THEY PAINTED THE POT HOLE

A maintenance crew was recently in our neighborhood refreshing the painted lines on the road.  For a couple of years I have been watching a pot hole develop at the edge of the road near my house.  It started out as a small inconsistency in the pavement, but it has grown.  Now is it about three feet long, 14 inches wide, and 4 inches deep on one side, 6 on the other.

The day they painted the stripe I was impressed by the fresh white against the black asphalt.  Until I got to the pot hole.  Then the paint more or less disappeared.  It wasn’t the painters’ job to repair the road, so they just painted right over the hole.  I went back to take a picture of it.  Since the pot hole is made of dirt and mud, the paint hasn’t stuck.

Sometimes we humans just like to paint over the pot holes in our lives.  Instead of really fixing a problem, we hope that some cosmetic touch will suffice.  It won’t.  That pot hole in the road isn’t going away this winter.  In the spring, it will be bigger.

Every road develops pot holes.  Every person has holes that need fixing—holes that tend to get bigger if left untended.  There is one named Jesus who doesn’t paint over pot holes.  He names sin for what it truly is.  Then he fills those pot holes with forgiveness and love.  If anything, Jesus uses the red of his blood to paint us white as snow.

As we enter a new school/program year in the church, people come back in greater numbers.  We are reminded both of our pot holes and of the grace given to us that we may overcome those holes.  We can't ignore the holes.  They only get bigger.  And we can't paint over the holes.  The paint will not stick.  There is a better answer--being made whole in Christ.

Many Miles...To Good Fortune?

They (whoever "they" are) say that it is good luck to see all the numbers on an odometer turn over to the same digit.  Perhaps it is doubly lucky if all the digits are 1s.  It may even be triply lucky if it happens to be on a 125cc Yamaha Vino scooter.

It has been a joy to ride that scooter for 11,111.1 miles and counting.  The 80 mpg helps, but it is the feeling of air rushing past one's face and being alive with everything around you, rather than enclosed in a car or a truck, that makes riding a scooter worthwhile.  Even at 30 degrees.  Though that is quite cold.

While I watched for this number to roll around the odometer, I am not much into "luck".  Into every life comes a mixture of good and bad, celebration and sorrow.  More than luck, I believe in a God who watches over us every step of the way--or maybe every tenth mile of the way.  We don't have to appeal to luck.  We have one who has promised to be with us always, even to the end of the age.  That must be a lot farther than 11,111.1 miles.

Now, it may be lucky if that same odometer turns over at the driveway of a favorite stopping point.  Yes, I celebrated with a Big Mac.

May you know that there is a God who attends to you each moment of each day.

Joy, Joy, Joy

Scores of us had just finished a conference in Palm Springs, California.  (Really, why do we have conferences when it is 100 degrees in California and a beautiful 75 degrees in Minnesota?)

The car in the picture left the conference hotel parking lot the same time as I.  This pastor waved at me with the biggest smile.  We were both headed to airports to fly home.

He was driving a convertible.  I was driving a well used Toyota Corolla with 85,000 miles and the scent of pine wafting through the air.  That's okay.  I had chosen the cheapest rental I could find.  I probably should have looked beyond Oftentimes Successful Car Rental.  But it worked for me.

Back to the convertible.  At the first light I caught up to him.  He was bebopping to the music from his car stereo.  He was enjoying the 100 degree sunlight with the top down.  I suspect he splurged to rent a convertible since we pastors don't drive convertibles as a rule.  Especially in Minnesota.

It was just pure joy.  He had come from a good conference.  He had the world by the tail in his red convertible.  And he was going home to people he loved.

Joy, joy, joy.  The whole world could see his joy, and he shared it.

I hope I didn't look grumpy in my Toyota.  I have joy to share, too.  It is the best news of all.  Better than a convertible on a hot day.  Better than air conditioning with a pine scent.  This joy has to do with a Good Shepherd who goes with us everywhere--one who gives us joy, joy, joy, joy down in our hearts.

The Pen

Last Friday I conducted a funeral for my cousin, Sherman.  More than fourteen years separated us in age, and he was always one of the "big cousins" to which we younger ones looked up when we went to family occasions.

We had both chosen to be pastors in the Lutheran church.  As God's blessings would have it, we ended up in the same town, Rochester, MN, for a time at sister churches.  Sherman was a great pastor and a great mentor.  The grace of Jesus Christ was always on his heart and lips.  I was privileged to learn much in his presence.

