had been used in the past when the casket was too heavy to be carried down the steps or when there were no pallbearers. The casket would be placed on a special cart, called a truck, and then with someone on the rear of the casket and someone on the front of the casket, it would be rolled down the ramp to the waiting hearse. The elevator had been in place for twenty years and, as far as I knew, the ramp hadn't been used in all that time. It was old and warped and looked rotted. 

    "Lar, I want you with me." And he got up from the table and headed for the door. I knew what was coming. 

    The bike was already at the foot of the ramp and the double doors, which I had never seen opened, were standing open. This was no motor scooter. It was a larger Harley. It would be a hard push, but I knew he wasn't going to push it. He was smiling from ear to ear.

    "Trevor, you are not riding that thing into the funeral home." He looked at me. "Why not, Lar? I don't have to clear it with you. I don't have to clear it with anyone!"

    I looked into the funeral home. All the chairs were neatly arranged. "As soon as you cross that threshold you will have to make a really hard right." "That's why its got handlebars." "Trevor, lets at least move the chairs." 

    He leaped onto the Harley and settled down on the seat. "Lar, how do I start this thing?" Oh, boy.

    "You've never ridden a motorcycle, have you?" "Well, no, but how hard can it be? It sure looks fun!" It was his uncle coming out. "Why am I here, Trevor? Do you want me to pick up the broken chairs you are going to plow through, check your pulse when you blow through the far wall? Why am I here?" 

    The rest of the staff had gathered a ways away to watch. He whispered, "Just show me how to start it and how to shift." "Are you kidding? Trevor, I've never ridden a bike. If it was a tractor, I'm your guy. But I have never ridden a bike." 

    The staff was waiting. Trevor looked at me like I might be lying. "You grew up on a farm. Now show me how to start this thing." "Trevor, I don't a single farmer who rides a motorcycle." (This was before I knew Orville Chamberlain.) "I really don't know how to start it."

    Trevor took a deep breath and got off the bike. Our conversation had been in low voice so the staff couldn't hear us. Now Trevor turned to the waiting staff and said, "Mother Larry doesn't think I should ride it in. Whatever..... Joe, come help us push it in." We got it in and it was all fine. 

    I hadn't thought about this in years, but the other day I was talking to someone from the funeral home and the subject came up in conversation. As I thought about it later, I thought about us Christians doing things without praying. To not pray before acting is akin to riding a Harley into a funeral home. Something bad is going to happen. If we pray and if we read the Word, God will open things up for us. The sky is the limit, but if we forge ahead without being Spiritually prepared, we are going to crash and burn.           

     They came running across the park to me looking scared. I was in seminary in Northwest Florida and I was a music and Youth pastor at a medium sized country church. We had a Youth group of around twenty kids. It was summer and school was out and we had arranged to take the kids to Miracle Strip Amusement Park on Panama City Beach. Apparently, if you are growing up in the Florida Panhandle, the overwhelming heat doesn't faze you and you like to do outside activities under the blistering sun. I had convinced two of the Moms to go with us as chaperones and off we had gone.

    We got to the park and got the kids inside and then I grouped them together to give them the rules. Not the park rules. Those were posted. No, I gave them my rules. Check in occasionally with Mrs. Bittner and Mrs. Carter, stay away from the Gulf of Mexico and, most importantly, do not bother me unless it is a grave emergency. I showed them the picnic table under the oak tree where I would be reading. Go have fun.

    Mrs. Bittner and Mrs. Carter vanished. They didn't show up until it was time to leave. The kids never did find them. Even so, I wasn't worried about the kids. They were really very smart and by just looking up I could see and hear them.

    So, when the whole crew of kids came running across the hot sand to me looking like they were being chased by something bad, I was concerned. Even put my book down.

    "Pastor, you have to help us!" Think about that for a moment. Twenty kids, all looking alarmed, and they need help. Wonderful. What could this be about? 

    They were all talking at once. The five boys were hanging back from the girls and not saying anything, but they were shifting back and forth from foot to foot. The girls were doing the talking. The problem was, they were all doing the talking all at once. I finally got them to get quiet and picked one girl (the natural leader) to explain.

