From the Pastor’s Heart

Christmas is such a special time. It is a nostalgic time. We remember the Christmases that now belong to our personal history. It is also a time of receiving as much as it is a time of giving.

I remember the Christmas of 1980 when our middle daughter Amy was 19 months old. We sat together on the couch, in our little house in Hillsville, with the Penney’s catalog in our laps. She opened the book and pointed out each and every present Nancy had ordered for my Christmas presents.

The questions we often ask during this time of year are; what do you want for Christmas? What do you hope to receive this Christmas? What do you plan on giving?

I recently read a story that addresses both giving and receiving. “Brian Abel Ragan’s father used to tell him a story every Christmas when he was growing up. It was about a little boy who was very poor. His widowed mother struggled to make ends meet. The little boy had only one toy—a sad little car in awful condition. It had only one window and two wheels. The roof was smashed in. But the boy loved that car.

It was almost Christmas and the boy knew there would be no presents. But he was excited anyway. It was the first year he would be allowed to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve; he couldn’t wait. He knew that, before mass began, people brought gifts to the Christ child. He had been told the gifts were magnificent jeweled chalices for the altar, new clothes for poor children like himself, and envelopes full of money.

The little boy wanted very much to give the Christ child a present. And so he set out to earn enough money before Christmas to do just that. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, he sat at the kitchen table counting out what he had earned. He had enough money to buy a fine present for the Christ child. But before he could put the money back in his pocket, his mother returned home. “Oh, son,” she said, “What a good boy you are! Now we can have a real Christmas dinner!” And she scooped up the money and hurried off to get to the market before it closed. The little boy was heartbroken. What was he going to do now? You’ve already guessed, haven’t you? On his dresser he saw his broken toy car. He knew it was the only thing he had to give the Christ child, so he put the car in his pocket and later that evening set off for mass.

When he arrived the church was filling up. He walked timidly to the manger scene that was set up before one of the side altars. Magnificent gifts were already piled up before the Christ child. The little boy laid his broken toy car amid all the treasures. He squeezed into a pew close by just as the organ began playing the prelude.

About this time one of the ushers took a last look at the manger scene to see if everything was in place. Suddenly he spied the car. “Who would leave a piece of trash like this at our Lord’s crib?” he said loudly enough for the boy to hear. The usher picked up the toy car and threw it across the church. The little boy was crushed. There was no time for him to retrieve his gift. The organ was playing and the procession had begun.

Then suddenly, everything came to a dead stop. To the amazement of everyone present, the baby in the manger came to life and crawled across the stone floor. He crawled until he reached the broken car. Then carefully he tucked it under his arm and crawled back to the manger. By this time all the people had fallen to their knees. At this point the priest rose and approached the manger. There, just as before, was a plaster child with a halo, but now he smiled and his arms were folded tight around a broken toy car.

Brian Abel Ragan remembers hearing his father tell this story and he resented it. He didn’t like his father. His father had problems with alcohol. The song “Please Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas)” could have been written for him. When his father wasn’t passed out drunk, he was a foul-mouthed terror. Regan had a difficult time forgiving his father. He felt his father was trying to use this story to manipulate him into being a more obedient son.

With time, however, Regan came to put this little Christmas story into perspective. “As I think of my father’s Christmas story now,” says the grown-up Regan, I realize that I cast him in the wrong role. My father was not the good little boy who gave his last plaything to the Lord. My father was the smashed…car….He was a wreck. But despite or because of all this, he clearly longed to be cradled in his Savior’s arms, to have Christ still seek him after he had been rejected by everyone else.”
Here’s why we call the story of Jesus “Good News.” God cares about a broken world. God cares about broken people. That’s what Advent and Christmas are all about.

Come and sit with me on the couch, or better yet, come and worship with me and I will tell you what you are receiving this Christmas. You are receiving the gift of God’s love and salvation, God’s hope, peace and joy in the way of the Christ Child. You are receiving the present of his presence. No matter where we have been or what we have done God longs to cradle us in his loving arms. I pray you will open your arms, heart and soul to receive the gifts of Christmas.

What you give God in return is between you and God.

Christmas Blessings,
Pastor Russel

It seems that Nancy has been babysitting in the home forever. When we served the Simpson United Methodist Church in Erie, Nancy cared for Kelsey, Luke and Jillian Warner.

Luke loved to go with me when I walked our little dog, Louie. Daily, I would ask Luke, “Where are we going today, Luke?” He would invariably answer; “Let’s go to the graveyard and see the dead people.” I thought he might follow in the footsteps of his Grandfather Wood who is a funeral director and was the County Coroner for many years.

Luke and I had some very interesting conversations. It is not easy trying to explain to a four-year-old the concept of death, burial, and heaven. It is difficult enough for adults to grasp, much less a four-year-old.

We are uncomfortable with such words as graveyard, dead, death. They are harsh words. Death is a harsh word because it brings an end to everything that we have known and loved. Death turns our world upside down, and when the shock begins to subside and we begin to pick up the pieces we discover that our lives will never be the same again. It is a daunting task to embark on a journey where we must carve out a new kind of normal.

The journey may be a wilderness experience, but the good news is we do not make that journey alone. God takes every step with us, and when need be carries us until the time we are strong enough to once again walk by His side.

