Falling

Falling

I think it is something I inherited from my father. Although he was spry for his age, he had the propensity to fall. Not sure if it was something that descended through the Semsch genetic chain or if he came by it on his own. Either way, I attribute my stumbling to him. Hard as I try to walk a straight line, minding where I place my feet, falling comes naturally to me.

This physical characteristic is not helpful as I age. What once I considered a physical quirk has now become a serious liability to my health. Stumbling over an uneven sidewalk or miss stepping off a curb only adds to my uneasiness.

This past January as I was leaving a local Urgent Care, I was not minding my step. I had gone there to get medical help for my persistent cough that later turned into pneumonia and several trips to the hospital. As I exited the building I slid on a sheet of black ice, spread eagled on the sidewalk somehow avoiding hitting my head. As I lay there catching my breath and checking out body parts for injury, I couldn’t believe what just happened. Luckily the receptionist saw me lying there and helped me back into the clinic. After a thorough exam and found intact, I was assisted to my truck.

Last week on Christmas Eve day I took Daisy (our dog) on a walk through the neighborhood.  Crossing the street to avoid icy sidewalks, I hit a patch of black ice and did a backward spread eagle in the street. With my breath knocked out of me and Daisy licking my face, I prayed that I had not broken anything. Slowly getting up, I could feel the pain of stretched tendons and a sore neck. Limping the half mile home, I went immediately for hot pads and Tylenol. Very happy to report no broken bones.

 In order to survive the winter, I am now wearing strap on cleats and a walking stick to navigate whatever weather conditions are before me. I am reminded of the words from the Old Testament book of Proverbs: “Let your eyes look directly ahead and let your gaze be fixed straight in front of you. Watch the path of your feet and your ways will be established.”

Amen to that!

Shepherds

Shepherds

My dad was a physician and gentleman farmer. He loved to dabble in many areas of life. At one point he purchased a large home on a tract of land with a barn and out buildings. It wasn’t long before he acquired a menagerie of horses, chickens, pigs and sheep. Of all his animals, sheep needed the most attention. They could not care for themselves. Someone had to watch over them; make sure they were cared for, a shepherd.

Sheepherding is a lonely life. Often far from civilization with only animals for companions. I wonder why God would choose to announce the birth of his son to nomadic shepherds. You would think that such an important event would deserve heralding in the courts of kings, politicians and ecclesiastical authorities. If you were going to send a whole heavenly host, I don’t think shepherds had the pedigree to appreciate the theological implications of the event.

Reading about the birth of Jesus, how can one be impressed with a child born in a stable surrounded by farm animals and shepherds. Religious nativity sets don’t do justice to the understatement of God’s grand design. Within a few verses the angels disappear, and the shepherds are gone. It makes you wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then I remembered that the Bible is full of shepherds: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rachel, Moses and David to name a few. God speaks of himself as the Shepherd of Israel. Kings were charged to care for people as a shepherd cares for his flock. There is a definite connection between God and sheep.

Why wouldn’t the angels announce Jesus’ birth to shepherds and direct them to the stable in Bethlehem. This child was destined to be the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. He is the one who said, “I am the Good Shepherd; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” He is the best shepherd of all. “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.”

Shepherds why this jubilee? Gloria in excelsis Deo!

Joseph

 Joseph

Who is this guy? He has a walk on part in the Christmas story. He stands next to Mary and baby Jesus at the manger. What do we actually know about him? There are questions about him in the opening chapter of the New Testament. He is a man who walks on the stage of history and then disappears.

The genealogy of Jesus found in Matthew’s Gospel tells us that Joseph was a direct descendant of King David. We learn that Joseph is engaged to a young lady named Mary. Then Joseph hears through the grapevine that Mary is pregnant. As a gentleman he searches for a way to protect her. That’s when God steps in.

For me, the most amazing thing about Joseph is that he was open to not one but four different visits from an angel. Joseph is chosen by God to protect and care for Mary and her child, Jesus. What is in the character of a man to trust and obey the word of an angel, give up his dreams and lay down his life just because God asked him?