    Well, they all had a problem. They were all cowards. Miracle Strip Amusement Park finally shut down for good in 2004, but back in the mid-1980s it was a big deal in the panhandle. The big draw was, I believe, the Starliner roller coaster. It was OK, but if you had ever been to Cedar Point it looked more like a kiddie coaster. There were other rides, of course, and food and games of skill. There were a few side attractions. There was a really nice Ferris wheel. There was the beach and the Gulf of Mexico. And that year there was a new fun house. Supposedly the fun house was changed every other week. Sometimes terrifying, sometimes just fun. We got there on a scary week. The kids had grouped together and were going to go into the scary fun house. However, just as they got there another group of kids emerged looking frightened. Our kids asked those kids if it really was scary. Those kids, a couple of whom had tears in their eyes, told our kids not to go in. And then they walked away, not even talking to each other.   

    A couple of the girls tried to inspire the rest. Didn't work. They tried to shame the boys into leading the way. Didn't work. While they stood and argued another group of girls entered. Our kids opted to wait and see if they came out. They did, a few minutes later, all crying. That is when they came to me.

    OK, just go and do something else. No! If we don't do it, we will always hate ourselves! Well, kids, if I leave this shade, I will always hate myself. Pleeeasse Pastor! Actually, I had been watching the whole thing through my sunglasses. What they said was true. I just couldn't believe it was that scary.

    Finally, I got up and we all headed over to the fun house. we paid our entry and I led the group in. Before we got in I felt a hand grip my belt. One girl had my belt in her hand and she had extended her hand back to the next girl, who in turn took the hand of the next. In that way all the kids were hand in hand with the others. In we went.

    I was expecting flashing light and screams and growls and creatures appearing, but the first little way was just black. Good thinking, actually. Get the kids really scared in the dark, and then scare them. But it was just completely dark. My girls were starting to cry and even the boys were sniffling. Soon, any moment, the terror would begin.

    We were three quarters through (although we didn't know that) when I bumped into something with my knees that was soft. Ah, I thought, here it comes. The big scare. But, nothing. Just this little, soft thing. Then I heard a little voice that didn't belong to my group. "Please don't kill me!" It was a little girl, on her knees, crouched down, almost in a fetal position. She was terrified. I crouched down next to her. "Hey, it's OK. We aren't monsters. We are going to get you out." Word went back quickly through the dark. "It's a little girl!" "She's scared to death!" "We have to get her out!" The teen who had been holding my belt and reached down to the child. "Come on, sweetie, we're getting out of here!" She picked the little girl up and held her and we proceeded. It wasn't far and we were at the door. A blast of air hit us from above and there was a pre-recorded scream and we were out. A lady about thirty feet away screamed, "There's my baby!" and came running. Mother and daughter were reunited. As far as my kids, they were mad at themselves for being frightened before they even went in. They walked away grumping about how they really hadn't been scared at all. I bought a Coke and went back to reading.

    Over the last seven years, I have seen Urbana Yoke Parish take several steps forward into the unknown and do things that the Yoke had never done. It is scary. But the Lord has prepared, protected and prevailed. We face another such step. Fear not! Have faith in the Lord. 

    Hebrew 11:1---Now faith is the substance of things hope for, the evidence of things not seen.

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     A hot summer day in July, 1978. A day when it almost hurt to breathe. I was going to school at night and working with a landscaping crew during the day. Married, still three years away from becoming a Dad. There was no limit as to what I could do. Or so I thought. Turns out I was wrong about that notion. Pulling a hundred pound bag of seed off the back of a truck, I flipped it up to my right shoulder and started to turn to walk it where it was needed. I had done this countless times, but this time was just a little bit different. Something popped in my back. I went to my knees and dropped the bag. The pain was intense. However, I was young and strong and could do anything. This pain would pass. I got to my feet, got the bag to my shoulder again and walked it to where it was needed.

    But the pain didn't pass. It stayed with me. Not as bad as that moment, but it was there. Finally, a year later, I let a guy at church talk me into going to his chiropractor. "All you need is an adjustment!" The chiropractor introduced me to real pain. It wasn't a chiropractic problem and the chiropractor made it all worse. After that I would get to be in such pain that I couldn't straighten up. But, again, I was still young and strong and could do anything, so I pushed on. Never missed a day of work, never missed a class and never missed a Sunday with my Youth.

