ARE YOU MY NEIGHBOR?

      There are many good questions in the Bible. Really good questions, like... "Am I my brother's keeper? Why do you seek the living among the dead?" and many more. There are many life-changing questions in the Bible... and as part of my ongoing "series" on the questions that are particularly important to me, I am updating a blog that I published some time ago because it brings us face-to-face with this question: who is my neighbor? Who is my neighbor? And in what way am I "neighbor" to them?
      According to the Bible story about the "Good Samaritan," a religious man asked Jesus, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" This is a life-changing question in itself, but when Jesus pointed out that the Law required him to love God with everything he had (mind, heart, and soul)... and to love his neighbor as himself... the same man asked him a second question, "Who is my neighbor?" Who is my neighbor, Jesus? Who really is my neighbor? Whom are you asking me to love as I love myself"

      Who is my neighbor? The couple who live next door (to the north) are my neighbors. They are good, hard-working white people. I like them, and I consider them to be my neighbor. However, the single man who lives next door (to the south) is a loner, and given what you hear about loners, I wonder... if this man can really be my neighbor. Then there's the family who just moved in to our neighborhood. They are from a country in Asia, and they just smile when I talk to them. The single man who lives behind us in the alley is also hard to know, and until recently, he was ruining our view because his garage door was an absolute disaster! Now that he has painted it, he feels more like a neighbor to me. 

I could go on, but you get the point. No one knows who, or how many, people, live in the yellow house across street, and therefore, we don't know whether they're neighbos or not. But then again, who are my neighbors? People who look like me? People who agree with me? People who have the same values as I have? Am I neighbor with people who don't go to church, mow their lawns, or paint their garages? Am I neighhbor with people who have a different skin color? How about the tatoo parlor at the end of the alley? Are they my neighbors? Lord, I pray that you will show me my neighbors, and also... please show me how to BE NEIGHBOR to them. Jesus, what does it mean to be a neighbor? Let me tell you a story, he might say. Let me tell all of you a story. There's a stranger lying beside the road-robbed, beaten, wounded, maybe dying. He's in great need...when two very religious men (one a man of the cloth) came down the road, one after the other. They see him lying there. Maybe the victim will be blessed. Maybe his prayer has been answered... maybe, but both of these self-righteous men walked on by.

You know how it is- sometimes when you're walking down a street, you see a homeless beggar with a sign, or an unkempt man who may be dangerous. You see them and you see that they probably need help. You know that it will take a lot of time, energy, and courage to get involved. You have other things to do. You don't know them... so you walk on by and pretend that you didn't see what you saw. You know how it is, and the religious leaders in Jesus' story did too, which is why they walked to the other side of the street and hurried by just as fast as they could go. You've been in these situations  and you can empathize with the religious leaders. Maybe you've even walked by someone who was in obvious need of attention. In any event, there is a Samaritan "half-breed" coming down the road as well. He's a half-breed because all Samaritans are. They've intermixed with other cultures for centuries. They don't worship in Jerusalem, and they're held in contempt by every faithful Jew. Picture the kind of person you most detest coming down the road, and think of him as a Samaritan for a moment. He isn't anyone's neighbor, it seems, but upon seeing the man (who is also a stranger to him), the Samaritan is filled with mercy. He identifies with the man who's been beaten- so much so that he sets his fears aside and gives him concrete help. He doesn't simply check to see if the man is dying. He doesn't simply tell the man that he will "keep him in his prayers and thoughts." Instead, the man we now know as the "good" Samaritan, tended to the victim's wounds, took him to a place where he would receive assistance, and paid two day's wages in advance... for the stranger's care... out of his own pocket.

Which one was "neighbor" to the man who had been beaten and left to die? A fellow Jew? Someone who lived just to the north, or the south, of the man? Someone who had all the time in the world to spend helping strangers? Someone actively engaged in "victim's rights" causes? A family member? No, not at all. The smart, religous teacher was smart enough to get this question right. Who was neighbor to the man who needed help? The one who had mercy on Him. The one who related to him as a child of God. The one whose empathy and mercy demanded action. The one who put service ahead of self. Being neighbor has nothing to do with proximity. It has nothing to do with the things that attract us and deeply divide us. Being neighbor is all about seeing Christ in... and being Christ to... others, especially the least among us. It is about identifying with others at a level far deeper than skin color, political views, or sexual preferences.

We all sin. We all go astray. We are all lost. We all get mugged. We are all in need. Seeing and responding to this is what neighbor's do. If Christ can forgive us because we "don't know what we're doing," we can reach out and be neighbor to anyone- even those who have ugly garages. What is more- my own focus needs to be on how I can be a "neighbor" to others.... and not on who is qualified to be a neighbor to me? I need to invest more energy in doing what God has commanded and less time wondering about who deserves my love. At times, the log in my own eye blinds me to the most obvious truths! Amen/

IN THE POTTER'S HANDS

 Precious Lord, take my hand, Lead me on, help me stand...
He's got little bitty baby in his hands; he's got you and me, brother, in his hands;
        He's got the whole world in His hands...
Why should I feel discouraged; why should the shadows come;
        His eye is on the sparrow and I know He cares for me

Some of you know the words to these old hymns. Many of you could sing along (if you had a pastor who could sing), and all of you have clung to these promises at some point in your life. There are tines when all we really want.. is to be in God's hands. We fall- yes, and can't get up. We get lost. We get too far out on the limb, and can't get back. The storms of life batter us. Events overwhelm us, and in a world where we're often just a number, it's comforting to know that God has His eye on us, and that we're safely in His hands. Take comfort in this: we're in God's hands and He will never let us go. According to the 139th Psalm, we are never, no matter how badly lost we are, beyond God's reach. Having known people who have been lost and having been lost myself, sometimes being in God's hands is the greatest truth there is to me. Friends, we can neither live with courage, nor die with grace, unless we're in God's hands. So, cling to this promise and sings these hymns of comfort with everything you have.