On our walks to the Erie Cemetery, Luke especially liked looking into the mausoleums. When we would look into the mausoleums with the frosted glass, Luke would always say, “Can’t see the dead people today.”

This Sunday as we celebrate All Saints Sunday, Luke’s words echo in my ears: “Let’s go to the graveyard and see the dead people” and “Can’t see the dead people today.” Physically, Luke is correct—we can’t see our loved ones who have passed on. But in the quietness of our souls, we can see our loved ones all around us in so many ways. We not only cherish their memories; we can continue to feel their love and celebrate the gifts they have given us, gifts money cannot buy. They live on in our hearts, but more importantly, we know that death does not have the last word. Because of God’s love and grace, death is only a steppingstone from this life to another far greater.

I pray you will join me this Sunday as we celebrate the “saints” who have died in the arms of our gracious God in the past year. In some great and holy way, we will see “the dead people,” for they are alive forever more in God’s Great Kingdom.

In closing, I would like to share a poem with you that I often share at committal services while I release a balloon, symbolically releasing the deceased into the arms of our eternal Father…..

TO THOSE I LOVE AND THOSE WHO LOVE ME

When I am gone, release me and let me go.
I have so many things to see and do.
You mustn’t tie yourself to me with tears.
Be happy that we had so many years.
I gave you my love.
You can only guess how much you gave to me in happiness.
I thank you for the love you each have shown.
But now it’s time I traveled on alone.
So grieve a while for me, if you must,
Then let your heart be comforted by trust.
It’s only for a while that we must part.
So bless the memories within your heart.
I won’t be far away, for life goes on.
So if you need me, call and I will come.
Though you can’t see or touch me, I’ll be near.
And if you listen with your heart,
You’ll hear all of my love around you soft and clear.
And then when you must come this way alone;
I’ll greet with a smile and “Welcome Home.”

Blessings,
Pastor Russel

This past week I was reminded of my father and his life’s vocation. My mother received some pictures of my Dad at his work place on the day he retired. A place where I too had worked and had many opportunities to see him as he appeared in the picture.

This morning I was in conversation with Bill Ferguson and for some reason I found myself talking about my Dad and his trade.

My Dad was an electrician, an excellent electrician. If my Dad had wired a house the homeowner would never have to worry about their home catching fire due to faulty wiring.

When my brother Tommy and I were young teenagers we would take turns being his assigned helper. He would come home from his day job, eat supper and off we would go to wire a new home or rewire a home that was being remodeled.

Oh how I dreaded being his apprentice. He was a perfectionist and his going over his work not once but at least a half dozen times would drive me to distraction.

My Dad enjoyed chewing tobacco. People who did not know him, thought he had some kind of facial deformity with this huge wad of tobacco in his cheek. Often he had more than a generous amount of tobacco juice in his mouth. As youngsters we quickly learned that you didn’t want to sit in the back seat on the driver’s side with the back window down when he was chewing. But that is a whole other story. More times than not, this generous amount of tobacco juice prevented him from speaking and he would often give us instructions by pointing or mumbling and when we could not understand him, well, let’s just say it wasn’t a very pretty picture.

I told Bill Ferguson, I should know how to do electrical work. Sadly all I know about electricity is how to turn on and off a light switch. If only I had listened. If only I had paid attention. I certainly would be a better person for it.

I wonder what it is God is trying to show us or teach us but we just don’t want to take the time to pay attention? We are much too busy with life or maybe the lesson is a hard one and we just don’t want to go there.

God is constantly showing us the way. God is continually in the teaching business. The question is are we wanting or willing to learn what God wants to teach? Are we too stubborn and insist on everything being our way; or are we doing what we want instead of submitting to God’s way or what God wants?

We are the losers when we refuse to learn. We are the ones who miss out on the blessings God continues to bestow upon us because we refuse to take the time to pay attention.

I passed up the opportunity to learn from my Dad and now it is too late as I find myself saying, if only I had paid attention.

What is it God is trying to teach you today? What is it God is trying to show you? Are you paying attention? God may point, pointing us in a specific direction. But the good news is God never mumbles. My prayer for each of us is that when it comes to God we will not wait until it is too late and we find ourselves lamenting, IF ONLY!

Blessings,
Pastor Russel

I would like to ask you some very personal questions; are you happy…really happy? Is there a bounce in your step? Is there a song on your lips? Is there joy in your soul? What makes you happy? What makes you want to dance?
Do you see happiness and joy around you?

On a recent trip to Virginia I saw joy and happiness in our little grandson, Mac. Mac has a “jump-a-roo.” Until recently Mac just sat in the seat but then he discovered he could jump in it. Mac waits for his cue, his dad claps and sings a made up song…”bouncy, bouncy, bouncy boy.” As soon as his dad starts Mac is jumping as high as he can. His squeals and laughter fill the air. Happiness and joy are contagious for it wasn’t long before we were all clapping, singing and laughing along with Mac.

The other day my mother and I took our granddaughter, Victoria to the park. As soon as the park comes into view Victoria is pointing. She loves to swing. I put her in the baby swing and I give her a push and her laughter touches my soul. The two teeth that Victoria has are glistening in the sun as her smile goes form ear to ear.

