Recently, a federal court in Cincinnati, OH ordered the Waynesville Local School District to change its decision not to allow a high school student, Maverick Couch, who is gay, to wear a controversial T-shirt to school. The court also ordered the district to pay Couch $20,000 plus court costs as "compensation for damages."
The shirt in question stated, "Jesus Is Not a Homophobe." Of course, this statement on face value is true. Jesus is not afraid of homosexuals, nor does he hate them. The Bible clearly indicates God’s love for all sinners, a love so intense that He put His own Son, Jesus, on the cross to eternally pay for their sins.
However, the implied message of the statement, especially when worn by a student who is open about his sexual orientation, is that anyone who worships Jesus and also takes the position that homosexuality is a sin is at least being ignorant of what Jesus actually stands for. "If Jesus loves me, then so should you" is the logical conclusion drawn from the message on the shirt. I have no problem with this conclusion. I do, however, have a great problem with the implication.
Couch’s shirt is offensive to many people. It is offensive to me. I am an imperfect but sincere worshiper of Jesus, and I know He neither fears nor hates homosexual people. But I also know His Word, the Bible, which has been the guidebook of my life for the past fifty years, in both the Old and New Testaments, clearly identifies homosexuality as a sin. It also clearly identifies Jesus’ love for sinners, a love His followers are also taught to express. But love does not endorse everything the loved one does. Love is not blind to faults and errors. The purpose of God’s love for sinners, and thus the purpose of my love for sinners, is to bring them to Jesus Christ for forgiveness and for the assistance of the Holy Spirit in dealing with and forsaking sin.
Therefore, I strongly disagree with the federal court that ordered the school district not only to allow Couch to wear his shirt, but also to pay him $20,000 for "damages." This is a waste of the school district’s resources, especially in this day of excessive taxation and the high costs of education. It is not a violation of one’s free speech rights for a school to forbid certain types of behavior on its property. Schools forbid their students from doing many things while on school property. It is not a violation of students’ rights to forbid them from attacking each other, either verbally or physically, or to forbid them from sleeping, playing video games, texting, talking to their neighbor or a wealth of other activities during class, or to forbid them from yelling obscenities at a teacher or administrator. Schools have a right and responsibility to protect their employees and their students from disruptive behavior while on school grounds.
I taught for nine years in a private school, which did not allow its students to wear any clothing that contained any message of any kind. Clothing served only the purposes of warmth and modesty; clothing was not used as a billboard. I believe this is a proper tool for schools to use to limit students’ abilities to be disruptive and divert attention away from the only reason they are in school — to receive an education.
My own education took place in Windsor, Ontario and across the Detroit River in Lincoln Park, Michigan. In both school systems, students were not allowed to express themselves freely; there were necessary restrictions placed on free speech because of the environment and the purpose for which the school existed. At Lincoln Park High School, I served as the editor of the school newspaper. However, the advisor, a teacher employed by the school district, had final say over what was published in the paper. He rejected very little of what I wanted to publish, but that is precisely because I did not attempt to publish material I knew he would be compelled by his position to reject. Was that censorship? Or just common sense.
I realize that a ban on messages on clothing in public schools would restrict Christian young people from displaying evangelistic messages on their clothing, but I am comfortable with that. A ban on such clothing on school grounds does not take away anyone’s right to wear such clothing elsewhere, or to express their beliefs with other students in private conversations while on school grounds.
Further, I do not believe that my insistence that the Bible correctly teaches that homosexuality is an aberration, a sin, an offense to God, is an instance of so-called homophobia. I am not afraid of homosexuality or of those who practice it. Neither do I have any hatred for such individuals. To accuse me of such actions because I am convinced that homosexuality is a sin is to grossly misrepresent me. I am a sinner, too. I have my own sins that I have struggled with, and continue to struggle with. I have my own sins for which Christ died. I have my own sins for which I have sought and received forgiveness from Christ. Sinners like me have nothing of which to be proud.
Couch expressed his satisfaction with the federal court’s decision saying that he was proud of who he is, and that he hoped his victory would encourage other students to be proud of who they are. We all know what pride precedes. If you have forgotten, read Proverbs 16:18.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
The Morning Drive
The stairs at the front of the church building where I once talked to friends, or watched three little girls and their friends play. The post office where I frequently purchased stamps, or mailed the monthly newsletter our church published. The school where our good friend Eileen served as principal, or the little house on Second Street where Eileen and her husband Joe often entertained us and our girls. The library where my wife worked part time. The two funeral homes where I frequently conducted funerals. John's Appliance and Service Center, where "John" was not just a company name, but a name of a friendly and godly man who didn't just sell and service appliances, but loved and served God and people.
All of these scenes and more spread before me as I drove recently around LPO, the River Valley of north central Illinois where I and my family lived for twenty-one years, from 1974 to 1995. L for LaSalle, P for Peru and O for Oglesby, the three towns along the Illinois River all tied together into one community. I lived here. I served here. My wife and I raised our kids here. Oglesby was our home.
That was all more than seventeen years ago. In seventeen years, many things change. But it is surprising how many things stay the same. It was the things that are still the same that got my attention as I drove around listening to WLPO, the radio station on which our church used to have a monthly broadcast. On the station that used to broadcast my voice once a month, it is now Rush Limbaugh's voice that dominates the air waves every day. The station still sits squarely across the street from the Illinois Valley Community College where I used to teach English and Speech classes part-time.
Our church is no longer located in the old building located at Porter and Woodland. The little house next door where we lived is no longer the parsonage. It is also no longer red, a color I applied inch by inch because my wife preferred red to the yellow that was on the house when we arrived. Someone else now lives there and has painted the house a burnt orange. But the driveway where I parked our cars, and the little stairway down to the sidewalk in the front are still there, just as they were when we were the residents of the house.
The church now has a new building at the edge of town, a good modern building with plenty of parking, which we never had, and no stairways to impede people, as we had. God was good to the people in giving them this building.
But where I once was a member of the community, I was now just a visitor, an outsider, a non-resident. Many of the folks I knew are gone. Some have simply moved away; others have moved up, to Heaven.
But two things impressed me as I drove around LPO. First, I was impressed how quickly everything became familiar to me again. Streets, buildings, traffic patterns, signs, the river itself flowing through the middle of it all. Though it had been many years, it seemed like it was just another day and I was driving to pick up my kids from school, or going to do a funeral, or visit a member of the church. It was all as familiar as the routes I now regularly drive near my Columbus, Ohio home.
But the other thing that impressed me was the fact that God is still at work in LPO. There are still believers there, seeking to serve Him. There are still churches there, seeking to be a lighthouse for God in the darkness of this sin-cursed world. There is even another pastor, whose announcement I heard on WLPO, broadcasting the message of Christ to the community.
I enjoyed driving through what was once my home, triggering countless memories and pleasant experiences. But it is no longer my home, and no longer my ministry. But as it was when this was my home and ministry, it is still where God is working, and still where the Holy Spirit is ministering to bring sinners to faith in Jesus Christ. Thank God that LPO is still very much on His heart and very much the object of His love.
All of these scenes and more spread before me as I drove recently around LPO, the River Valley of north central Illinois where I and my family lived for twenty-one years, from 1974 to 1995. L for LaSalle, P for Peru and O for Oglesby, the three towns along the Illinois River all tied together into one community. I lived here. I served here. My wife and I raised our kids here. Oglesby was our home.
That was all more than seventeen years ago. In seventeen years, many things change. But it is surprising how many things stay the same. It was the things that are still the same that got my attention as I drove around listening to WLPO, the radio station on which our church used to have a monthly broadcast. On the station that used to broadcast my voice once a month, it is now Rush Limbaugh's voice that dominates the air waves every day. The station still sits squarely across the street from the Illinois Valley Community College where I used to teach English and Speech classes part-time.
Our church is no longer located in the old building located at Porter and Woodland. The little house next door where we lived is no longer the parsonage. It is also no longer red, a color I applied inch by inch because my wife preferred red to the yellow that was on the house when we arrived. Someone else now lives there and has painted the house a burnt orange. But the driveway where I parked our cars, and the little stairway down to the sidewalk in the front are still there, just as they were when we were the residents of the house.
