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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “Why did you have to shoot it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    "Over there," and I pointed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

         On December 19, 2021, The Urbana Yoke Parish choir  presented a Christmas program called “Christine’s Christmas.”  It tells the story of Christine, a little girl, at Christmas one year. I came across the program the other day while going through files to clean them out. It occurred to me that having you read “Christine’s Christmas” and listen to the music might just be a wonderful way to bring in this Advent season. Where the choir sings I am putting in links to groups or individuals singing. Not because the Gaither Vocal Band is better than our choir, but because I cannot just link you to our choir. You could go back in the Worship videos in our webpage archives to December 19, 2021 to watch the video, but my bald head is a little to prominent.  The whole thing will be a little lengthy to read and to listen to the music, even longer than a normal blog. But I think you will enjoy. Keep in mind that each song will likely have a little commercial before it. I guess the bills have to be paid for You Tube. And, if clicking the link doesn’t work, cut and paste the link and put it in the address bar. And if that doesn’t work, sing it in your head. That always works!   

 

Christines’s Christmas

 

Christine was eight years old and very grown up, at least in her mind. Christmas was coming and she was excited, but she was trying her very best to hold the excitement down. Not her stupid brother, though. He was ten, so he should be acting older, but there he was, looking on-line at all the new toys and deciding he wanted this and that. There was no way Santa could bring all that. Her brother was just stupid.

Still, the excitement gripped her, too. She had been on-line and had already messaged her list to Santa. It wasn’t too much. The sleigh was pretty large. It would all fit nicely and not put Santa out.

The house was all decorated and the tree was up! Daddy had put up the outside lights just in time, for snow was starting to fall. She looked out the window and thought how beautiful their house would look once it was dark and the lights came on!

It was exciting! So, how was a grown up eight year old girl supposed to wait three weeks?

Everything was exactly right, except Mommy was not playing Christmas music. No ‘Jingle Bells’ and no ‘White Christmas.’ Nothing like that. Mommy and Daddy were both different this year. Not ‘bad’ different. They were smiling more and seemed calmer. They had bought this thing with little toy people and a donkey and some sheep. All the people and all the animals were turned and looking at this little holder that had a little tiny toy baby in it. When they had taken it out of the box, they had been very quiet, but they had looks on their faces that Christine wondered about. Little smiles, knowing glances to one another. Little things like that which Christine didn’t really understand. One morning early she had turned the people so that the men were facing each other like they were talking. That seemed more normal. Mommy didn’t seem to like that and she turned all of them back to that little toy baby. Christine, being pretty grown up for eight, decided that it was best to leave it alone. It seemed nice and it seemed to make her parents happy, so it was good.

But no Christmas music. What was up with that?

Mommy was playing music, of some kind. Kind of sounded like the stuff at church. Just after school had started, they had started going to a church. Christine didn’t really care for it. Boring! But she was pretty grown up, so she sat there and endured. Her stupid brother had been pretty rude at first, falling asleep when the man got up to talk, but for the last little bit he had been better. Mommy said that he had a great Sunday School teacher. Christine’s teacher was even more boring that the man who got up to talk. But they had this music that was OK, but different. And now that Christmas was coming, the music was really different.

Christine decided she would talk to Mommy about the music, so she went into the bedroom where Mommy was cleaning.

“Mommy, aren’t we going to have Christmas music this year?”

“This is Christmas music, Chrissy. It is just different from what you are used too.”

“I just don’t get it, Mommy.”

Christine’s mother looked around a little nervously. Then she went over and picked up a little book. She sat down on the bed and patted the place next to her, letting Christine know she could come and sit with her.

“This book came with the music we are hearing and it explains the songs. Let’s start at the beginning and listen to the music and then see what the song is all about.”

The first song was called, “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus.”  The link to the music is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRAFQCOkjgE

When it was over, Mommy read the story in the book. It was an old song, almost three hundred years old! The music sounded funny and the words didn’t make much sense, but Mommy explained that Jesus had been expected for a very, very long time and His people would be looking to Him to save them. 