    In 1984 it got so bad that I went to an orthopedic doctor just east of Eglin Air Force Base in Florida. They ran me through all the tests they had at the time, and he told me I needed surgery. But, he cautioned, there was only a 50/50 chance I would ever walk again. I thought about that and decided I needed to think and pray some more. On the way home we were driving along a stretch of white beach that was completely empty. Our son wanted to go swimming, so I stopped. He and I walked down to the water and stepped in. He was in shorts, so it was OK for him to get wet, but I had pants on. I was just going to wade out to keep an eye on him. But the water felt really good and I went out a little further. And a little bit more. And a little bit more. Finally, I was out about my shoulders, playing with my son. The water was warm, the day was breezy, the son was having fun. My spirit and God's Spirit were in communion. No matter the circumstance, God would give me rest because God had a plan. 

    After a while we left the water. Marsha scolded us all the way back to the car because we were going to get the car wet, but mothers and wives are like that. I had peace in my spirit.

    Over the years the pain has come and gone. I can't begin to know the number of X-rays I have had. I have had ten CAT scans and now a half dozen MRIs. (I hate MRIs. So loud in that tube! You would think they could quiet that some.) I have managed to stay ahead of the pain. All sorts of little exercises and stuff. For years it never kept me from shoveling snow or laying under my car to change the oil or crouching next to it to put on new brakes. But finally, I broke down and separated with some money and bought a new car that wasn't a fix or repair daily. In time my son bought me a snow blower. I would take our Youth out to work in the yards of our older members and they would refuse to let me do any real work. I played softball into my 50s, but finally stopped that when swinging a bat got to be too painful. I have adapted to the pain. 

    Ah, but now it is different. For many years I have had arthritis on the outside of my spine, which has irritated the muscles and nerves there. Pain that can be ignored to a degree. Now, though, arthritis has moved into my spine, irritating my spinal cord and causing it to swell, which is causing the pain to radiate outward. My left leg will suddenly go weak, and I will stumble a little. I don't like this at all. But I have always lived my life knowing that God has a purpose and a reason for what happens. And I have to face a cold, hard fact: I am a senior citizen! 

    I debated writing this blog, but I decided that we are a praying church. We are all prayer partners. I go to the specialist on January 11. I will know more then. Meanwhile, I wait. Since I have been at this church, I have had one thing after another, Things I have never had to face before. But you all have prayed for me and lifted me up. The Elders have stepped in when I couldn't do that part of my job. We have people in the church who are good preachers. I am not happy with my performance here, but, again, God has a purpose. 

    And now it is a new year! We do not yet know what 2023 holds. The one thing we are certain of, though, is that God does indeed have a purpose!  

             

                                                           

        Life is about change, I suppose. I grew up in the country, more or less. My father farmed and worked in a factory until I was 16, when the farm failed. I was driving a tractor in the field and on the road when I was 10 and I drove a truck when I was 12. That made my mother angry, but it was a small town and there was practically no traffic, so it was not a problem.

          I went to college in a small southern city, but to me it was a huge place. They had transit buses and cabs and a full time police force and all of that sort of thing. After that, we moved to Miami, Florida. For a mid-western farm boy, that was a real change.

          After several years in Miami we left our church and returned to seminary. The place was the panhandle of Florida, and we were about as far into the country as you could get. I felt at home, sort of, but I still felt very much like a stranger in a strange land.

          The first thing we really ran into in our area was the decorating of graves. The cemetery behind our church had many graves that were decorated. When I saw my first decorated grave, I thought someone had vandalized the grave. Broken (but colorful) dishes lined the edges of the grave. A couple of unusually shaped and colored bottles were embedded in the dirt on top of the grave. The headstone had Christmas garland around it. It didn’t look anything like what I was used too. But, that was their way and their tradition. Most of the graves there were decorated with glass or sea shells. Once you got used to it, it was sort of nice.

          Another thing was at Christmas time. My wife and son and I drove into the parsonage driveway one evening after a day at the nearest mall. (60 miles away) There was a large bush that none of us could identify lying on our front steps. We assumed it had blown there from the nearby woods until we saw that it was tied to the handrail, evidently to keep it from blowing away. We had no idea what it was or why it was there. It was not potted, but looked to be cut from a larger bush or vine or something. Actually, it was ugly. We figured someone from the church had brought it by because it was tied to the rail, so we didn’t want to throw it away. We just left it where it was.

