How Do I Say This

How Do I Say This?

Paul to the Corinthians — For just preaching the Gospel isn’t any special credit to me—I couldn’t keep from preaching it if I wanted to. I would be utterly miserable. Woe unto me if I don’t. 17 If I were volunteering my services of my own free will, then the Lord would give me a special reward; but that is not the situation, for God has picked me out and given me this sacred trust, and I have no choice. 18 Under this circumstance, what is my pay? It is the special joy I get from preaching the Good News without expense to anyone, never demanding my rights. 19 And this has a real advantage: I am not bound to obey anyone just because he pays my salary; yet I have freely and happily become a servant of any and all so that I can win them to Christ. 1 Corinthians 9:16-19

During a recent worship service one of the scripture passages was first Corinthians 9, listed above. As I listened to the reading I was struck by Paul’s disclaimer of credit. He explains he couldn’t keep from preaching the gospel word even if I wanted to. He went on to say that he would be utterly miserable if he didn’t follow through, implying that God has given him this sacred trust and that he has no choice.

I thought about that statement and felt there was an element in it that applied to me in recent years.  How do I say this? I firmly believe that my belief in Christ has resulted in the active presence of a Holy Spirit. Or perhaps, I have learned to pay attention to the Holy Spirit. Furthermore, I believe that the Holy Spirit speaks to all of us, constantly and, through belief in Jesus, we need to learn how to listen.

How do I say this without its feeling prideful? In January 2016, my wife, Joanne, died. I was overwhelmed by the number of people who honored her by their attendance at her memorial service. My family was there to support me and to pay their respects and to honor her by displaying so much of what represented parts of her life. At the conclusion of the service and after everyone had left, I stood in the lobby waiting. Finally, one of my daughters came to me and said “Dad, we’re waiting for you.” I told her I was waiting for Joanne, and it was like I had just triggered something in my heart, or in my mind, or maybe within my spirit.

That was a new experience for me, and I had a hard time adjusting to it. It wasn’t just the missing of my wife, although that was significant, there was something else that seemed to be present waiting to be recognized or applied. Throughout my professional life I’ve done a bit of writing; articles for professional journals, my dissertation, of course, I wrote some awful poetry, and some equally awful free verse. I had never written faith-centered devotionals, outside of an occasional sermon, or a fiction novel.

After Joanne died, and I struggled to get on with my life. I was asked to be part of a committee on the Reformation and was asked to write an article for the local newspaper. That led me into the world of Biblical research. Shortly after that, and because of that article, my pastor asked me to write a short Lenten story for our church newsletter. I did, but that little story kept calling me back to add to it, to change it, to expand the story. I began to sense a strange feeling that I was not in charge of that writing. Eventually, that story about redemption was published as A Life for Barabbas. The Holy Spirit told the story, I was the scribe.

I’ve been told that a debut novel was often the lesser work as other writings follow, and writing improves. I have two thoughts about that. First the storyline of A Life for Barabbas is excellent, and it systematically follows how a psychologist might track the life of a rogue who has a life changing experience. I believe the Spirit of the Lord brought me back to the story, time and time again, until the result was the story of redemption.

I could echo Paul’s statement that he couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. From my experience with the story of Barabbas, the research required to build the story, the prayerful times spent trying desperately to hear what the Lord was saying to me, was something that I couldn’t stop. My concentration was focused on the Lord story. In all honesty I missed contact with my family, important doctor’s appointments, made promises that I remembered only after the fact and the moment was gone. Which is to say, I got lost in story.

However, in writing, it is a terrific and mystical ride as the story unfolds. Sometimes I am simply overwhelmed by what is coming out on the page. To say it causes satisfaction would be an understatement, it’s more like excitement. When I submitted my latest manuscript, entitled The Inn on Jericho Road, two Writers Edge, professional editors and critics, and they awarded it with a “Rcommended” rating, it felt like I had gotten a little gold statue.

I’ll keep on writing because I think that’s what the Lord wants me to do. I highly recommend the flexing of your imagination, the listening to your inner voice, and the spinning out of story. May the good Lord guide your thoughts and your pen.

-30-

So, Help Me, Fred! 

So, Help Me, Fred! 

