There were eleven of them. Actually, there were around one hundred and twenty people, all confused and all worried, but they were looking to the eleven for direction. The eleven were also confused and worried, but they were hanging onto the final words of their leader. Jesus had been with them and had led them, and the world seemed promising and joyful. Then He had been killed and the people who had killed Him also wanted to silence the disciples. The world now was a scary place. But then, Jesus was back! Amazing! But then He was gone. He had left hopeful words behind. The Holy Spirit would come and give them power and direction and they would understand more, but that just hadn’t happened yet.

          The eleven felt they needed someone to make up for the loss of Judas and they did that, taking a man from the one hundred and twenty followers of Jesus, but that was all they had done so far. So, there was this gathering of believers, keeping a low profile, depending on the eleven disciples (plus the new man) to show them the way to go. All of their lives were in danger. Fear was everywhere.

          This is how the Acts of the Apostles (we normally just call it the Book of Acts) begins. Jesus makes the promise of the Holy Spirit and then is taken up into heaven. The whole group watches Him go and they are now alone. The leader has left them in a harsh and unforgiving world. The last month would have been like a wild ride up and down the Judean mountains. Jesus dies, returns, spends forty days with them and then vanishes into the sky. It must have felt hopeless.

          At the end of the Acts of the Apostles we have these verses concerning the Apostle Paul from his residence in Rome, the greatest city of the day. Acts 28:30-31—He (meaning Paul) lived there (meaning Rome) two whole years at his own expense, and welcomed all who came to him, proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance.

          Well, now. That is a big difference! In just about thirty years of time we have a bunch of frightened people living mostly in hiding in a single city, to Paul, apparently an important man, living in the most important city in the world, in his own place, entertaining all kinds of people and teaching them about Jesus without fear and without problems from the authorities! Good heavens, living for Jesus is the way to success!

          Many would have you believe such things. If you have faith enough, you can name your price. You will have wealth and you will have health and you will have a good life. We are told in Scripture that we ask but don’t receive because we ask wrong, so ask in faith believing! Out of context.

          Only that is not how it works.

          Paul was a prisoner in Rome. He lived in a home that he was renting because as a Roman citizen, he had that right, but he was not allowed to leave the house. That is why people came to him. He was awaiting the final judgment in his case. At the end of those two years he was beheaded for his faith in Christ. Those frightened apostles gathered together in fear and confusion had an experience with the Holy Spirit and they suddenly became bold and sure of themselves, heroic even. They couldn’t be shut up, boldly telling the Gospel to all who would listen. However, on a personal level, it did not go well. While Paul was being beheaded on one side of Rome, Peter was being crucified on the other side. Some historians put the two executions within a week of each other. At almost the same time in a far away part of the Empire, Peter’s brother Andrew was being crucified. Twenty years before Peter and Paul and Andrew were being violently killed for their faith, James, the son of Alpheus, another of the apostles, was triple executed for his faith in Christ. As a heretic, he was sentenced to be cast from the pinnacle of the Temple to the Jerusalem streets below. As one who gave his allegiance to someone one other than Caesar, he was sentenced to stoning. As one who defied the authorities and continued to spread the Gospel, he was sentenced to be clubbed about the head and shoulders. One fine day, James the son of Alpheus, was thrown from the pinnacle of the Temple, stoned when he hit the ground and then clubbed while he lay there. The fall probably killed him, but an example had to be made.

          The apostles received only bad for their efforts, at least personally. But they became bold and fearless. They endured beatings and imprisonments and all manner of privations. They were just men with all the fragilities of men. Yet they rose to the occasion time and time again. In the end it cost them their lives.

          There are a lot of lies out there. One of the lies is that if you are a Christian and you have enough faith, you can do anything and have anything. Usually the person saying that follows it by telling you that you can begin your faith walk by sending him or her your money. A few Bible verses here and there taken out of context is all the speaker needs. The fact is, the person who is committed to Christ and has all faith in Christ has exactly what Christ wants that person to have. And that is what that person needs to accomplish the will of Christ. Another lie that is out there is that if we have the gift of the Spirit, we will know it by the manifestations of manic joy and being able to heal people and being able to speak in tongues. The fact is, if we have the Spirit working in us, we will be able to face all adversity, we will be able to share the Gospel of Christ and we will have the peace of God that only comes from knowing that what happens to us is in God’s hands.

          Right now, we have this virus. We have violence in our streets. We have an obscure political future. I hear people questioning God or saying that this is surely the end. Look, Christians have faced up to problems worse than this since Christ was crucified. Why are we running scared now? I don’t know that Peter and Paul and Andrew and James didn’t weep as they went to their deaths, but I do know that they could have avoided their deaths if they had just shut up about Christ. But no, they were led by the Spirit, their lives were His to do with as He saw fit.

          This is a moment in time when Christians need to put their personal feelings and fears aside. This is a time to stand for Christ in spite of the adversity we face. The struggle will not end until you die, regardless of what you do. We can share Christ in word and deed in any situation.