“In fact, in our new Nativity set, that’s the thing where you turned the men around to talk to each other,” Mommy made a stern face and Christine blushed. Then Mommy went on with a smile, “the little baby is Jesus.” Christine was confused. “But there are animals there!” “Yes, sweetie, Jesus was born in a barn.” Christine said in a shocked voice, “If they expected Him, why was He born in a barn?”

“Well, Chrissy, the world really didn’t want Jesus to come right then. They were living lives that God wasn’t happy with and they figured Jesus would make them stop. They expected Him, but they really didn’t want Him.” Here is the next song.

Mommy hit PLAY and the next song started. It was called “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” It was an old song, too, but not as old as the other one. Christine understood it better. The link to the music is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2vc4CexxlX8

“OK, this Jesus was born in some little town with a funny name and He was born in a barn. They must’ve really not liked the little guy.” Mommy laughed out loud at Jesus being called a little guy. “Well, Jesus was going to be born kind of in secret. He was God’s Son, but He wanted to be known first to regular people.”

Christine was startled. “God’s Son??? Everyone in the world should have been there!” Mommy smiled. “You would think so. But it was just His mother and father, Mary and Joseph, and some shepherds there.” “Shepherds? What is a shepherd?” “Oh, that is someone who watches the sheep in the field and takes care of them.” “That’s silly! Why would those guys be there?” Mommy smile again. It seemed Mommy was smiling a lot these days. “Let’s listen to the next song. It’s about the shepherds. It is called “While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks.”  The link to the music is  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7_hM1h0aYU

“Mommy, how were the shepherds dressed? If they were out in the field with a bunch of sheep all the time, they had to be wearing some old, ragged clothes.” Mommy nodded her head. “I have that picture in my mind, too. I bet they even smelled worse than your uncle Bill when he gets home from work!” Christine made a face. Uncle Bill had lived with them for a while. Mommy laughed at the face, but Christine was serious.

“But Mommy, on that toy set of people and animals you have next to the tree, there are three men who look like they are dressed really good. Who are they?” “Those are the Wise men who came from a land far, far away. They weren’t actually there for the birth of Jesus, but they got there eventually. They are usually included to show that Jesus was sent by God for the poorest of the poor and for the richest of the rich. They brought very valuable gifts. Sometimes they are referred to as kings. The next song is called “We Three Kings.” The link to the music is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNBbCkDMSLw

Christine looked at her mother and said, “I don’t understand how those Wise men knew Jesus was a king and His own people didn’t.” Mommy sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “It was just the times. Remember, they expected Jesus, they just didn’t want Him right then.” Christine’s face wore a puzzled frown. Then she perked up.

“Thinking about babies always makes me happy!” Christine was your typical grown up eight year old girl. Mommy chuckled. “Yes, me too. But there were two people who were worried. The Mom and Dad, Mary and Joseph. An angel first came to Mary and told her that she was going to give birth to God’s Son. She went and told Joseph, who she was engaged to, and he didn’t believe her. They were just common people! Why would God choose them? And it was the wrong time! They knew that that their leaders didn’t want Jesus born yet. The leaders were afraid they would lose their jobs. But then, the angel came and told Joseph the good news, too. Now they were in a barn because there was no room for them anywhere else. Stinky shepherds were there and animals and who knows what else? No, Mary and Joseph had to be a little scared. But they could think back to the angel who came to them. That was real. The Bible doesn’t tell us much about Joseph, but this next song kind of tells about Mary and the Baby. The link to the music is  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQWKjTvPgiM

“That is a really good story, Mommy, but it was a long, long time ago. Who is it important to now?” “Well, it is important to me and to Daddy and to millions and millions of others. In fact, the story has change the way your Daddy and I see things now. And it has helped people for all these years. In fact, there is a song in here that was written by a famous American writer. He was depressed and really sad and he was going to kill himself right on Christmas Day!” Christine jerked back in surprise and shock. “That’s right. He was so sad! But on Christmas morning, as he lay in bed thinking of how best to end his life, he heard a church close by playing their bells that played out these very songs. He listened a long while, and he was so moved that he changed his mind about killing himself. Do you want to hear that song?” Christine, fascinated, nodded her head. The link to the music is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBIbeqQ213I

Mommy was surprised to see that her little girl had tears in her eyes. “Honey, would you like me to tell you the story of Jesus and how He gave His life for us. Little Christine could only nod her head. And right there, on the bed, Mommy told her daughter about Jesus. And right there, on the bed, Christine took Jesus as her Savior.