Victoria recently received a little toy bus that she can ride or push from her Aunt Brenda. Life cannot be any better for Victoria when she is being pushed around the yard or she is pushing the bus. Her radiance brings a smile to everyone’s face.

The other day Genevieve Moffett and her mom, Susie, were in the office. Genevieve had just completed her first day of kindergarten. And in her words, it was one of the best days of her life. Her beautiful first day of school dress matched her beaming smile as she shared the joy of her first day of kindergarten. Joy and happiness filled the air thanks to Genevieve.

If you saw the opening night of the Democratic Convention you saw pure love and joy on the faces of two precious little girls; Sasha and Malia Obama. Their faces lit up when their dad suddenly appeared on the screen. Their joy bubbled over as they looked at the screen and exclaimed: “I love you, Daddy!”

Is there anything more wonderful than the laughter of children? Their innocent joy is truly a gift. I pray that gift will always be theirs to share.

Sadly, life often has a way of robbing us of joy and the gift of laughter. In fact, there are times when we wonder if we will ever laugh and dance again.

I like the story of the preacher who met two little boys. After greeting them, he said, “Boys, would like to go to heaven?” “Yes, Sir!” one responded immediately. “No, sir,” the other boy said honestly. Surprised by such honesty, the preacher asked, “Son, do you mean that eventually you don’t want to go to heaven?” “I’d like to go eventually,” replied the boy, “but I thought you were getting up a load to go today.” For many people, happiness—like heaven—is something that is going to come eventually, but it never quite arrives.

I saw a bumper sticker that read, “Happiness is an inside job.” What happens on the exterior is cosmetic and delightful but has limitations. What happens on the interior will occur when we choose to allow God to do something within us. That something has eternal value.

Happiness is to know the Savior. Joy in discipleship is not attachment to things but is attachment to Jesus. That is why Paul and Silas, after being beaten and thrown into prison, could pray and sing hymns to God and thereby witness to the prisoners who listened to them. Joy is a sign of the presence of God in one’s life. To be a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ is to experience a deeper level of joy.

Christianity is a religion of joy and excitement. There is nothing unhappy about it. When we are happy, we not only are better able to carry our own load, but also we help others to lift their burdens.

When I was a youngster attending Sunday School and VBS we used to sing a song…
“I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart. (WHERE?)
Down in my heart. (WHERE?)
Down in my heart.
I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart. WHERE?
Down in my heart to stay!”

My prayer for you is that you have that joy only God can give down in your heart to stay.

Joy and Happiness,

Pastor Russel

Annual Conference 2008 focused on love. Our bishop, Bishop Thomas Bickerton chose the theme, Building on a Foundation of Love. It tied in the UM Habitat house blitz-build that brought more than 300 volunteers to the area to help complete a home in Mercer; the efforts to show love to others throughout the world by collecting UMCOR kits, receiving a special offering for flood relief in Iowa, and passing a Conference budget for 2009 of $10.8 million, a 9 percent increase over the current year’s budget. All evidence of our Christian love.

The Believe Again plan for ministry defines our CORE VALUE: “Our core value is love: We love the Lord our God with all our hearts, souls, minds and strength and our neighbors as ourselves. This value is commanded by Jesus, inspired by our Wesleyan heritage including to spread scriptural holiness over the land, and witnessed through our integrity, accountability and inclusiveness.”

“Although it is a no-brainer that Christians should have love at the core of their being, it takes quite a lot of brains and heart to maintain love at the center of who we are,” said Bishop Bickerton.

Bishop Bickerton also stated: “Our core value is, in one sense, quite simple. Yet, on the other hand, it is unbelievably complex and difficult to accomplish.”

I pondered bishop Tom’s words: unbelievably complex and difficult to accomplish. No one ever said Christian love would be easy; but it is commanded.

We should never underestimate the power of Christina love. Christian love can make all the difference in the world as evidenced in the following story….

As she stood in the front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said, “I love you all the same.”

But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant!

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and check marks and then putting a big red F at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote: “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and had good manners. He is a joy to be around.”

His second grade teacher wrote: “Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother had a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”

His third grade teacher wrote: “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps are not taken.

Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote: “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.”

Mrs. Thompson was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper…except for Teddy’s. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy brown paper from a grocery bag.

Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, “Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my mom used to.”

After the children left, Mrs. Thompson cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching Reading, Writing and Arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children—all children. In addition to teaching she learned how to love…how to love all children, even the difficult ones.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. A she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him the faster he responded.

By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one her favorite students.

A year later she found a note under her door from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note form Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school third in his class and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that she got another letter saying that while things had been tough at times he had stayed at school, had stuck with it and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. He also told her he was going to continue his education.

Several years went by and once again Mrs. Thompson received a note form Teddy asking her for a favor. He had met a wonderful young woman and they were to be married and since he credited Mrs. Thompson with his success because of her loving him and believing in him; he wondered if she would come to the wedding and sit in the seat of honor for the groom’s mother. This time he signed his letter…Teddy Stoddard MD.

Mrs. Thompson was touched. The day of the wedding came and Mrs. Thompson got ready and before leaving she dabbed a little of the perfume on her wrists that Teddy had given her all those years ago. She very carefully placed the rhinestone bracelet that he had given her on her wrist. She thought by doing so she would honor Teddy as well as his mother.