At his retirement, Sherman needed to choose a church other than his own for worship.  I was humbled and grateful that he and Rachel decided to join Bethel.  These last ten years have been wonderful in singing and worshiping together frequently.  We also worked on stewardship and educational opportunities.  Sometimes he would grace me with some wisdom that would benefit the congregation.

And one Christmas he gave me a pen.  Inscribed on the barrel is Jeremiah 17:7:  "Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD."

I love pens.  Some of my pens are 25 or 30 years old.  Those I cherish I alternate carrying in my pocket.  The morning of Sherman's funeral, I was carrying his pen in my pocket.  I was underlining a passage in the Gospel reading we would use at his funeral, and it ran out of ink.  I scribbled with it to get it going, but it was out of ink.

The pen died on the day of Sherman's funeral.  I decided I would still carry it in his honor through the day.

Later, without thinking, I took the pen out of my pocket to write something--and it was restored in its ability to write.  With I smile on my face, I thought of resurrection.  The pen had died, and now lives again.  That was a much more important message during a funeral an hour or two prior.

Jesus never told a parable about pens.  Maybe this one would do.

When Darth Vader Came to Church

It came as a surprise to me, too.  My colleague before Christmas was doing a children's word and got the children excited by telling them that someone was coming to Bethel!  Someone was coming to Bethel!

Of course, in December, the universal response to that announcement is Jesus in the manger.

Not this day.  The organist began playing the "Imperial March", and peoples' heads started to twist in the sanctuary.  Soon there were gasps.  A Storm Trooper came into view from the rear of the sanctuary.

The Storm Trooper had a message for the pastor. Someone was coming to Bethel.  She relayed that excitement to the children!  Surely the answer this time would be Jesus.

Not this day.  The organist played the "Imperial March" again.  And greater gasps marked the entrance of a huge Darth Vader!  With his deep and digitized voice, Darth Vader informed that there was a force greater than Star Wars, and that force was going to come to Bethel and all churches.

Genius.  My colleague is a genius.  I pray that children may never forget the force that defies time.  He is the force for all ages.  Finally, Jesus was the right answer.

Amazing what happens when Darth Vader comes to church.

His Name is Dean

On a cold December morning, a man comes into Bethel while the building is full of children preparing for the morrow's Sunday School programs.

He asks to see a pastor.  Dean tells me that he has been out of prison for two days.  With tears in his eyes he says, "I didn't mean to hurt that person.  I was drunk.  I didn't know what I was doing."  Whatever his offense was, he served seven years.

In the two days since being released from prison, Dean tells me that someone has stolen his sleeping bag and his tarp.  He is hungry and wonders if the church has anything he can eat.  We are blessed to have a pantry of food--a pantry which varies a great deal in quantity depending upon the day.  I tell Dean I will go downstairs and I am sure I will come back with some good food for him.  I say it will take a little while since I need to wind my way through a few hallways to the kitchen.

All of a sudden a look of concern comes to his face, "You aren't going to call the law or something are you?"

It had never occurred to me that someone would be justified in being suspicious of another who might be attempting to help, but who could have other ideas.  I assure Dean that I am not going to call the police but am going for food.

We are fortunate.  There is some good food to share on a Saturday morning.  Dean is so grateful.  He asks if we can pray.  It is common that I offer a prayer and people offer their thanks.  In this case, when I am done, Dean takes over in a prayer of his own.  It is a prayer for me and for the people of Bethel.  It is a prayer that the Christmas message may make a difference in peoples' lives.

Dean thanks me again and walks into the cold December sunshine.

Another man long ago had no shelter--not even for a pregnant wife.  They were forced to Bethlehem by order of the government for census.  Joseph was poor.  Likely he was grateful for whatever was given to him.  To Mary.  To Jesus.

His name is Dean.  He is a child of God who, like all of us, needs the light that will overcome darkness.

Garden of Eden

One Sunday years ago at Bethel Lutheran Church, a visiting pastor from northern Mexico offered a greeting to the congregation as we were partners in mission.  It was late September in Minnesota--our little corner of the world bursting with God's creative impulse of color and beauty.

Through a translator this pastor said, "You people live in the Garden of Eden."