          The next day was Sunday and we dressed and headed across the yard to the church. One of the men was waiting for us on the porch of the church. He pointed back to the parsonage.

          “You know, you should take your mistletoe in. Someone is gonna steal a big one like that right off your steps during church if you don’t.”

          My wife looked at him and said, “Mistletoe? That’s not mistletoe.”

          The fellow looked at her as though she had uttered some black oath. “Well, Ah declare but it is. Ah shot it mahself.”

          My wife grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. When we lived in Miami I depended on her to fill me in on the subtleties of city life. Now, out here in the country, she depended on my life experience to explain country living. Certainly, in Cleveland people did not have to shoot the shrubbery. She didn’t understand why this man had shot the bush. She looked at me for clarification. Her look held two questions. First, she had always thought that mistletoe was a plastic ball of green that you put over a doorway at Christmas. So, she wanted to know if that was mistletoe and she wanted to know why one would shoot mistletoe. 

          As for me, I knew that we in the country didn’t go around shooting the greenery, either. At least not in Ohio. I was stumped. I was pretty sure the bush was not an animal of any sort, but sometimes we saw strange things there in northwest Florida. But it was definitely a plant, and, in my experience, plants were relatively docile and didn’t need to be shot. Whether or not it was actually mistletoe didn’t interest me near as much as why it had to be shot. So, I asked the question;

          “Why did you have to shoot it?”

          Folks there thought Marsha was a lot of fun. She was definitely a big city girl. She still thought being up close to a cow was the greatest of thrills. She would get so excited she would yell for someone to come and look at the moo-cow. A tractor in the field fascinated her. Having fresh vegetables and meat was a new experience that she would go on and on about. Like I said, they thought she was fun.

          On the other hand, the people there knew I was a country boy to begin with. They expected more from me than they did from Marsha. Our mistletoe shooter looked at me now like I must have been the imbecile son of a farmer.

          “Land sakes, preacher-boy (oh how I hated ‘preacher-boy’), how the heck else are you supposed to get it out of the tree?”

          A good question, I suppose. At least he thought it was, for it seemed to answer my question for him. He shook his head in bewilderment and walked into the church. I was left with another question, which it was just as well I didn’t ask. I wanted to know why you didn’t just cut the mistletoe off the bottom of the mistletoe tree?

          That afternoon I looked up information on mistletoe. As it happens, it is a parasite plant that grows in the top of a host tree. How it ever got to be associated with kissing and Christmas is something I never cared to learn. I do know that we had a hard time pulling that bush through the door and into the parsonage. We never did hang it up. We just kept it until we took the tree down and then we burned both of them in the backyard. The mistletoe was nearly as big as the tree, so we had a nice bonfire by which to remember Christmas, 1983.

    Eddie and Terry and Dan and Jamie and sometimes his wife Marianne and I would get together at four or five o'clock in the morning and have breakfast at Dennys. On Christmas morning. Marsha went once, but I am not sure she ever really woke up. There would be few other people scattered around, but they were mostly staying to themselves. There has to be a story to someone eating breakfast by himself at five o'clock in the morning on Christmas. Likely a sad story. However, our little group sat together and enjoyed our fellowship.

    The question was asked of me last week, what was it I missed most about Christmas, now that I am alone and far away. I think the expected answer was my son or, now, my granddaughter. I can only assume that the asker expected something sad. I thought for a few seconds and replied that I missed that little fellowship at Dennys.

    To most, it would sound silly, but everyone's idea of a fun Christmas is different. Terry and Eddie were Elders in the church. Jamie did the sound and organized the special music. Dan did the sound at a mega church in Texas, but he returned to Mom and Dad's for Christmas every year. Marianne was a school teacher with a wicked sense of humor. Our goal was to fellowship, to give our waitress a smile for Christmas (and a really nice tip) and to share Jesus with all who were there. We laughed, we joked, we sang Christmas carols. It was fun. Throw in the Dennys' Grandslam breakfast and it was the perfect morning.

    And now, I live where there is no Dennys, I am alone and I am far away from family. Traditions are gone. Laughter and opening gifts are no more. And yet, I find out that the holiday is actually better this way. There is nothing wrong with gifts and lights and laughter, so long as the worship of Christ is first. Now, with nothing to catch my attention and draw me away from Christ, I feel more fulfilled.   