 The little boy was good in church. He was quiet. He sometimes listened to what his daddy was saying from the pulpit. There were times when he nodded off or colored the book his mom brought for him. Recently, he heard something that was a little confusing to his three-year-old mind. He knew his name and the name of his older sister, and he was learning the name of Jesus, but what his daddy was saying made him wonder; so, he listened, and he remembered. 

Christmas was coming with all the excitement and fun, but also with more times in church, singing carols that he loved. But, again, he heard some things that added to his confusion.  Still, he said nothing. Until one night. Just days before Christmas. As he and his daddy knelt to say their night-time prayers, he made up his mind to ask the questions that he had been saving.  

As he was being tucked into bed, he started. “Daddy, I know about Elf on the Shelf, and the funny movie Elf, but who is Elf in the Bible?” His daddy thought about that, but before he could say anything, his son asked another question. “How can a man be bread?  And, Daddy, I know that Jesus was not an Indian, so how could he be a Chief?” 

Whoa, there son, you ask really good questions, and you know a good question requires a good answer. First, tell me, where are these questions coming from? It is important for me to know so I can give you a good answer.” 

“Well, I call you daddy, but I know that your name is Michael. I call mommy, Mom, but I know her name is Mary. I call my sister lots of things, but her name is Sarah. You call me son, but my real name is David. What is Jesus’ real name? Is it Jesus? You called him Elf one time, and Shepherd another time. I almost laughed out loud in church tonight when you called Him mmmessy…something.  And, Daddy, how…” 

“Hey, slow down, my boy,” he said with a chuckle. “Let me try to answer one at a time. First, Jesus’ real name is Jesus, but we will talk about that later. Then you asked about Elf in the Bible. Let me think. You know about Angels. You think that Elf is a name I gave Jesus in one of my talks? Hmm. Elf. elf…, Alf…Alpha, Alpha and Omega.” 

 “Yes, that’s what you said, daddy. Is that Jesus’ name?” 

 “Oh, my dear son, you are so smart. No, that is not his name. It would be like how you feel about mommy. You think she is the best and you love her. Remember when we were playing ball and we stopped to admire the flowers in her garden, and you said mommy was the best flower planter in the whole world. Then, later, when we were having spaghetti for supper, you called her the best cook? So, you think she is both a flower planter and a cook and so much more. Those aren’t her real names, but they are ways to describe who she is. So, Alpha, not elf, is a word that tells who Jesus is. It means he is the beginning. And when I used the word Omega, that tells us that he is still there at the end. In other words, He is always with us wherever we go. He’s Alpha and Omega. Isn’t that good?” 

 The boy nodded, but said nothing. 

 His father continued, “You asked about the name Shepherd. Now you know a little bit about that. Mommy and I named you David after King David. Remember? You know some of David’s story. When, before he became a king, what did he do?”  

“He was a shepherd!” The boy exclaimed. “He was a shepherd! And he took care of a herd of sheep. They called him shepherd. It wasn’t his name, it was what he did. So, when we pray that the Lord is my shepherd, it’s what He does! He watches over us.”  

“Have I told you how smart you are? Of course I have. But now? It’s time for you to crawl under the covers. Then go to sleep. Mom will be along and just a little while. To say goodnight. 

“But, daddy, I have so many more questions. What do I call Jesus?? It seems like I have too many to pick from.” 

Son., you can call Him Jesus, or you can call Him Savior. If you would prefer, think of a name that means so much to you. And one that in your mind honors Him and feels like you are talking to the friend, He is.” 

 “You mean I can choose a name? And, then just talk with him using that name? One that is familiar to me, that I like? One that honors him?” 

 “That’s right, My son. Now, goodnight. Mom will be along in just a minute.”  

“Well, honey. You were up there a long time. What were you two talking about?”

“Do you know that we have? A very smart boy. You would not believe the number of questions he had about what we call Jesus. He’s been listening to the sermons, the Sunday School lessons, and even some of the stories and carols. All the Christmas celebrations we’ve had. And he was asking about all the names and titles we use for Jesus. 

How did you leave that with him?” 