The church now has a new building at the edge of town, a good modern building with plenty of parking, which we never had, and no stairways to impede people, as we had. God was good to the people in giving them this building.
But where I once was a member of the community, I was now just a visitor, an outsider, a non-resident. Many of the folks I knew are gone. Some have simply moved away; others have moved up, to Heaven.
But two things impressed me as I drove around LPO. First, I was impressed how quickly everything became familiar to me again. Streets, buildings, traffic patterns, signs, the river itself flowing through the middle of it all. Though it had been many years, it seemed like it was just another day and I was driving to pick up my kids from school, or going to do a funeral, or visit a member of the church. It was all as familiar as the routes I now regularly drive near my Columbus, Ohio home.
But the other thing that impressed me was the fact that God is still at work in LPO. There are still believers there, seeking to serve Him. There are still churches there, seeking to be a lighthouse for God in the darkness of this sin-cursed world. There is even another pastor, whose announcement I heard on WLPO, broadcasting the message of Christ to the community.
I enjoyed driving through what was once my home, triggering countless memories and pleasant experiences. But it is no longer my home, and no longer my ministry. But as it was when this was my home and ministry, it is still where God is working, and still where the Holy Spirit is ministering to bring sinners to faith in Jesus Christ. Thank God that LPO is still very much on His heart and very much the object of His love.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
My Gag Reflex
One of the treatments my dentist recommended involved a dental lab fabricating a partial plate to fill in the gaps age has created in my mouth. This sounds reasonable. Leave the teeth that are still in reasonably good shape and replace the bad ones with a plastic plate that has phony teeth at selected spaces. Just slide it in and, there you go, a million dollar smile is yours once again.
In order to create this plate, the lab needs to have a fairly accurate mold of the mouth of the person who is to benefit from this process. That mold is obtained, in this day of computer technology that can map the earth and show intricate detail on Google, in a rather old-fashioned way. A plastic tray filled with goop is put into the patient’s mouth and left there for two or three long, agonizing minutes while the goop hardens. The tray and the hardened goop is then removed and the resulting mold is used by the lab to make the plate.
I had already had this impression business done twice, and I didn’t like it either time. You see, I have a rather active gag reflex. Now, I don’t know exactly how this reflex can tell the difference between, say, a nice juicy steak and a plastic tray of goop, but it can. I have never, to my recollection, gagged on steak. But it was all I could do to keep from gagging on goop.
"Breath through your nose," I was told by dentist and his assistant. "Pant like a dog." "Hold your mouth open as wide as you can." Even as I write this several hours later, I can still feel that cold, mucky goop pressing against my gag reflex.
Anyway, a plate was created from the second impression that was made of my mouth earlier in the week. "Slide that in," the dentist told me. But it didn’t slide in. It didn’t fit. "Let me make a few adjustments," he said. But after several adjustments, the thing still would not go into its proper place.
"We’ll have to make another impression," he said. "Another impression?" I said. "You know those make me gag."
He then explained that the lab has to destroy the mold when they make the plate, so in order for the lab to make a better fitting plate, they would need a new mold. It was gag time again.
His assistant made another impression, and I managed to keep gagging to an unpleasant but safe minimum. But the impression the assistant made was missing an important part. "We’ll have to make another impression," he said. More gagging. More fast breathing, More wide open mouth trying to keep my insides from coming out. "I’ll make this one," the doctor said to his assistant. "Watch how I do it."
The assistant was no impressed with the doctor’s work. This impression failed as well. "Third time’s a charm," he said as he loaded the plastic tray with goop for a third try. "Do you know what they make this stuff out of?" he asked. "No, I don’t," I said. "Seaweed," he said. I could feel the gag response getting ready.
The third impression also was not up to snuff. I was beginning to think snuff might be an improvement over the seaweed goop, but I don’t really know that since I have never used snuff and at the age of 70 I am not likely to give up goop for snuff. On second thought, maybe I should!
"Let’s use a different material this time," he said. "I don’t know what this stuff tastes like," he said. "Maybe it tastes like chicken," I said.
In went the fourth tray of goop. It did not taste like chicken. Or seaweed. It certainly did not taste like steak. My gag reflex knew. This was goop, and I had all I could do to keep the reflex from spilling goop and a lot of other nasty stuff all over the good doctor. "You will notice I am standing behind the patient," he said to his assistant. Good choice, doc!
He removed the impression and studied it closely. "Well, Tom, you make a good impression," he laughed as he proudly held up the hardened goop that now carried an accurate, I hope, impression of the old mouth seven decades of life have produced in me. I will know in a day or so if this impression results in a viable partial plate, one that fits and that my gag reflex can recognize as OK even though it does not resemble steak in any manner whatsoever. Or seaweed, either, for that matter.
Later, as I examined the bill the dentist gave me, I started to gag once again.
Friday, December 23, 2011
God With Us
Christmas celebrates the union of the divine with humanity. Mary, a virgin, carries God's Son in her womb for nine months. Jesus, the Lord of Heaven and Earth, is born in a lowly manger. Shepherds accustomed to the gritty reality of tending sheep in the cold and hostile outdoors are visited by a heavenly choir. And over the place where the baby Jesus lay, nourished and warmed by His human mother's breast, there is cast the long, dark shadow of the cross. This is Emmanuel. God becoming a man. God with us.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Seventy-One Christmases
This is number 71 for me.
The celebration of Christmas has changed since I was a small boy in Windsor, Ontario. I celebrated Christmases numbers one through ten in that small brick house I wrote about in Windsor’s Child. In those ten Christmases I saw Christmas as a time of colored lights which frequently did not work, of a tree my dad set up in the living room and decorated, and of colorfully wrapped gifts for my sisters and me under that tree. I knew the story about Santa Claus, and I also knew the other story, about the baby born in a manger. But those stories had a hard time competing with all the goodies that were revealed when we ripped away all that colorful paper on Christmas morning.
My next eighteen Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, Michigan, a Detroit suburb to which my family moved in the summer of 1951.. I was ten years old for the first of those Lincoln Park Christmases, and 27 on the last one. Quite a lot changed in me and in my life during those eighteen Christmases. Two very significant changes took place, the first in the year of the seventh Lincoln Park Christmas, and the second three days after the final Christmas in that city.
Two Christmases in Grand Rapids, MI, and four in Flint, MI, followed in rapid succession, even though I usually was not in either of those cities on December 25 itself. Sometimes I was back in Lincoln Park. Sometimes I was in Indianapolis, IN.
A long stretch of Christmases, twenty-one of them, to be exact, took place in the small north central Illinois town of Oglesby. Here, too, some of those Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, and some in Indianapolis, but many of them were spent there in Oglesby.
Then came sixteen Christmases in Columbus, OH. And, Lord willing, in a few days I will celebrate my seventeenth Christmas in Columbus. If you add them all up, that is 71 Christmases I have celebrated in my seventy years on this planet.
So what? Who cares? No one, really. But here is an observation from one who has been around the Christmas block more than a few times.
It was shortly before my seventeenth Christmas, in 1957. I was 17 years old, a senior at Lincoln Park High School. I came to know Jesus Christ as my personal Savior. That was the first Christmas in which I understand why it was important for me to celebrate Christmas. It helped me to focus on why Jesus saved me. He wanted me to use Christmas and every other opportunity I could to share with others why He came to this sin-pocked world and died on a cross to provide forgiveness and salvation to all who would believe. Certainly, the ultimate Christmas gift.
My second important life-changing event came three days after my twenty-eighth Christmas. On
December 28, 1968, I received one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received, when my beautiful bride, Linda, and I were married in suburban Indianapolis, IN. Now I was the one who was on the giving side of Christmas celebration. I had a wife, and soon we had three beautiful daughters to provide Christmas for. And more importantly, we had three beautiful daughters with whom to share the saving love of Jesus Christ.
Number 71 will be here in a few days. We will be with our three daughters, their husbands and the eleven grandchildren the three couples have provided us. And Jesus will very much be a part of our celebration. All three daughters know Jesus as Savior. All three sons-in-law know Jesus. And the older grandchildren know Jesus. The younger ones have not yet reached the age they can understand how to trust Jesus as Savior.