          Allow me to get personal for a moment. I say these things from the perspective of someone who has had to make some hard decisions about serving the Lord. When I came to Indiana, I was fairly healthy. Diabetes, but just on pills. Then, open heart surgery. That changed some things. But, in the end, serving the Savior could still be done. After the surgery I was suddenly on insulin. That changed some things. Then, my wife left me for a man from Facebook. That changed everything. There for a while, I didn’t think I could go on. But folks were praying for me and people were supporting me. I have always tried to walk with the Spirit. Not in the “let’s get happy!” way, but in the way of the Scripture. When my wife left, for a while I was not walking with the Spirit. He was dragging me, holding me up, protecting me. Things began to clear up. It became better. And then, another blow this week. A couple of months ago I began to have some shortness of breath. Not bad, but with all of my recent history, I told my doctor. Six weeks ago some tests were run and blood work was done. On Monday of this week the doctor opened the conversation with the question I never thought I would hear. “How many packs of cigarettes do you smoke?” I thought she was joking. Without thinking I replied, “Well, there was that one cigarette back in May of 1973, but that was it.” She looked at me thoughtfully and then said, “Well, it looks like you are at the beginning of emphysema.” All of a sudden the room was to small. My heart began to race. Sweat came to my forehead. That smoke in May of 1973 really was the only one. No way I could have emphysema. No way. And I said that to the doctor. Well, in six months they would do the tests again, but she was pretty certain.

          Monday was a blur. Tuesday was not much better. But on Wednesday I woke up at around 4 AM (Not because I couldn’t sleep. That is when I wake up.) I sat there and said to myself, OK, it isn’t fair. So what? Get up and get it together. You have things to do, people to see, a job to do. Got on my stationary bike and pedaled up a storm. I normally use that time to pray, but Wednesday morning I allowed myself to mentally drift. Cleaned up, got my breakfast, read my comics on the computer (I don’t know what I would do without reading ‘Pickles’ every morning.) I sent out a few e-mails and by the time I got in the car to head to the office, I was feeling pretty good about life.

          You see, it isn’t fair. Not at all. My entire adult life has been ministry. In spite of everything. But it is fair, because there is a reason. Time will tell me what it is the Lord has for me.

          You cannot turn on the television or the radio or look at the internet without seeing all the really terrible news. Every time we turn around something else smacks us. How on earth can we continue on??!!?

          The answer is not on earth. As Christians, we have One greater. We are not subject to the things of this world.

          Wednesday afternoon I got over to see Duane Wagner. His wife Esther died in June. His sister Lois Haupert died this past Monday. That is tough. I wanted to make sure he was doing OK. We sat and talked for an hour and a half. Mostly memories. Duane walks with the Spirit. Each day is a challenge, but it is met in Christ. Every week day morning, those who want to can come to the church at eight AM and have some time of prayer. Thursday morning, Dan Speicher came in for a time of prayer. Dan lost his wife, Barbara, in July. Before that he was coming in for prayer and he has continued that practice. Dan walks with the Spirit. Each day is a challenge, but it is met in Christ.

          All of us need to put away our angers and our evil thoughts and our judgmental attitudes and our fears and we need to give everything over to the Lord. Philippians 4:12-13-- I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.  

          Understand, I am not poking fun at the derecho that raced across Iowa and Illinois before it reached Indiana and then Ohio almost two weeks ago. A derecho is a straight line wind storm where the winds reach freakish speeds. This one had winds that reach Category 2 hurricane level in Iowa. It lost some power as it hammered away at Illinois. By the time it swept over this part of Indiana it had slowed somewhat but was still pretty powerful. In Ohio it began to encounter hills as it neared the center of that state and began to break up. In Iowa alone it destroyed or severely damaged 10,000,000 acres of crop land. Certainly serious.

          One of the very serious events during this rare, but devastating, storm was Lori Fitch heard the storm was coming while she was at work and realized that the cushions and pillows on the deck furniture at the house were exposed and would be blown away. Nothing to be done but to call husband Ed, who was headed home. Ed’s telling of the story was that when he heard of the coming cataclysm and the inevitable loss of the cushions and pillows, he made the truck fly. Squealing into the driveway and racing back to the house, he leaped from the truck. The wind was already picking up and one could hear the great wind approach. Leaping up the steps, our hero hit the top step with the toe portion of his shoe, hyper extending his foot up to his leg. The resulting injury was a damaged tendon that, luckily, will heal in time. As he tells the story, he was heroically still able to save cushions and pillows in spite of the excruciating pain.

          What makes me laugh here is not the wind storm, which has crippled Iowa’s farming year, nor is it that Ed performed his assigned spousal duties and paid a price for it (although paying the price for cushions and pillows is kind of funny). No, what makes me laugh is the memory it sparks in my mind. You see, I once did the very same thing. Different circumstance and I was very much younger, so I avoided injury. But I did it in front of three to four hundred people.

          The town I am from in Ohio was a little bigger than Urbana, but only in the fact that we had a functioning gas station and a small general store type of building. A lot of farmland at that time surrounding a small village area. I accepted Christ at the age of 17 and began going to a local church. The zip code actually was made up of three distinct communities. Perry Village, North Perry (right along Lake Erie), and Perry Township. The total population within the zip code was less than 800 people. The church I went to, in Perry Township, had over 1,000 people in attendance every Sunday.