I told him to find a name that was comfortable to him in his prayers and conversations with Jesus. A name that would bring honor to Jesus. And one that he would feel good about. That would help him talk to Jesus in his prayers. I left it up to him.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Mary returned, saying. “Michael. I think you may have created… something. I almost said monster, but it’s no monster at all, because it just made my heart nearly burst with pride in our son. After I tucked him in and said good night, I stood outside his door for a minute. And I could hear him talking to Jesus. But he was calling Jesus, Fred. Fred!  Michael, our son said, ‘Fred. I want you to bless Mommy and Daddy. And my sister. I love knowing about You. Being a shepherd and all. Being there at the beginning and at the end of everything. I am so glad that I have you for a friend, to talk with and to help me when I don’t know what I should do or say. Fred, thank you for being my friend.’ 

“That’s what he said. He’s praying to God, in the name of Fred. Michael, in the name of Fred. What are we going to do about that?” 

“Nothing.” Michael said with a smile. “Absolutely nothing. His ‘Fred’, is your Jesus and mine. The time will come when he’ll move on, but for now, we have every reason to be proud. We are doing the right thing.” 

Thank you, Fred. For What It’s Worth.

-30-

 

Captain

I tagged along after my father that morning, being hopeful that maybe we would stop at the Olympia Candy kitchen and I could sample some of their wonderful candies. I followed him into the hardware store there on Lincoln Avenue,  I think it was called Hess Hardware or something like that. My daddy had to pick up some “this and that’s”, as he called them.

We paused for just a moment at the front of the store to admire this amazing bicycle that was for sale. It was a very special. It was a Schwinn with red frame and fenders, and sparkling reflectors and everything. It was beautiful. My daddy asked me if I liked that bike, and I said, “Oh boy, it certainly is a special bicycle.” Continue reading

Chloe: Just A Story, Part Fact, Part Fiction

It had been a really rough week for my friend. He is a medical professional, but had been unhappy in his work for some time.  The sudden breakup had thrown him off stride, leaving him bewildered and with a deep sense of loneliness. The one that he thought of as his best friend, was gone. A bit depressed, he left his office and walked across the deserted parking lot to his car. It was late and dark. He heard the sound as he approached his car, the insistent cry of a baby animal. He looked around, but saw nothing. Continue reading

Facts! You Call Them Facts?

Don’t Bother Me with Facts!

I get a bit frustrated with my friends when I try to argue a point that differs from their position.  This could be political, religious, or common sense matters that occur every day.  There have been times when “facts” are on my side, but it matter not, to them!  They seem to be telling me not to bother them with facts if those facts run contrary to their ideas. At times a stray thought enters my mind that my “facts” may simply be my ideas! I quickly dismiss that nonsense! Continue reading

Experiencing Nothing

We were all part of a long-standing Bible study, a group of men from divergent congregations, bound by common commitment to Jesus Christ as Lord, and dedicated to “sampling” the monastic life in St. Gregory’s Abbey, a monastery within the Episcopal Church. We thought we knew what we were getting into, and, on one level, we did, but there is a big difference between studying about the monastic experience and actually living it, even for a short period. Continue reading

Second-Hand

I have a favorite wine glass. It has a particular shape that appeals to me, and is a signature glass carrying carries two legends: “Stone Hill Winery” and “Vintage Restaurant”. I know exactly when I got this, nearly twenty years ago, and where I got this, and all the circumstances surrounding the purchase. Continue reading

Fanny Pack

Fanny Pack?  Remember them? Twenty-five years ago, they were all the rage. Whenever you traveled, it seemed that everyone you saw had these little pouches, belted around the waist. We kept our passports, sun glasses, lip gloss, and lots of miscellaneous stuff we wanted to carry, in the many pockets on our travels. Continue reading

Here I Stand 1

Some years ago I set out to write a “brief” statement of my faith that I would share with my children.  At that time they were adults in their 30’s and who, probably, had a fairly well-formed idea of “religion”, faith and all that “stuff”.

Over the years I have resolved to have conversations with them about faith and what I believe, but the time has never seemed right.  Over those years I flirted with that topic, have implied some, have lived out some, but never really gotten into it.  Maybe I was a little fearful, wanting to “say it right” but concerned that it might come out incomplete, or incoherent, or sounding like I’m proselytizing! Continue reading

Tree on Fire

My grandparents on my mother’s side, came from German stock, and settled in northern Pennsylvania. They worked to keep some of the old country traditions alive and my mother carried one or two into our family life. The following was pieced together from childhood memories recalled during this Christmas season and some of the stories my sisters shared with me.