If the Lord blesses me with several more Christmases, I look forward to the time when all 19 of us, from the oldest (me) to the youngest (Juliet) have all trusted Jesus for eternal life. I know now that Christmas is not about colored lights and colorfully-wrapped Christmas gifts. It is not about where it is celebrated. It is not about gift exchanges.
It is about Jesus. It is about Jesus only.
Pictured: The home in which my family lived in the 1940s in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.
The celebration of Christmas has changed since I was a small boy in Windsor, Ontario. I celebrated Christmases numbers one through ten in that small brick house I wrote about in Windsor’s Child. In those ten Christmases I saw Christmas as a time of colored lights which frequently did not work, of a tree my dad set up in the living room and decorated, and of colorfully wrapped gifts for my sisters and me under that tree. I knew the story about Santa Claus, and I also knew the other story, about the baby born in a manger. But those stories had a hard time competing with all the goodies that were revealed when we ripped away all that colorful paper on Christmas morning.
Two Christmases in Grand Rapids, MI, and four in Flint, MI, followed in rapid succession, even though I usually was not in either of those cities on December 25 itself. Sometimes I was back in Lincoln Park. Sometimes I was in Indianapolis, IN.
A long stretch of Christmases, twenty-one of them, to be exact, took place in the small north central Illinois town of Oglesby. Here, too, some of those Christmases were spent in Lincoln Park, and some in Indianapolis, but many of them were spent there in Oglesby.
Then came sixteen Christmases in Columbus, OH. And, Lord willing, in a few days I will celebrate my seventeenth Christmas in Columbus. If you add them all up, that is 71 Christmases I have celebrated in my seventy years on this planet.
So what? Who cares? No one, really. But here is an observation from one who has been around the Christmas block more than a few times.
It was shortly before my seventeenth Christmas, in 1957. I was 17 years old, a senior at Lincoln Park High School. I came to know Jesus Christ as my personal Savior. That was the first Christmas in which I understand why it was important for me to celebrate Christmas. It helped me to focus on why Jesus saved me. He wanted me to use Christmas and every other opportunity I could to share with others why He came to this sin-pocked world and died on a cross to provide forgiveness and salvation to all who would believe. Certainly, the ultimate Christmas gift.
My second important life-changing event came three days after my twenty-eighth Christmas. On
December 28, 1968, I received one of the best Christmas presents I have ever received, when my beautiful bride, Linda, and I were married in suburban Indianapolis, IN. Now I was the one who was on the giving side of Christmas celebration. I had a wife, and soon we had three beautiful daughters to provide Christmas for. And more importantly, we had three beautiful daughters with whom to share the saving love of Jesus Christ.
Number 71 will be here in a few days. We will be with our three daughters, their husbands and the eleven grandchildren the three couples have provided us. And Jesus will very much be a part of our celebration. All three daughters know Jesus as Savior. All three sons-in-law know Jesus. And the older grandchildren know Jesus. The younger ones have not yet reached the age they can understand how to trust Jesus as Savior.
If the Lord blesses me with several more Christmases, I look forward to the time when all 19 of us, from the oldest (me) to the youngest (Juliet) have all trusted Jesus for eternal life. I know now that Christmas is not about colored lights and colorfully-wrapped Christmas gifts. It is not about where it is celebrated. It is not about gift exchanges.
It is about Jesus. It is about Jesus only.
Pictured: The home in which my family lived in the 1940s in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Guilty? Or Innocent?
I do not know at this point in time whether Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain is innocent or guilty of charges of sexual misconduct now being leveled against him from four women, incidents which allegedly took place a decade ago. I do not think I should necessarily believe he is innocent simply because he says he is. I know he could be lying. I vividly remember someone else who said, "I did not have sex with that woman." But he did.
But I also am not ready to believe these allegations are true simply because four women come forward a decade after the fact, when Cain is a major threat to those who are now in power, with their stories. One of the women has a very troubled past with several lawsuits and two declarations of bankruptcy on her record. Although she claims she is not interested in financial reward, she certainly has already found it in her appearances on several talk shows and the possibility of selling her story, a possibility which exists even though she denies that is her desire. But how does a person who needs money refuse offers that will certainly come to her now that she is in an international spotlight?
There are two possible scenarios here, in my judgment. One scenario features Mr. Cain taking advantage of women under his authority for his own lustful pleasure. If this is what happened, if these women are telling the truth, then Mr. Cain needs to own up to his past and deal with it. He is not qualified to be president if he cannot remain faithful to his wife and show proper respect to women who might serve under his authority in the White House.
The other possible scenario is even more sinister. It involves those who strongly oppose Mr. Cain’s conservatism finding women who formerly were his employees and possibly disgruntled over some issue agreeing to stretch the truth to the breaking point in order to bring Mr. Cain down. They do not have to receive payment directly from those who set up this sham; the notoriety they obtain from bringing charges will ensure their financial futures. If this is what is happening, then Mr. Cain will be the innocent victim of a heinous political plot.
At this point in time I do not know which is the true scenario. I have to admit I wonder why these women did not bring accusations against Mr. Cain years ago, why they waited until now. That troubles me. But I also know that many men in a position of authority are willing and able to take advantage of women employees; it happens frequently in our sex-saturated society.
I know that there were paid accusers at the trial of Jesus who were rewarded for bringing false charges against Jesus. They were believed even though their statements were false. But Mr. Cain is not Jesus and the women who accuse him are not necessarily paid liars.
If Mr. Cain is guilty, then I hope he confesses to his crimes and faces whatever justice is meted out to him. That is only fair. That is only right. That is what must happen for justice to be done.
However, if Mr. Cain is innocent, then I hope this plot against him is quickly and thoroughly exposed for what it is and that those who falsely accuse him are publicly shamed. It is a shame when men take advantage of women employees under their authority; it is an even bigger shame when an innocent man is falsely accused for whatever reasons and his reputation ruined for the personal political and or financial gain of others.
But I also am not ready to believe these allegations are true simply because four women come forward a decade after the fact, when Cain is a major threat to those who are now in power, with their stories. One of the women has a very troubled past with several lawsuits and two declarations of bankruptcy on her record. Although she claims she is not interested in financial reward, she certainly has already found it in her appearances on several talk shows and the possibility of selling her story, a possibility which exists even though she denies that is her desire. But how does a person who needs money refuse offers that will certainly come to her now that she is in an international spotlight?
There are two possible scenarios here, in my judgment. One scenario features Mr. Cain taking advantage of women under his authority for his own lustful pleasure. If this is what happened, if these women are telling the truth, then Mr. Cain needs to own up to his past and deal with it. He is not qualified to be president if he cannot remain faithful to his wife and show proper respect to women who might serve under his authority in the White House.
The other possible scenario is even more sinister. It involves those who strongly oppose Mr. Cain’s conservatism finding women who formerly were his employees and possibly disgruntled over some issue agreeing to stretch the truth to the breaking point in order to bring Mr. Cain down. They do not have to receive payment directly from those who set up this sham; the notoriety they obtain from bringing charges will ensure their financial futures. If this is what is happening, then Mr. Cain will be the innocent victim of a heinous political plot.
At this point in time I do not know which is the true scenario. I have to admit I wonder why these women did not bring accusations against Mr. Cain years ago, why they waited until now. That troubles me. But I also know that many men in a position of authority are willing and able to take advantage of women employees; it happens frequently in our sex-saturated society.
I know that there were paid accusers at the trial of Jesus who were rewarded for bringing false charges against Jesus. They were believed even though their statements were false. But Mr. Cain is not Jesus and the women who accuse him are not necessarily paid liars.
If Mr. Cain is guilty, then I hope he confesses to his crimes and faces whatever justice is meted out to him. That is only fair. That is only right. That is what must happen for justice to be done.
However, if Mr. Cain is innocent, then I hope this plot against him is quickly and thoroughly exposed for what it is and that those who falsely accuse him are publicly shamed. It is a shame when men take advantage of women employees under their authority; it is an even bigger shame when an innocent man is falsely accused for whatever reasons and his reputation ruined for the personal political and or financial gain of others.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Mourning and Joy
At the beginning of this year, I set as one of my goals the completion of the editing process on the book a friend of mine had written. I am glad to say that goal was met this summer, in July, to be exact, when my friend, Barbara J. Forsyth, published her book “Joy Comes in the Mourning.” That book is now available on my website, The Master’s Place, and from Amazon and from Barbara.