When she arrived at the church Teddy again thanked her for loving him and believing in him. Mrs. Thompson said it was she who needed to offer the thanks to him for it was because of Teddy that she learned to love all children and as a result she was the one who was blessed.

Bishop Bickerton is correct when he states: “Love is unbelievably complex and difficult to accomplish.” But loving is not a choice, it is a command given by our Lord. The choice to love can make a world of difference in an individual’s life, especially our own, for we are the ones who are blessed for loving.

In Christian Love,

Pastor Russel

A 76-year-old wrote the following as he remembered his dad…. I have many memories about my father and about growing up with him in our apartment next to the elevated train tracks. For twenty years, we listened to the roar of the train as it passed by his bedroom window. Late at night he waited alone on the tracks for the train that took him to his job at a factory where he worked the midnight shift.

On this particular night, I waited with him in the dark to say good-bye. His face was grim. His youngest son had been drafted. I would be sworn in at six the next morning, while he stood at his paper-cutting machine in the factory.

My father had talked about his anger. He didn’t want them to take his child, only 19-years-old, who had never had a drink or smoked a cigarette, to fight a war in Europe. He placed his hands on my slim shoulders: “You be careful, son, and if you ever need anything write to me and I’ll see that you get it.”

Suddenly, he heard the roar of the approaching train. He held me tightly in his arms and gently kissed me on the cheek. With tear-filled eyes, he murmured: I love you my son.” Then the train doors closed him inside and he disappeared into the night.

One month later at the age of 46 my father died. I am 76 as I sit and write this. I once heard Pete Hamill, the New York Reporter, say that memories are people’s greatest inheritance and I have to agree. I’ve lived through four invasions in World War II. I’ve had a life full of all kinds of experiences. But the only memory that lingers is of the night my dad said, “I love you.”

Memories are our greatest inheritance, or at least they should be. And they should be memories of love. IT IS ALL ABOUT LOVE…isn’t it?

AS A SON I HAVE MY MEMORIES…

The air was cool and the skies were gray as my mother and I planted flowers on my dad’s grave. I am however, blessed with 43 years of memories of my dad. IT IS ALL ABOUT LOVE.

AS A FATHER I AM BLESSED WITH COUNTLESS MEMORIES beginning with my initial cradling of each of my three precious babies in my arms all of those years ago.

Where has the time gone? It goes by so quickly. One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is our time.

It was Father’s Day 1982 and it was going to be my very first Father’s Day Sermon. I sat at the kitchen table in our little house in Hillsville early that Sunday morning going over my sermon. It was a sermon about fathers taking time for their children. Nancy was upstairs getting Amy and Melaine ready and Lee Ann who was not quite seven was continually interrupting my train of thought. “Daddy,” she said, “May I have a piece of paper?” I gave her a piece of paper silently hoping she would not disturb me. It wasn’t but a few minutes and she was standing at my side, “Daddy! Daddy!” she called out. “Lee Ann, can’t you see Daddy is busy?” I replied. “But Daddy, it is important. I need a pen.” I gave her the pen and said, “Now, Lee Ann, please let Daddy study.” She was gone about 15 minutes and returned with a big smile on her face and again shouting… “Daddy! Daddy.” Reluctantly I turned toward her as I noticed she had one hand behind her back. “Here Daddy, this is for you! Happy Father’s Day!” The following is the card she made. I have kept it in my Father’s Day file all of these years and it will remain there as a constant reminder that my actions must match my sermons. IT IS ALL ABOUT TAKING TIME TO LOVE. (I will always wonder if the picture is of me!)

I pray God will give me the wisdom and the time for countless more opportunities for the making of memories.

AND NOW AS A GRANDFATHER…I hold my precious grandbabies and dream of all the ways I will show them how much their old Pappy loves them, giving birth to new memories. IT IS ALL ABOUT LOVE.

I pray you are not only making loving memories but you too are sustained by loving memories of parents who love or loved you unconditionally.

Whatever your memories; may you find peace in the knowledge that you have a Heavenly Father who loves you beyond measure; a Father who will never leave you orphaned. IT IS ALL ABOUT LOVE.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!

Blessings,

Pastor Russel

A young couple was going out for the evening. They called a taxi and put the cat out for the evening. The taxi arrived and as the couple walked out the front door the cat shot back in. They didn’t want the cat shut in the house so the wife went out to the taxi while the husband went upstairs to chase the cat out. The wife, not wanting it known that the house would be empty, explained to the taxi driver; “My husband’s just going upstairs to say goodbye to my mother.” A few minutes later the husband climbed into the cab. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, “Stupid old thing was hiding under the bed and I had to poke her with a coat hanger to get her to come out!”

Miscommunication can be embarrassing, and it can be hurtful and damaging.

We find ourselves entering the season of Pentecost, the birth of the church by the giving of the Holy Spirit. Luke reports in the Acts of the Apostles:

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability…Amazed and astonished…they proclaimed, in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.”

Various tongues, but yet all understanding the power and praise of God. What is the language of God? What is the language of the church? The language of the church is love. Christian love is always understood, tearing down all barriers. The language of love is a language of forgiveness, a language of hospitality, a language of welcoming.

