Going Home

Going Home

As a pastor, I am involved in the many turning points of people’s lives. Some are very happy occasions: births, baptisms, weddings. Some are very sad: terminal illness, tragic accidents, death. In the rhythm of life, I find myself speechless; unable to give explanation to unfolding events.

The hardest is giving comfort to those who suffer loss. Having been at the bedside of a dying loved one or standing next to an accident victim on a gurney in the emergency room, I am at a loss of words. Most often presence and embrace speak louder than words. Jesus is present in the silence of death.

Coming away from these moments, I wrestle with my own mortality. You cannot enter the grief and loss of others without it touching your own life. The emotions rise to challenge even my trust in God, realizing that one day to I must past through the valley of the shadow of death.

Some time ago I found a hymn on You Tube. It’s a rather old one set to a somber melody and sung by Sissel, a Norwegian soprano. The title is Going Home. Here is part of it:

“Going home, going home, I’m just going home. Quiet like, some still day. I’m just going home. It’s not far, yes close by through an open door. Work all done, care laid by. Going to fear no more. Mother’s there expecting me. Father’s waiting too. Lots of folks gathered there. All the friends I knew. Nothing lost, all’s gain. No more fret or pain. No more stumbling on the way. No more longing for the day. Going to roam no more. Morning star lights the way. Restless dreams all done. Shadows gone, break of day. Real life yes begun.”

Jesus stands at the open door, waiting to welcome us to that Real Life.

Amen.

Damaged Goods

Damaged Goods

My mother found it in the freight damaged back room of an upscale furniture store. For some strange reason, she liked it and brought it home. That was over half a century ago. For the past forty-two years this damaged piece of furniture has been at the center of our living room.

The damaged oak coffee table has a diameter of forty-four inches and a height of sixteen inches. Just the right size for serving appetizers at family gatherings. Our children and grandchildren learned to walk hanging on to the edge of that round table. It also served as a dance floor when parties got a little out of hand. Many a good time was had as our family gathered around this table.

Recently, my son Nick took the table and refinished it, repaired the damaged part and restored it to its original beauty. There is some discussion as to who will inherit this heirloom once Judy and I are gone. It is so much a part of our family that whoever gets it will get all the memories as well.

I am reminded about what the Bible says about the coming of Jesus many years before his birth. One of the Old Testament prophets said that “there is nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum.”

Just as a piece of damaged furniture brought much joy to our family, so to the Son of God, rejected and despised, brings Life and Hope to those who can see beyond their own imperfections and receive the greatest gift of all. When searching for answers to life’s issues don’t let your own idea of perfect keep you from the Perfect One.

Puer Nazarenus

Puer Nazarenus

I lay awake in the predawn haze, slowing grasping where I am, what day it is, and trying to remember what I need to get done today when out of the blue comes these words: PUER NAZARENUS. Those words shook me out of my sleepy haze. I hadn’t thought or heard those Latin words for about forty-five years. Yes, I knew what they meant but why now?

I began my seminary career right out of high school. I enrolled in the junior seminary, Nazareth Hall. For the next two years, my vocation to the priesthood would be tested by a disciplined, semi monastic lifestyle. It was here I would be immersed in the study of Latin, religious studies, Gregorian chant and communal life. The whole lifestyle was designed to see if I was called to be a priest.

In the main hallway of this classical Italian architecture stood a large marble statute of the boy Jesus. The engraving at the base of the statue was Puer Nazarenus. Freely translated it read The Boy of Nazareth. I remember passing that statue on the way to and from class, chapel and dining hall, hardly ever giving it a thought until now.

Looking back, I understand the significance of that statue. Just as Jesus grew up in Nazareth, so my introduction into the discipline of the Lord began at Nazareth Hall. The Bible says that after Jesus was found in the Temple conversing with scholars and teachers, “he went back to Nazareth with his parents and lived obediently with them…and matured, growing up in both body and spirit, blessed both my God and man.”

Nazareth Hall is now an evangelical Bible School. I haven’t been back there in many years. But I suspect the Puer Nazarenus still stands in the marbled hallway overlooking new generations of Kingdom disciples. May they all persevere in the journey growing in wisdom, age and grace.

Thank you Lord for bringing to mind the start of my journey.

Toboggan

Toboggan

Now that the Holiday Season is over, I can get down to the real business of winter. There is a lot of snow shoveling, snow blowing and snow plowing to be done. Not to mention helping stranded people with jump starting dead car batteries and pulling vehicles out of ditches. And my favorite: the morning routine of brushing snow off my truck and scrapping ice off the windshield.

There are other more pleasant winter activities like downhill and cross-country skiing, ice skating and hockey. I have done all those but considering my advanced age and the advice of my doctor, I have given them up. Now my daily winter routine is walking the dog on the snow-covered sidewalks praying that I won’t slip and fall.

Recently, while talking with my brother Mike, I was reminded of toboggan days of my youth. Mike and I would head out in search for the steepest hills and dare each other to make it to the bottom without bodily injury. On one hill, we had to navigate between two trees at high speed only to run headlong into a concrete abutment. The only serious injury was to the toboggan which needed major repair.

The best sliding hill was at a nearby golf course. The second hole was a long downhill slope with a large horizontal ridge towards the bottom. My brother and I would get a running start, jump on the toboggan, duck down for less wind resistance, holding our breath as we gained speed. When we hit that ridge, we were airborne; flying through the air with the greatest of ease on that old toboggan. What a thrill that was until gravity took over and slammed us back to earth.

You don’t see many toboggans these days. It seems they have been replaced with plastic sleds and saucers. Plastic cannot compare to the sleek flat-bottomed sled made of thin hickory boards curved up on one end with low rope handrails on the side and inlaid with thin cloth bedding.

Could any winter day be better than the challenge of a steep hill, a freshly waxed toboggan, your brother as copilot on an adventure of speed, daring and adrenaline? This is the stuff that makes for stories you tell your grandchildren reminding them that you were a kid once, a long time ago.

Tempus Fugit

Tempus Fugit

The Bible says “Seventy years are given to us! Some even live to eighty.” That is a sober reminder that I am not going to live forever. It also means that about three fourths of my life have already been lived. Where have all those years gone. Like the old Latin saying: tempus fugit – time flies!

Today is the first day of the new year. I am hard pressed to remember all that happened these past three hundred and sixty-five days. The world I live in moves so fast that it is near impossible to pause and savor relationships or the daily highs and lows of living. It is true that time stops for no man.

This past Sunday, as I listened to our associate pastor preach the Christmas message, one sentence jumped out at me: “It’s not the years of life that counts but the life in those years that count.” Looking back over the past year, I have lived a lot of life that encompassed family, friends, church, joy and sorrow. What more can one ask of a year passed?

Stability in the midst of constant change is an increasing cry of my heart. There is no going back to the past; only the steping into the new year with the confident expectation that there is more life to be lived. As time marches on I gain strength and courage by the one constant in my life: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.”

My prayer for the coming year: “Teach me to realize the brevity of life so that I may grow in wisdom.”

A blessed New Year to you, my faithful blog readers. Your comments and encouragements keep me musing.