And while you are there, check out Barb’s book, and the other Christian books we feature in our Bookstore. And praise the Lord with me that one of my goals for 2011 has been accomplished, bringing me great joy.
The book is based on Barbara’s continuing ministry to women who have or who are experiencing grief over a loss. In most cases, that loss involves the death of a loved one. But it may also involve a divorce, a loss of a job, an estrangement with a child or parent, or any other of a number of real life losses people experience. Barbara’s theme is that God wants to take our mourning and turn it into His joy. This is certainly a theme consistent with Biblical truth, and I appreciate the fact that Barbara is writing from her own experience when she says God can help us find joy even in the midst of mourning and suffering.
There is what I think is an interesting back story to my involvement in the editing of the book. Barbara was my friend 45 plus years ago, when we were both young people at the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan. However, we each went our separate ways, she to Taylor University in Upland, Indiana and me to Grand Rapids Baptist Seminary in Michigan. We lost contact with each other. She found her husband at Taylor; I found my wife at Grand Rapids.
I had no further contact with Barbara. Indeed, I did not know where she was, what her married name was, or even if she was alive. In fact, in the good life the Lord gave me with my wife and children, I didn’t even think about her for four decades.
So, how did I come to edit her book? That is the interesting story I would like to encourage you to read. You can read it by going to my website: http://www.blogger.com/goog_217296303
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Why Americans Hate Their Government
A recent NBC/Wall Street Journal poll indicates that only 44% of Americans think President Obama is doing a credible job. And only 13% think Congress is doing the job its members were elected to do.
This is a complicated issue, of course, and I am not an expert at political analysis. Perhaps, however, one does not have to be to see what is happening. Here is my take on why Americans hate the government they voted into office.
There are three things, in my judgment, that have turned people against their elected officials. The first has to do with the economy at the time of this writing, which, for those reading some time later, is September, 2011. People expect their elected leaders to be able to provide jobs so that they can feed their families and pay their bills. There is some debate as to just how reasonable this expectation is, of course. Many understand that presidents and Congresses have limited power to create jobs. One political philosophy says the government should get more involved and spend taxpayer money to stimulate the economy while another political philosophy says the government should get off the backs of business owners so they can hire people. The ugly truth just may be, however, that people are ultimately the creators of jobs. As people invest in the goods and services they need and want, others are hired to help produce those goods and services, which in turn creates more consumers and thus more demand and thus more jobs. At least that is the theory.
But sometimes things just don’t work, no matter what philosophy is behind the attempts to make things work. We seem to be stuck in such a time currently. Unemployment is high and that causes tax revenues to be lower than expected and governments do not have the money to do the things they promised the people they would do.
Which leads to the second phenomenon at work in this situation. It has to do with the way people interpret their relationship with their leaders.
When I was a pastor, I noticed that when things were going well in the church I pastored, the people tended to say, "Well, we must be doing something right because God is really blessing us." They tended to say that when attendance was up, and offerings were up, and people were enjoying themselves as a church family.
But when hard times hit, and attendance was down, and offerings were down, and people were discouraged, they inevitably said, "Well, if our pastor were doing the right things, this would not be happening."
The same thing seems to be true of citizens in a free society. When jobs are plentiful and prosperity is high and people are free to indulge themselves in pleasures, they hardly give their leaders a second notice. But when things are not good, and many are unemployed and the media is feeding a line day after day about how bad things are, well, then it must be Washington’s fault. It may well be the pastor’s fault in one case, and it may well be Washington’s fault in the other. But we tend to blame our leaders whether it is their fault or not, and whether they had the ability to prevent it or not, and whether they have the ability to fix it or not.
Mentioning the media brings me to the third cause, as I see it. We do have a free press in America, which is an essential element of any free society. But a free press can also become a controlled press, by its own choices. It is not the government that controls the press, but it is the ideologies of those who own, manage and work in the media.
In America we have Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, and their kind who regularly, daily, fill the air waves with rhetoric that is often vitriolic and pointed like a sharpened, poison-filled arrow at the very hearts of anyone with whom they disagree. They call names and they lay blame at the feet of those on the other side of the political spectrum. They gain followers by the score who in turn began to believe the rhetoric they are constantly fed until they turn the hatred that produces against their leaders, especially those on the "other side." All liberals must be scoundrels. Glenn said so. Rush said so.
But there are also so-called commentators on the other side. Rachel Maddow. Chris Mathews. Bill Maher. These are popular over-the-air political entertainers who also fill the air with vitriolic and sarcastic barbs at the other side. They gain a large following and their followers began to believe the satire and sarcasm they listen to each day. All conservatives must be scoundrels. Rachel said so. Chris said so. Bill said so.
It is the conservative entertainers against the liberal entertainers. The net result of these popular but misguided entertainers is an ever deepening gulf between the two sides in the public mind.
Add to this the financially well-endowed special interest groups like the liberal moveon.org, or the conservative Eagle Forum, and the free-flowing rhetoric that is only loosely tied to facts that each produces, and the gulf dividing Americans grows wider.
We have unions against corporations, educators against family values proponents, rich against poor, Democrats against Republicans, gun owners against gun controllers. We have Jimmy Hoffa referring to Tea Party people using a derogatory phrase and calling for a war against them. We have Sarah Palin calling for conservatives to put liberals in their "crosshairs" to eliminate them.
We cannot, of course, stifle these sources because of free speech rights, nor should we want to. Perhaps what is needed is a more responsible and objective approach from the political entertainers and commentators, and a more understanding average citizen who understands these sources have a bias to promote and are not adverse to doing or saying or spending any amount of money to hold the opposition up to ridicule and ruin, irregardless of the truth.
We expect, in our two-party system, that our political leaders will have differences of opinion and philosophies. We expect them to approach problems from their differing perspectives. But we also expect them, once they are elected, to find ways to work through their differences for the good of America. We don’t expect them to dig their heels in and refuse to cooperate with each other, and call each other names and throw the blame for all the country’s ills on the other party. It is that, I believe, that Americans are most upset about today. Our elected officials, whether conservative or liberal, are simply not working together for the good of America.
In this respect, they are not much different than the political commentators who rake in huge dollars for their network owners at the expense of Americans working together for the common good.
This is a complicated issue, of course, and I am not an expert at political analysis. Perhaps, however, one does not have to be to see what is happening. Here is my take on why Americans hate the government they voted into office.
There are three things, in my judgment, that have turned people against their elected officials. The first has to do with the economy at the time of this writing, which, for those reading some time later, is September, 2011. People expect their elected leaders to be able to provide jobs so that they can feed their families and pay their bills. There is some debate as to just how reasonable this expectation is, of course. Many understand that presidents and Congresses have limited power to create jobs. One political philosophy says the government should get more involved and spend taxpayer money to stimulate the economy while another political philosophy says the government should get off the backs of business owners so they can hire people. The ugly truth just may be, however, that people are ultimately the creators of jobs. As people invest in the goods and services they need and want, others are hired to help produce those goods and services, which in turn creates more consumers and thus more demand and thus more jobs. At least that is the theory.
But sometimes things just don’t work, no matter what philosophy is behind the attempts to make things work. We seem to be stuck in such a time currently. Unemployment is high and that causes tax revenues to be lower than expected and governments do not have the money to do the things they promised the people they would do.
Which leads to the second phenomenon at work in this situation. It has to do with the way people interpret their relationship with their leaders.
When I was a pastor, I noticed that when things were going well in the church I pastored, the people tended to say, "Well, we must be doing something right because God is really blessing us." They tended to say that when attendance was up, and offerings were up, and people were enjoying themselves as a church family.
But when hard times hit, and attendance was down, and offerings were down, and people were discouraged, they inevitably said, "Well, if our pastor were doing the right things, this would not be happening."
