The Horseradish Blues

The Horseradish Blues

The dazzling moon made the snow glisten. The pines stood as silent sentinels guarding the trail. The sleigh bells rang and the wood sleigh creaked as the horses labored to deliver their load to the mountain cabin. A winter wonderland come alive as our voices broke the silence of a winter night.

For some time, our family holiday tradition is to come together for an evening of song, food and libation at the sleigh ride dinner.  We bundle up to keep warm and climb on the sleighs drawn by Belgian horses taking us to a secluded cabin for a feast of prime rib, wine and huckleberry cobbler. The wood burning stove, the kerosene lanterns and the rough-hewn tables provided the perfect ambiance for the feast.

You would have to be there to experience the magic of that winter evening on the mountain; a huge wood-burning oven to keep the food and bodies warm. The sweet music of a baritone voice singing about baked bread and that great place called Montana. For me, it was like I died and went to cowboy heaven. What more could one ask?

Horseradish! Prime rib is not prime rib without horseradish. It is the nectar of the mountain gods. The white creamy texture belies the assault on the taste buds. It overpowers the potatoes and the veggies. The prime rib stands up and takes notice of this condiment.  The red wine withers in comparison. This horseradish commands your undivided attention.

You may think I am a little off the bubble with my horseradish blues and maybe you are right. But who else will sing the praises of this maligned delicacy. Here is what God’s Word says, “So eat your meals heartily, not worrying about what others say about you—you’re eating to God’s glory, after all, not to please them. As a matter of fact, do everything that way, heartily and freely to God’s glory.”

Praise God for the horseradish!

Crock-Pot Christmas

Crock-Pot Christmas

Ever have one of those Christmases when you couldn’t get in the holiday mood? I’m positive I’m not the only one who has had that experience. All the glitter and hype can’t quite shake the reality that this Christmas is not going to be one to remember.

Three months earlier, our family moved from Montana back to Minnesota. I was promised a pastoral position in a church in the Twin Cities. Even though it was an opportunity to be back with relatives and old friends, it meant uprooting our family. It was hard to say goodbye to nine years of relationships. Two large U Hauls and a thousand miles later we were in the big city.

Moving in with Judy’s parents and putting our worldly possessions in storage, we settled in for a season. Then I learned that there was no job available at the church. Now living with the relatives, no income and Christmas was around the corner. I was so full of disappointment and fear that there was no way I was going to enjoy this Christmas.

One evening I took the kids to Target. I needed their help in picking out a present for Judy. As we walked up and down the aisles nothing looked good. Then my eyes fell upon this crock-pot. It was beautiful. I knew this was the gift for her. The kids said, “You have to be crazy Dad to give Mom a crock-pot for Christmas. She won’t like it.” My mind was made up.

Christmas arrived. I knew Judy would love her present. As she unwrapped it I could sense the kids apprehension. When she saw what it was, she looked at me and began to cry. Not tears of appreciation but of frustration and sorrow. I was shocked that she didn’t like that beautiful gift. A lesson learned: never and I mean never give your wife a Christmas gift with a cord attached to it.

God does not give gifts with cords attached. “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”

The Old Oak Tree

The Old Oak Tree

I was house cleaning in my office at church when I ran across a framed photo of an oak tree. The tree was standing alone in the middle of a field, leafless, surrounded by brown grass and patches of dirty snow. Then I remembered this was the tree I walked by every day for almost a year. On the days when the sun was out, I would sit on the bench nearby and talk to the oak.

Surprised that I would talk to an oak tree? Well, given the emotional condition I was in at that time, it was a miracle I was talking at all. When I took this photo of the oak tree, I was in the middle of a year of discontent. Six months earlier I had resigned as senior pastor of a church. It was not a pleasant parting of the ways. The founding pastor and I had a major falling out having to do with the direction of the church. Since we were unable to resolve our issues and facing the possibility of a church split, I left.

Unprepared for the emotional consequences of my decision, I fell into a season of despair. One moment I was at the center of church activity and the next moment no one calls; no one needs me. Who am I now?  I cried out to God but no answer. It was hard getting out of bed to face another day of emptiness. I was a mess.

One day, I walked into a Christian bookstore and started looking for some encouragement. In the Men’s Issues section, I found this book, Unmasking Male Depression by Archibald Hart. I read it cover to cover several times discovering that I needed to make changes in my life. I needed to take better care of myself.