But there's another sense in which we're in God's hands- the sense that we find in Jeremiah- a sense that we're not as likely to talk about- and it, too, is a very powerful truth. Being comforted is wonderful, I'm all for it, but there's more to our Christian journey than that. Indeed, our Christian journey also involves accountability. God comforts us, no doubt, but He also expects us to live as if He (and He alone) is Lord. He forgives us, it is true, but it's also true that He loves us enough to reshape us, or even, remake us, whenever He chooses. God may well choose to wipe our tears away, but He may also choose to break us down and start over again. Friends, as our Potter, God can have His way with us. It's that simple. He's not obliged to accept pottery that is slightly flawed, or totally a mess. He can remake or reshape His pottery whenever He chooses. He is the Creator and we are His creations. He is the Potter and we are the pottery. He is NOT our "big buddy in the sky." He is not "our co-pilot," and certainly not a "cosmic vending machine" that gives us whatever we want. God is our Potter, and we are utterly and completely His. This is what it means to be in God's hands! Of course, when God gave Jeremiah (ch. 18) this message about the potter and his pottery, He had consequences in mind. Israel was sinning (again). They had given themselves to idolatry. They were rejecting God's blessings because they were rejecting His lordship, and He was telling them that their unfaithfulness would not be accepted. When we persist in sinning and refuse to repent, God may break us down and remake us, as a potter reworks his pottery. Being chosen is a blessing AND a responsibility. Therefore, when we're in God's hands, we are both comforted and challenged. We are sheltered in many ways, but we're also accountable for the way in which we live our lives. We are "saved to serve," and God may choose to remake us if we're not "useful" for His purpose.

Thus, being in the Potter's hands, is a matter of trust, but it is also a matter of surrender! When Christ bids us to "follow him," He bids us to "come and die." This is what Bonhoeffer said, and it's what we claim every time we have a baptism. Being in God's Hands is a matter of surrender, and our ultimate comfort is not in thinking that we'll be okay because God will keep bad and painful things away... but in knowing that whatever happens will be okay. When we get to the point where we can praise God in any and all circumstances, we are finally at rest in our Potter's hands. If the potter makes me into a beautiful and expensive piece, that's great; if he makes me into a small, non-descript piece, that's great; if he puts me front and center, that's great; if he puts me in the corner, or in the back room, that's great; if I'm a King, that's great; if I'm a pauper, that's great; if I'm handsome, that's great; if I'm homely, that's great... if I can see myself as pottery and be content in whatever form God has created me, then I will have come to spiritual maturity. If I can turn my life over to God, without strings and rejoice in what comes my way, I will never fear either today or tomorrow.

Jesus calls us to "measure the costs" and to understand that we can never look back if we put our hands to the plow. He calls us to yoke ourselves to him and in "being yoked," we will find meaning, joy, and authentic freedom. Being in God's hands is comforting and challenging. It involves reward and punishment, affirmation and correction, admiration and reworking. Mostly though, it involves surrender and acceptance. Once we see ourselves as pottery, we will be content with whatever shape or purpose we have, and then we will know a peace that surpasses all understanding. This is a greater and deeper truth than simply hoping that nothing bad ever happens to us. Surrender to God and set yourself free from bondage to self!

Zimmerman vs. Martin: a Collision of Two Cultures

Well, it's Monday, July 22, and the finger-pointing over the shooting of Trayvon Martin is still going on. The NAACP is advocating an investigation to determine if Geoge Zimmerman (the shooter) is guilty of a hate-crime, while cries for "justice" ring out at rallies in a 100 American cities for Trayvon Martin (who was shot). Some people are suggesting that Martin's death is comparable to the killing of Emmitt Till, and many more believe that Zimmerman "profiled" Martin, and then hunted him down, like a hunter would hunt down his prey. On the other hand, there are many people who believe that Zimmerman had every right to protect his neigborhood and that Martin was out of place in that setting (a white, gated community). They maintain that race had nothing to do with Zimmerman's pursuit of Martin, and they believe that, in the midst of the struggle that ensued, Zimmerman had to protect himself. In their view, George Zimmerman killed Trayvon Martin in self-defense and charges should not have been filed against him in the first place.