The same thing seems to be true of citizens in a free society. When jobs are plentiful and prosperity is high and people are free to indulge themselves in pleasures, they hardly give their leaders a second notice. But when things are not good, and many are unemployed and the media is feeding a line day after day about how bad things are, well, then it must be Washington’s fault. It may well be the pastor’s fault in one case, and it may well be Washington’s fault in the other. But we tend to blame our leaders whether it is their fault or not, and whether they had the ability to prevent it or not, and whether they have the ability to fix it or not.
Mentioning the media brings me to the third cause, as I see it. We do have a free press in America, which is an essential element of any free society. But a free press can also become a controlled press, by its own choices. It is not the government that controls the press, but it is the ideologies of those who own, manage and work in the media.
In America we have Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, and their kind who regularly, daily, fill the air waves with rhetoric that is often vitriolic and pointed like a sharpened, poison-filled arrow at the very hearts of anyone with whom they disagree. They call names and they lay blame at the feet of those on the other side of the political spectrum. They gain followers by the score who in turn began to believe the rhetoric they are constantly fed until they turn the hatred that produces against their leaders, especially those on the "other side." All liberals must be scoundrels. Glenn said so. Rush said so.
But there are also so-called commentators on the other side. Rachel Maddow. Chris Mathews. Bill Maher. These are popular over-the-air political entertainers who also fill the air with vitriolic and sarcastic barbs at the other side. They gain a large following and their followers began to believe the satire and sarcasm they listen to each day. All conservatives must be scoundrels. Rachel said so. Chris said so. Bill said so.
It is the conservative entertainers against the liberal entertainers. The net result of these popular but misguided entertainers is an ever deepening gulf between the two sides in the public mind.
Add to this the financially well-endowed special interest groups like the liberal moveon.org, or the conservative Eagle Forum, and the free-flowing rhetoric that is only loosely tied to facts that each produces, and the gulf dividing Americans grows wider.
We have unions against corporations, educators against family values proponents, rich against poor, Democrats against Republicans, gun owners against gun controllers. We have Jimmy Hoffa referring to Tea Party people using a derogatory phrase and calling for a war against them. We have Sarah Palin calling for conservatives to put liberals in their "crosshairs" to eliminate them.
We cannot, of course, stifle these sources because of free speech rights, nor should we want to. Perhaps what is needed is a more responsible and objective approach from the political entertainers and commentators, and a more understanding average citizen who understands these sources have a bias to promote and are not adverse to doing or saying or spending any amount of money to hold the opposition up to ridicule and ruin, irregardless of the truth.
We expect, in our two-party system, that our political leaders will have differences of opinion and philosophies. We expect them to approach problems from their differing perspectives. But we also expect them, once they are elected, to find ways to work through their differences for the good of America. We don’t expect them to dig their heels in and refuse to cooperate with each other, and call each other names and throw the blame for all the country’s ills on the other party. It is that, I believe, that Americans are most upset about today. Our elected officials, whether conservative or liberal, are simply not working together for the good of America.
In this respect, they are not much different than the political commentators who rake in huge dollars for their network owners at the expense of Americans working together for the common good.
Monday, September 5, 2011
I Appreciate Those Who Labor
It is Labor Day, 2011, a holiday I did not particularly care for when I was a child because it’s passing meant I had to go back to school! Some of that feeling continued into my later adult years when I became a high school English teacher. Labor Day still was associated with going back to school after an all too short summer.
It was my native Canada that supplied the inspiration for Labor Day in the United States. Peter McGuire of the American Federation of Labor got the idea of celebrating this day while attending a labor festival in Toronto, Ontario in May of 1882. On September 5 of that same year, the first Labor Day celebration was held in New York City. In 1887, Oregon was the first state to turn the day into a state holiday. Twenty-nine other states followed Oregon’s example. In 1894, a strike witnessed the deaths of several laborers in conflicts with the military and U. S. marshals. When the strike was settled, President Grover Cleveland sought reconciliation with the labor movement. A bill was introduced in Congress, passed unanimously and signed by the President establishing the first Monday in September as Labor Day, a federal holiday in all fifty states and the District of Columbia.
Now in my eighth decade of life, I can say I have spent my whole life avoiding hard physical labor. I have always tried to use my brains instead of my brawn, even though I am not unusually endowed with either. In the jobs I chose while working my way through college and seminary, in my ministry choices of pastor, high school teacher, and now writer and editor, I exercise the muscles between my ears far more than those in my arms, legs and back. Because of this I have sometimes taken an unsympathetic view of those who do use those muscles to earn a day’s pay. I have been wrong in this.
American workers provide the muscle that makes architectural drawings turn into real brick and steal buildings and engineering specs into real automobiles. They provide the physical infrastructure needed to transmit ideas and words instantly around the world. They build and put satellites in space. They build and maintain the equipment doctors use to treat patients. It is their hard work that brings to reality the dreams and ideas of others.
I salute the workers around the world today. I appreciate your efforts, without which I could not do the things I do. It is sad that we live in a very difficult time for workers, a time when jobs are scarce and workers and their families are hurting. I do not pretend to understand all the reasons why this is happening now here in America and in other parts of the world, and I do not know what the solution is. However, it is my prayer that the dreamers, designers and thinkers of the world soon again will be hiring workers to turn those dreams, designs and thoughts into the real world products we all need and depend on. Without workers who have the skills to build and create in the physical world, all the people who have the ideas and thoughts are just idle dreamers.
It was my native Canada that supplied the inspiration for Labor Day in the United States. Peter McGuire of the American Federation of Labor got the idea of celebrating this day while attending a labor festival in Toronto, Ontario in May of 1882. On September 5 of that same year, the first Labor Day celebration was held in New York City. In 1887, Oregon was the first state to turn the day into a state holiday. Twenty-nine other states followed Oregon’s example. In 1894, a strike witnessed the deaths of several laborers in conflicts with the military and U. S. marshals. When the strike was settled, President Grover Cleveland sought reconciliation with the labor movement. A bill was introduced in Congress, passed unanimously and signed by the President establishing the first Monday in September as Labor Day, a federal holiday in all fifty states and the District of Columbia.
Now in my eighth decade of life, I can say I have spent my whole life avoiding hard physical labor. I have always tried to use my brains instead of my brawn, even though I am not unusually endowed with either. In the jobs I chose while working my way through college and seminary, in my ministry choices of pastor, high school teacher, and now writer and editor, I exercise the muscles between my ears far more than those in my arms, legs and back. Because of this I have sometimes taken an unsympathetic view of those who do use those muscles to earn a day’s pay. I have been wrong in this.
American workers provide the muscle that makes architectural drawings turn into real brick and steal buildings and engineering specs into real automobiles. They provide the physical infrastructure needed to transmit ideas and words instantly around the world. They build and put satellites in space. They build and maintain the equipment doctors use to treat patients. It is their hard work that brings to reality the dreams and ideas of others.
I salute the workers around the world today. I appreciate your efforts, without which I could not do the things I do. It is sad that we live in a very difficult time for workers, a time when jobs are scarce and workers and their families are hurting. I do not pretend to understand all the reasons why this is happening now here in America and in other parts of the world, and I do not know what the solution is. However, it is my prayer that the dreamers, designers and thinkers of the world soon again will be hiring workers to turn those dreams, designs and thoughts into the real world products we all need and depend on. Without workers who have the skills to build and create in the physical world, all the people who have the ideas and thoughts are just idle dreamers.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
When I Know Why I Believe
When I was a teenager, way back in the dark ages of the 1950s, two songs rose high in the popular music charts. Both songs were sentimental. Both songs had nice, flowing, rich orchestral accompaniments, which were far more appreciated then in popular music than they are today. Both songs were recorded by artists who enjoyed a wide popularity at the time. One of the songs was called He and was recorded by a blind singer named Al Hibbler. The other was called I Believe and was recorded by many artists, but perhaps was most identified at the time with Elvis Presley.
These songs had much in common, as noted here. And besides these things, there was one more characteristic the two songs shared. They both perpetuated and popularized a false god of human invention.
He can turn the tides and calm the angry sea
He alone decides who writes a symphony
He lights ev’ry star that makes the darkness bright
He keeps watch all through each long and lonely night
He still finds the time to hear a child's first prayer
Saint or sinner calls and always finds him there
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He’ll always say “I forgive.”