          How was that possible, you ask? Well, that was in the day of bus ministries. A church would buy a couple of old, beat up school buses, paint them up and then start hauling kids to church. Back in those days in Ohio the bus did not need to pass a road worthy test nor did the driver need anything other than a regular driver’s license. In most cases, the buses were unsafe and the drivers not qualified. The church I started going to had 22 buses; 4 for parts and 18 for the road. Each week we brought in right around 600 kids in overloaded buses to church from the surrounding communities. The bus I eventually drove went 40 miles from the church, almost to Cleveland. I was 18 years old. I had driven farm equipment before, but nothing like a bus. There are a lot of adults out there, in their 50s now, who are lucky to be alive.

          But when I started going to the church, I was not driving. I was only 17, after all. I was like a sponge soaking up everything the pastor said. Oh, my! He would shout and he would weep and he would pace and he would yell and he would fall on his knees and beg us to come to Jesus. Altar calls sometimes looked like the Hebrew children fleeing Egypt. You could be born again but he would convince you that you were actually lost and Hell bound and you needed to get it right this time and be saved. One fellow went forward so often and then was baptized so often I began to wonder if that was when he took his weekly bath. And all of this was only the adult portion of the service of 400 to 500 adults and teenagers. An additional 300 kids were in the adjacent worship center and another 300 were in the basement.

          As time went on, I became convinced that I was being called into the ministry. I knew the Lord wanted me to pastor, but given my limited experience I understood that only as being a preacher. If never occurred to me that being a pastor and being a preacher were two different things. I did, however, know that my pastor was one amazing preacher.

          One day I went to my pastor and told him that the Lord was calling me into the ministry. I had just turned 18 and was still in high school and, unfortunately, did not have the best reputation in our small town. Really, I hadn’t been a Christian for very long. Reputations can be hard to shake, especially if they are not good reputations. When I told the pastor the great news, he sat back in his chair and glared at me. Then he asked me a bunch of questions. Finally, “OK, so you want to preach? You can start with the kids. The young ones first, then the older ones. Every Sunday. We will see how you like preaching.” And just like that, I had two congregations of 300 people each to preach to. I knew absolutely nothing about preaching and he offered no guidance. He actually said that if the Lord was calling me to preach, He would take care of it.

          How bad I was, well, I refuse to talk about it at the moment. First, I went to the 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd graders and spoke to them before they had a chance to sing. After I was done with them, two ladies took over and sang with them and told some little story and played games with them. Meanwhile, in another part of the church, two ladies were doing the music and singing and telling a little story to the 4^th, 5^th and 6^th graders until I ran in and then I spoke to them. As the weeks went on, I became somewhat confident. I didn’t go off to Christian college until the following January, so I did the Children’s Church thing all Spring, Summer and Fall and into the Winter. I finally went to the pastor and asked if I could speak on a Sunday night. (Sunday morning was no place for a novice like me.) No, he said, we would wait and see how I did after a semester at college.

          So, I did that first semester, went home and started up with the Children’s Church thing. And then, low and behold, Pastor put me on the schedule for a Sunday night.

          The crowds were smaller on Sunday night. 300, maybe 400. I was used to that. But these were adults. The chances were pretty good that I wasn’t going to have to call someone down for picking their nose. I wasn’t going to be able to get away with presenting a kids’ message to a bunch of adults. I became more and more nervous. Finally, with about a week to go, I went to the Pastor for help. Again, the glare. Then he said, “Follow me.”

          We walked into the sanctuary and walked down to the front pew. He always sat in that pew until it was time for him to preach. Then, he would literally leap to his feet, take three strides building to an all out sprint and then leap up the three steps to the pulpit area. There was a single pulpit in the center of the stage and he would glide behind it and stop his charge. There in the sanctuary he demonstrated his technique to me. “You do this to show everyone that you have a great message to bring them and you just can’t wait to get started. Be enthusiastic and the rest will fall into place.” I tried it a few times and it was easy. However, I still had no idea how to speak to adults.

          Consequently, I began to obsess over the quick sprint, the leap and the settling behind the pulpit. I was going to show those people I had the best message ever and I couldn’t wait to lay it out there! Oh, boy!

          Sunday morning people were telling me they were really looking forward to my message that evening. One sweet little old lady told me the Lord had laid it on her heart that it was going to be great. I was a shoo-in. Nothing to worry about.

          It didn’t make sense, though. If it was a done deal why was I sitting that night in that pew sweating bullets? Why did my Bible want to slide out of my hand? Why did that pulpit seem to be eight feet in the air? And, most importantly, why couldn’t I breathe? I became hyper aware of things. Wow. The pulpit area was huge and behind that there was a low wooden fence like thing and beyond that was this huge choir loft. I sang in the choir. How was it that I had never realized it was 3 acres big? Everything was massive. And, there were literally around 400 people in the congregation.

          The music leader began to introduce me as a promising young preacher, one of our very own, a student at Tennessee Temple University. Brother Wade, come on up!

          I sprang to my feet and began my sprint. I had, in my mind, a mark on the floor where I would begin my leap. Everything would have been fine, except for the fact that I was wearing a three piece suit and dress shoes. Just a little thing, perhaps, but it destroyed the leap. I got the toe of my shoe on the top step, just like Ed did. The hyper extension hurt like crazy, but what happened next was worse. The bottom of the dress shoes were slick, so I slid a few inches. Then my heal caught the step and stopped that foot dead. Now I was stumbling forward, streaking past the pulpit. I reached out to grab it and missed. That massive choir loft was racing toward me. I grabbed the only thing I could grab; the little metal music stand. It barely slowed me down. The little wooden fence was in front of me now. (This was actually called a ‘modesty rail’ and was there to keep anyone from trying to look up a lady’s skirt while she sat there.) It was not designed to stop an athletic young man who was charging out of control.

