They were a young Christian couple with two boys, Paul and Timothy. They had named the first boy after Paul in the Bible in the hopes that he would become a great servant of God, just as his namesake had been. Two years later, they had named the second boy Timothy in the hopes that he would learn from Paul and become a great servant of God in his own right, just as Timothy in the Bible had become.

        It was the hope of the parents, but Paul and Timothy seemed destined to go another way. Paul was bossy and had little use for his younger brother. He even begged to be allowed to sleep on the basement floor next to the furnace rather than share a room with Timothy. Timothy, for his part, was the daredevil. He climbed bookcases, went hand over hand up curtains, jumped off of the dining room table. When he got Paul's hand me down tricycle, he made a ramp and jumped the tricycle off of it. In church, Paul was the better behaved, but that was due to the fact that he mostly slept through church. Timothy, on the other hand, was wired up and couldn't sit still. In the pew, Dad kept Timothy on his left side and Mom kept Paul on her right side and they struggled through church.

        It became worse when they both got into school. Paul totally ignored Timothy because he didn't want his buddies to see him with a little kid. Timothy wanted to hang out with Paul and his friends. Conflict became a regular thing.

        When Paul entered sixth grade, the school issue was settled somewhat. Sixth grade was middle school. The middle school was right next to the elementary school, but they were still different. Timothy was jealous, but there was nothing he could do about it. Older now, the boys had their own rooms and Paul mostly stayed in his room and would not let Timothy in to pester him. Though Mom and Dad were still troubled by their two sons, they did feel a sense of relief.

        Although both boys had excellent Sunday School teachers, the parents began to fear the boys were not paying attention. At home during family devotions, the boys were there through threat of force. Paul was never going to set the world afire with the Gospel and Timothy was only going to be taught bad things by Paul. The dreams of the parents would never be realized. 

        That year, Timothy lost control of his bike going down a steep hill and crashed, breaking his left leg. That meant a cast and crutches. Eventually, the big cast came off and he only had a smaller cast from his knee to ankle. But he still had to be careful and so he still used the crutches. It was during this time that his birthday came along. As usual, Mom made enough cupcakes for everyone in his class. There was a problem, however. Mom could drop him off, but parents were not allowed to park and go in with their child. Timothy could never be able to carry the cupcakes in. So, at family breakfast, she asked Paul if he could help his little brother. "Well," Paul began. "I guess I could, but I really don't want to help him." It was the last straw for Mom. These boys were too much! She look at Dad with a look that he knew was intended to say, 'You do something or I am going to kill!' So, Dad slapped his hand hard on the table and barked out, "PAUL, WHAT WOULD JESUS DO IN THIS SITUATION?" Drawing on his years of Sunday School and church and family devotions, Paul promptly answered, "Jesus would have healed him and he could have carried his own cupcakes." The parents looked at each other for a couple of seconds, and then they both dissolved into laughter. Both boys were a little startled and they looked at each other and shrugged, perhaps the first time ever they had agreed on something. 

        In the end, it was all worked out. Paul carried the cupcakes in with the understanding that he could have the cupcakes of the kids that were absent. That was a good deal since Mom made great cupcakes. Mom spent the day smiling and Dad told the story to the guys at work. It was a good day.

        Twenty years later, Paul is the principle at his old Middle School. Timothy is the regional manager for Chick-fil-a. They both live in the same town and they get together most Sunday afternoons after church to watch the game or do something with their families. Mom and Dad usually stop over and on holidays the noise and laughter makes it hard to think. Paul didn't become that great missionary and Timothy was not Paul's student, but they are raising their kids in church, and they pray with their kids and read them Scripture, and that is as important as turning the world upside down. 

        So you are wondering what this has to do with you. Actually, it isn't written to most of you. Audrie and Clayton are going to have a baby boy in November, Sydney and Tanner have two boys already getting into trouble and it won't stop there. Generation after generation, they will come and those children will be born into an ever changing world, and those changes mostly will not be good. But there is hope. Really, there is a promise. Proverbs 22:6-Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Don't give up hope, young people. Just raise them right.

 

        I like to go down roads I have never been down before, although the price of gas has curtailed that practice somewhat. But sometimes I just cannot resist. One such trip brought me upon a church out in the country. It was a pleasant looking place on that early Tuesday morning. Quite small, really, but well kept up. The grass was cut, the bushes trimmed, the flowers healthy and the building itself was well painted and trimmed. A little country church down a one lane road.