He can touch a tree and turn the leaves to gold
He knows every lie that you and I have told
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He'll always say “I forgive.”
Words by Richard Mullan. Recorded by Al Hibbler and others
I believe for every drop of rain that falls
A flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night
A candle glows
I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come
To show the way
I believe, I believe
I believe above a storm the smallest prayer
Can still be heard
I believe that someone in the great somewhere
Hears every word
Every time I hear a new born baby cry,
Or touch a leaf or see the sky
Then I know why, I believe
Words & music by Erwin Drake - Irvin Graham - Jimmy Shirl - Al Stillman Recorded by Elvis Presley and many others.
The true God is not “someone in the great somewhere.” He is the God of Heaven and earth. The true God is not always ready to say “I forgive.” There is a price to pay for sin, and His righteousness and holiness demand that price be paid. He also, in love, sent His Son, Jesus to pay for the sin with His own blood. God forgives those who come to Him by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.
I Believe does not make reference to God except to say that “someone in the great somewhere” hears prayers. He says that God is “sad” by the way we live, but offers no word on what God has done about our situation. The Bible, of course, says much about what God has done to correct our sin problem.
Neither song makes any direct reference to sin, to judgment, or to the shedding of the blood of God's own Son, Jesus. These are the things the true God is concerned about.
So, why bring up songs that have long ago faded into the history of popular music in North America, and no doubt are unknown to most younger readers of this blog? The songs may be a distant memory, but the concept of the weak, powerless, sentimental god they praised still exists and has actually grown in acceptance today. Perhaps most people today think of God as he is depicted in these songs. He is a vague and distant “someone in the great somewhere.” He is sad. He spends his time turning leaves to gold and listening to a child’s first prayer, but he can’t do anything about the death both leaves and children ultimately face.
The only way to know the true God is to find Him in the pages of the Scriptures. Those who find Him there can establish a faith relationship with His Son Jesus. When I see Jesus, that is when I know why I believe.
These songs had much in common, as noted here. And besides these things, there was one more characteristic the two songs shared. They both perpetuated and popularized a false god of human invention.
He can turn the tides and calm the angry sea
He alone decides who writes a symphony
He lights ev’ry star that makes the darkness bright
He keeps watch all through each long and lonely night
He still finds the time to hear a child's first prayer
Saint or sinner calls and always finds him there
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He’ll always say “I forgive.”
He can touch a tree and turn the leaves to gold
He knows every lie that you and I have told
Though it makes him sad to see the way we live
He'll always say “I forgive.”
Words by Richard Mullan. Recorded by Al Hibbler and others
I believe for every drop of rain that falls
A flower grows
I believe that somewhere in the darkest night
A candle glows
I believe for everyone who goes astray, someone will come
To show the way
I believe, I believe
I believe above a storm the smallest prayer
Can still be heard
I believe that someone in the great somewhere
Hears every word
Every time I hear a new born baby cry,
Or touch a leaf or see the sky
Then I know why, I believe
Words & music by Erwin Drake - Irvin Graham - Jimmy Shirl - Al Stillman Recorded by Elvis Presley and many others.
The true God is not “someone in the great somewhere.” He is the God of Heaven and earth. The true God is not always ready to say “I forgive.” There is a price to pay for sin, and His righteousness and holiness demand that price be paid. He also, in love, sent His Son, Jesus to pay for the sin with His own blood. God forgives those who come to Him by the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.
I Believe does not make reference to God except to say that “someone in the great somewhere” hears prayers. He says that God is “sad” by the way we live, but offers no word on what God has done about our situation. The Bible, of course, says much about what God has done to correct our sin problem.
Neither song makes any direct reference to sin, to judgment, or to the shedding of the blood of God's own Son, Jesus. These are the things the true God is concerned about.
So, why bring up songs that have long ago faded into the history of popular music in North America, and no doubt are unknown to most younger readers of this blog? The songs may be a distant memory, but the concept of the weak, powerless, sentimental god they praised still exists and has actually grown in acceptance today. Perhaps most people today think of God as he is depicted in these songs. He is a vague and distant “someone in the great somewhere.” He is sad. He spends his time turning leaves to gold and listening to a child’s first prayer, but he can’t do anything about the death both leaves and children ultimately face.
The only way to know the true God is to find Him in the pages of the Scriptures. Those who find Him there can establish a faith relationship with His Son Jesus. When I see Jesus, that is when I know why I believe.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
A Memorable Conference
Stepping into the shower just as the lights went out. Having a hand soap dispenser squirt its liquid on the front of my pants in a darkened men’s room. Staying alert in spite of the rising temperature and humidity in the conference rooms where the air conditioning was not working. These are some of the impressions that stay with me from the Faith Writer’s Conference I attended in Livonia, Michigan August 12 and 13, 2011.
These are negative impressions. And they do not represent the majority of the impressions I have of that brief time from Friday evening to Saturday evening. The most memorable impression I have of the conference is the people, fellow writers, each enjoying different levels of success, but all working together to improve their craft, a craft they have each dedicated to the Lord’s use and glory.
I remember the comedy of fellow Canadian Timmy Doyle, and the heartfelt sincerity of Hanne Moon’s struggle to subdue her will to that of God. I remember the delightful exchange I had with Jan Ackerson just before her workshop on conflict in literature began.
Jan commented to the people who were sitting in the front row. “You were all over achievers in school,” she said. “I taught high school for many years, so I know. And I know why guys sit in the back row.” She looked at me, the single occupant of the back row.
“I taught high school, too,” I said. “That’s why I sit in the back row.”
“What did you teach,” she asked. I know that Amy Wiley will tell me to remove some of those dialog tags.
“English.” There, Amy. See? No dialog tag.
“Then why are you here?” Jan asked. It was true, of course. I had annually taught high school students about the different kinds of conflict that authors use in their work. But I learned some new things from Jan’s presentation and enjoyed hearing again what I had taught so many times, to a less enthusiastic crowd, I might add.
I also appreciated Amy’s instructions concerning showing instead of telling the reader what is happening, something Jan had reminded us of as well.
Patty Wysong’s presentation concerning blogging was especially challenging to me. I have a blog, two blogs, in fact, and a website. But keeping them fresh and current is a bit like rolling a large rock uphill for me.
Perhaps the most memorable thing about the conference to me will always be the people, both those who presented workshops, and those I met between workshops. Not only did they share with me their passion for writing, but they also shared their even greater passion for serving Christ.
It was a great conference, even if I did have to take a shower in the dark and have an over aggressive soap dispenser squirt me.
These are negative impressions. And they do not represent the majority of the impressions I have of that brief time from Friday evening to Saturday evening. The most memorable impression I have of the conference is the people, fellow writers, each enjoying different levels of success, but all working together to improve their craft, a craft they have each dedicated to the Lord’s use and glory.
I remember the comedy of fellow Canadian Timmy Doyle, and the heartfelt sincerity of Hanne Moon’s struggle to subdue her will to that of God. I remember the delightful exchange I had with Jan Ackerson just before her workshop on conflict in literature began.
Jan commented to the people who were sitting in the front row. “You were all over achievers in school,” she said. “I taught high school for many years, so I know. And I know why guys sit in the back row.” She looked at me, the single occupant of the back row.
“I taught high school, too,” I said. “That’s why I sit in the back row.”
“What did you teach,” she asked. I know that Amy Wiley will tell me to remove some of those dialog tags.
“English.” There, Amy. See? No dialog tag.
“Then why are you here?” Jan asked. It was true, of course. I had annually taught high school students about the different kinds of conflict that authors use in their work. But I learned some new things from Jan’s presentation and enjoyed hearing again what I had taught so many times, to a less enthusiastic crowd, I might add.
I also appreciated Amy’s instructions concerning showing instead of telling the reader what is happening, something Jan had reminded us of as well.
Patty Wysong’s presentation concerning blogging was especially challenging to me. I have a blog, two blogs, in fact, and a website. But keeping them fresh and current is a bit like rolling a large rock uphill for me.
Perhaps the most memorable thing about the conference to me will always be the people, both those who presented workshops, and those I met between workshops. Not only did they share with me their passion for writing, but they also shared their even greater passion for serving Christ.