          Yet, it did stop me. I was bent almost double and I managed to get my hands on it before it slammed into my chest. I stopped and stood up. Still clutching my Bible, I turned around and walked the few paces to the pulpit. Eyes were wide and mouths were hanging open in the congregation. In a low voice I instructed them as to what passage to open their Bibles too. That was followed with a six minute message. I asked the pastor to dismiss us in prayer and then, when he did, I sat down in one of the pulpit chairs. My head could not have hung any lower. The pastor walked up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Brother Wade,” he said softly, “you need more height on that leap.”

          So, Ed, if you are reading this, I want you to know, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at myself. I did it earlier, I did it more spectacularly, and I did it for a far less good cause. I couldn’t save my sermon, but you saved the cushions and pillows.                

          This particular blog is extremely personal for me. Feel free, if you don’t want to take a trip down my road, to just read Mary’s blog this week and let it go at that.

From time to time over the years I have been asked about being in the ministry. “You know, I think I might like being in the ministry. What do you think, Pastor?”

My standard answer is, “Don’t be an idiot.”

How can you say such a thing, Pastor??? How can you run down the ministry? How can you advise someone to avoid the calling?

I have an aunt who once said to me, “My, being a pastor would be such a wonderful life, walking and talking with the Lord!” I looked over at my wife and we both rolled our eyes.

Here is the thing. First, I would never advise someone to avoid the calling. But someone who is weighing his options, considering some form of ministry, doesn’t have a calling. They have heartburn. If you have the calling you KNOW you have the calling. It becomes all you can think about. It lays on your soul like a ton of bricks. I have known pastors who made the ministry a career choice. Their pastorates were disasters. I have known others who have fought the calling. They were miserable. So, someone who thinks they might like being in the ministry are heading down a scary and dark path. Second, any Christian can walk and talk with the Lord. In fact, that should be our highest priority. I have wondered about what my aunt was thinking. Do the Lord and I sit down in my kitchen and chat over coffee? Do we go fishing together? Are we both baseball fans? My walk with the Lord is no different than anyone else’s walk. Sometimes it is rocky, sometimes it is smooth and sweet. When I first held my baby son, my walk with the Lord was awesome! When my wife left me, it was pretty rugged. Ups and downs. He is always there, though.

 There are many different avenues of ministry. Mine happens to be the pastorate. Which, by the way, is different from preaching. Many people who are pastors of churches tell their congregation that they do not do hospital, nursing home or home visits for shut ins. They are not really pastors. They are preachers. Nothing wrong with that, it is just a different calling. If you are a pastor, you are compelled to make those visits. Preaching is not my calling. It is kind of funny. Churches will be looking for a pastor and they take resumes and they line someone up to come in and preach and then they call that person largely based on their preaching abilities. Then they complain when their new ‘pastor’ doesn’t make calls.

The seminary I went to required that you be at least 30 years old to go there. They wanted you to have some life experience other than ministry. One day one of our professors asked me what the most important tool had been in my tool box. I thought about it and finally said my pair of channel locks. He laughed and asked why. Well, they can be used for so many things. A wrench. Something to grip with. And they don’t make a bad hammer in a pinch. Then he asked me what the two most important tools were in my ministry tool box. Without hesitation I said my Bible. He nodded and then he asked about the second most important tool. I really thought on that and couldn’t come up with an answer. He asked me then if I felt called to be a pastor or a preacher. Again, no hesitation. A pastor. Then, he said, your second most important tool will be your car. And he was exactly right. Over the years I have driven hundreds of thousands of miles. The only thing I have changed about visitation is I no longer like to go where I am going to be verbally abused. “Pastor, please go see my aging neighbor. He’s not going to like you and he will likely call you every name in the book and he will yell at you, but he needs a visit.” And off I’d go. And I still will. Once or twice. But no one likes to be abused.

The pastorate is something I cannot explain well enough for most people to understand. I was asked once in Ohio why it was that the local Catholic priest and I were such close friends, seeing that our theologies were so different. My answer was that we were both pastors. The person who asked the question didn’t understand, but that priest, his name was Paul, had a deep yearning for his congregation. Paul was a gentle soul, but he would have fought you to the death for his people. We understood each other on a level most never quite grasp.

To a pastor, the congregation is much more than a group of people who show up for church. The congregation is much more than family. The congregation is much more than friends. So hard to explain. Moses in the Wilderness. Exodus 32. While Moses is on the mountain with the Lord the people below implore Aaron, the brother of Moses, to make them a golden calf that they can worship. Aaron does so. Moses is angry, as is God. God tells Moses that he will destroy the ungrateful people and raise up Moses as the beginning of a new nation. Then Moses begins to plead for the people and asks God to spare them. That is what being a pastor is like. They can make you so FRUSTRATED, but you love them so much.

And you cannot turn that love off.