        Yet something was wrong. I couldn't place it at first as I slowly drove up to it. I stopped at the front of the church to read the sign, but there was no lettering on the sign. That seemed a little strange for such a well cared for building. I looked at the wide yard to the side of the church and imagined children playing there. And then I realized what was wrong.

        There was no parking lot, no driveway. The grass in that wide yard was a little bit paler than the surrounding grass. The nearest home was a good half mile away, so the congregation didn't walk. The road was just a wee bit wider than my car, so people were not parking on the road. The paler grass had once been the parking lot. The church was closed, but someone, probably a former member, was taking care of the building and grounds. It was a sad realization.

        We all know of places like that, places that once had life but now do not. We tend to make excuses for this situation. People moved away, some just quit going or started going elsewhere, people are just losing interest. The common thing to say is that it is happening everywhere. But this does not answer the question of why? Why is this happening? Has the world really given up on Jesus?

        Actually, religion has given up on Jesus and this has driven people away. There is a reason why non-denominational churches are growing and the so called mainline denominational churches are floundering, and it has nothing to do with music or donuts and coffee before church. Churches sit out in the country abandoned because their denominations have abandoned the Word of God. It really is that simple.

        There are seven denominations that make up the 'mainline denominations.' These used to be called the 'seven sisters,' although I haven't heard that phrase in a long while. But the seven sisters are the American Baptist Churches, the United Methodist Church, the Episcopalians, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, the United Church of Christ, the Presbyterian Church USA and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Almost everyone is familiar with one or more of these denominations. What is not as well known is that five of these mainline denominations plus four other non-mainline denominations are in the slow but steady process of merging into a single denomination. But will it help them?

        Four of the mainline denominations were formed by uniting several denominations together. That might sound like a good idea, but in order to do that you have to take the different beliefs and set them aside. Once you have done that it is easy to drop beliefs, including Biblical beliefs, to make everyone happy. However, Christianity is not about making everyone happy. It is about bringing people to Jesus. There is a saying; The world used to reflect the beliefs of the church. Now, the church reflects the belief of the world.

        People leave the seven sisters for one reason, and it is not any of the ones listed above. No one likes to be a part of massive hypocrisy, and that is what the seven sisters represent. Every one of the sisters support abortion to some degree. Every one supports the homosexual lifestyle to some degree. Every one supports a liberal political agenda. The list goes on. As one pastor in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) told me, "We want to be all inclusive!" 

        How has that worked out these past twenty years?

        The American Baptist Churches has declined by 21%. The United Methodist Church has declined by 24%, and that will skyrocket in the next two years as churches exercise their once in a lifetime opportunity to pull out with their property. The Episcopalians have declined by 32%. The Evangelical Lutheran Church of America has dropped 38%. The United Church of Christ is down by 43%. The Presbyterian Church USA has gone down by 50% and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has declined by 57%. This is not something new, either. The decline has been going on for decades. Now, however, it is accelerating.

        Please, please, please do not be dismayed when you see a dead or dying church out there in the countryside. There is life and there is growth and the Holy Spirit still has free reign!        

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

         'Woke.' A perfectly good word. A word that has had a definite meaning in the English language for a long time. Depending on your version, it appears a dozen times or more in the Bible. It meant just one thing until a few years ago. It meant the transition from sleep into consciousness. 

        But that has changed. Now it has been co-opted by the political culture. In that swirling cesspool of misery we call politics, it doesn't have a clear definition. If you are white, progressive and liberal, it means to be alert to social injustice and discrimination. If you are a different color or of a different social group, 'woke' can mean something else. You can apply it to anything you want in the political sense, so long as it is attached to the proper political narrative for your group.

        If you are a Christian, a conservative and/or (dare I say) normal, you are not 'woke.' You are the problem in society. You should be eradicated like the vermin you are. You stand in the way of a new world order. A time of like minds who believe and agree with whatever social media tells them to believe. 

        How many genders are there now? There used to be two, but 'woke' came along and changed things. A man can identify as a woman, a woman can identify as a man, OR, they can identify as neither or both at once. And that just scratches the surface of gender stupidity. People are identifying as animals, healthy people are identifying as handicapped and one group is identifying as space aliens. Actually, that last one may be true for the whole lot. Anything goes, anything is fine, unless you identify as Christian, conservative and/or (dare I say) normal.