There is an old Appalachian folktale about a small town in Tennessee called Galax cove. There were two churches in Galax Cove, a Baptist Church and a Methodist Church. The Baptist preacher, Ike Gallaher, always preached against the Methodists, and the Methodist preacher, Wes Shelton, always preached against the Baptists, and the townsfolk learned to hate each other in the most Christian kind of way.

Then one spring, the rains came down, and the creeks rose, and a flood tore through Galax Cove. Ike Gallaher attempted to move his family to higher ground. But the flood waters trapped them on some rocks. Suddenly, a wave rose up and tore his baby daughter from Ike’s arms. Just then, a man on the banks jumped into the water and swam toward the little girl. He reached her just in time, and pushed her up on a nearby ledge. Then, the man was swept away with the flood. It was Wes Shelton, the Methodist preacher. They found his body a few days later.

After the flood waters cleared, Ike Gallaher went back to preaching. But this time, he didn’t preach against any Methodists. He didn’t preach against anybody. His heart had been broken by the love of his enemy and all he could preach was love.

One of the churches was destroyed by the flood and the people never rebuilt it. Instead, they all began attending the same church, and they renamed it Sweet Harmony Chapel.

That ought to be the name of every church—Sweet Harmony Chapel. We are all followers of Christ. We need to love one another and respect one another.

Each time we celebrate Pentecost we experience again the birth of the church and our roots in salvation history. We celebrate again all that God has called us to be and what we are called to be about. We celebrate again the Holy Spirit that compels us to move forward to follow the Lord Jesus Christ beyond what we have dared in our wildest dreams to aspire.

We are called to speak the language of Christian love!

In His loving Service,
Pastor Russel

When I was serving another congregation I received a phone call one morning from a woman looking for financial assistance. She began our conversation with: “I AM STARVING. I WANT TWO FIVE-DOLLAR BILLS, A VOUCHER FOR THE LOCAL SUPERMARKET.” She continued by listing a few other items I was to give her. I responded by offering her lunch at the church at noon…a lunch the church provided for the community, monthly.

She started with her verbal abuse…and asked… “AND JUST WHY WOULD I WANT TO COME TO YOUR CHURCH?”

I politely informed her, it was not MY church but God’s Church and by her coming to the church she would receive a hot meal as well as Christian fellowship.

I will spare you the ugly details of the conversation that quickly deteriorated with her verbal battering.

Following our conversation I kept thinking about her question… “Why would I want to come to your church?”

How would you answer that question; Why would I want to come to your church?

There’s an old story about a small church out in a rural area that needed a pastor to fill in for a time. So they contacted a nearby seminary. The seminary sent a student pastor who had never been outside of the city

When he arrived at the church the student pastor was shocked to see a hound dog seated on the second row next to the church’s lay leader, a crotchety older man who was known to run off young student pastors.
           
In a heat of righteous indignation the young preacher headed straight for the dog. He screamed at it and drove it out of the church. The startled congregation held its breath, to see what the lay leader would do, but nothing happened. After the sermon everyone quickly scooted out the side door and waited for the older man to come out.
           
When he graciously greeted the young pastor at the front door, everyone was taken aback. They had never seen him be that courteous to a student pastor before. The old lay leader extended his hand and said, “I want to thank you for kicking my dog out of church.” Everyone was shocked, at the lay leader’s words, including the pastor. Shocked, the pastor said, “You want to thank me?” “Yep,” said the older man, “I wouldn’t have my dog hear that sermon for nothing.”
           
Churches are sometimes funny places. Sometimes things happen in church that aren’t so funny. Sometimes they are downright tragic.

CHURCHES CAN BE A DISAPPOINTMENT TO GOD. 
           
When is the church pleasing to God? I believe God is most pleased with the church when the church practices and celebrates OPEN HEARTS, OPEN MINDS, AND OPEN DOORS. Why would I want to come to your church?  I can think of several reasons why people would want to come to the Sewickley United Methodist Church. One in particular is the ministry of hospitality. Hospitality—the gracious welcoming of strangers from near and far—is one of the most important ministries that the church has to offer.
           
I recently had a visitor tell me: “Now this is how a church is supposed to be!” It is heart-warming to witness the ministry of hospitality to all those who enter the doors of the Sewickley United Methodist Church…boldly proclaiming…WELCOME HOME! WELCOME HOME! YOU ARE NOT ALONE. HERE, WE ARE FAMILY, HERE, WE WILL RESPECT YOU, LOVE YOU, LAUGH WITH YOU, CRY WITH YOU, PRAY WITH YOU…BECAUSE WE ARE PART OF THE FAMILY OF GOD. It is here that we are also nurtured and fed spiritually. It is here where we are equipped to go out into the world and to be about God’s ministry.

I give thanks for the ministry of this loving church family.

Gratefully,

Pastor Russel

A few days ago I was reminded of something I do not like. I call it unproductive waiting. Now there are times when waiting is never an issue. I can sit all day at the hospital with parishoners as we wait for loved ones to come out of surgery. I can sit up and wait all night long with a grieving family who is in need of comfort and support. But when it comes to waiting in line or waiting in traffic I find myself becoming anxious. As my girls often say, “Daddy doesn’t like to be inconvenienced.”