I've been reticent to speak out on this matter for several good reasons. For one thing, I've been overwhelmed with sadness for all of the innocent people involved, and in my mind, they're all innocent- Trayvon Martin, George Zimmerman, and their families. One is dead, one is a persona non gratis, and several of them are heart-broken. As a pastor, father, and an American, I am very sad today. There is definitely an injustice here, but it's much broader than this one incident. Moreover, I can't bring myself to say much about the trial because I didn't follow it closely enough. I don't know the law well enough, and I don't know what instructions or options were available to the jury. When I listened to the now famous juror, B37, on TV, I was struck with her biases and with her sincerity. She was looking at things as a white woman, no doubt, but I believed her when she said that the jury had worked hard to reach the right verdict. I am convinced that the jurors did the best they could. However, I'm disappointed in the public reaction to this tragedy. Instead of a mature dialogue about the fears and differing views involved in this interracial collision, we hear little more than name-calling and defensive comments that have little, or nothing, to do with the incident itself. I have heard, from my own dear friends, that the liberal press is deliberately displaying recent pictures of Zimmerman and out-dated pictures of Martin (which do not show how big and ominous he really is). They point out that nobody honors the victim when a black man kills a white person, and that, what the liberal press calls "profiling" is simply good judgment and commone sense. But my liberal friends do little more than cry "justice for Trayvon," without acknowledging the HUGE divide between black and white in our country. Old arguments about whether black men are unemployed because they're unmotivated or because they've been "held down" have resurfaced, and it seems as if time has stood still over the past 50 years. The same old, tired positions offer no more hope than they offered in the past. When are we going to face the fact that we are living together in a house that's getting smaller by the day?

If healing begins with confession, I must confess that I CAN relate with George Zimmeran's initial fears. If a racist is someone who discriminates against others on the basis of skin color, I am not, and will never be, a racist. However, if we're using the word "racist" to refer to someone who is not color-blind, then I have alot of soul searching to do. I consider myself to be enlighted, but if a saw a young black man with a hoodie wandering around our neighborhood, I would be concerned. It wouldn't be a typical experience and, given the images of black men that I carry in my head (ranging from baggy pants and rappers to dead-beats and criminals), I would become fearful.  With this in mind, I will not throw stones at George Zimmerman, but surely, young men like Trayvon Martin have a right to be themselves, without being attacked, just as yuppies and red-necks do. Given the diversity in values and opinions that are closing in on all of us, we had better find a way of responding that is not based on denial and violence. Concerning everyday Christianity, my primary reaction today is to pray for reconciliation... based around respect and honesty. I also pledge to work for change by examining my own heart and ridding myself of baggage that leads me to devalue the ways and dreams of others. If each of us would do these simple things, it would be helpful.

I have a great grandchild, whom I love dearly. He is a child of the south, who (I am sure) will learn to value things like NASCAR and guns. I am the great uncle of two beautiful black children, whom I love dearly. They are children of a different culture, and I'm sure that they will come to value the things that their world holds dear. One of these two children is a little boy. He is a wonderful and loving little boy, just like my great-grandson. Should they meet one day, I pray that neither one of them will be afraid of the other! Amen.

THE NUMBER 1 THING

As you might recall, in the 1991 film, "City Slickers," three friends take a vacation together on a dude ranch. They're struggling with their personal lives and they've decided to get away from it all. The movie was filled with humor. I enjoyed it, and especially the relationship between Mitch Robbins (Billy Crystal) and Jack Palance, who played a rough-hewn trail boss named "Curly." Mitch epitomized "city," and Curly was the very essence of "the frontier." They struggled throughout the movie and in one memorable scene, Curly held up one finger and said, "Do you know what the secret of life is?" "This," he said (holding up his finger), to which Mitch responded, "Your finger?" Curly went on as if he hadn't heard Mitch, "One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean (anything)." Then, Mitch asked a good question, "But, what is the 'one thing'?" Smiling, Curly said, "That's what 'you' have to figure out."

Indeed, that's what we all have to figure out- the number one thing. What is the most important thing in the world to us? What give meaning to our lives? What one thing would we die for, or even live entirely for? Have you figured it out? I have... finally... but it took a lot of tears and a considerable amount of pain. As a child growing up, I wasn't comfortable with who I was. I thought I was a good person, but I wasn't proud of myself and I certainly didn't have any compelling purpose in my life. Since our family lived with a lot of tension, I became a pretty good peacemaker, and later on, I specialized in pleasing people. I learned to smooth things over, and better yet, to tell people what they wanted to hear. "Getting along" became my number 1 thing, but "getting along" is not much of a goal, especially if you're selling your soul to get along. Also, while growing up, I learned that work is next to godliness, maybe higher, and like my father before me, I threw myself into it. My vocation was my life. My job and I were one. My sense of personal worth was inseparable from my business success. I worshiped my job and abandoned family, friends, and my own best self. Work became my number 1 thing and it nearly killed me before I escaped its grip. To tell the truth, I'm something of a workaholic, which is undoubtedly the real reason I reneged on my decision to retire, but I've discovered that work is NOT the number 1 thing.