        This is how stupid it is. I am a 67 year old white male. I am over weight, can't see well, I have diabetes, arthritis, vascular disease and sore feet. Let's say I wander into a bar and sit down next to a tall, willowy blond and say, "Hey baby, I identify as a 32 year old, 6'3" muscle bound athlete of any race you like, and I am looking for a good time. What do you say we blow this place and go somewhere fun?" And let's say that this blond is politically 'woke.' Have I got a date for that night? Afterall, I am identifying as something I certainly am not. Am I leaving with a tall, willowy blond? No, I am leaving in the back of an ambulance with a bruised and bloody face.

        The whole thing is not reality. The whole thing is stupid beyond belief. And they know it! It is just a way to tear away at the truth so the lie can be put forth. Once the lie is fully in place, the masses can be ruled with an iron fist.

        What can we do about it? (Uh-oh, now he is going to go all religious on us. And this blog was going so well.) I suppose I am going to go religious on you. I do not look at the world in a political way. It is not that we should 'vote the bums out.' We should pray that God intervenes. Prayer brought Peter and Paul and Silas out of prison, prayer brought fire down from heaven, prayer brought manna from heaven, prayer raised the dead. I believe this and I believe that God still speaks to us and responds to a praying people.

        But you are making it too easy! Really? Prayer is the hardest thing we can do. I don't mean praying the words. That is easy. I mean praying the words and then sitting back and breathing a sigh of relief knowing that you have given it over to God. Oh boy, THAT is hard!

        Of course, there is another aspect to this that you may not have considered. God's will. Not our will, but God's will. We pray for it, but if it is something other than our will, we feel God is not listening. We have prayed for change for years and nothing has happened. It has even gotten worse. Here's a thought. The USA does not appear in the Bible. Conservative Bible scholars have said for decades that in order for the end times to come, the USA has to diminish in some way and drop out of the world picture. Maybe this is God's will. Maybe the country is being diminished because God wills it.

        Well, then what!!??? Do we just let it happen? No. We pray about it and then let God deal with it. 

        I don't like any of this that is sweeping the country. But it doesn't keep me up at night. It is in God's hands. I would just mess it up.

                                                          

             

    Miss Edison. Second grade. Such a sweet, sweet lady. Had started teaching at a time when teachers rarely got married. She would retire the next year, but she gave me a tremendous gift in the understanding of language. Obviously I could speak. It was second grade, after all. But she gave me an insight as to how language worked. She was explaining the word 'vacate.' "You take a vacation when you vacate your home and go away." Nothing more than that, but I have always been on the watch for other examples of how language works.

    So, what does that have to do with anything? Well, first, it isn't always enough that we can speak the language. By knowing how it evolved we can understand it better.

    Second, there is the whole idea of 'vacation.'

    If you are reading this the day it is posted, I was going to get to spend time with my granddaughter this afternoon, because I am on vacation! Oh, how I have been looking forward to pinching her little cheeks! Except, I am here in Indiana.

    Now if you have time off and you are not going away, it has come to called a stay-cation. Kind of a warp on then language, but descriptive. Since I usually don't vacation well, stay-cation was fine. Until I became grandpa. But, I am in Indiana, so this is a stay-cation. 

    But, not an intended stay-cation. What I am enduring right now is a sick-cation. A scheduled vacation has turned into something I am not enjoying at all. 

    But, is it wasted? 

    Last week I got sick. After two days of barely being able to move, I called an ambulance. Next followed several days in the hospital. All were in agreement that I was sick, but there was never a diagnosis given, even on my discharge papers. At one point they slipped a little bacon into my potato soup (They didn't really try to kill me. They knew I had a pork allergy, they just didn't know their potato soup had bacon in it) and I got even sicker. The end result is, I am still very much under the weather.

    But, again, is it wasted?

    I feel that when something happens to one of God's servants, there is a reason. We pray for God to use us, but we really only pray for that use to be made on our schedule. However, if you are really serious about God using you, you accept you situation.

    After ER, I was taken to a room. The nurse was checking me in and she kept looking at me like there was a question. Suddenly, her face cleared. "YOU'RE THAT PREACHER FROM OVER HERE! Cool!" That was an interesting reaction. "Yes, I am a pastor. Do I know you?" "Two years ago I was a floor nurse at Huntington and you were a patient. I was going through a hard time and you held my hand and prayed with me!" To be honest, right then I so sick I was wishing I had died two years ago. But when she said that, I did remember. We talked for a bit more, and then she left for her other duties. 