    Back to Dennys on Christmas morning. We would give our orders and then Eddie would pick his target. Getting up, he would wander that way. He would sit down and start to share Jesus. The rest of us soon followed. We would find our way back to our table as the food was coming and we would enjoy. Then we would sing. It was like going caroling, only inside with coffee and sitting. Sometimes everyone in the place would be singing. What a wonderful way to start Christmas! It is a good memory.

    I look at people who have lost the joy of Christmas because their kids are grown or they are alone or there is some issue in their lives. Burdens can be so large that they block out the glow of the Savior. But it doesn't need to be that way. What a marvelous time to walk aways with Jesus. The joy of that is far better than the other things that clutter our walk.

    And, if you like, I am available to come to your house at 4 AM  and we can have a cup of coffee and some eggs and biscuits.

        To get to my grandmother's farm, you had to drive up a pretty substantial hill on a dirt road in southern Kentucky. Usually, we went in the summer months, so the dust from the road just hung in the air. We did go at Christmas one year. That was a disaster. My mother had ten brothers and sisters. Someone thought it would be wonderful for all eleven siblings and their families to get together at Granny's. Everyone was gung-ho, except Granny. Two of my mother's brothers lived in the same county, so the people were able to not be all crammed in, but it was still a lot of people. Granny hung in there, though. She made Christmas dinner on, and in, her old wood burning stove.

    But this isn't about that awful Christmas. This is about a discovery I made one hot summer evening on the back porch.

    First, my grandmother's house was old. Not like fifty years or even a hundred years. My mother's family had owned that farm since the 1700s. I don't think the house was that old, but it was old. There was electricity, but the wiring was in conduits that ran along the walls rather than inside the walls. The running water consisted of a hand pump in the kitchen sink. And, of course, the outhouse. This was a nice outhouse. A four holer. You had to walk a long way to get to it because you usually tried to situate those things well away from the house. A couple of old barns and several sheds. A big corn crib. And in the house was a big fireplace. Having always lived in northeast Ohio, an evening in the summer where the temp dropped to 70 was comfortable. In southern Kentucky, such an evening was considered cold. So, even in the summer, there would be the occasional fire laid in. 

    I do like a fire, but I preferred a fire on a night when it was about 10 degrees outside and the wind was howling. Those summer fires would be too hot for me, so it was out to the front porch with my sisters and three girl cousins who my grandmother was raising. But a little boy sitting around with five girls...yuck! After a little bit of that I would just start wandering around the house in the dark, checking things out. On the night in question, I wound up sitting on the back porch with the big old blue tick (That's a type of dog. I just realized how that sounded.) my grandmother owned. Looking out at the low mountain that was off in the distance, I saw a red light flashing slowly off and on. It was higher than the mountain by a little bit and I could not figure out what that light was, so I asked the dog. He looked at me like, "How would I know?" No help there. So, I wondered and I wondered. I was thinking I should get an adult when Bobbi (cousin Roberta) walked around the house. Bobbi lived there and she was almost an adult. If I was six then she was ten, so I asked her.

    "Bobbi, what's that red thing up in the sky?"

    She looked up and around and said, "What red thing?" Dumb girl. 

    "Over there," and I pointed. 

    "That light over yonder? That's the light on top of the radio tower to warn planes away so they won't fly into the tower." Maybe she wasn't so dumb after all.

    After that she told me I needed to get in out of the cold so I wouldn't catch my death, and I refused. She went away, taking the dog with her. I was left to sit there watching that light pulse. A radio tower! That was so neat!

    I had seen an old movie on TV where there was some sort of disaster coming. In the newsroom of the radio station all these people were rushing around to get the news out. Men wearing shirts and ties with their shirt sleeves rolled up with papers clutched in their hands. Women in long dresses and high heels and a string of pearls around their necks typing furiously to generate the papers the men carried. Now as I watched that lazy pulse of a light, I couldn't figure why Bobbi wasn't more interested. Amazing things could be happening!

    Now, well, now I have been in those newsrooms. It is vastly different. No one is too impressed with anything. It is a job. No excitement, no concern. Been there, done that...ho-hum. Important things happen, sure, but they are still going to eat supper that night and maybe catch the game on TV. They are cynical, I am cynical, we all have grown cynical. We are not six year old kids on a back porch any more with our minds all awhirl as we gaze heavenward. It has all become to regular, to common. The wonder is gone. We have grown up.