Coming from an area of the world that is more brown than green, more dry than lush, the pastor believed that he had come to a place of immense beauty.

He was right.  It is easy for those of us who live in the beauty of the upper Midwest to take our environment for granted.  Not long ago I took a cup of coffee out onto the deck of a townhouse at Christmas Mountain Village near Wisconsin Dells.  The sun was rising into the morning sky.  The trees stood like vibrant green and brown soldiers. Leaves fluttered in the light wind.

We read in Isaiah 58:  "Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard."

May God grant you a dawn that lifts your spirit and assures you of his loving presence.  It is difficult to look at the beauty of creation and not see God's fingerprints everywhere.

Garden of Eden.  Yes.

Still has Shrapnel in His Body

Tonight's news reveals that the second Boston Marathon Bomber has been captured alive.  Residents in the area immediately surrounding the capture site cheer the officers and emergency personnel who have brought a sad chapter to an end.  People of Boston breathe more freely tonight, even though the carnage of Monday hasn't changed, and there will be an exhaustive investigation as to how these two young men could possibly gain anything by killing some people and injuring hundreds of others.

Through the course of these last four days we have heard a certain resolve from the people of Boston and from an entire country.  Unlike some other tragedies, this one galvanized the will of a people.  More than once I have read or heard people say that forces of evil will not win.

They cannot win.

A few years ago I traveled in Israel for ten days with Shimshon, an Israeli who carried shrapnel in his  body from a suicide bomber twenty years ago.  He happened to be on a bus when the bomber performed his deadly act.  Some on the bus died.  Shimshon survived and vowed that, to his dying breath, he would fight those forces of evil.

The bomber failed miserably in his attempt to frighten a people into submission.  Conversely, it caused one man to step up to the plate in a new way.  Metal fragments cause him pain from time to time, but they also motivate him to tell the truth as he knows it to anyone who will listen.

Evil did not win in Jerusalem that day.  Evil did not win in Boston on Monday.  Instead, the forces of good come together to defeat evil.  Oh, evil will win a battle from time to time, but it will not win the war.  That war has already been won in Christ whose wounds are those of victory.

Prayers for Peace

Did the person or persons responsible for the bombings in Boston today know they would kill an eight year old?  Would it have made a difference?

Certainly that knowledge did not make a difference in the Sandy Hook tragedy in which the shooter took direct aim at young children (and adults, too).

What kind of evil possesses a person to take lives as if life has no value?  This is not something new.  It has been happening since the beginning of recorded history.  Those familiar with the Bible know that very early on a brother killed brother out of jealousy.

Ultimately in this world there is no answer for this kind of evil.  Each generation deals with its mass killings or bombings or acts of hate.  Each time we pray it will be the last.  It won't be.  It won't because of  the evil that lurks in this world.

We are in the season of Easter proclaiming life and new life.  We do not give in to evil but proclaim final victory over death and evil.  Those without conscience can rob us of almost anything in this world, but they cannot take faith and hope.  They cannot take the sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life.

And so we pray.  God in heaven, bring peace to a troubled world.  Bring comfort to those who have suffered loss.  Bring soundness of mind and spirit to all.  In the name of the one who looked evil in the face and won the battle for us, Jesus Christ, we pray.  Amen.

Pure Water

On the way into church this morning, a Bethel couple pointed out a sign just across Third Avenue from Bethel Lutheran. They chuckled that a water service has the "purest water in Rochester."

It was clear that the husband and wife were contrasting that water with the water we commonly use in churches to baptize. As it would happen, there was a little girl baptized in "pure water" this morning.

We are in the season of Easter. We have just come through a long season of Lent following Jesus' path to the cross. We have now spent eight days celebrating the resurrection that brings new life. The author of the Letter to the Hebrews in the Bible weighs in on this pure water: "Therefore, my friends, since we have confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain (that is, through his flesh), and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water."

Bodies washed in pure water. Consciences made clean by the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ. What a gift.

I suspect that most of us want to drink "pure water." Is not a body washed clean by the pure water of Christ an even better gift?

Maybe we better put up a sign: "Try our pure water. You will be eternally thankful."

Shout Hosanna!

Almost 2000 years ago, the people of Jerusalem welcomed Jesus into their town with palms.  In 2013, the Wahl family welcomed little Jillian Jo into this world with palms.