    The next day I learned that the day nurse for that day was married to a pastor. They are in the struggle of him working a full time job and pastoring the small church. I have been there and done that, so we had a conversation. Later, another nurse came in (a male nurse) because they were so busy and my nurse was elsewhere. He asked about my shoulder surgery, which was only noted as a previous surgery, and I explained it was from breaking my shoulder while coaching wrestling while I was in college. Turns out, he had been a college wrestler at Missouri Baptist College. Now he is a nurse and married and a daddy and active in his church. Later, a therapist came in. Also a former wrestler, he is also a Christian and is active in his church. The next day another therapist came in who was almost over the top with his witness for Christ. Fun to talk to. Altogether, I made several new friends and prayed with three.

    Then yesterday, at the doctor's office, I had a long wait for the doctor. During that time  I prayed with three nurses. So many people, so many struggles.

    I do want to be clear; I do not advertise that I am a pastor. I just talk to people. I sometimes listen and then tell them that I will pray for them. Sometimes I will ask if I can pray for them right then. I have found that so many have something going on and rarely will anyone turn down prayer.

    So, here is the point to all of this. We engage with people all the time. AND, we are Christians. We have the greatest story ever told. If, while we are engaging with people, our language is not the best, we can't give them any Spiritual help. "Well, I know, but they understand when I get frustrated!" They may understand the human side of frustration, but they are not going to understand the Spiritual side of being able to overcome frustration. We engage with people all the time, but if we are buried in our phones, how do we share? We engage with people all the time, but how do you get around to the Lord? It is conversation, allowing yourself to be used, opening yourself to be used of the Spirit, not just feeling good in the Spirit.

    I told my son I would make it out later. For now, on my sick-cation, I will be content.

                                                          

          I loved to fish. Looking outside on this unusually warm April day, it begins to stir that old feeling. There is a reason I do not fish anymore, but that is another story. The fish story that comes to mind today, however, is probably more interesting.

         I always had my stuff in the trunk. If I was driving along and saw a likely spot, I would stop and get into my trunk for one rod and reel and a couple of lures and I would make my way to the water’s edge. Back then, and in that part of the country, a minister’s ‘uniform’ was dress clothes and a tie. When you got to where you were going, you put on the suit jacket. Because of this, I couldn’t get too crazy. No climbing down steep embankments to get to a river, no wading out into a stream. But, if you could get to the water’s edge without trouble, you were good to go. I had a few places I would just be driving by on pretty days and find I had a few minutes. Catch and release. Just for the fun of it.

         It was one of the very few things I shared with my father. We could go fishing and spend the day and just exchange a few words. Really, my best memories of my father were wading through a fast moving river and fishing for bass.

         I tried to get Marsha interested and she was, to a degree. So long as she didn’t have to bait a hook, take a fish off the hook, clean them back home or fry them up. Fishing was fun so long as she could talk. And talk. And talk. “Would you believe that daddy quit taking me fishing because he said I talk too much? Can you believe that? He can be so stupid sometimes!” She particularly like going out on a boat. My father and I were once making plans to go fishing. “Now, boy, don’t be telling that woman of yours that we’re going out on a boat. She’ll want to come and I can’t stand that mouth.” She had a bit of a reputation.

         I tried to get my son interested, but sitting still for more than a couple of minutes was more than he could do. He would fidget, he would pull out a comic book, he would complain. He once ran a hook deep into his finger, and that required a trip to ER. No point making him suffer for something he didn’t enjoy.

         One Christmas my father-in-law gave me a brand new rod. Not just a new rod, but a rod that was being marketed heavily. It was featured on all the fishing shows I watched during the winter when everything was frozen over. All the bells and whistles. Able to bend and flex, the eyelets were mounted in a secure way and were made for the easy passage of the line. And the price was definitely big league. Not something I ever thought about getting for myself. But there, on Christmas afternoon, was this wonderful beauty.

         As I said, everything was frozen over. Not the kind of rig you would take ice fishing, and I didn’t ice fish anyway.  But I went out and bought some new line, a couple of really nice lures and transferred my really good reel to the really good rod and then waited until it thawed out enough to have some really good fishing.