I remember, the couch had been moved to another part of living room, and that is where I was told to sit, along with my sisters. Mother and daddy brought in the freshly-cut Christmas tree, already in its stand, and set it in the space cleared in front of the windows that looked out on Lawson Avenue. I was the ‘little guy’.  I must have been three or four. I had no recollection of putting up a Christmas tree the previous year, so my excitement came from all the stories that my sisters shared. My eyes grew in size as the tree was set in place, and a box of decorations was placed nearby. A tree in our living room!

“Aren’t we putting lights on?” my older, wiser sister asked. Mother said, “No, not yet” I remember daddy doing something with the tree, putting something on the branches, while mother seemed to be telling him where they should go and to “make sure they are straight”. After a long time, they stepped back, seemed to admire what they had done. Then they stopped and mother went into the kitchen to start supper, while daddy went into his ‘study’.

My other sister, the one who always teased me, protested. She whined about not putting on the colorful paper chains we had created the day before, or any of the green and red popcorn kernels we had strung, or allowing the kids to do anything to decorate the tree. To which daddy had replied, “No, not yet. Have patience, we will get to it tonight”.

I sat in my highchair, dinner seemed to take forever!  I kept glancing in the living room at that tree. A tree in our living room! I had never seen anything so pretty. Dinner was over and now the dishes had to be done, my sisters’ job. That is when I started whining – something I was learning from my sisters! Daddy left the kitchen. I don’t think he wanted to hear me crying.

Finally, we all gathered in the living room and told to return to the couch. Something had happened to the tree! On many of the branches there were little white candles. Then mother started to sing. Oh, little town of the Bethlehem… As she was singing, daddy took a kitchen match and started lighting all the little candles, right there on the tree!  Then he turned off the lights and we all sang Silent Night. What a beautiful tree on fire!

Then daddy pulled the rocking chair over and sat in front of us, with his Bible. Mother then explained that her parents had come from Germany, and one of the family traditions was putting candles on the tree, lighting them, then reading stories from the Bible and singing carols. And so we did, daddy read the Christmas story from Luke, and when we sang Silent Night, I couldn’t help but notice that mother was crying…something I could not understand until so much later. Daddy then said a prayer.

After that things got really exciting! We all blew out the candles. Daddy and my older sister began to put on stings of lights and we all helped to put on strings of craft-paper chains all around the tree, and the strings of popcorn. My sisters started placing foil icicles carefully on the tree, while I just took handfuls and threw them at the tree. They didn’t like that, but I just giggled. What fun!

Then, long past my bedtime, just as I was falling asleep on the couch, to my surprise, hot chocolate and cookies!  I don’t remember doing lighted candles in later years, but the hot chocolate and cookies was an annual family tradition.

Frohe Weihnachten – Feliz Navidad – Merry Christmas

Four Score and Seven Years Ago

One Hundred Fifty-nine years ago, on this date, November 19, in 1863, President Abraham Lincoln stood on the bloodied ground of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and delivered a brief, but memorable address of national unity. Many, reading this essay, have vivid memories of having to memorize the speech, maybe when you were in the eighth grade. For me, memorization was never fun!

While the address was given 159 years ago, there are elements of Lincoln’s words that are relevant today. Throughout the Bible there are multiple references to the clash between the forces of  good and evil; Adam and Eve in The Garden, David and Goliath, Jesus in the wilderness, etc. I venture to say that where good exists, evil will be lurking around the corner to cast truth in the shade of darkness. Continue reading

A Layman’s Letter to Churches – Alone But Never Alone

Joni Erickson Tada wrote and performed a wonderful song, Alone But Not Alone, that made its way to the top of the Christian music charts and into a movie by that same name. When I listen to the words and the music of that song I cannot help but be reminded how true it is.

At a most crucial time in the life of Jesus, as a man walking the earth, facing eminent crucifixion, He asked God the Father to give all believers the Holy Spirit, as a Friend and Guide. And so, in reality, we may feel we are alone, but if our faith is strong, there’s no question that our Helper, the Holy Spirit, is there with us. As close as a brother or sister, sharing wisdom and strength. Continue reading