Our three children were born on Super Bowl Sunday, Ash Wednesday, and the day before Ascension Day (honestly, Kathy did not want to wait one more day for the last one).  Now we have a Palm Sunday grandchild.

Jillian Jo's parents called us early on Sunday morning to announce the news--news which was a bit unexpected since her due date was Good Friday.  (Side note--Palm Sunday is a far better day to be born than Good Friday.  Good job, Jillian.)  The Rochester grandparents could hardly constrain themselves to get to a Twin Cities hospital to see this new little life.

But there were some delays.  First were the gatherings of hundreds of people in two worship services who would literally sing hosannas to the Son of David.  Palms were raised and waved.  But there were two people whose minds might have been elsewhere, wanting to welcome a new daughter of God.

Another delay.  We were hosting the annual Palm Sunday family gathering.  The extended family is too involved in many churches to break away on Easter, so we gather a week early at our home--this year about twenty of us.  The food and conversation were marvelous.  But there were two whose minds might have been elsewhere.

Finally, we turned our backs on our guests and told them to shut the door on their way out--we were going to meet a new granddaughter!

There is no gift in this world like the gift of a new life.  Lungs breathe life-giving oxygen.  Hearts pump the life to all parts of a new body.  A little finger moves reflexively, if not by will.  Creation is amazing.

There is one gift nearly like new life.  That is new life in Christ, celebrated around the world in a few days.  Jillian Jo may live to be 100 years old--or more, with improving health care.  But there will be a certain end, at least on this earth.  Then that life promised by God in Christ bears full fruit.

I can see palms waving in heaven the day Jillian Jo arrives.  And I can imagine that God will be even more welcoming and proud than a grandfather.  Hosanna!

THEY GAVE NICKELS

A recent children's experience at worship offered three new pieces of grace.  Part of the Gospel reading for that day was the parable of the woman who has ten coins but loses one of them.  She searches diligently for the coin until she finds it and then rejoices with her neighbors!

From a location high above the chancel floor, I asked the children who had come forward for the children's word if they ever lose things, and how they feel when they find them.  When they responded with joy, I dropped coins from my high perch and asked the children to find them.  After all had found a coin, it was clear that they were rejoicing!

Grace note number one:  At the Saturday evening worship there were seven children.  I had thrown seven nickels onto the floor.  After the worship service, the assistant brought me the children's offering to secure.  Ordinarily there are a few dollar bills and a quarter or two on Saturday.  That night there were six nickels in addition to the normal offering.  I can only believe that six of the children decided it would be good to give the money back to the church.  What grace.

Grace note number two:  At the first service on Sunday, I was overwhelmed with children.  While I had 40 more nickels, about 40 children came up for the children's word.  They scrambled for the coins when I threw them.  It was holy chaos.  I confessed to the congregation that I would have to go looking for more money between services since I had used all I had.  On the way out of the sanctuary, a few people had coins in their hands, one man an entire hand full of coins.  I didn't have to go looking for coins at all.  People were generous.

Grace note number three:  The coins at the second Sunday service were not all nickels since they had been given to me.  As I threw coins this time, there was a mix.  One boy didn't seem to get any of the coins.  I had a dollar coin in my hand.  I flicked it down in front of him, and he rejoiced to find this coin--an entire dollar!  After worship his mother came to me and told me that the boy had decided that dollar would be his offering at the children's word.  The parents did not prompt him.  He was simply generous with what he had been given.

Oh, we might think that we give and give.  But we get more in return.  And we return some to the one who has given and continues to give us all good things.  We can learn from children who give nickels...and dollar coins.

DSK, A Sad Tale

It has been long enough since the furor of the Dominique Strauss-Kahn (DSK) affair in New York has abated.  We are past the salacious details of the event in which a hotel housekeeper accused DSK of rape.  He is no longer facing criminal charges for whatever happened.  Other women are stepping forward with stories of, at the very least, inappropriate sexual behavior.


By some accounts, DSK has been exonerated.  Exonerated?


Let's dismiss any criminality in that hotel room that day.  Let's say that anything done in that room was consensual between two adults.  Let's allow for the greater sexual permissiveness the French seem to tolerate.


Facts that everyone seems to agree on:

1. DSK is married.
2. DSK had some kind of sexual encounter with someone not his wife in the hotel room.
3. DSK, we can presume, had never even seen this woman before, unless she had cleaned his room prior to that day.  It appears he is willing to copulate with any convenient woman.