Pleasure- having a good time- was also a contender for number 1 in my life. Eat, drink, be merry- I tried that for years... until the drink took over and killed what little joy there was. For awhile, as I have noted in many other places, alcohol set on the throne in my life. It was my number 1 thing, and at first, it rewarded me with a sense of being somebody. When I drank, I danced like Fred Astaire, said things that seemed really witty, and generally felt as if the world was mine for the taking. But that was only "at first." Before long, my number 1 thing turned on me, and when I drank, people stayed as far away from me as they could. Substances- alcohol, drugs, food- can never be anyone's number 1 thing, and it's somewhat silly to think that they could be. So, I gave myself to appearances and possessions. I would go to any length to make a good impression on others because I wanted them to think that I was somebody who had it together. I bought a big house that I didn't need, pricey golf clubs that I wasn't good enough to benefit from, and gave a lot of things away- all in an effort to make an impression on others. Convincing others that I was somebody became my number 1 thing, but I would've been better advised to work on really becoming the best person I could be. Pretending can never be the number 1 thing- not for me- not for anyone else- because authenticity is our greatest gift to self and others.  I could go on and talk about power and other things that have taken their turn as number 1 in my life, but I will get to the crux of the matter and confess it right here: I have always worshiped what Kenneth Haugk called the "omnipotent baby within." I- me, myself- was my number 1 thing.  My self-worship and self-indulgence took many forms... but when you got right down to it, I was my own number 1 thing. I was the center of my universe and I was the one who needed encouragement and all the love I could give. I lived for me, but let me tell you, if you are your own number 1 thing, you are in a heap of trouble! Bill Wilson (of AA fame) noted that a life lived on self-will cannot be a success, and Jesus noted that those who cling to their lives will lose them. This is because "the self" is too small, too incomplete, too impotent... to soothe our troubled minds and give our restless souls the peace they crave. 

Only God has the power to make any of us SOMEBODY, and we will never be anybody without Him. Self CANNOT be the number 1 thing... because God is, and He always has been. Look, we all have needs. We have fears, secrets, desires, and dreams. We want to love and we need to be loved, and whether we know it or not, we long to walk with God again, just like Adam and Eve did in that garden of theirs. We will never be complete without God, and we must put God first whenever He is near. We have other things to do, of course. God knows this. He created us in community, gave us work to do, and calls us to serve Him in the way we treat others. Life is filled with important responsibilities and serving our guests is one of them. Jesus knew this. The ancient law of hospitality demanded it, and Jesus did not chastise Martha for doing her duties. However, Mary DID choose the better thing...because she put God first. She set "what others would think of her" aside and invested wholly in Christ while he was teaching in her home. She wouldn't let others set up boundaries that Jesus had not imposed and she knew the difference between ordinary time and sacred time.

When Sherry and I first joined a church, one of the mainstays of that church was a deacon whom I will call "Matt." Matt was always in the church. He arrived early, set the thermostat, arranged tables, passed out bulletins, answered questions, and often left the sanctuary to check on other things. He did all of these things and he did them every week... but he seldom heard a complete sermon or even the most of it. He was too busy to listen to God's word. He was too busy to be challenged and/or comforted by the living word of God, and therefore, he never had the opportunity to struggle with his own faithfulness and discipleship. There is no doubt that Matt kept "the train running on time," but he didn't choose the number 1 thing. Friends, serving God is the number 1 thing, and here's a bit of really good news: when we surrender to Him, we will discover the fullness of life! When we yoke ourselves to Christ, we are FREE from the chains of self for the first time... and as free men and women, we can give ourselves entirely to God and in the giving, come to love our neighbors as ourselves.  "Freedom," the Eagles sang, "Ah, that's just somebody talking. Your prison is walking through this world all alone." Yes it's true: living for yourself is foolish. Being your own number I thing is a prison! Choose God and set yourself free. Serve Him and you will be SOMEBODY. God is the number 1 thing. Amen.

ARE WE OUT-OF-PLUMB?

It was 762 BC, two years before the massive earthquake, and it seemed like the best of times to the people of Israel. Jeroboam II was king and the people were comfortable, secure, and rich. Assyria had subdued Syria, which allowed Israel, in turn, to expand its borders and protect its trade routes.  Moab had been beaten and Damascus was in Jeroboam’s hands. In addition to territorial expansion, Israel’s wealth grew rapidly. Friendly relations with the Phoenician’s brought rare items of great beauty into Israel, and for the fortunate few, life was great. In our parlance, gated communities began to crop up, people with money had great views… and biggest houses. The rich were getting richer, and the rate of absentee ownership was increasing.  For all the world, it looked like Israel really was God’s favored nation … but there was an ominous and enormous crack in its moral fiber, a crack that would do more damage than any earthquake ever would. Despite her prosperity, Israel had cancer- a spiritual cancer that would be her death unless she repented immediately!

Speaking truth to power is never easy. Telling people what they don’t want to hear is never well-received, and letting people know what God really thinks of them is a daunting task. It takes a prophet… and that brings us to Amos, a herder of sheep and tender of Sycamore trees, who lived in a small town near Jerusalem. Amos who wasn’t even a prophet by occupation, but he was the man God chose for the job. So, he traveled north and told anyone who would listen that Israel was dying- that she was in the grip of two deadly sins. One was idolatry- which is the worship of another god in place of, or in addition to, God. If we worship the God of the Bible on Sunday and the god of Wall Street on Monday, we are committing idolatry. If we turn to alcohol for comfort instead of Christ, we are committing idolatry. If we trust in our own wealth for security, instead of God’s steadfast love, we are committing idolatry. If you want to find a person’s real god, someone said, find out whom they spend time with, look to for support turn to in times of need, or choose to celebrate with when things are good. Check their calendar, or better yet, check their checkbook and see with whom they share their wealth. The Bible is clear: you cannot serve both God and wealth. You cannot worship God when you are in love with the lesser gods of this world… and this was Israel’s first sin.