That is how I met the oak tree. I started taking a daily walk with our dog Sparky. The walking path went right by this old, scraggly tree, scarred by lightening, continuing to stand tall in season and out of season. If this tree could survive that kind of disaster so could I. The oak tree wasn’t much to look at but what a witness of perseverance and hope.

The Bible says that God is the one who brings “messages of joy instead of news of gloom, a praising heart instead of a languid spirit.” We are “oaks of righteousness planted by God to display his glory.”

I've Been Shot

I’ve Been Shot

It was late March 2008. We were on our way to a Pastors Conference in northwest Montana. This conference is an annual gathering of men and women in ministry. I asked three young men from our church to tag along so they could be exposed to what the Lord was doing. It is a five-hour road trip.

When we stopped for gas in a small town, one of the men mentioned that he brought his 40-caliber semi automatic with him. Being a gun guy myself, I asked to see it. After taking the loaded clip out, he handed me the gun. A side note: it is lawful in Montana to carry a loaded gun in your vehicle. After admiring the gun I gave it back to him. He reloaded the clip and by habit pulled the trigger, dry firing the gun.

The explosion of a discharged gun in a car just about shattered our eardrums.  We were stunned. As we looked around to see what happened I saw blood on my seat. I reached around and probed with my hand. It was my blood on the seat. I had been shot. Not realizing that by putting the clip back in the gun, a bullet entered the firing chamber. It was not a dry fire but a live fire!

I went into shock. By the time I was conscious I was lying on an examining table in a doctor’s office with a nurse cutting through my jeans with a large pair of scissors. The doctor said that he found an entrance wound in my left buttocks but no exit wound and I needed to be transported to a regional hospital some distance away. Lying inside the ambulance with the siren blaring, I had lots of time to make my peace with God.

Arriving at the hospital I lay on a gurney, bare-naked, with people poking and probing me. The most embarrassing part was when the doctor asked me where I was from and what I did for a living. When I told him I was a pastor, the whole ER broke out laughing. The doctor said, “We have never had a pastor here who was shot in the ass!”

To make a rather long story short, I went into surgery later that evening to remove the bullet. The next morning the surgeon told me that I was a very lucky man. He said the car seat deflected the bullet and absorbed most of the bullet’s velocity. If the bullet had struck me a few inches to the right, it would have shattered my spine.

I am reminded of the words of Jesus, “As for the man who hits you on one cheek, offer him the other as well.”  Now I can say that by the grace of God “I took a bullet for Jesus and turned the other cheek.”

Famous Amos

Famous Amos

There are a lot of famous people in the world. People who achieve fame and fortune. People who's faces are found on magazine covers, movie screens and in the news.  I want to introduce you to a friend who never made star status but he was famous in my eyes. His name is Amos. Even though he has gone home to be with the Lord, I want to share my friend with you.

I first met Amos in the mid 80's when I was pastoring an inner city Episcopal church. Judy and I had moved from Montana with three small children and another on the way. Through friends in the church, I was introduced to Amos. He was an elder in another church some distance from us. My first impression of Amos was that he looked like a gnome: small in stature, balding head and a warm smile. Who was this guy?

For some reason Amos took a liking to me. He began to call me every couple of weeks, asking how I was doing and inviting me to coffee. This was the start of a relationship that lasted twenty years until his death. Little did I know that Amos came into my life for a purpose. The Lord has a way of doing that.

You see, Amos was a seer. A strange gift to say the least. Amos could see and hear what the Lord was saying. His gift enabled him to see what you and I could not. I know that sounds scary but Amos wasn't a scary person. With a gracious heart and a soft voice, he would share what he saw and heard, then ask me what it meant. For some reason I usually knew. At first, I was skeptical but his gentle spirit won me over.

A decade later, after Judy and I moved back to Montana, Amos came for a visit. As usual, he came with a word from the Lord. This made me nervous, not knowing exactly what the Lord had to say. Amos said the Lord had given me a special gift. A gift that was needed in the Church. A gift to pastor pastors and mentor leaders. He showed me in the New Testament how Jesus gave gifts to the church to help the church grow up. Amos said this is what the Lord had in store for me. Looking back, I see how right Amos was in encouraging me to embrace this gift from God. Whenever I am in doubt about who I am and what I am doing, I remember what Amos told me, "God has given you a precious gift. Use it for his glory."

Amos was an ordinary kind of guy. Looking at him, you wouldn't know what was on the inside. It was by God's grace that Amos came into my life. If I hadn't taken the time to have coffee with Amos, I may have never know what gifts God had for me. Amos was often sidelined by church leaders. He never imposed himself on others or demanded to be heard. His quiet manners and gentle spirit made him Famous! Thank you Amos for being my friend.