When Christine went back into the living room, it had gotten dark outside. Someone, probably her brother (she didn’t even think of him as stupid), had plugged the tree in. She looked down at the Nativity Set and smiled at the reflections of the different colored lights on the characters. But on Jesus, one of the white lights seemed to be shining right on Him.

Just then there was the sound of singing coming from outside. Christine grabbed her coat and ran out to the porch. There, walking down the sidewalk in the softly falling snow, came a group of people singing. They had just finished one of the songs that she and Mommy had just heard and were starting a new one. “Joy to the World!”  The link to the music is  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcLvCiwIwtA

Christine lifted her arms as the group walked off in the falling snow. Yes! She knew! Joy to the World!

     It is the prayer of this pastor that you all have a Christ filled Advent and a joyous Christmas!

    I do not like to think like others think just because most everyone thinks a certain way. As an example, I have always seen churches that are looking for a pastor bring in a fellow (or lady) and talk to this person for a bit, then have him preach and then judge him on that one or two times in the pulpit. They are looking for a Pastor and they have called a Preacher. "Pastor Larry, it is all the same!" No, it is not. A church needs a pastor. The word means shepherd. Preacher means speaking of the divine. You might have a great pastor who stumbles in the pulpit. But he is a great pastor. You might have an amazing preacher who simply is not a shepherd. "Pastor Larry, we will just look for someone with both callings!" Good luck with that. You might find a pastor who has worked really hard to put a few sentences together that make sense. Maybe. On the other hand, you rarely find a preacher who makes an effort to be a pastor of sorts. This is why so many churches are unhappy with their pastors. They called a preacher. It is two different Spiritual gifts.

    I think differently about politics, as well. I started out as a liberal democrat. My son asked me how I went from a liberal to a conservative. I told him that I got to thinking. That is the problem with most people. They decide early on which side they are on and then they never think of it again. However, things and people change and you have to think things through.

    With the election just days away, I have been thinking. It was interesting being in Ohio and hearing the flood of commercials for this candidate or that candidate. A proven leader. An energetic leader. A consummate leader. A leader with a vision. A leader who will represent his (her) people faithfully in DC or Columbus or in your city or as dog catcher. The closer we get to the election, the more frenzied it all gets!

    On Saturday as I drove home, it hit me. I do not like election ads. But I realized that it isn't so much the ad itself. It is the whole Pastor/Preacher thing. These people are running for leadership positions, but that is not what anyone, liberal or conservative, really wants. We do not want leaders. We actually want servants.

    In the US Constitution, the word 'leader' never appears. Most people do not know this because the Constitution is not read by most. Way too long! In truth, though, it isn't much more than a pamphlet. But if you read it, you would see that 'leader' never appears. The original way of doing things was that a person would run, serve a couple of terms and then go back to their farm or business. Nowadays, a politician never stops campaigning. They try to convince folks that they are leading, when in fact they are begging for our votes. They spend decades in office. It would be one thing if they did their jobs, but since they have never had real jobs, they don't know how to do the job they were voted in to do. 

    So, what should we elect? 

    We need to look for that man or woman who has a servant's heart. Someone who cares more for you than they care for themselves. Do not vote a straight ticket. Examine what they think. Look at their motivation. "Oh, for heaven's sake! That is so time consuming!" Is it worth a couple hours of TV on a Tuesday night to track down the person you want to represent you? 

    Election Day. Finally! Go vote and vote wisely.  