         April, 1988. One of our people was in a hospital in Greenville, Pennsylvania. I was going to go see him and decided the way to go was over the causeway at Pymatuning Lake. A man made lake, it was around 20 miles long, north to south, and around 2 miles wide, east to west. On the east side of the lake was Pennsylvania and on the west side was Ohio. A causeway crossed the lake running east to west, connecting the two states. There were pull-offs along the causeway for people to pull over and fish. I decided that since I was going to Greenville anyway, I would go the causeway and see if the ice was melting. (Actually, the lake was quite a bit out of my way. I was just indulging myself.)

         I started crossing the causeway and was surprised to see the lake was mostly ice free. Also, the pull-offs were empty. It was pretty cold with a northerly wind blowing. I pulled off, just to watch the white caps. I wasn’t going to try out my fabulous new rod. To cold and the only coat I had was my suit coat. Otherwise, just shirt sleeves.

         But it would just be a few casts. I had grown up in the land of snow and ice. Fifteen minutes in just shirt sleeves would be easy. Rod and reel were in the trunk. One of my new lures attached. New line begging to get in the water. Before I knew what was happening, I had pulled the keys and had gotten out of the car. I walked around to the trunk and opened it. There lay the rig, begging to get out and play. “15 minutes, my friend. That’s all the time we have.”

         Oh, it felt good in my hands. It was ready for the water. I got to the water’s edge. Assuming the correct stance, I set the reel and let fly with my first cast. Oh, wow! It was perfect! I started to reel in, playing the lure, but what I really wanted was to cast again. I didn’t actually want to catch anything. Just feel the cast.

         In Pymatuning there are blue gill, crappie, bass, perch, walleye and a few other species, like carp. There are also muskie, or muskellunge. The muskie is the largest of the pike family of fish. Commonly, an adult grows to four feet in length and forty pounds, although they can grow to six feet long and seventy pounds. And they are mean with serious teeth. Fortunately, there are very few in Pymatuning.

I had reeled in my lure about 2/3s of the way when I hit a snag of some sort. Submerged log, large rock, whatever. I was snagged. I was probably going to lose my lure. I started to whip the rod from side to side to loosen the lure when the snag started to move. OK, submerged log. But then it changed direction, and then again, and again. There was nothing in the lake that could move like that. And then it did that little move that lets any fisherman anywhere know that it is a living fish.

Had to be a muskie. One hadn’t been caught in the lake in almost ten years, but some had been sighted. Still, a muskie is more lively than this critter. So, maybe a big snapping turtle. But it was yet too cold for them. And the cold would affect the fish, too. Makes them slower. But this fellow was waking up. He was starting to move. I was trying to play him, but he was a strong dude. (For you feminists, I am not saying the fish was powerful and therefore a male. It just saves time. Chill.) My pole began to bend and then….

Snap. The new, fabulous pole snapped right in two pieces right at the halfway point. (I failed to mention that this pole came all in one piece and was not able to be disassembled. Although it disassembled pretty quick.) A second or two later the line snapped. Without the flexing action of the pole the line is not going to last long. I fell over backwards and landed on my rear. There was a disturbance in the surface of the water as my fish took off.

I was angry. I still had the back part of the pole in my hand. When it snapped it dropped the front part right at the water’s edge. I snatched it up and looked at where it had broken. The pole was hollow, but right at the breaking point the inside of the pole had been extruded wrong and was very thin. A manufacturer’s defect. The pole was great except for that one place, where it was weak.

I can laugh about it now, but at the time I couldn’t see any humor. However, there is a great truth here. Anything is only as strong as its weakest point.

Our church is moving forward. Doing things we haven’t done before. Everything is going to require a strong congregation. Don’t be the weak point. Now is the time to strengthen your resolve. To follow God’s will requires real Spiritual readiness.

And, if you care to hear it, I have an amazing story about a muskie. Later.        

          Geneva, Ohio. Township Park. Standing on a cliff overlooking Lake Erie. If you looked toward the east, you were looking down the coastline. There was a jut of land down a few miles, on which stood a lighthouse. Not the tower lighthouse that we think of when we think of lighthouses, but rather it looked like a regular house at the end of the land with a light at the top. If you actually went to the lighthouse, you would see that it was huge, four stories with that huge light. Originally a base for the United States Lifesaving Service, it went out of use when the Lifesaving Service and the United States Revenue Cutter Service were merged into the Coast Guard. But the Coast Guard still maintained the house and the light. I at Township Park nearly every morning for eleven years, visiting with the Lord in every kind of weather. Lots of prayers and lots of coffee. Usually home before anyone else was awake.