The Bible reminds us that the Lord is the Giver of all good gifts. Not the kind you find wrapped in pretty paper under the Christmas tree. The gifts from God often come with skin on: a parent, spouse, child, or close friend. They don't come perfect but they do come equipped to bless and love you right where you are. Why does it seem so hard to unwrap these gifts?

Everyone Welcome

Everyone Welcome

The sign out front of the church tells people who we are and the time of service. The sign has been there a long time; weather beaten with fading white lettering. It's been there so long that people driving by no longer take notice. It blends into the muted shades of sage that cover the foothills of Montana. The leaders have discussed doing something about it. But to date it is still there, reminding us that we are in need of a makeover.

At the bottom of the sign in the same fading letters it says "Everyone Welcome." When I look at that sign I wonder if our welcome is fading too. I say that because church is known for its resistance to change. "We have always done it that way" is the mantra holding back change. Was everyone really welcome when the sign first went up? Or was it a religious cliché? Did the church builders want a haven for saint and sinner? Was their intent to provide a home for all who were seeking shelter and solace?

Today's world, even here in Montana, is increasingly diverse. The migration of city dwellers to country living is changing the relational climate of our community. Gone is the quaint western town where people not progress were important. Not all change is bad but it takes some getting used to. For those of us who have lived here awhile, you wonder if the city fathers added "everyone welcome" signs at the freeway exits to the city.

Most of us don't do all that well with diversity. We lean toward hanging around with like-minded people. This is a criticism leveled toward churches. "Us four and no more" fosters an insular attitude to a culture that accepts just about anything and anybody. So, to put "everyone welcome" on a church sign can be a recipe for disaster.

Jesus came to tell humankind that everybody is welcome in the Father's house. He said that the Father's love was not just for a chosen few but for everybody. Church people of that time struggled with that invitation. They were taught that you had to earn your way for the Father's approval. Jesus practiced what he preached by hanging out with those whose didn't measure up. Finally, something had to be done about Jesus.

Can you see why I am a little nervous about a new sign? Someone might drive by and read that everyone is welcome. Maybe even come back on Sunday morning. Then what will we do?

The Day My Dad Died

The Day My Dad Died

 I was in Mexico on a mission trip when my brother called to tell me to come home as soon as possible because Dad was dying. We were scheduled to be home the following evening. I prayed I would make it in time.

Dad was 83 and near the end of a long battle with prostate cancer. The doctors told him there was nothing more that medicine could do. Being a doctor himself, he knew that his life was ending. Hospice was called and the long wait began. Since he was given several weeks to live, I was confident that I would be home from Mexico before he died.

When I arrived at my parents’ home, I saw that his continence had changed dramatically. As our family gathered around his deathbed, I prayed that the Lord would take him quickly so he would not have to suffer. Dad asked me when Jesus was coming to take him home. Chocking away tears I said he would be coming soon.

The following evening the Lord came and took Dad home. Just as he was breathing his last I heard him whisper, “I can see him. He is coming.” He leaned forward a little trying to lift his arms in greeting and died. I am not sure my siblings or my Mom heard what he said but I did.

The next day, my sister Patty and I went to make funeral arrangements. I mentioned to the pastor that my Dad wanted me to be a part of his funeral service. Since I was a former Catholic priest, I knew that was probably not going to happen. Surprisingly the priest asked if I would like to preach at my Dad’s funeral. 

As part of my sermon, I shared an experience I had with my Dad several years before. One day while we were out for a walk, our conversation turned toward religion as it sometimes did. I asked my Dad if he knew Jesus as a person and not as a religion. He said no. I asked if he would like to know Jesus personally. He said yes he would. There we were, father and son, talking about God in a way I never dreamed. We prayed and he gave his life to Jesus. We both wept. As I shared this story it was obvious people were touched.

As the 12^th anniversary of his death approaches, I am blessed to have had that experience with my Dad. I know that there is a day coming when I will see him again. How can I be so sure? Because Jesus says:

“I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?”  John 11.25-26 Message

I do!

                                                                   

The Sweet Spot

The Sweet Spot

Golf is my sport of choice. I fell in love with the game as a boy. I caddied at a private country club near our home. Not sure why it was so appealing to me. I was short and skinny for my age, making it almost impossible for me to carry "doubles"( two golf bags) for 18 holes. It certainly wasn't the money. Maybe it was the manicured landscape and the gentleman like atmosphere that drew me to the game. It was the beginning of my love affair with golf.