Exonerated?  By my account, even in the most benign accounting of the affair, DSK proves himself to be one who earns the disgust of God's people.  The story reminds me of another powerful man who decided to have sex with someone far less than powerful than he--King David of Israel and Bathsheba.  That story in the Bible results in horrible consequences for many people, including the King himself.

This is not a case of boys will be boys.  Not even a case of French men will be French men.  This is disgusting.  This is light years away from God's intention of love between a man and a woman.

News reports indicate that DSK's wife has reluctantly come to an acceptance of her husband's philandering ways.  The courts, it seem, will not be able to prosecute him for any legal wrong-doing.  But to think that he has somehow escaped culpability here is nonsense.  Jesus says that a man and a woman become one in marriage--not three or four or fourteen.

"I take you, (name) to be my wife/husband from this day forward, to join with you and share all that is to come, and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us." (ELW, p. 288)

Mothers from Minot

Bethel Lutheran Church where I serve is a large church, and we have visitors every weekend.  It is not at all uncommon to have visitors introduce themselves to me, or family members who belong to Bethel introduce their guests.

So, it would not be unusual to meet someone from a city almost 600 miles from Rochester on any given Sunday.  This past Sunday, a woman came through the line and was pleased to introduce me to the older woman behind her--her mother from Minot, North Dakota.  My smile collapsed into concern as I asked if she had suffered loss in the recent Minot flooding.  This gracious woman quickly assured me that she was all right and was in Rochester for a visit.  She lived on a hill, and her home and possessions would be fine, though she grieved for all the loss that her friends and city were suffering.  I was relieved for her, though the people of Minot continued in our prayers for the day.

It would not be unusual for me to meet a woman from a town of 40,000 people 600 miles from here.  But two from the same city on the same day?  After the next service, a woman wanted to introduce me to her mother.  She had come from Minot, and the Bethel member wanted me to have a kind word with her mother since she had lost everything in the flood.

It took just a little while to locate her in the crowd.  Clearly she was downcast, but there was a strong resolve about her as well.  Her house was filled with water.  They had been told they did not need flood insurance, but this was a 1,000 year flood, according to experts.  While she was visiting in Rochester with her daughter, she wondered if the move to Rochester might be permanent.  With the damage done, she could see her home simply being pushed in by heavy equipment and destroyed.

Two mothers from Minot in the same day.  One's home was safe, and the other's was destroyed.  In the Bible we read that the rain falls on the just and the unjust (Matthew 5:45).  We do not know why it is that some prosper and some suffer cataclysmic loss.  We do know that we are to thank God for blessings, and we are to be a blessing to those who are suffering.  Government, social service agencies, and the church are all in Minot being the hands and heart of a compassionate people.  From the church's perspective, we contend that they are the hands and heart of Christ.

Mothers from Minot--a lesson in real life.

Kindness of Diane/Jesus

Her name is Dianne. Tonight she was my server at a little buffet in Wisconsin Dells. Since it was a buffet, her task was to tend to the table, clearing dishes and responding to any needs.

Two tables away there there were two young men furtively sharing a plate of food. Somehow they had finagled two sodas. But it was clear only one of them had paid for the buffet. This detail didn't escape the attention of the staff.

It wasn't Dianne's table, but the male server for the table didn't seem to know what to do about the transgression. He warned the two young men that only one could eat if there was only one meal purchased. I could see that the men agreed.

But only in words. It wasn't long before they were sharing again. This time the manager came to talk to the men. They agreed with the manager, too.

But only in words. When it was detected the second man was still eating, the manager came and asked the second man to leave. At that point Dianne took over. I don't know what shse said in the presence of the manager, but as she was leaving the table, I heard her say, "You go ahead and get a plate. I will pay for you." And she did. The man went to the buffet with no hesitation, and he was still eating when I left the premises.

I don't think Dianne could afford that. She wouldn't be working at a diner if she was wealthy enough to buy dinners for other people. Besides that, these two young men clearly were not bothered by their cheating the restaurant out of a meal! They deserved to be kicked out of the place. Instead, they received grace.