You leave a church and you are supposed to leave the people behind. If it was a good relationship and it is simply time to go based on God’s leading, it is hard to go. But you make a clean break so that the next pastor can be the pastor. It is just the way it is. But you can’t make your heart not care anymore. Especially for the Youth.

I am writing this on Thursday afternoon and I am in the office. I usually write the blog at home as it is sort of an extracurricular activity. But today I can think of nothing else. So here we are.

At 10:12 this morning I got a text message. She was 12 when I first met her. Now she is in her 40s. She is one of the rare former Youth who have made a series of bad judgment calls. But she was, and always will be, one of mine. The text said, “When will you be free? I need to talk to you.” I knew immediately that there was a problem. I don’t know why, but I knew that my day was wrecked. I sent back and told her she could call me any time. I sent the text and laid down my phone and it rang. It was her. I answered. “Hey girl.” The voice on the other end was not that of the twelve year old she had been, but it was close. “You always told us that you wouldn’t judge us.” “Yes, that’s right, but I also told you that I would tell you what I think, too.”  “Right. I remember. Here goes.”

What followed was an hour and a half conversation that has left me broken hearted. I am so sad. My heart feels like it will collapse in on itself. But, while talking to her I had to maintain who I am, particularly who I am to her. Even now, I would do anything for her, but I can’t help her with this. Six weeks ago, maybe. But now…..well, it is out of control.

We read all the time of people who make bad decisions. If they were looking at someone else making that decision, they would think that the person was crazy. But when it comes to them making the same decision, they can rationalize it completely so that they see it as good. Somebody waves a toy gun at someone else and they get shot dead. Stupid decision. Someone jumps into the water fully clothed and tries to swim to a boat a couple of hundred yards off shore. Stupid decision. Someone leans way over a cliff’s edge to get a picture. Stupid decision.

           By the time you read this, I will be back up and running. In forty five years of ministry I have taught myself to set things aside and go on to the next thing. But, folks, at this moment I can hardly stand it. There is a price to pay to be a pastor. But there is nothing else I could ever do. The funeral home was a different kind of ministry, but it just didn’t meet the need that being a pastor does. 
          However, on days like today, I would rather be living in my car under a bridge somewhere.      

Nothing to fear but fear.

 

          She taught my first grade class. I thought she was old in 1962, but she didn’t die until 2011. At that time I was working at the funeral home and I was the one to prepare her body for embalming and then to get her ready for the casket. Back in first grade I thought she was over 100 years old. But apparently, I was wrong. It was an odd feeling working on her in 2011. She looked just like she did in 1962.

          She was such a sweet lady. I don’t recall her ever raising her voice. She taught us the basics of reading and arithmetic and printing. She never seemed flustered. On the last day of school before Christmas Break (and back then it was called Christmas Break) she received gifts from all the children, and you could tell she was deeply touched just because she was given any gifts at all. That was also when each day was started with some Scripture and a prayer. “Children, it is time to read from the Word of God.” That seemed almost impossible to me. I had always heard it called the Bible at home, when it was mentioned at all. But when she read it, it was the very Words of God. She said so! It is funny how little things stay with you. The words on the pages of the Book are still the very Words of God and I still feel privileged to read them.

          One day, this wonderful lady told us we were going to have a special drill. Kind of like a fire drill, but for this drill we would stay right there in our classroom. We would get down on our hands and knees and crawl under our desks. That seemed odd to all of us, but she explained that this was a drill in case an atomic bomb was ever dropped nearby. This drill would help us survive.

          Well, that was frightening. We all knew something about the BOMB. We had heard that it would just make us disappear or, if we made it through the blast, something called fallout would kill us. It had never seemed real before, but now we were having a drill for it. We had fire drills and we all knew what fire could do. We had seen wood burn or trash. Fire was real. Now we were having an atomic bomb drill. It must be real then, too! And we had heard what that could do and had seen its devastation on TV.

          When the drill started, 31 little kids hit the floor on their hands and knees and crawled under their desks. We were taking it very seriously. I looked up to see where the teacher was and I saw her standing by her desk with a sad, sad face.

          After the drill one of the boys asked a very good question. Why would the ‘enemy’ drop the BOMB on us? After all, we were a farming community. Unless the goal was to kill corn, we were pretty harmless. The teacher explained that Cleveland was just 40 miles to the west of us and there were several very big steel mills there that the ‘enemy’ would want to wipe out. And to the south of us, also about 40 miles, was Ravenna Arsenal, one of the biggest manufacturing and storage areas in the world for explosives and ammunition. (A quick history of the Arsenal. Just prior to our entry into WWII it was assumed that Germany would defeat England and then use her Navy and Army to attack the United States. It was decided that there needed to be at least two places east of the Mississippi River, one in the north and one in the south, that could manufacture and store large quantities of military ordinance. The one in the north would be bigger because it was believed that, although Canada was still part of the British Empire, they would fight the invader. So the northern arsenal would also furnish Canada. It was placed in parts of three communities, one of which was Ravenna, Ohio. Over 21,000 acres of manufacturing and storage above and below ground. At the peak of WWII more ordinance was produced there than some countries involved in the war produced throughout their entire history. The US provided weapons and ammunition for England and Russia and other countries, and much of it was made and stored right there. In 1962 it was the largest ammunition dump in the world. Now all that is gone and it is an Army National Guard facility. They also open it yearly for two weeks for deer hunters.) The teacher explained that in the event of atomic war, these places would be bombed.