Although I have played golf for almost sixty years, I am not very good at the game. I never took lessons, thinking I could master it on my own. When I was a Catholic priest, I was a member of a ritzy golf club for several years. I purchased a new set of clubs to improve my game. Increased frustration with my swing and the inability to control my anger prompted me to give it up for ten years. Now I live next door to a beautiful golf course and play occasionally. I love to watch golf on TV.

One of the secrets to golf is to find the sweet spot on the club face. Golf clubs today have large club faces, allowing the golfer to hit the ball on the sweet spot in the center of the club face. If you are a golfer, you know that if you miss the sweet spot, your ball will go in a direction you never intended. Knowing this has yet to lower my score or my frustration.

What does the sweet spot have to do with life? Like golf, when I find my sweet spot, what God created me to be and do, my life goes a lot easier. You see, God hard wires every human being with gifts: talents and abilities. These gifts are specifically designed for the individual to enjoy and share. These gifts are fairly easy to identify because we are already doing them almost unknowingly. Discovering the sweet spot gives life purpose and direction.

Sound a little weird? Well, I have spent a lifetime trying to make sense of my life. Much of my past made little sense until I saw what God was up to. He had a plan to bring me to my sweet spot. Looking back I see how difficult times, disappointments, fears, depression and rejection were necessary to hone my sweet spot. Now I know what my Father has put into me to be. How do I know this? Because I am doing it with joy and peace. Finally I found my sweet spot and it is sweet.

Here is what the Father says about finding your sweet spot:
    "Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don't try to figure out everything on your own.
      Listen for God's voice in everything you do, everywhere you go;
      He's the one who will keep you on track. Don't assume that you know it all."  
                                                                                               Proverbs 3.5-6 The Message

God's Office

God's Office

I am very familiar with the principal's office. During my academic years, grade school through seminary, I spend a lot of time trying to explain my behavior to the powers that be. Since I was the oldest of eight children, I was the one who paved the way for the other seven. That accounts for some of my issues, but to say it straight I was a rebel.

In grade school, I was the class clown with a bad attitude. After repeated trips to the principal's office, my father canceled his appointments and came to the school to apply behavior modification to my back side! Even that had little effect on my attitude. Finally I was kicked out of the school.

By the time I arrived at seminary, I learned to curtail my temperament somewhat. Since my goal was to be "a man after God's own heart," I tried real hard to be a compliant student. At the end of my second year, I was called into Rector's (principal's) office and told that my attitude was not fit for the priesthood and don't come back. That was a blow to my pride, but I didn't let it stop me from returning in the fall.  Nothing more was said.

Looking back on those years, I see that behavior modification was not the issue. The real issue was heart attitude. I did not understand that God was after my heart; a heart that needed a transplant. My rebel heart was in need of serious time in the Principal's office.

This past week I found a quote: " God's office is at the end of your rope." I can't tell you how many times I have been at the end of my rope. Trying to be a good man, a good pastor, a good husband, a good father, a good friend has really stretched my rope. My faults, my failures, my rebel heart are the very things that bring me to the Father's office.

The Bible says: "Jesus learned obedience from the things which he suffered." That tells me that Jesus was familiar with being at the end of his rope and needing time in the Father's office. I have a great Father who desires to help me face the fact that I can't go it alone. Daily, I need time in his office.

Mad At God Part 3

Mad At God Part 3

As long as I can remember, I wanted to serve God. It may have been a religious thing but my heart has always been to serve him. Looking back, I see that this was the root of my issue with God. I wanted to serve him, be a good person and follow after him. In fact, my daily (and only) prayer was "God, make me a man after your own heart."

In my preparation to be a priest, the emphasis was on knowing "about God"; developing an intellectual relationship with him. This training equipped me to serve God on one level but not enter into a full relationship with him. I found myself serving God by serving a religious institution. No wonder I was struggling with my life style. No wonder I was feeling lost and forgotten, daily hungering for a relationship I knew only in my mind!

When I could no longer live this way, I cried out to God with an expectation that he would answer immediately. When there was no answer, I felt abandoned, took offense and ran. I felt betrayed by a God I did not know. My theology did not allow me to access the heart of the Father, only the cold, unbending doctrines of a distant deity.