It was a great conference, even if I did have to take a shower in the dark and have an over aggressive soap dispenser squirt me.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Joy of Grief
Surrounded by grass and stately trees, I stood one September day years ago in Victoria Memorial Gardens in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. My family and I had gathered to lay to rest my mother, Edna Marie. She had lived 96 years on this earth, and although she was a person who enjoyed life and family and especially grandchildren, there was a cloud that blocked the sun of her happiness for much of her adult life.
Mother suffered from grief. Not outwardly; she hid it well. But there were events in her life that caused her heart to ache. A devastating illness that hit her daughter, my sister, when she was five. A 1947 Plymouth sedan that crossed the center line of Highway 3 near Essex, Ontario. A lapse in family loyalty on the part of an important member of our family. The death of a granddaughter at the age of two. These events spanned four decades. There were many good years in our family life between them. But they seemed to hold a grip on Mother that could not be lifted. This grief seemed to predate these events. It was as if Mother was grieving over something from her youth that kept being reinforced with every family challenge and tragedy that entered our family history.
I was so intrigued about that grief my mother experienced that I wrote about it. I researched family history and read documents and letters from my family that I had never known existed. The resulting book I called Windsor’s Child, because I was a child when many of these things happened, and because we lived in Windsor at the time.
For the past year, I have been working on editing a book for a friend I knew in Lincoln Park, Michigan more than four decades ago. The Internet had brought her back into my life after all those years where neither of us had any idea where the other was. In July, 2010, my wife, Linda, and I met with my friend in a restaurant in Dearborn, Michigan to discuss the possibility of me helping her get her book in a publishable form. I agreed. That book is now published.
The book deals with grief, the same kind of grief my mother experienced all those years. My friend, Barbara Forsyth, calls her book Joy Comes in the Mourning. Her premise is that God wants to take our grief, our mourning, and turn it into joy.
Barb certainly has experienced her share of grief. Cancer took her father from her when she was only twelve. Later, she and her husband laid to rest their firstborn only a few days after his birth. Just six months before she met with my wife and me, Barb said her final goodbyes to her mother. And in between these events, Barb has had a continuing ministry to people she knew through her school where she taught for forty years, and in the neighborhood of the condo she and her husband share in Ontario, California.
I wish my mother could have read Barb’s book. I wish she could have read my book. Both contain the challenge my mother never seemed to understand. God wants to take our grief and turn it into joy.
However, since a couple of days before I stood by her grave, in September, 1998, I know my mother found God’s answer to her grief. I now know what caused her grief, and I now know that she has found God’s joy in His presence. There truly is joy in the mourning for Windsor’s child.
Mother suffered from grief. Not outwardly; she hid it well. But there were events in her life that caused her heart to ache. A devastating illness that hit her daughter, my sister, when she was five. A 1947 Plymouth sedan that crossed the center line of Highway 3 near Essex, Ontario. A lapse in family loyalty on the part of an important member of our family. The death of a granddaughter at the age of two. These events spanned four decades. There were many good years in our family life between them. But they seemed to hold a grip on Mother that could not be lifted. This grief seemed to predate these events. It was as if Mother was grieving over something from her youth that kept being reinforced with every family challenge and tragedy that entered our family history.
I was so intrigued about that grief my mother experienced that I wrote about it. I researched family history and read documents and letters from my family that I had never known existed. The resulting book I called Windsor’s Child, because I was a child when many of these things happened, and because we lived in Windsor at the time.
For the past year, I have been working on editing a book for a friend I knew in Lincoln Park, Michigan more than four decades ago. The Internet had brought her back into my life after all those years where neither of us had any idea where the other was. In July, 2010, my wife, Linda, and I met with my friend in a restaurant in Dearborn, Michigan to discuss the possibility of me helping her get her book in a publishable form. I agreed. That book is now published.
The book deals with grief, the same kind of grief my mother experienced all those years. My friend, Barbara Forsyth, calls her book Joy Comes in the Mourning. Her premise is that God wants to take our grief, our mourning, and turn it into joy.
Barb certainly has experienced her share of grief. Cancer took her father from her when she was only twelve. Later, she and her husband laid to rest their firstborn only a few days after his birth. Just six months before she met with my wife and me, Barb said her final goodbyes to her mother. And in between these events, Barb has had a continuing ministry to people she knew through her school where she taught for forty years, and in the neighborhood of the condo she and her husband share in Ontario, California.
I wish my mother could have read Barb’s book. I wish she could have read my book. Both contain the challenge my mother never seemed to understand. God wants to take our grief and turn it into joy.
However, since a couple of days before I stood by her grave, in September, 1998, I know my mother found God’s answer to her grief. I now know what caused her grief, and I now know that she has found God’s joy in His presence. There truly is joy in the mourning for Windsor’s child.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Three Score and Ten
Three score and ten.
Now, that is a lot of years to be involved in any one activity. But as of Sunday, June 5, 2011, it is the measure of the number of years I have been involved in one activity, the activity of life.
The phrase, three score and ten, comes from the King James translation of the Bible. Moses (he is the author of this particular psalm) was having one of those “talking to myself and feeling old” kind of days when he wrote it. He said, “Our days may come to seventy years (three score and ten), or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”
Moses certainly knew his share of trouble and sorrow. After all, God called him to lead a stubborn nation of people who were forever resistant to what God asked of them.
The best of those seventy years we might get on earth are trouble and sorrow. They quickly pass. Then we’re gone!
That is where I am now. The best of my seventy years are history, forever consigned to old photographs and writings. If my “strength endures” I have about ten years left, according to Moses.
So, what will I do with these next ten years, assuming, of course, that I will actually have them. The same thing I have done with the last fifty: Serve the Lord Jesus Christ. It has been a blessing to be His servant all these years.
It is not that I have been called to minister to people who were better than the ancient Hebrews Moses led. People are people. They are all sinners, every last one of them. When a sinner ministers to other sinners, you can expect trouble. And sorrow, too, just as Moses said.
Servants of Jesus Christ must remain focused on Jesus Christ; if they don’t, they will fall into depression and failure. Jesus never disappoints. Jesus never fails. Jesus never resists the will of God. Keeping my attention on Him brings joy and satisfaction. Keeping my attention on myself or on people He calls me to minister to makes me think the best of my seventy years are filled with trouble and sorrow.
Funny thing is, Moses was 120 years old when he died, and Deuteronomy 34:7 says that “his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone.” Apparently there is no Biblical mandate that we live on this earth for 70 or 80 years and then we are gone. If I follow Moses’ example, then I still have fifty years more to live in this old world!
The most important thing is not how many years we get to live on this earth. The most important thing is whether or not we are prepared through faith in Jesus Christ to live for eternity in Heaven with Him after our three score and ten, or whatever we wind up getting, conclude.
Now, that is a lot of years to be involved in any one activity. But as of Sunday, June 5, 2011, it is the measure of the number of years I have been involved in one activity, the activity of life.
The phrase, three score and ten, comes from the King James translation of the Bible. Moses (he is the author of this particular psalm) was having one of those “talking to myself and feeling old” kind of days when he wrote it. He said, “Our days may come to seventy years (three score and ten), or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”
Moses certainly knew his share of trouble and sorrow. After all, God called him to lead a stubborn nation of people who were forever resistant to what God asked of them.
The best of those seventy years we might get on earth are trouble and sorrow. They quickly pass. Then we’re gone!
That is where I am now. The best of my seventy years are history, forever consigned to old photographs and writings. If my “strength endures” I have about ten years left, according to Moses.
So, what will I do with these next ten years, assuming, of course, that I will actually have them. The same thing I have done with the last fifty: Serve the Lord Jesus Christ. It has been a blessing to be His servant all these years.
It is not that I have been called to minister to people who were better than the ancient Hebrews Moses led. People are people. They are all sinners, every last one of them. When a sinner ministers to other sinners, you can expect trouble. And sorrow, too, just as Moses said.
Servants of Jesus Christ must remain focused on Jesus Christ; if they don’t, they will fall into depression and failure. Jesus never disappoints. Jesus never fails. Jesus never resists the will of God. Keeping my attention on Him brings joy and satisfaction. Keeping my attention on myself or on people He calls me to minister to makes me think the best of my seventy years are filled with trouble and sorrow.