    And the loss of that wonder is a shame. We have trained our minds to dismiss the amazing. It takes so much more than it used to in order to ignite our imagination.

    A young couple, dusty and tired from days of travel, coming into a small town, crammed with dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds and hundreds, of people. And that couple finding shelter where no human should live and in that place delivering the Child that would offer Himself to save any and all who would believe. Yes, it is an old story. We have heard it over and over, again and again. And we need something more to give us the feeling of Christmas.

    Someone asked me the other day if I was going to slip away and go to Ohio over the Christmas holiday to see the granddaughter. No. As far as time to go on a trip, Christmas is not good. It will mean as much next March or April. The only child I need to hold to feel the wonder of Christmas is the Child I hold in my heart. Please, don't lose that bit of wonder.

 

Isaiah 7:14---Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel.

We know all of this, of course. Immanuel is Jesus. There is a longer passage in Isaiah 9 that talks of the same thing. Part of the miracle of the birth of the Christ is that in various places in the Old Testament, His birth, life and death are foretold. Every blood sacrifice in Scripture is a foretelling of the coming Messiah and His sacrifice. The events surrounding His conception and birth are just a part of the miracle. Isaiah is particularly blessed because he saw both the birth of Christ and the death of Christ (Isaiah 53). The exactness of the prophetic Word is denied today by the great ‘thinkers,’ but I think that is because they are fearful of becoming no longer relevant. That was the situation in the time of Jesus, and mankind has not changed.

But as always, you cannot just take a single verse and discern what the Lord is saying. Isaiah 7 is written with impending war as the back drop. Isaiah is talking to Ahaz, the king. Ahaz was a sinful man who would come to hate Isaiah. Here, Isaiah is bringing the Word of God to Ahaz as he faces war against an overpowering army. God offers to something to Ahaz.

Isaiah 7:10-14---¹⁰ Again the Lord spoke to Ahaz: ¹¹ “Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” ¹² But Ahaz said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.” ¹³ And Isaiah said, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my God also? ¹⁴ Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel.

This is not just a foretelling of the coming Messiah. The Lord was going to show His grace and mercy to this sinful man. God offers Ahaz anything, anything at all, so that He can show the king His power. Why does Ahaz turn the offer down? Well, Ahaz was a Jew, so He knew the stories of God’s grace. He knew God would come through. But he also knew that during the Exodus there was a problem of people ‘testing’ the Lord. They were arguing among themselves and questioning if God was even among them. They were ‘testing’ His patience. But here God makes the offer! My belief on this is that Ahaz felt that if he took the Lord up on His offer, he would owe the Lord. The Lord says, fine, then I will show you the greatest of signs. And then, the prophecy of the Child.

This teaches a lesson that most people ignore. Most people just see the prophecy of the Messiah. However, the purpose of the prophecy is lost on them. Ahaz was being offered anything. Many years before, the same offer had been given to Solomon. Solomon said all he really wanted was wisdom to better rule the people, and God blessed him with that, and more. But Ahaz has nothing. What might have been?

If Ahaz had asked for the ability to do diplomacy and save his people, it would have happened. And likely other blessings, as well. If Ahaz had asked for God to annihilate his enemies, it would have happened. God said any thing he wanted. That is amazing. I think if Ahaz had said he wanted to be 6’4” and handsome (in other words, some trivial personal thing) God have just rolled His eyes. But whatever Ahaz wanted in relation to the issue at hand, it would be done. However, he refused, so God promised the sign of all signs.

The lesson for us is this: whatsoever we ask in His name, will be given to us. I often point out that names in the Bible are taken from the language. They are just regular words, but they express the essence of the person. So, asking something in Jesus’ name is asking for His will to be done. The name Jesus means Jehovah saves, so when you ask in His name you are expressing a desire to see His salvation in others and, whether you know it or not, you asking for that which is needed so that Jehovah can save.

But the Lord can do great things. Things that are not conceivable. Things that go beyond the realm of imagination. He specializes in the impossible. If God leads you to it, it will be done. The only obstacle is our faith, or lack thereof.

In that moment in time, Ahaz could have become as great and mighty as Solomon. Instead, he turned out to be just another name in the list of kings.

What is the impossible wall that faces you or the church? Accept His offer and live up to it.