It would be many years later that, by the grace of God, I could begin to comprehend the purpose of this journey. Now I can see that I did receive the answer to my desperate prayer. An answer that was played out over thirty years. The Father honored my desire to be "a man after his heart." But more importantly, he was after my heart! For that to happen, there needed to be the breaking of a man.

Not knowing what God was doing, I took matters in my own hands. Angry and frustrated I turned my back on God, church and religion. I found the love of my life, Judy. We married and raised four children. We ran a ski lodge, pastored in another church denomination, and later planted a church. Yet, there was an aching in my heart. My anger at God was subdued but not abated.

Change came in my life when I met Jesus. Up to this point, Jesus was lost somewhere between my theological doctrine and my anger at God. To see Jesus as a real person and a gift from the Father completely changed my focus and my purpose. I began to see that Jesus was the one who would show me how to be "a man after God's own heart."

But that is another story.

Mad At God Part 2

Mad At God Part 2

I discovered that being mad at God is hard work. That may sound a little strange but if you have been mad at God as long as I was you realize that it is a real battery drainer. My problem was   this anger lived just below the surface like a low grade fever. Most of the time it was barely recognizable. Then all of a sudden, in a moment of frustration or hurt, the anger rushed to the surface, inflaming my emotions and exerting pressure on my thoughts and words.

Why was I so mad at God? I believed that He had not only let me down but abandoned me when I needed him the most. You see, I had spent eight years preparing to serve him as a priest and another three years serving in a local church. It was Christmas Eve 1973 after Midnight Mass that I knelt beside my bed and pleaded with God to make himself known to me. For some time I had been struggling with the lifestyle I had chosen. God seemed far away and I felt like I was going through the motions and my heart was no longer in it. I needed direction from Him and I needed it now!

I told God that I was giving him thirty days. If I did not hear from him in that time, I was going to leave the priesthood. I didn't know what to expect but I was desperate and needed answers. As you can probably guess, the thirty days went by and I heard nothing. No supernatural sign; no prophetic word; and no direction. I told God that I was done. If He could not so much as answer me, I was done with him. As painful as that experience was, I believed that the relationship was over and I wasn't going to ask a second time.

After walking through a season of great disappointment with myself and with God, I began a new life. I was done with God and church. I met Judy and we were married and moved to Bozeman, Montana to run a ski lodge. Life took on new meaning. I relaxed enough to enjoy life with Judy and the work of managing a ski lodge in a beautiful part of the country. But, I confess there was an ache in my heart that I could not ignore.

As I look back on that season of my life,  I see why God didn't answer me.  The truth is he did answer me. I was unable to hear him in the midst of my circumstances. Little did I know that he had plans for my life that I would not have believed if he did tell me. I have come to see that as Father, he will withhold speaking in order to prepare the heart to receive his answer. As my life unfolded, his answer came loud and clear. What kept me from hearing was a great disappointment that grew into anger and a hard heart.

To be continued...

Mad At God Part 1

Mad At God: Part 1

It was a sunny winter morning. The previous night two feet of snow fell in the Bridger Mountains above Bozeman, Montana. I was plowing the parking lot at the lodge. No small task for an eight foot plow on the front of a 1975 Chevy Suburban. All was going well until I got high centered in a snow drift. That's when something snapped; not on the Suburban but in me.

You see there was trouble brewing in my heart. I was unaware that I was running over my emotional red line and ready to crash. It had been several years since I left the Catholic priesthood.  On the surface I was a happily married man running a ski lodge.  Inside I had reached the boiling point of anger and resentment toward God.

I wasn't going anywhere. The truck would't budge. The plow was embedded in a deep drift. Instead of taking a deep breath and reaching for a shovel, I started swearing and pounding the steering wheel. Obviously that wasn't  going to get me unstuck. I jumped out to survey the situation. Yep, I was was stuck.

I started yelling at God.  Giving him a piece of my mind. As my volume increased so did my four letter words. Working up a full head of steam, I alternated between cursing God, banging my fists on the truck hood and kicking the tires. All of which did nothing to free the truck from the snow. Nearing exhaustion, I leaned against the truck and began to cry.

Emotionally exhausted and struggling to catch my breath, I heard this voice calling to me, "Dan, Dan". Thinking it was the Lord warning me that a lightening bolt was on the way, I looked for a place to hide. Again, "Dan, Dan". The voice didn't sound like God, it sounded like Judy. I looked toward the direction of the lodge and heard Judy say, "Dan, when you are finished with your temper tantrum, come on it. Your lunch is ready!"

To be continued....