My reminder occurred when I walked into the dentist office and found four people ahead of me sitting and waiting to see the dentist. I breathed a sigh of disappointment when I realized I would have to sit and wait too. I looked at my watch. I wondered how long the wait would be. I didn’t have time to just sit and wait. I thought to myself; I will wait 15 minutes and then I am going to the window and inform the receptionist that I had a 12:30 pm appointment and inquire of the delay. I needed to let them know I wasn’t happy. It wasn’t long before a 5th patient entered the door and joined us in the waiting room. He was an elderly gentleman using a walker for mobility. He was a pleasant chap as he engaged the rest of us in conversation. You can only imagine my dismay when the dentist, himself appeared in the doorway and invited the elderly man to come back to his office. My first thought was; hey, wait a minute, this isn’t fair. I was here before him. Where is the justice in all of this?

Well, waiting is part of learning what we call patience. I find myself praying the old prayer; “Lord, give me patience – and hurry!

Have you ever found yourself short on patience? The other day I was in the parking lot of Giant Eagle and I saw a young mother pushing her grocery cart full of groceries to her car. She was parked behind me. She had two children with her. A little boy about the age of four was walking beside her and the little fellow in the cart was a Down’s syndrome child who appeared to be about two. He was yelling and making a fuss. As I was walking I heard the mother say: “Shut up! Just shut up! I can’t take anymore.” And with that she began to sob! Obviously her patience had worn thin. My first thought was to go to her but thought perhaps I would be invading her privacy. I think I should have gone with my first instinct and gone to her and offer some words of understanding, reassurance and hope.

Patience is difficult sometimes, isn’t it? Patience is an important quality in people. I looked in the Bible and there are 49 references to patience, patient, patiently.
In the book of Hebrews there is a fascinating phrase. The writer says, “…let us run with patience the race that is set before us, our eyes fixed on Jesus the author and finisher of our faith…” I know from when I ran marathons what it means to run with patience. I would need to pace myself, stopping at the water spots, and walking short distances when necessary so that I would be able to finish the race. I know a number of people who started marathons but had to drop out because they simply could not go on.

Life is like a long distance marathon, calling for good conditioning, proper strategy, and great endurance. Mental, physical, and spiritual preparation is as important as running the race itself. Running with patience means keeping a long-range strategy in order to prevent burning out on the course.

When it comes to trials and tribulations we speak of the patience of Job. Job lost everything. He lost his cattle, his children and even his health. Suddenly he is cast from the heights of affluence and success to the depths of misery and despair. He kept running his course with patience, even when it appeared that there was little left to live for. But when the fog lifted, he was still on target. And we read, “So the Lord blessed the latter end of Job, more than his beginning…” Job died at the age of 140 years, “being old and full of days.”

It has been said that patience is a wise teacher. Quaint though it may sound, it is nevertheless true. I believe the most lasting patience of all is patience that is rooted in the promises of God.

Jewish psychiatrist Victor Frankl tells of his experience in a Nazi concentration camp. When he was arrested he was stripped of everything—property, family, possessions. The Nazis even forced the prisoners to give up their clothes. Frankl had spent years researching and writing a book. His manuscript, which he had hidden in the lining of his coat, was taken away. He inherited the worn out rags of another inmate who had been sent to the gas chamber. Said Frankl: “Instead of the many pages of my manuscript, I found in the pocket of the newly acquired coat a single page torn out of a Hebrew prayer book, which contained the Shema, the daily Jewish prayer. That is the prayer that we recently studied in Bible study: Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is one God. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Finding this page torn from a Jewish prayer book was the turning point for Victor Frankl. It gave him the strength to go on.

Many people over the past two thousand years have found that their faith gave them the ability to be patient under trying circumstances. The most lasting patience of all is patience rooted in the promises of God. My prayer for me and for you is the gift of patience ,so that whatever we must deal with in the marathon called life we always know that we are not orphaned, God is with us! Trusting God will give us what we need as we need it!

Blessings for peace and patience,

Pastor Russel

Several years ago, a few days before Easter, I found myself in a classroom as a substitute teacher. A little girl in homeroom overheard some of the other children talking about Easter. She came to my desk and asked, “What is Easter?” I did not readily answer. Truthfully, I thought she was just kidding so that my attention would be diverted and we would not start the class work. But as I listened to her talk with her friends it became quite evident that she had no idea as to the meaning of Easter. Her friends were shocked, surprised and even appalled with their classmate. I heard one student exclaim, “What! You don’t know what Easter is?”

What does Easter mean to you? In the secular world, it means fluffy bunnies, brightly colored eggs, hidden baskets, and lots of lush chocolate candy. If you are a child there is nothing wrong with this Easter. Easter is a happy day, and God loves to hear the laughter of little children; but Easter is so much more.

A grandfather took his granddaughter to see the Passion Play. As the soldiers were mistreating Jesus the little girl stood up and shouted out, “I’m going to go up there and kick their butts!” She was very upset. Her grandfather calmed her by saying, “Just keep watching. It is going to be all right. This is not the end.”

At the end, when Jesus came out of the tomb in a radiant robe, the actor playing Jesus was standing on the stage within eyesight of the little girl. He turned, looked at her and smiled. She was radiant herself when she gave him the thumbs up sign and he returned it.

Easter is God’s thumbs up sign to God’s world. Easter is not about what happened. It is about what is happening. Resurrection is about the power of God in our lives now.