Dianne was kind to me, too, and all others in the restaurant. She was kind. Like Jesus. I took a card out of my wallet and left a note for her and thanking her for her kindness and asking that Jesus might bless her in a thousand ways. I also left a 50% tip. I could afford kindness more than she.

We, too have cheated. Instead of getting kicked out of the place, we have received grace. The grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Thank you, Diane.

A Royal Dinner...Really!

Six of us gathered last night at a Mexican Restaurant across from the Olmsted County jail and the Government Center.  Kathy could see all kinds of activity in the parking area behind the jail--lots of black SUVs and men in dark suits.  Eventually a few SUVs came across the road, and apparently into the restaurant's parking lot.  Very big men in black suits started to come into the restaurant.  A booth of four sat behind me.  A table a six sat opposite and kitty corner from our table.

Our group of six tried to figure out what was going on.  The largest of the men stood at the top of the staircase.  He didn't prevent people from going downstairs where the restrooms are, but he was vigilant.  We carried on with our dinner--great stories and laughter--but our curiosity was not satisfied by the time we prepared to leave.

I told my party that I was going to the bathroom and do reconnaissance.    For some reason, they didn't try to stop me...

As I passed the first step going to basement, the very large man in the black suit spoke into his wrist.  I had no misconception as to what he was doing.  As I turned the corner to go the last half of the staircase, the eyes of another very large man in a black suit observed my descent.  I made the appropriate turn--into the bathroom instead of into the dining area.  Peripherally, I could see a large party at a long table.

On the way out I lingered only slightly for a better view before going upstairs. At a quick glance, I could see that most were Middle Eastern, and there were only a very few woman at the far end of the table.  Security people were keeping close watch.

I reported back to my group, so another decided he had to go to the bathroom.  Same procedure.  But he actually asked the guard at the bottom of the stairs what was going on.  It turns out that the group included the president and vice president of Iraq, along with an entourage--32 people total.

Wow--we had dined with a president and vice president--albeit separated by a one floor and by some very able men.

Last week Christians the world over read a story about Jesus dining with two men in a village called Emmaus.  Though they had visited with him significantly on the road, the two men did not recognize the resurrected Jesus until he broke bread at table with them.

It is often in eating with one another that we come to better know each other and enjoy the gifts that God has given to us.  I pray that you are deliberate in breaking bread with others.  It would help, of course, if you were dining on the same floor and big men were not trying to keep you apart.

You don't have to worry about that in Christ.  He has promised to be with us in the bread and wine.  God's peace and grace to you this day.

Would Good Friday be the End for Carol?

The Day of our Lord's Resurrection is a day without compare in most Christian churches.  We are treated to the eternal truths of a Savior who is victorious over the powers of evil and death.  Our Savior.

That does not mean our lives are without challenges.  At Bethel today we heard the story of a woman named Carol Brott who started have significant health difficulties at the age of twenty, and in her 40's had nearly every heart ailment known to humans.

On Good Friday, April 2, 2010, she said to her husband, John, "I can't do this anymore."  She felt her life ebbing from her.  She had reason for resignation.  Surgeries, heart failures, weakness of body, a six week coma, 123 units of blood, this woman endured more than most bodies are capable of enduring.  While she was on a heart transplant list, things did not appear to be moving in her favor.

Certainly things were not in Jesus' favor, either.  Both political and religious authorities sought to silence him.  They succeeded on Good Friday.  Jesus uttered his forsakenness on the cross.  Jesus said, "It is finished," and breathed his last.

But we know that isn't the end of the story.  The story ends (or just begins?) with a stunning reversal on the first day of the week.  "He is not here, he has been raised, as he said."  And so Christians around the world have celebrated the empty cross and the emtpy tomb with flowers and light.  Bethel's sanctuary this morning was particularly attractive, appointed with Easter colors and flowers.  The chancel was also decorated with the prayers of the children, drawn during Lent and draped over a cross.

Carol Brott came so close to death on a Good Friday, nearly 13 months ago.  She did not die.  Instead, she was at Bethel this morning, testimony to great medical care and even greater faith.  The people of Bethel applauded as she stood.  For it was a year ago, on Easter weekend, that she got the transplant that saved her life.  She received new life--both in body and in spirit.  Good Friday is never the end.  It is only the beginning...