But it wasn’t her last. Israel was worshiping many gods, no doubt, but its religion had also deteriorated into something that mocked God.  It was self-centered and self-indulgent. As Karl Barth would later say, they worshiped themselves in a loud voice and pretended they were worshiping God. Their worship lacked both heart and integrity, and besides that, they ignored and abused their neighbors systematically.  If we love our neighbor as ourselves, we will fulfill the law (as Jesus would note) because if we love them, we will not covet what they have, lie to them, steal from them, murder them, or commit adultery with them. Proper religion calls us to love God with all of our hearts AND to help our neighbors claim God's promises as well. We worship God by loving Him with every fiber of our being, and we worship God by serving others as if Christ was standing in their stead. The worship that God chooses is to loosen the bonds of injustice, to set the captives free, and to help those in need. However, the rich and powerful in Israel ignored the poor's pleas for assistance, stole what few assets they had, and even sold many of them into slavery.

The record shows that the gap between rich and poor was widening, and of greater concern, the rich were getting richer on the backs of the poor. Land was being taken from the poor and people were being sold “for a pair of shoes.” The rich were driving the poor into debt, and then taking their source of livelihood (equipment, livestock, land) to pay the debt. In Amos’ time, the rich and the important had developed tax structures that strangled the poor, and when that failed, they simply took what they wanted in the courts of law. Amos said that religion was so bad that a rich man would take a poor person’s coat on the way into church and then use the same coat for a seat cushion as he sat in his pew! 

 This sin would not stand- Amos was sure of it- because God is sovereign and as able to judge, as He is to forgive. Israel was going “you-know-where” in a hand-basket and her fate was sealed… unless she repented and put God first! In Amos’ view, God would bless Israel when (and not until) justice rolled down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. In Amos’ view, wholeness (shalom)- a deep, satisfying contentment- cannot be manufactured, purchased, stolen, or hunted down. Trying to fulfill oneself in these ways is, in fact, the sin… because shalom is a consequence word. It is a state that comes to us… when we love God with all that we have and love our neighbors as ourselves. Well, what does all of this mean to us? Is America out of plumb? I see that we rank 1^st in anxiety disorders, 2^nd in childhood poverty, 5^th in pornography, 5^th in divorce rates, 15^th in literacy, 35^th in math scores, 1^st in numbers in prison, and 7^th in life satisfaction. Does that say anything about us? Also, I see that, in the last 40 years, confidence in religious leaders has fallen from 35% to 25% and that the number of Americans who do not attend religious services at all has risen from 13% to 25% over the last 20 years. Do these statistics say anything? Is SPPC out of plumb? Have we lost our way? Are we serving a variety of gods in the name of SELF? Are we ignoring and even imprisoning those who need justice and mercy? If Amos is right about the cause and effect he cites- that God will not continue to bless a people who no longer put Him first and who treat those who need a hand... as if they were worthless- then these are important questions indeed. Are we rotting from the inside out? ­

The prophet, Micah, cried out, “What does God require? But to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with the Lord.” Wouldn’t it be something, if after all of our efforts to find peace and purpose in ourselves and in the things we buy and create, we discover that all we had to do was do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our Lord? Wouldn’t it be something if… after we’ve struggled to grab happiness and hold on to it…for dear life, we discovered that God will give it to us…when we love Him more than self and serve Him in every person we meet?

REMEMBERING LARRY SHEDENHELM WITH LOVE

I choose today to write (and brag) about my brother, Larry Shedenhelm, because I miss him and because he deserves to be remembered.

He was the middle brother in our family- in-between Randy and me- and in many ways, he manifested the behaviors of a middle child. He was quieter and more controlled than we were, and he was more reserved than we were as adults as well, unless he was recapping a round of golf.  He also seemed less willing to share his feelings and he didn't have much time for idle chatter, at least not around home. Whereas Randy and I coped with our dystfunctional home by "acting out," Larry found two ways of "getting out" of the way as much as he could. He kept himself busy at work, for one thing. Like Randy and me, Larry had a very strong work ethic and, like us, he entered the grocery business as soon as they would hire him. Working alot was one of Larry's ways of staying away from home, but his favorite venue was "Anne's house." Anne was his first and last love, and he found a place and a peace in her world. So, that's where he spent much, if not most, of his time.

Randy and I were more outgoing- maybe more needy- than Larry, who never sought center stage or grabbed for a microphone, although he could handle both when the occasions arose. He was reserved, even dignified, and in my view, he always cast an imposing presence. Whether it was business attire or sportswear, Larry was impeccably dressed. His suits fit perfectly; his shirts were always tucked in, his shoes were exquisite (and shined), and his socks stayed up. They never seemed to sag (and he didn't even hold them up with rubber bands). In a word, Larry was stately and refined.  He loved good wine, grilling fine cuts of meat, and the best of cigars.  He was also the BEST leader that I ever knew personally, and I say that as someone who hired and supervised hundreds of managers. Larry was a "master" at building relationships and people, and he never lost control or sight of the bigger picture- not once in my presence. He never took his eye off the ball, figuratively speaking, and it was a remakable thing to see. He was the best athlete in our family, and I often wished that I could hit a golf ball as far, or as accurately, as he did.