Funny thing is, Moses was 120 years old when he died, and Deuteronomy 34:7 says that “his eyes were not weak nor his strength gone.” Apparently there is no Biblical mandate that we live on this earth for 70 or 80 years and then we are gone. If I follow Moses’ example, then I still have fifty years more to live in this old world!
The most important thing is not how many years we get to live on this earth. The most important thing is whether or not we are prepared through faith in Jesus Christ to live for eternity in Heaven with Him after our three score and ten, or whatever we wind up getting, conclude.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Labor Unions and My Home Town
I grew up in the town of Walter Reuther and Jimmy Hoffa, the town of the UAW, the AFLCIO, and a host of lesser-known organizations, all dedicated to the task of uniting labor in one of the most prominent of American industries. You would think that would make me a strong supporter of labor unions.
It did not. When I was growing up in Detroit, Michigan, in the 1950s, labor unions dominated the city, which, of course, was the home of the Big Three auto manufacturers, Ford, GM and Chrysler. Most of the parents of my friends at school were laborers, and members of one of the various unions associated with the auto industry. It seemed unions were an all-pervasive presence in the town that built the cars.
My family, however, was not a union family. My father, W. L. Parsons, was a salesman in an exclusive, downtown shoe store for women. There was no union for employees in the store. Nor did Dad want there to be a union.
Unions had a bad name in my family, because any time they called a strike, usually, it seemed, for a wage increase, it cut into sales at my dad's store. Since he worked on commission, that meant money out of his pocket, and that threatened the security of his wife and children. Unions on strike also meant that there were interruptions in major services on which the rest of us were dependent. And, ultimately, successful strikes meant the cost of living would go up for everyone as manufacturers raised their prices to cover their increased labor costs.
We were not a militant anti-union family, and my father usually voted for candidates from the Democratic party. However, a union on strike did bring out some negative comments from my parents.
Now that I am retired, and my parents are in Heaven, I do recognize the role unions have played and continue to play in our society. However, as a former resident of metropolitan Detroit, I also recognize the great abuses that have characterized unions in cities like Detroit. It is true that every dime paid to union members in salaries, health care, and retirement benefits does add to the cost of living for union members and non-members alike. Every union demand that is met means greater costs of the products the union members help produce.
I strongly believe that there needs to be a counter balance to labor unions, an opposing force that keeps unions in check. Usually that force has been government and laws designed to limit what a union can and cannot do. This is essential.
A balance between labor and management is the best way to meet the needs of both sides. Adequate pay and worker safety is necessary for the success of any company. On the other side, management's ability to manage the company for its continued health and progress is of equal importance to the workers' needs.
My home town today is a broken city. There were many elements that worked together to bring down one of America's great cities. American auto manufacturers did not respond wisely to the success of foreign-built cars. The American car was designed to last only a short time, and then to be replaced. Foreign cars were designed to last longer, and be more fuel efficient. The Big Three lagged behind foreign manufacturers in vision and response to the needs of American car owners, opting for large, gas-guzzling autos instead of the types of cars being built in places such as Japan.
The government of the city of Detroit itself became more and more corrupt and unresponsive to the need for well-maintained infrastructure and other services to its citizens. The city declined. People of means fled. Drugs, gangs, violence and the social ills these things bring took over the once beautiful and well-functioning city.
But there was another element that led to the downfall of the city. That element was the labor unions. Unwilling or unable to read the handwriting on the wall, unions continued to make demands for salaries and benefits for their members, even as the manufacturers and the businesses all the citizens depended on rapidly declined. Rather than allowing management to make tough but necessary decisions about wages, benefits, layoffs, and so forth, the unions kept up their demands for larger and larger slices of the pie. Unions share blame with management, and with the city government for the fall of Detroit. Unions are not innocent victims.
Fifty years of my life has not changed my mind about the place unions have in our society. They are necessary, certainly. But they also need to be restrained by laws so as not to overstep their place. Now that the Big Three seem to be in a better position to grab a growing share of the market, and the city of Detroit is seeking to reinvent itself with a new leadership, it will be interesting to see whether the unions will help rebuild the city and its industries, or seek to play its game by the same old, tired policies that helped to ruin the city.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Importance of Bible Teaching In The Local Church
For about two years of my life I was a member of a United Methodist church in Lincoln Park, Michigan. After I came to personal faith in Jesus Christ, something that happened outside the Methodist Church, I began to grow less and less appreciative of the church. Why? It seemed to me that no matter what the church taught, it was based more on official church positions than on what the Bible actually said. The pastor quoted the Bible in his messages, but he did not explain or proclaim the Bible texts. He simply quoted a verse here or there that seemed to support his message for the day.
This is the sole reason why I went down the street to the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan where for the next five years I sat under the ministry of one of the most godly men I have ever known. He didn't just quote the Bible, he taught it. He didn't tell us what he thought, or what the church thought. He taught us what God said in His Word.
For several weeks I attended the Methodist church in the morning, and the Baptist church in the evening. It didn't take long for me to be convinced I was getting better and more accurate Bible teaching at the Baptist Church.
Before joining the Baptist church, I went and talked with the pastor of the Methodist church and told him what I planned to do and why. His response was that I should stay in the Methodist church and "reform" it. Reformation. Didn't someone named Martin already try that?
The Baptist pastor had a much more encouraging message for me when I talked with him. He said I should go where the Lord led me, and that I should be in a church that will teach me faithfully what God says in His Word.
So, in May, 1960, at the age of19, I joined the First Baptist Church, a decision I have never regretted.
I am absolutely convinced that there are believers in many different denominations. When I taught at a Christian school, I had many students who represented a variety of denominational affiliations. They evidenced a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ. Some of them are now my Facebook friends, and I love reading what they are doing to serve the Lord and how He is blessing them in their walk with him.
Now, don't accuse me of being a hater of Methodists; I am not. I have known Methodists who loved the Lord and tried, as I do, to serve Him. But in my judgment, after fifty plus years of studying the Bible, teaching it, and applying its principles to my personal life, I still a need a church that teaches me what God says in His Word, not one that tells me what the official positions of the church are, whether they are church law (which does not exist Biblically), or recommendations from some central committee. I really do not care what label is over the door of the local church. But I do care about how deep, how accurate, and how consistent is the Bible teaching that I receive once I am inside the door.
This is the sole reason why I went down the street to the First Baptist Church of Lincoln Park, Michigan where for the next five years I sat under the ministry of one of the most godly men I have ever known. He didn't just quote the Bible, he taught it. He didn't tell us what he thought, or what the church thought. He taught us what God said in His Word.
For several weeks I attended the Methodist church in the morning, and the Baptist church in the evening. It didn't take long for me to be convinced I was getting better and more accurate Bible teaching at the Baptist Church.
Before joining the Baptist church, I went and talked with the pastor of the Methodist church and told him what I planned to do and why. His response was that I should stay in the Methodist church and "reform" it. Reformation. Didn't someone named Martin already try that?
The Baptist pastor had a much more encouraging message for me when I talked with him. He said I should go where the Lord led me, and that I should be in a church that will teach me faithfully what God says in His Word.
So, in May, 1960, at the age of19, I joined the First Baptist Church, a decision I have never regretted.
I am absolutely convinced that there are believers in many different denominations. When I taught at a Christian school, I had many students who represented a variety of denominational affiliations. They evidenced a deep and lasting love for Jesus Christ. Some of them are now my Facebook friends, and I love reading what they are doing to serve the Lord and how He is blessing them in their walk with him.
Now, don't accuse me of being a hater of Methodists; I am not. I have known Methodists who loved the Lord and tried, as I do, to serve Him. But in my judgment, after fifty plus years of studying the Bible, teaching it, and applying its principles to my personal life, I still a need a church that teaches me what God says in His Word, not one that tells me what the official positions of the church are, whether they are church law (which does not exist Biblically), or recommendations from some central committee. I really do not care what label is over the door of the local church. But I do care about how deep, how accurate, and how consistent is the Bible teaching that I receive once I am inside the door.
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