          I went home pretty worried about all I had learned that day. At supper that night my mother asked me what was wrong. I didn’t answer. My father looked at me and said, “What is it, boy?” When my father asked any question, you needed an answer. So, I explained what had gone on that day and what the teacher had said. My parents exchanged a glance and my mother got up from the table and hurried into the kitchen. My sisters also looked worried and we all looked at our father.

          It was a rare moment. His face broke out into a smile and he laughed a little. He told us not to worry, that the Ruskies (his word) were not going to bomb anywhere near us. No one was going to bomb the US of A. Wasn’t gonna happen! And then he reached over and for the only time I can remember, he put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair. With laughter in his voice, he said, “Boy don’t worry about it. It won’t happen. I said so.”

          And I never worried about it again. They could tell us anything at school, even my sweet and wonderful teacher, but I was going to believe what my father said. He had fought in the war and he would know.

          Of course, he wasn’t actually telling the truth. It could have happened. But they weren’t actually telling the truth at school, either. Crawling under the desk would not save our lives. The point is, even though I had a harsh and demanding father, I believed him.

          We have a loving and compassionate Father. He loves us without fail and He never lies to us just to make us feel better. 1 Peter 5:6-8 says;  Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you,  casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.  Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Does that include us today? Of course it does.   

          There are numerous verses I could use here about our Father watching out for us, but I want the lesson that is here. First, we are to humble ourselves. In this case, it means to give our control over to Him. We are to put our anxieties on Him. No one cares for us like the Lord and He has the ability to completely protect His own. And we need to be aware that Satan is out there seeking to snatch our minds. He cannot have the soul of a believer, but he can surely corrupt our minds.

          So, if we give control over to Him and put our fears on Him and understand that He cares for us and can protect us, why should we worry? And I don’t worry. The Bible told us there would be plagues and disease. The Bible told us there would be wars and rumors of war. Nothing is happening today that we were not told about. We also know He has a plan for us. Why should we fear?

          This year there will be, if the pace holds, 250,000 to 300,000 deaths from COVID-19 in the US. That is sobering. But EVERY year there are right around 200,000 deaths from diabetes. I have diabetes. Should I fear? No, I need to live my life. I take measures. I am careful. But there is no cure. Heart disease accounts for 600,000 deaths EVERY year. It is the fourth leading cause of death in the US. I have heart disease. Should I fear? No, I need to live my life. I take measures. I am careful. But there is no cure. I have inherited both diseases, diabetes from my mother’s side and heart disease from my father’s side. If I fear these two diseases to the point that the fear disables me, then I have let Satan stop me. COVID-19 will likely wane. In the meantime, I will take measures. I will be careful. But I am living under a death sentence anyway. For that matter, we all are. However, too many are living in fear. Fear of disease, fear of violence in the streets, fear of political upheaval, fear of the end of days.

          If you are a believer, you are in His hands. Nothing happens that is not in His plan. In my years at the funeral home I handled hundreds of bodies every year. Some died violently, some in accidents, some by disease, some quietly in their own beds while they slept. One particular lady comes to mind. When I talked with the family I was told heart disease was in her family. She obsessed getting heart disease for years. It ruled her life. She didn’t do anything that would tax her heart. She never had heart disease, though. She died in a car accident.

          Don’t go to some place like Portland, Oregon or Chicago or Minneapolis where there is violence every day, unless you have to go. It would be stupid to put yourself in danger like that. Use common sense. Don’t attend COVID parties. Take precautions. If you have diabetes, don’t eat a whole pie at one setting. If you have heart disease, don’t try to run a marathon. Be sensible. But if you, as a believer, can be silenced by fear, if you can be made to quit your witness for Christ because of a possible bad outcome, Satan has won.

          We keep hearing conflicting thoughts from medical experts. You know the drill. But one thing does not change. Cast your anxieties on Him, for He cares for you.

          Chances are, you have not given a second thought to the all the nonsense going on in Washington D.C. No, I don’t mean that nonsense. That nonsense is affecting our lives on a daily basis. I am not referring to the foolish behavior of our elected officials. I am referring to the nonsense that is going on that will become a real issue in the next few years, but right now is just a sideshow. I am talking about the Washington Redskins.

          What, you may ask, does a football team in D.C. have to with us now or in the future? You would be wrong to ask that precise question. The Washington Redskins no longer exists. Caving under pressure, the owner of the team discarded the old name and is now considering a new name. In the meantime, the team formally called the Redskins is being called the Washington Football Team. Extremely catchy, I think. Actually, over the last 30 years, I have gone from being a diehard fan to someone who wouldn’t care if the whole NFL went out of business. I don’t care if the Colts become the Indianapolis Football Team or if the Lions become the Detroit Football Team. Doesn’t matter to me. But it does matter to me that the Cleveland Indians might discard their name for the same reason Washington discarded their name. Political correctness. (If the Indians change their name, I will be done with pro sports, period.)

          Ah, but these are just names and are offensive to some people. So what if they change the names? And how will that affect anyone down the road?