They say that the oldest child and the middle child always manifest different traits and behaviors, and Larry and I were not exception to this rule. Where I sought greener pastures, Larry preferred to bloom where he was planted; where I felt a need to grab a problem "by the throat," Larry let time take care of it; and where I tended to compete with others, Larry competed with his own best self. My brother was not perfect, and could not have been since he grew up in the same home I grew up in. But he was... very... very good, and he was a great model of what it means to be a husband and a father, and for that matter, a successful executive. I never once saw him belittle or demean any person, and I never witnessed a single time when his guests were not welcomed with gladness and dignity.

Three years ago, I was blessed to spend a bloc of time with Larry. He was in the hospital (again) and his fight with cancer was nearing an end. Although Larry was NOT a quitter, he could read the writing on the wall, and so we took the time to reflect on things big and small. I asked him if he was afraid to die, and he said, almost matter-of-factly, that he was not. I asked him if he thought he would see our brother, Randy, in heaven, and Larry said that, while he might not "see" him, he was sure that he would be aware of his presence. Since we both dearly loved the song, "Me and Bobby McGee." I played Crystal Bowersox's version for him, and we agreed that it was almost as good as Janis Joplin's original. The aides and nurses came in and out, and we kept talking. We talked about our childhood and shared memories. We talked about our golf outings and shared memories (Larry could remember his golf rounds in precise detail). We talked about our shared love for management and the grocery business- from the moment he managed that little store in Omaha to the time when he was a VP with a sizeable retail chain. Larry had been an Little League all-star (he had a imposing curveball) and we shared those memories as well. Our families spent alot of time together when Larry was working in Omaha, and we shared memories of those times, like the time Larry dug a deep trench around his entire foundation to solve a water problem in the basement, and his fascination (make that, obsession) with his personal fireworks shows on the 4th of July.

However, we focused on his love for those who composed his family at that time. He told both of our girls (Sherry and mine) that he loved them, and he showered love on the wonderful family that he and Anne had made. He was reflective, but not remorseful; aware, but not fearful; and I knew, when I left him, that we would never speak again. We didn't. He fell into a coma and died. He didn't quit, but his creator called the game, and he passed into another reality- one which I cling to with every fiber of my being. His family was with him to the end, and then one night, his son, Larry, called and told me that his dad had died. I bit my upper lip and thanked him for the call. I tried to stay strong through it all. But a day or so later, a deep sadness overwhelmed me, and I cried like a baby! I've taken up golf again, and as I put on Larry' golf shoes, I see him, standing over the ball with a disciplined stance, as it sets on the tee. He brings the big-headed driver I gave him... back... methodically, slowly, and then, he strikes the ball, forcibly and squarely... and hits it a mile. Oh my, I am so very glad that God gave me the chance to tell my "in-between" brother that I loved him with all my heart!

PAULA DEEN'S SIN??

My father was politically incorrect, like virtually everyone else of his time. He fancied himself to be a "self-made man," and he believed that others should do the same. He grew up on a poor man's farm in central Iowa, and he lived in a house where food was hard to find, He and his brothers plowed their fields with a team of horses, and the family actually ate the game they shot. In short, self-reliance was all dad ever knew (there was no Social Security, nor any welfare programs), and he expected other people to be self-reliant too. Unfortunately, my father, who was in many ways a very strong man, was not strong on empathy. He neither saw... nor appreciated the reasons why someone may be poor, unmotivated, or in need. He seemed to dismiss the notion that life is not lived on a level playing field, and he was neither impressed nor envious that some people were born "on 3rd base." As far as dad was concerned, people who worked got ahead and those who didn't... didn't, and besides, he seemed to believe that people pretty much got what they deserved.

If anyone was ever born too late, it was dad. He was a "man's man"- a man who flew airplanes to the front lines in WWII and who achieved a measure of financial success, especially for an Iowa farm boy who had very little education. This may have been part of the reason why he was so politically incorrect (he told me once that I'd been educated out of my common sense), but in addition to a lack of anthropological and sociological courses, dad simply grew up in a small world.

Iowa is not the mecca of diversity- not even today- and many of the people who live there are suspicious of things that are "different." I remember the time when the men in Fredericksburg, Iowa gathered to discuss a "hippie" who had been hanging around town, and I also remember the time when my brother, Larry, and I drove from Omaha to Belle Plaine, for our grandmother's funeral. We arrived early and decided to have a cup of coffee at the local cafe. We felt like "home boys" when we entered (I was born there), but when we walked in, the cafe, fell into dead silence. Every neck turned our way and all eyes fell on us... because we were different. In any event, I am trying to make the case that a combination of self-reliance, poor education, and isolation gave my father a limited perspective on other peoples' stories and needs. He simply didn't take them into account, and more than that, like others in his time, he embraced cultural and ethic stereoptypes quite readily.

He was NOT a hateful or bitter man, but he told me more than once that there were black people and there were n ------s. The former group embraced the American dream and worked to claim it, but the latter group was composed of shiftless and lazy people, who were a burden to the rest of us. Black people were simply not cut out for success in his view, but it wasn't just black people. Women were essentially interchangeable in his view and unable to handle real jobs. They, like blacks and Mexicans, had their place, and whenever he met someone who undermined this stereotypical position, he chalked that person up as "an exception."  The "N word," was commonplace in our home, and I grew to despise it. Likewise, to dad, Mexicans were "wet backs;" Chinese were "chinks;" Italians were "dagos;" Brits were "limeys;" and the "mail man" was quite literally a man. I disdained all of these words and made fun of dad for using them. They only proved, in my mind, what I suspected anyway- that I was very, very smart and my father was very, very dumb. BUT I WAS WRONG. My father was not dumb. He was, in fact, very bright, and he was not hateful toward any individual person (I never once saw him treat anyone disrespectably). He was a product of his time and place, and what is more... he had an inalienable right to make an honest living and to the pursuit of happiness. He used the "N word," and he cussed like a sailor (is that PC?), but neither of these things had anything to do with the considerable good that he did!