There is a wonderful new hymn in our hymnal. It has become something of a tradition to sing this hymn, number 707, The Hymn of Promise, at Easter and often at memorial and funeral services. This hymn was written in 1986 by Natalie Sleeth; a respected and prolific writer of Christian music.

James W. Moore explains… She wrote this hymn for her husband, the late Dr. Ronnie Sleeth, who was an outstanding professor of preaching at Vanderbilt Divinity School and later at Iliff School of Theology. In 1986 Ronnie Sleeth was told by his doctors that he had a terminal illness.

From the date of the diagnosis of his illness to his death was just twenty-one days…and Natalie wrote this hymn of promise for him before he died. The last stanza states:
“In our end is our beginning;
In our time infinity;
In our doubt, there is believing;
In our life, eternity;
In our death, a resurrection;
At the last, a victory;
Unrevealed until its season;
Something God alone can see.”

Natalie Sleeth had her own set of health problems. For several years, she had battled a debilitating disease that ultimately took her life. Before she died, she wrote a beautiful statement for her grandchildren. She told them of how she began to realize that she was growing older and that her body was beginning to wear out. She told her grandchildren that she talked to God about this and asked God to help her. God heard her and said: “My child, when I made the world and filled it with people, I had a plan. I wanted my people to have life as long as they could, but not forever on this earth because then my world would be too full with no room for anybody. I planned it so that when it was time to leave the earth my people would come and live with me in Heaven where there is no pain, no sadness, nor sickness, nor anything bad.”

Natalie told her grandchildren that at this point, she said softly to God, “Is my time to come and live with you getting closer?” And God said, “Yes, but don’t be afraid because I will always be with you…and I will always take care of you.” Natalie then said to God, “But, I will miss my family and friends…and they will miss me!” And God said, “Yes, but I will comfort them and turn their tears into joy…and they will remember you with happiness and be glad for your life among them.”

So, slowly Natalie began to journey to Heaven, and day by day she drew nearer and nearer to God. In the distance she said she could see light and hear beautiful music and feel happiness she had never known before…and as she moved toward the gates of Heaven and into the house of God she said her last words: “It’s good!…It’s good!…It’s good!

Easter is God’s thumbs up to each of us. And indeed it is good!

With Easter Hope and Blessings,

Pastor Russel

I was going through my files the other day and I ran across the following story….

“When I was very young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and the shiny receiver on the side of the box.

I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was ‘Information Please’ and there was nothing she did not know. ‘Information Please’ could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.

My personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor. Standing on the footstool I could reach the magical box, the telephone. I held the shiny receiver to my ear and said, ‘Information Please’ into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke in my ear: ‘Information.’

‘I hurt my finger!’ I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. ‘Isn’t your mother home? Came the question. ‘Nobody’s home but me,’ I blubbered. ‘Are you bleeding?’ the voice asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts.’

‘Can you open your icebox?’ she asked. I said I could. ‘Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger,’ said the voice.

After that, I called ‘Information Please’ for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with math. She told me that my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then there was the time, Petty, our pet canary died. I called ‘Information Please’ and told her the sad story. She listened, than said the usual things grownups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable. I asked her, ‘Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to so many families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?’

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘You must remember that there are other worlds to sing in.’ Somehow, I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, ‘Information Please,’ ‘Information.’ Said the now familiar voice. ‘How do you spell ‘fix’? I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific northwest. When I was nine-years-old; we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. ‘Information Please’ belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new, shiny phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half-an-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said ‘Information Please.’

Miraculously I heard the small clear voice I knew so well; ‘Information Please’.

I hadn’t planned this, but heard myself saying, ‘Could you please tell me how to spell fix?’

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, ‘I guess your finger must be healed by now.’

I laughed, ‘so, it’s really still you,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’
‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.’

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. ‘Please do,’ she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, ‘Information.’ I asked for Sally. ‘Are you a friend?’ she said. ‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I answered.

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ she said. ‘Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.’

Before I could hang up she said, ‘Wait a minute. Are you Paul?’ ‘Yes!’
‘Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called when she was too sick to work. Let me read it to you.’ The note said, ‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.’

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.”

We too know what Sally means. One day there will be another world, God’s Kingdom, in which we too will sing. But for now, we have this world to sing in.

Beginning February 6, we will begin a new journey called Lent. During this journey our singing may be a little more subdued as we make our way to Good Friday and the cross, but we still sing.

Won’t you join me as we make this necessary journey, using this time as an opportunity to examine our sinful nature and seeking God’s continued grace? Won’t you join me as we commit to being a “Sally”, an “Information Please” to someone; no, to everyone we encounter along our journey?

May it be so until that glorious day when we too are blessed to sing in that other world known as God’s Kingdom.

Blessings,
Pastor Russel

It is that time of year when we once again look over our shoulders to the past as well as standing at the threshold of a new year and we look to the future.

 This is the time of year that we look toward 2008 with new resolve, or observe how far we have wandered from last year’s resolutions. Have you ever noticed that New Year’s resolutions look strangely familiar? As a matter of fact, don’t they most often look exactly like last year’s resolutions?

I don’t know how you are doing on your New Year’s resolutions. I do know something that is more important than resolutions, though. How do you see this New Year? Is it one that you approach with anxiety or anticipation?