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     (This blog was intended to be posted on Friday morning, but I suddenly came up without internet. Better late than never.)

    A late, cold October day. Wind coming out of the north. A misty rain. In spite of being wet, leaves are blowing around their feet from the wind blowing off the Lake. Two people walking along a path. Forty feet below, the waves of Lake Erie are striking the shore. Talking is difficult because of the noise, so the two walk mostly in silence. The one, buried in a coat that isn't warm enough, walks head down, wondering when this torment will end. The other, the older, in a light jacket, walks with head up, relishing the sounds, the smells, all the sensations. The younger turns to the older and says, raising a voice over the wind and surf, "You know, you could retire and enjoy this stuff all the time."

    My son hates this stuff. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go out on a cold, wet day to walk along a path so far above the Lake? And who really cares about the Lake, anyway? I, on the other hand, love walking along the lake on a cold October day. A little rain makes it perfect. My son grew up about twenty miles from where I grew up. Close in geography, but another planet as far as interests. To my son, electronics hold great fascination. He didn't watch much TV growing up. His nose was buried in a tech manual or in the guts of a computer. To me, big water was always the thing. The Great Lakes, the ocean, a great and mighty river rushing towards its mouth where it empties into a massive body of water. Two different fascinations. When Adam was growing up, I took him to electronic shows, which was so boring, and now he will go with me to the water, but it is more out of duty than anything else.  

    But the words spoken into my ear mixed with the sounds I love..."You know, you could retire and enjoy this stuff all the time." Those words stayed with me the rest of the day. I could drive down to the Lake very early in the morning. I could sit there and talk to God. I could spend time with old friends. I could watch my granddaughter grow up. I could go to a restaurant and not have to quiz the waiter or waitress on what foods contain pork. Thomas Wolfe said that you can't go home again, but I could.

    Yes, I could retire and enjoy this stuff all the time. Except, I don't want to do this thing. You folks of the Yoke no doubt feel that Wabash County is God's little slice of heaven here on earth and therefore cannot understand why someone would be drawn to somewhere else. But Northeast Ohio is home to me. Yet, I don't want to be home. I want to serve the Lord where He wants me to serve Him.

    Serving the Lord means getting out of your comfort zone. My comfort zone is Northeast Ohio. However, over twenty five years of my adult life have been elsewhere. Home has been where the Lord has put us. In the ministry, you can't plan on living in your comfort zone. If you are going to be serious about it, you have to be ready and willing to go.

    But that is the ministry. Full time service. What God has called me to do.

    So, does that mean I am called of God and you aren't? Do you have ministry? What are you called to do?

    What I have done with my life (and Marsha, too, for the great majority of it) is unusual. Think of the pastors and preachers you have known who have never served more than fifty miles from where they grew up. Yet, they also had to step out of their comfort zone in some manner. A comfort zone is that place where you feel at ease, a place where you can be content. The truth is, though, we do better work when we have to think and react and be alert. These are things we do outside the comfort zone.

    Well over half a century ago, two churches came out of their comfort zones and worked out a plan for the churches to survive. As time went by, the two congregations further went out of their comfort zones and drew closer together. Then, with a huge leap, the two congregations set the comfort zones aside and became one congregation. In one last act, the congregation settled into one worship center. Now the congregation could create a new comfort zone. First, though, it made sense to upgrade the worship time. Now the sweet rest of a comfort zone could happen. Except the pandemic came and it was necessary to go on line with worship videos. Now we can have that comfort zone! Whew! Quite the struggle! Only there is a new need. The comfort zone will have to wait. The life of the church is at stake again! The congregation has to react.

    (This next part I wrote early on Sunday morning.) 

    I drove too fast coming back from Ohio on Saturday. I constantly had to back away from 80 mph. I needed to get back. I wanted to get back. The church overwhelmingly voted to step out of their comfort zone yet again and do something that would have been unthinkable a short while ago. I really, really like being with people who respond to the Lord rather than what they think can be done.

    You know what? I think I am home!