Which bring me to Paula Deen. Why is a media-driven mob lynching Paula Deen?  I understand condemning her language and I can expected an outbreak of self-righteous agitation. It is fitting that she, or anyone else, who labels others in such a demeaning way are held accountable. An apology is mandatory, and her crazy idea of having a theme party in which her black employees would dress up like slaves and serve white people... is mind-boggling! I'm sure that Ms. Deen and I would not agree on much... except this: mob rule is an ugly thing that can become a devastating monster. Paula Deen should not use the "N word," and she could well benefit from sensitivity training, but does anyone really think that she should lose her livelihood? Does it seem "just" to drive a person into the darkness because she herself is a product of time and place? Can that possibly be right?

Let me be clear: I've never used the "N word," and I never will. Moreover, I am NOT a fan of Paula Deen's. Also, I would bet that she did not just use the "N" word just once- many years ago. My guess is that words like that, and certainly the views that undergird them, are part of her world and have been for a long time. Paula Deen is a cook who is famous for making food that is fattening and good, and she is smart enough to turn that talent into a commercial empire. But that's it! She is not a transforming leader. She is not a character model. She is not a change-agent, and she is not politically correct. In general, I don't have a problem with political correctness. Name calling is painful, and it's both insensitive and unwise to leave others out. Words can dehumanize people and. as Christians, we are called to be fully human- to see Christ as he lives in others. Thus, as a Christian minister, I stand against dehumanizing labels, but I also stand against the mob that shouts, "Crucify him, crucify him."

And I take umbrage with those who pick up their rocks to stone a person who is no more a sinner than they are.  Let's get an apology, let the legal action that gave birth to this frenzy take its course, and use this moment as an opportunity to grow together!  Both Christian ethics and common sense demand it.

NIT PICKERS AND DROP GIVERS

This morning, as we prepare to come to His communion table, let's take a moment and reflect on what it means to be "love one another" in Christ. There are a number of ways of approaching this topic. Books have been written on it, but my modest goal today is simply to share what I think Galatians 6:1-10 says to us. Indeed, if you will indulge me, I will put Paul's letter in my words and deliver it as if it were written directly to us.

Brothers and sisters… in Christ. Brother Murray, sister Kelly, if someone here is stumbles and gets caught in sin, restore that person gently. Brothers and sisters (what a strange way for a member of our church to speak), if you see someone who is broken- someone, let us say, who has fallen and broken a heart… or an arm, go to him, or her, and ever so gently, reset the arm, like a skilled surgeon, reassuring him all along. Restore the person… because that’s what family members do. In this world, brothers, there are nitpickers and drop-givers. If someone spills something at a banquet table, or falls coming down the wedding aisle, there are people who will cry out, “Hey, don’t give that man another drink,” or “Ever walked before?”, and there are those who will run over to help, saying, “I know how you feel, I’ve done that myself,” or “Here, take my hand and I will lift you up.” Be one of those in the latter group. Be an empathetic restorer. Be Christ-like.

Bear one another’s burdens. No one is an island. We are hopelessly and completely intertwined in Christ. So, care for your brothers and sisters, put yourself in their place, feel their pain and anxiety, lift their burden, and give them as much slack (as many excuses), as you give yourself. Competition is not spiritually healthy, but if you want to win something, be first at giving others love, be first in burden carrying, and even then, beware of pride. Listen because this is important- comparing yourself to others is a spiritual disease… that will lead you into pride, on the one hand, or a feeling of unworthiness, on the other, and either one of these emotional places will break your connectedness with others.  Never assess your faithfulness by measuring yourself against the Jones’ but rather by this simple question: have I loved others as Christ has loved me? Have I prayed for, visited, invited, supported, and listened to ALL of those whom I could have? Have I fulfilled the law of Christ in this way?

O friends, today is the day to fulfill the law of Christ by loving one another. This moment is our moment of opportunity. Now is the only moment we will ever have. So, let’s begin to see others- all of those who are part of our Christian family- through the rose-colored glasses of Christ’s love. Let’s empathize with them, let’s give them a measure of understanding and tolerance, let’s be their cheerleaders and not their critics. Let’s- each one of us- make a list of people we can affirm, mend, help in concrete ways, pray for, and walk with… and engage in the holy business of actually doing these things! The Arduser’s need prayers- yes, brother Jeff and sister Kelly- and maybe a friend… who will bring a meal over, or mow their yard, or get something from the store. Rosalie Cliff needs our prayers, and her daughter, Carol Kramer, needs our prayers. and there are many others who need our prayers, including but not limited to- Dan and Annie (our youth leaders), Jens (our new Music Director), our ruling elders, our youth, those whom you pay to serve you, Gary Hendren, Ron Bawmann, Ruth Bennett, Betty Berg, Joe Bishop, Joanna Brooks, Bob Brown, Leah Danielson, Diane Each, Bud Graham, John Henneman, Stacey Hoover, Donna Pratt, Don Sale, Marilyn Terry, Mary Jo Wagner. There are many, many people- widows, new members, and visitors- who could be invited to any of our Dinner Bell meals- and other activities. There are so many others who could be visited, and not only those who are hospitalized or in nursing centers, but those whom we would like to know better, and those who are simply at home cooking out.