I would like to share a story with you that might be helpful in our approach to this gift of yet another year. The story is titled, “Thanks for what?”

“It’s not an easy task to find yourself heading into the holidays when there is little joy in your life. It had been a bad year, one that would be remembered for the loss of two loved ones, a year that saw financial despair and job loss. Then there were the health issues; not every day concerns, but life-threatening attacks. Nothing, but nothing went right.

Still, the family gathered as always for the Thanksgiving Day feast. They came from all around the country to share once more in what was always a beautiful family tradition.

The setting was the same as always…grandma’s house.  Aunt Esther would bring her famous sweet potatoes. Uncle Joe would play the piano in the great room. Mom would set the table while Dad; well, Dad would watch football.

Aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters would hug that warm loving embrace that says it’s been much too long. Or would they?

‘It’s really not the same without her here,’ someone said. Uncle Peter pretended not to hear it and continued on with an almost believable smile on his face.

‘Do you remember when George would tell that funny story about his first Thanksgiving turkey? It was really not that funny, but to hear George tell it, you laughed because of him!’

There was an uneasy silence in the room.

‘Time for dinner!’ Grandma announced. One by one, they all took their places at the table. There was an awkward moment when they discovered the two empty seats where they always sat.  ‘Maybe it’s time for Sissy and Jack to move up to the big table,’ someone said. ‘Yes, come sit here next to me,’ Uncle Peter motioned. ‘I could use some company right now.’

‘Okay, everyone bow your heads for grace,’ Grandma told them. ‘Lord, we are gathered here once again in thanks for all your blessings. We are grateful to you for the bounty of this feast and for the family we share it with. Amen.’

It was now the tradition of this family to take the time to share one thing they each were thankful for from the past year. ‘Who would like to go first?’ Grandma asked. There was silence—-an uncomfortable moment that most everyone dreaded this year. ‘Come, now. Who will start?’

Jack, now the youngest one there at the grown-up table, rose to his feet and tried to slip away. Jack had lost his mother just a few weeks earlier after a long struggle with cancer.

‘Jack, you have not asked to be excused,’ Grandma said sharply. ‘Perhaps you would like to begin?’

Oh, this was a tough moment. Grandma deserved the respect of a young man, but stirred in him a fire that only youth enjoy.

‘Thanks? For what?’ he said sharply. ‘Thanks for taking my mom? Thanks for Uncle Dan losing his job and having to sell his home? Thanks for the cancer that has taken all too many lives?’ he said with anger in his voice. ‘THANKS FOR WHAT?’

Most of the adults sat quietly with their heads lowered. Some struggled to hold back tears. It was a difficult time, and no one there went unaffected by the loss and tragedies of this past year.

Then suddenly a small voice could be heard: ‘THANKS FOR THE LOVE.’

Heads lifted slowly, looking around the room to see who had spoken. You could hear the rattle of the dishes and the scraping of the chairs against the floors as some repositioned themselves to get a better look.

‘Who said that?’ Grandma said softly. Nervously the young child raised his hand and could barely be seen in the far corner of the room. It was the children’s table, occupied this year by only two. The others had been promoted to fill the vacancies at the adult table.

‘Jacob, please stand up,’ Grandma urged. ‘Tell us again, what are you  thankful for this Thanksgiving?’

‘I am thankful for the love. You can lose a job. God can call all of us home. What will always remain is the love. The love! I am thankful for love.’

The stillness in the room was unsettling.

‘I am thankful for you, Jacob,’ someone said.

‘I’m thankful for the memories,’ someone else added.

‘I’m thankful for the chance to start over with a new career,’ Uncle Dan said.

‘I’m thankful for cranberry sauce!’ the little child yelled out.

Everyone was laughing. Jack returned to his seat as he listened to the others announce what they were thankful for.

‘My golf score!”

‘My new dress.’

‘My trip to the Grand Canyon last summer with out neighbors. It was awesome!’

Finally it went full circle right back to Jack. There was a sudden hush in the room as everyone waited to see if he could join in. Then looking up with tears in his eyes, Jack said, ‘Thanks for being my mom!’

Family rushed to his side, and surrounding him, they hugged, kissed, and held his hands.

‘Let’s eat!” Grandma said.

The young man in the corner whispered, ‘See, God? Thanks for the love.’”

Like every year, this year will have its ups and downs—good luck and bad luck, if you want to think of it in that way. We need to acknowledge that there is no promise in Scripture that things will always go our way just because we follow Jesus. There is no promise in Scripture that God’s elect will have a smooth road. The person of faith, though, understands that sometimes ‘downs’ are ‘ups’ in disguise.

The person of faith also understands that even when it seems that a season of adversity lasts for a long time, when it seems like God has been silent forever—God’s hand of rescue comes.

As we begin this journey called 2008 we can approach it with anticipation as we give thanks for the love; love of family and friends and most especially the love of God who promises to journey each step of the way through 2008 as God has journeyed with us in the past.

God’s Blessings,
Pastor Russel

THANKS FOR THE LOVE!!!!

A heart felt thank you for the very benevolent Christmas gift. Your love and generosity has touched our hearts. A special thank you to all who helped make the Advent and Christmas Seasons so special. Christmas Eve was a very holy experience and a blessing to over 200 people.

Your Parsonage Family,
Nancy, Russel and Family