         Every year we had a Sonrise Service. In a cemetery, in a field, at the church. Every year. And I would be the only one who came. Sonrise was different there than here. Always cold, always snow on the ground, a church full of sissies.

         I announced one year that we would be having Sonrise at Township Park and I would buy breakfast at a local greasy spoon for whoever came. “Can I just come to breakfast?” No. “Will it be cloudy?” Maybe. “You do realize that there will be ice on the Lake and it will be freezing?” Yes. “Do you want us to freeze?” No one is going to freeze because I will be the only one out there. “YOU ARE CRAZY!” I didn’t take that one personally. It was my wife.

         Oddly enough, we had ten sign up. Church folk will do anything for food. There was a lady in town who played taps at all the veteran funerals. She went to the Methodist church but she came to our Bible study. She asked if she could go. Of course I said yes. We were going to have people! Strangely, all of these people were women. They went from 17 to 70. They weren’t real enthusiastic, but they signed up and all intended to come.

         And they did. And all regretted their decisions. To say it was cold wasn’t really right. It was more than cold. It was hurt your bones cold. We had a melt the week before, so the roads were clear. No snow falling. The sky had no clouds. The fading stars were beautiful. The air was still. The Lake was partially thawed. A perfect morning. The lady from the Methodist church got out of her car and walked with me to the edge of the cliff, where there was a fence. We just soaked it in. The 17 year old got out of her car (she wasn’t real happy) and walked over to join us. For a moment it was perfect.

         Then the ladies from our church started to get out of the cars. You never heard such griping. “What on earth was he thinking?” “This guy is NUTS!” “I could be home in a warm bed!” If you were just listening to them, you would think I was the most horrible man on earth. They didn’t sound so much like a church group than as a flock of angry hens. Anyone listening would assume I was hated by one and all. And right then, I suppose I was.

         One of the ladies, who had ridden with the Methodist lady, emerged carrying a small case, which she brought over to the Methodist. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I would play my trumpet!” William Congreve said music soothes the savage beast, and at that moment it looked like there were 9 savage beasts that wished to do me harm. (The 17 year old was one of my Youth and she really did like me, so she would not have joined in pitching me over the cliff and into the Lake. However, at that moment she didn’t look like she would have protected me, either.) I would welcome the music.

         The trumpet player was constantly working the valves on her trumpet to keep them from freezing up. The other ladies were in a tight ball by the fence. I stood apart because it did not look safe to be near them. As they kind of looked toward the East, I read some Scripture. I had been there the morning before, so I knew exactly when the sun would begin to peek over the water. I had timed everything for dramatic effect. And I had this knot of cold, resentful women who couldn’t wait to leave.

         “Now, watch ladies! Any second.” “It’s about stinkin’ time.” “A free breakfast isn’t worth this!”

         And then the sun began to come up. Air that cold has no moisture in it, so it was as clear as you were likely to ever see. Ice floated on the Lake and it almost seemed as though the sunlight passed from one chunk of ice to the next. There were no clouds, but the sun seemed to light the air all around us. The ladies had gotten silent, as though someone had flipped a switch. It was quiet for a few seconds, and then some quiet gasps, a few muttered ‘wows’ and then it was as though everyone was holding their breath. At that moment, the trumpet began with “Christ Arose.” On a freezing cold morning next to a quiet Lake Erie, the notes seemed to ring out. The verse played out and when she got to the chorus, it was like we had rehearsed it. Everyone lifted up their voices. Up from the grave He arose! With a mighty triumph o’er His foes! He arose a Victor from the dark domain, and He lives forever with His saint s to reign. He arose! He arose! Alleluia! Christ Arose!” We moved right to “Amazing Grace” and, when the trumpet’s valves froze shut on the third verse, we sang the rest of it without music.

         By that time the sun was up so high you couldn’t look at it, so we all got into the cars and headed to the restaurant. The food wasn’t great but the coffee kept coming. The ladies kept asking, hopefully, if we could do it again next year. Later, at church, they got on everyone else for not coming out. It was kind of funny.