I googled Joseph on the Internet. Almost all the pictures of him are with a halo on his head. I don’t think Joseph had a halo; more like a massive headache trying to figure out if it was God speaking or bad dreams. Joseph was a straight forward man from a small town who dreamed of a quiet life with a family. God had other plans.

The name Joseph in Hebrew means “May God give increase.” From a human perspective Joseph’s part seems to be a cameo appearance. But there is something precious in a man who gives up all he has to follow after God. Joseph is a Kingdom man who exemplifies the character of one who walks with God bringing increase of life.

Thank you, Lord for all those Josephs who carry the burden of feeding, leading and protecting their spouses and children for they shall inherit the Kingdom of God.     “For the greatest love of all is a life that sacrifices all.”

Lumpy

Lumpy

My seminary training included a homiletics course. Homiletics is the art of preaching. Our professor would assign us a theological or biblical topic and we would have to stand up in front of the class and preach. I need to tell you that it was more terrifying than high school Speech 101. It never dawned on me that if I was going to be a pastor, I needed to get over the fear of speaking before a congregation.

Over the years I became more confident. I progressed from a five-minute homily to a forty-five minute sermon. Most of the time, people stay awake but here are some exceptions. I still have a little stage fright as I stand in the pulpit. I am not one to use props when preaching. To me it was more a distraction than a help. Eventually I got used to using an overhead projector and now Power Point. My goal is to keep things simple.

There is an exception that stands out in my mind. One Sunday, a guest speaker coerced me into being a living prop. He taught from the book of Jeremiah where the prophet was instructed to go to the potter’s house. Somehow, he convinced me to dress as a lump of clay. This meant putting on a large pair of women’s nylons, stuffing pillows and a blanket into my clothing so that I would look like a lump of clay.

The congregation’s response in seeing me appear in a pair of nylons and three times my normal size was worth the price of admission. As I remember the teaching was well received and my popularity as a lump of clay was greatly enhanced. My new identity was Pastor Lumpy.

 There are times I feel like that lump of clay on the potter’s wheel. Just as my life is coming together, the Lord would say, “It’s about time for you to get back on that wheel for I have more shaping in mind for you. We need to get rid of those lumps”

A cracked pot I am not!

Old Blue

Old Blue

Tucked away behind all the junk in my garage, hanging on a rusty nail is Old Blue. It’s right next to the wood pile, high enough so it won’t get run over, thrown out or lost. It rests there all year waiting to be taken down and used for its designated purpose.

Old Blue is my blue Swede saw. I have owned it for over forty years. It has traveled with me back and forth from Montana to Minnesota many a time. It is one of those tools that is taken for granted, even forgotten, until the moment of need. You see, Old Blue is my companion when I head to the mountains in search of a Christmas tree.

Here in Montana, you can buy a five-dollar permit which entitles you to cut down a Christmas tree on National Forest land. As long as you obey the rules, you got yourself a tree. Compared to the tree lots in town, cutting your own is a steal. That being said, one needs to know that mountain trees are more like Charlie Brown trees with gaps in the boughs and leaning a bit. You have to do a lot of walking usually in deep snow to find the perfect one. Then you have to drag it out to the truck.

The first time Old Blue went Christmas tree hunting, Judy and I were trekking through the woods on snow shoes with our one-year old son strapped on my back. From that time on, with only a few exceptions, Old Blue came through with a beautiful tree every year. How much longer can Old Blue and I take this hike in the mountains, I know not? This year my son Tim and son in law David did the heavily lifting. Good job guys!

As this year’s tree majestically adorns our living room and Old Blue is back on the rusty nail awaiting next year’s adventure, the words of O Tannenbaum come to mind: “O Christmas Tree, your branches green delight us! They are green when summer days are bright; they are green when winter snow is white. O Christmas Tree.”

This blog is a reminder that I need to put Old Blue in my will so that the tradition will live on after I am gone.

Thanks, Old Blue.