Brothers and sisters, let’s not deceive ourselves into thinking that God will bless a lukewarm church, or that Christ didn’t mean it when he said that we MUST love another. Brothers and sisters, let’s not fool ourselves into believing that it doesn’t matter what we sow. It does matter because we will reap what we sow. A gathering of strangers may come to believe that they are a community. They may deceive themselves. They may even deceive others, but the word of God is clear: as we have the opportunity, let us DO good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. (Gal. 6:10) Amen.

FAMILY IS GOD'S GREATEST GIFT

Last Tuesday, my wife and I left Rock Island for Lone Tree, Mo....to see our oldest daughter, who is on an adventure with her "significant other." I also wanted to see my mother, who lives in a care center in Gower, Mo., which is 75 miles north of Kelli's "5th wheeler." Since we stopped in Iowa City to comfort two dear friends, it was suppertime when we saw our daughter's new home for the first time... and we liked it! In fact, we liked it alot and we had a wonderful time. Christian is a lilkeable man who treats Kelli very well and it was a joy to see Kelli receive the love and attention she richly deserves. I was blessed with the opportunity to walk with Kelli in the morning and to do some fishing (for the first time in decades) in the evening. We visited my mother in her care center, enjoyed a great meal with my uncle and his family, and had a good time bonding... when our granddaughter, Brooke, called to tell us that her boyfriend (of nine years) had proposed and given her a (my word) "huge" ring. We had pretty much decided to love Justin anyway and to accept the fact that he and Brooke would not be a married couple... but he surprised us! He asked Brooke to marry him... and in that moment, a ripple of unabashed joy ran through our entire family. Mama Kelli was crying for joy, Sherry and I were giddy, and Brooke's great-grandmother said it was the happiest news she had heard in years!

So, with this in hearts, Kelli, Sherry, and I said goodbye to Christian and Mugsy, and left Missouri for Rock Island because we had to prepare for the arrival of Kelli's sister, Kendra, her husband, Shawn, AND our awesome grandson, Archer the next day. Kendra and Shawn recently sold their home in Brooklyn, NY and their offer on a home in Croton on Hudson had just been accepted! That too was a great joy, and of course, we had to prepare for Brooke and Justin, who were in route from the Chicago area. Our reunion had originally been planned as a retirement party for me, but since I reneged on my retirement, it had morphed into a Birthday party for Shawn, Justin, Archer, Kelli, and Brooke. But that was before the big engagement announcent, which pretty much trumped everything else.

When Archer saw me waiting at the Moline airpport, he ran to me with his arms open and with a mile-wide smile on his face. I reached out for him and gave him a big "poppy" hug. Later, he told me that I was "awesome." How can words capture such things? In any event, while the family was here, we played a rousing game of minature golf (which poppy won), ate the world's best ice cream at Country Style, and attended the River Bandits baseball game as a family except for my wonderful wife (aka grammy) who needed a little rest. Sitting at the game with our two beautiful daughters, a granddaughter (who is more than a granddaughter to me), little Archer sitting next to me (eating a bag of popcorn nearly as big as he is), and of course, their men (minus Christian, who will join Kelli in a few days) was priceless! I felt like a very rich and fortunate man. It was a moment of unfettered joy and I thank God for it!

Kelli, Brooke and Justin returned to Plainfield, and the rest of us returned home, where we immediately responded to Archer's plea for someone to play Mario 9 Party and Donkey Kong with him. Sunday came, and after church, we went to the Rock Island Zoo, where we rode a train and watched Archer enjoy his first pony ride. Shawn and Archer fed birds, goats, sheep, and a pig with seeds that they purchased, and we left after Archer had his first sno-cone. On Monday, we grilled out, tossed a baseball around, and made bubbles. It was all joy, and in the evening, Sherry and I were able to watch Archer, while his mommy and daddy had a "date" night. Tuesday was their last day, but I can't wait to get the pictures. My only regret is that our granddaughter, Brittany, wasn't able to join us. She's a beautiful person and she blessed Sherry and I with our first GREAT grandson (Donald IV) a year ago. He is absolutely beautiful too, and he, Brittany, (and his daddy, Donald III) would have made our family moment complete, just as they make our family unit complete.

Having said this, I can't remember a time when I experienced so much joy! It was pervasive and unmistakeable. It was visible at the campsite and around our Birthday/celebration table. It popped up in specific acts now and then, but mostly, it was always there, blowing like a gentle, life-giving breeze. Surely there is nothing in life more important than family- nothing even close- and I thank God for them from the bottom of my heart! Oh, by the way, did I mention that Brooke, who I used to carry on my shoulders and later, drove to elementary school, came outside while I was grilling... and asked me to walk her down the aisle at her marriage and then to turn around and conduct the wedding? It was almost enough to make a grown man cry.