A Barbecue Nest

Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." (Luke 9:58)

Apparently a squirrel had no trouble finding a place.  It built a nest in my gas grill!  I had grilled on Monday, and tonight, Friday, went out to grill again.  I opened the hood of the grill and was startled to see a squirrel jump out, leap off the bench you see at the left of the picture, and hit the frozen turf at full speed.

Of course there was some considerable clean up before grilling was in order.  Kathy was none too thrilled that a rodent had taken up quarters on our cooking surface.  (By the way, the hamburgers were very good.) 

In our part of the country, cold as it is much of the winter, animals need to find secure homes.  Some fly away for the winter and come back in the spring.  Some hibernate.  But all need some shelter. 

We don't know much about Jesus' living conditions prior to his baptism by John, nor is much said about his lodging the three years of his ministry travels.  It is of little matter.  Jesus knew where home was.  Jesus promised "home" for those who know him as the way, the truth, and the life.

A nest in a grill?  A beautiful four bedroom home?  What about a dwelling place prepared by no less than the Son of Man?  No need to worry about gas flames...

Sometimes Grace Costs...

Ten minutes before a three hour visioning meeting, a man rushes into the meeting room at the church and asks if there is a pastor here.  Of course, I say, "I am one of the pastors at Bethel."

He goes on to explain that he rushed out of the house earlier in the day and that his wife had just given birth to twin girls at the hospital.  He was in need of gas.  Could I help?

We have a system for that at Bethel.  I didn't follow the system.  I needed to get into the meeting, so I tried to be as quick as possible.  I asked him to write down his contact information, and he gave me a name and phone number.  I asked the names of the twin girls, and he gave me two names with birth weights.

Twice he told me he wasn't looking for a handout, but that he would be back with the money as soon as he got home--about 25 miles from Rochester--and could get back to town that evening.  Maybe an hour and a half.  That was Thursday.

I asked him for his driver's license--a requirement at Bethel for receiving a gas voucher.  He had rushed out of the house.  He didn't have it.  I cannot give aid at Bethel without the license.  But he looked so sincere, and I was pleased for the birth of his twins.  I couldn't give him any Bethel help, but I could give him my own money.  I explained that Bethel could not do what he asked, but I would trust him.  He told me he would be back on Thursday.

It is Saturday.

Will he ever come back?  Did I waste twenty dollars?  Did I spend it?  Did I invest it in the kingdom?  I suppose I will never know.  Quite a few people over my 32 years of being a pastor have said they would come back with the money.  Only two have. 

It is a risk.  Of grace.  Maybe I got taken by a good story.  Maybe a father with new twins has just forgotten a promise.  Maybe someone is thinking, "At least the church was willing to help."  Sometimes grace does have a cost...

THREE YEAR OLDS IN CHURCH? ARE YOU CRAZY?

Those who know me well know that the sun rises and sets in my two grandsons, especially Jarek with whom I have been a big buddy for almost three years (he turns three on April 2).  I spend a lot of time with him, but, since I am a pastor, rarely do I get to be with him during worship.

This past Wednesday I had no leadership role in our mid-week Lenten service, so Jarek’s family, my wife, and I were all together in the pew. 

It was a delight.

Bethel is exploring the senses that God has given us during our mid-week services this year—how do they sharpen our journey to the cross?

This past Wednesday the sense was “touch.”  This little-boy-just-short-of-three picked up on the theme immediately without being told.  When a pastor would say “touch”, he would repeat it out loud—the pastors even heard it by the altar.  He might have been coloring, he might have been paying close attention—it did not matter.  He was listening, and he knew that “touch” was an important gift of God that night.  I was so delighted to hold him, to help him sing the songs, to explain the bidding prayers we were using, to worship God with him.

I am told once in a while that parents will not come to church because their small children get nothing out of it.  There are too many times that I have been told of some astute observation or question by a child for me to believe children aren't paying attention.  Children belong in worship.  They probably don’t understand everything (surprise—pastors don’t understand everything either), but they are learning about God’s great love for them through the gathered body of Christ.

Please.  Please.  Bring your children/grandchildren/nieces/nephews/small neighbors to worship with you.  You could be making an eternal difference.

Oh, Jarek wasn’t perfect.  At one point, ironically enough on a night in which touch was the focus, he complained about his eight-month old brother, “Joren’s touching me!”  Oh, well.  His parents and grandparents aren’t perfect either.

May God touch all young ones (and middle-aged and old ones) in worship.