          I hope you realize that Indiana is just the word ‘Indian’ with an ‘a’ at the end. There were some major battles fought here involving Native Americans. The name of the state was likely made to honor the Native Americans for their bravery and boldness in battle. No one could possibly be offended by a state’s name given in honor of a group of people. But the Washington’s team name was given in honor of the warrior spirit and the Cleveland team name was in honor of a star player on the team who was Native American when the team was called the Spiders. Ownership decided Spiders was a lousy name for a baseball team, so after they went through several other names, they asked the local sportswriters for something better and they came up with Indians, after former star player and Native American Louis Sockalexis. This was around 1919, so they have been the Indians a long time. But it doesn’t matter that the name was in honor of Native Americans. Someone got their feelings hurt. Some years ago, my brother in law and I went to Opening Day. It was advertised that a large demonstration was going to take place against the name. When we got there we saw the demonstration. Two people who claimed to be Native Americans and who were wearing Hollywood Indian type clothes and about twenty people dressed like they were taking a long lunch from the office carrying signs and chanting. ABC, CBS and NBC were there interviewing the people dressed like Tonto, but they wouldn’t even point the cameras at the people in suits and dresses.

          So, what happens when the few who get offended turn their attention toward Indiana? Does the state cave? What about Indianapolis? That name means City of Indians. Surely that is a racial slur. Oklahoma means Red Men. Defiantly a racial slur. In fact, at least 21 states are named after Indian tribes or leaders. Such a slap in the face. It reeks of racism. But wait! There’s more! Wabash is a Native American word. Wabash, Indiana was the first city in the world to have nighttime electrical lighting. Could it be that the name would be changed to Sparks, Indiana (or whatever the state’s name is changed too) and the citizens be called Sparkys? You couldn’t very well call the Wabash River the Sparks River. That would sound dangerous. And where would it flow too? Now it flows to the Ohio River, but that is a Native American word, so that would have to be changed. Then, the Ohio flows into the Mississippi River, but Mississippi is a Native American word. And then the Mississippi flows to the Gulf of Mexico, but that name would have to be changed, too, because using the name Mexico in such a blatantly racist way would offend the Mexicans living here, particularly the illegal Mexicans. It would represent the effort to send them back to their homeland.

          And it really is just a few people who are offended, and most of them are not Native American! Just so you know, I think the Native Americans were not treated well by the early settlers and pioneers, and certainly not by the American government. If the various Native American tribes could have quit fighting each other and have banded together in the early days of settlements by Europeans, it would now be a land of Native Americans with very few European types. But they had their own political differences. In fact, I believe that Native Americans were treated worse than African Americans. This was the Native American home. In some cases, they were systematically slaughtered. War was waged on them. None of that was true among the African Americans.

          I cannot think of a single instance where the use of an Indian word is to demean Native Americans. The former logo of the Cleveland Indians, Chief Wahoo, was demeaning, but only in the sense that Notre Dame’s logo is demeaning to Irish folk. No big deal. But a few seek to change everything to fit their world view. And the rest of us cave because we become convinced that if we do not then we are the ones who are racist.

          We see all this unfolding and it brings to mind an interesting side note to me. In Acts 11:26 we see the first use in the Bible of the word ‘Christians.’ The word is only used three times in Scripture. (A special prize to the first person who gets back to me on the other two places in Scripture.) From historical documents we know that the first use of the word was intended to be mocking. It was expected that when the early practitioners of the faith died out, the faith would die out. The believers (which they were called at the time), or the faithful, embraced the mocking name and made it their very own. Now, again, after almost 2000 years later, the name is being used in this country in a mocking way. Christians are viewed as hatemongers and racists. Churches and whole denominations are distancing themselves away from the Word of God and are making Christ a weakened caricature of what He really is in the Bible. And this all started because a few people didn’t want to hear about a powerful Savior. They want nothing more powerful than they themselves.

          DO NOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BECOME WEAK! If you want to stand up for the name of your state or your favorite fishing hole or a favored team, do it. Do not let the few rewrite history. BUT MOST IMPORTANT, DECIDE RIGHT NOW THAT YOU ARE GOING TO STAND FOR JESUS, FOR THE BIBLE AND FOR THE HOLY GOD. Just because you don’t see it around you just yet doesn’t mean it isn’t coming.

          A quick story, all true. In Ohio, near us when we were there, a nearby church had finally had enough of their denomination. They decided they were not honoring God by staying with the denomination. So, they announced their intention of pulling out. The denomination countered with the fact that they actually owned the building and grounds. If the congregation pulled out, they lost the building and grounds. In the case of most wishy-washy Christians, that would be enough to keep the church in place. However, these people went ahead and left their denomination. The denomination had no real desire to place another congregation there, but they saw the building, which the congregation had lovingly cared for, and the property as being a money maker for them. They sought to sell it all. When the denomination announced they were going to sell all of it off, a local newspaper reporter contacted them with a question; if they were going to sell it, would they consider selling it back to the congregation that had just left? The answer that the denominational representative gave the reporter was, “We would rather sell it to a brothel than back to them.” Think about that for a moment. That is not Christianity, but that attitude is hiding in the bushes.

          Stand up for the Lord at all costs.  