         I have always wondered what that all sounded like inside the homes right there close to the park, or maybe someone out walking their dog.

         He Arose!

         Sunday morning, at St. Peter’s Cemetery, it will be in the mid-30s right at sunrise. The breeze will be around 5 mph out of the east. Sunrise at 7:13, so be there by 7. It will be great! You will love it! And then coffee and breakfast back at the church. Always a great time.               

         He Arose!                                                    

This is a first for me. I have written newsletter articles, newspaper articles, magazine articles and blogs since 1987. Newsletter, newspaper and magazine articles were, for eleven years, written during the same time frame. Here in Indiana, I have written newsletter articles and blogs during the same time frame. That is a lot of words! More articles written than sermons preached. And never once have I written an article for one publication and then just reprinted it for another publication.

Until now.

Actually, I am not just repeating the article from April’s newsletter to this blog. Once a month Rena (church secretary) will send me a text saying that it is newsletter time again. This means I am to get it in gear and get an article ready for the newsletter. (She can be quite forceful and scary.) When she let me know for the April newsletter, I was involved in something else, I had two procedures coming and I had given no thought to the April newsletter. I wanted to skip the month, but as stated earlier, Rena can be scary. So, I sat down and wrote the article. I sent it to her and figured I would just move on.

But it has bugged me ever since I wrote it. It is one of those things that you don’t really think through until you talk about it or, in this case, you write about it. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to go back and add to it. It is so important! My ministry span goes from a time when you could settle an argument by quoting Scripture to now when people will just roll their eyes at the mention of the Bible. So, without further ado (whatever that means) I give you my April newsletter article, 2.0.

James A. Garfield, the 20th president of the United States, was shot at the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. at 9:30 am on Saturday, July 2, 1881. He died in Elberon, New Jersey, 79 days later on September 19, 1881. The shooting occurred less than four months into his term as president. Garfield's assassin was Charles J. Guiteau, whose motive was revenge against Garfield for an imagined political debt, and getting Chester A. Arthur elevated to president. Guiteau was convicted of Garfield's murder and executed by hanging one year after the shooting. It was a busy train station and dozens of people witnessed the shooting. Garfield died from complications of the shooting.

None of the witnesses are alive today to tell the story, but we know the story because it was recorded in the media of the time and in historical records. It is an indisputable fact.

Taking the Roman calendar and correlating it to our calendar, Jesus was crucified on April 3, in the year 33 AD. He was crucified because Jewish leaders feared Him and wanted Him dead. His trial was witnessed by many people, His march through the streets with the cross on His shoulder was witnessed by hundreds and His crucifixion was witnessed by a thousand people or more. A few days later scores of people witnessed Him walking the streets of the city and then, several weeks later, many people witnessed His ascension into heaven.

None of the witnesses to these events are alive today to tell the story, but we know the story because it was recorded in the media of the time and in historical records. It is an indisputable fact.

Only a fool would dispute the details of Garfield’s death.

    Only a fool would dispute the details of Jesus’ death.

    Of course, no one could have predicted Garfield’s death. But the death of Jesus was foretold in the Old Testament. The method was foretold, where He would be buried was foretold, even His birth and the location of His birth were foretold.

    None of the witnesses to these prophesies are alive today to tell the story, but we know the story because it was recorded in the media of the time and in historical records. It is an indisputable fact.

     I pastored just 20 minutes from Garfield’s home in Ohio. His home is a museum now. He was a lay preacher and preached often at his home church in Mentor, Ohio. I have been in that church often. Never have I ever heard anyone say that Garfield’s death did not happen.

     I have been in many churches over the years. Many, sadly, are just dusty Spiritual museums now where nothing ever happens. And, sadly, I have heard several times a minister cast doubt on the life and death of Jesus. One of those museum like churches is the church Garfield used to preach in.

     So why is the death, burial and Resurrection of Jesus called into question? Many more witnesses saw the events of Jesus than saw the events of Garfield and the Roman historians were far more thorough than the American historians of 1880 and, finally, it was an event that President Garfield believed and proclaimed. So, why is it disbelieved?

     Maybe if we Christians didn’t cover our holy days with a man in a red suit and a rabbit carrying a basket of eggs it would be more widely believed. But it goes further than that.

     Why do people disbelieve? Because people still fear Him and want Him dead.