          After I came to Christ, I came to understand that I needed to curb any outbursts of anger. I always had a temper and it could erupt in a blink of an eye. It was a struggle to control my language and my actions. Anger sometimes worked out for me on the football field. As a sophomore I played a lot at defensive end, but I also played on all the special teams. On one play where we kicked off, I was running downfield on my side of the field and the play was going to the other side. I was intent on the ball carrier in case he came back to my side (you don’t really see it or understand it on TV, but the players running down field to cover a kick are in lanes that they have to protect and you are not to vacate those lanes), and he was about to be tackled there on the other side of the field. I was slowing down, still watching the ball carrier, when someone slammed into me, knocking me flat. It was a cheap shot but there was no flag. The other player, from the other team, got up and laughed at me. I was so angry! I decided that the next time they kicked to us I was going hunting for that person. The other team went three and out and had to punt to us. I didn’t care where the punt went, I was going to seek and destroy number 52. As it happened, he lined up on the other side of the field, so when the ball was snapped, I broke from my side and made a bee line for number 52. He was dead in my sights, not even seeing me. I brushed past several players and zeroed in. His back was to me, but I didn’t care. It would be a clipping penalty, but that didn’t matter. Just before I impacted him, he turned awkwardly and was suddenly facing me. He was a dead duck. I let my anger go and plowed into him. It was mean. I got up and looked down at him and laughed at him. Then I started trotting off the field, but saw that the extra point team was coming on the field. We had scored! Wow, I had no idea!

          On Monday, before practice, we would watch the film of the game the Friday before, and the coach would yell at us for stupid plays and such. I was really hoping I could see myself crushing number 52. Oh, it was sweet! When the film got to that point, I saw how the whole play developed. The punt returner was supposed to return to the right side of the field, which was where I was stationed. But that broke down immediately and he had to head for the left side. It probably broke down because I had left my lane to hunt number 52. Number 52 was angling over to cut our returner off at the sideline, but then the returner cut back toward the middle of the field. Number 52 turned awkwardly to track him and I wiped him out. I threw the block that led to the touchdown. The coach showed the hit, then backed it up and showed the hit again. Four times we watched that hit, each time the guys would wince. Finally, the coach said, “Wade, that was a perfect hit. But why were you on that side of the field?” I just smiled and said, “I had a feeling, coach.” Funny thing, the coach saw through it and I wound up running extra sprints for leaving my area.

          But back to point, anger very rarely accomplishes anything. I played better football when I controlled my anger. We make better decisions when we control our anger. Once I went into the ministry, I found out that in church situations there are many times your anger can flare because people, who should be acting like Christians, just act like regular humans. Extremely frustrating.

          So, what should a young man do who has a sharp temper hiding inside, ready to explode? A young man who had once put the good of his team and the welfare of his opponent aside to track that opponent and try to separate his head from his body?

          The only thing I could think to do was to freeze my emotions. Bottle everything up. In a tense situation, I just shut down emotionally. Let nothing show. That was hard, but I was determined to not embarrass Christ.

          Board meetings at the church I pastored in Warren, Ohio were really hard. I was in my late 20s at the start and I really didn’t know much about human interactions. There was always a lot of fighting at the Board meetings. I just sat there, stone faced, gave my report and answered the Board president if he asked a question. There could be shouting and even name calling, but I sat there and didn’t respond. It wasn’t my job to control it and I didn’t try. To be fair, that all changed over the years to where a Board meeting was not a bad experience. But, at the beginning it was tough.

          About two years into that ministry we were having a Board meeting that was particularly loud. Suddenly, everything got quiet. People were suddenly uncomfortable. The Board president asked for a motion that we adjourn. The motion was made, seconded and carried. The meeting was over, but it was only half done. Everyone left in a big hurry. I had hitched a ride to the meeting with one of our deacons, and he said hardly a word all the way back to my house. I was confused by the time I got home, really bewildered. As I walked up the steps I saw Marsha was on the phone. When I walked in I heard her say, “OK, Louise, I am sure he is OK, but I will check.” She hung up and laughed. “Larry, you really shook everyone up tonight. You have to watch those outbursts.” That made no sense. “What do you mean? I didn’t say anything!” She was trying not to laugh and not succeeding. “Well, Louise said all of a sudden you raised your eyebrow. That was enough.” Now, you may think I am kidding, but I am not. In order to control those flashes of anger in tense moments, I had become like those massive stone heads on Easter Island. It was silly, but that was it.

          I don’t know when it began to change, but it did change. I have always felt that I was not worthy to be in the place God has placed me. As I went deeper into the ministry, I saw that I had to rely more and more on the Lord. I suppose that as I gave more and more of myself to Him, He began to solve that anger problem. Finally, a few years later at a different church in Ohio, a man walked into my office, sat down on a sofa, took a deep breath and said, “I always feel a sense of calm in here.” I was a little surprised, but that was when I realized that I was calm. There was a peace.

          Ephesians 4:26 says, Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger. We see here two things. The first is, we can be angry without sinning. The second is we are not to let our anger plague our sleep. Get over it. The meaning here, in the Greek language, is not the violent anger that so often affects us. It is literally exasperation. You can be exasperated about something, but you don’t have to get ANGRY about it. If you encounter something that makes you ANGRY, begin praying about it. Maybe for a minute. Maybe for an hour. We talk about ‘righteous anger,’ but is that just an excuse to let anger rule our day?  

          There is so much to get angry about right now. But does that anger draw us closer to the Lord, or push us farther away?