Anxiety

Anxiety

I must have been born anxious. Why do I think that? Well, I was born during the Second World War. Shortly after my birth, my father graduated from medical school, enlisted in the Army and was sent to the South Pacific. During this time my mother and grandparents raised me. If that wasn’t enough I was the first born and you know what that means.

Like most of us I don’t remember a lot about my early childhood but from what people told me I was precocious in nature and in desperate need of discipline. In grade school I was the class clown. That may sound innocent enough but I often strayed across the line and eventually got kicked out of one grade school; not exactly a sterling example of a disciplined life.

It wasn’t until I had a goal for my life that I started to worry. In seminary the pressure was on to make the grade. Studying never came easy for me. I was too busy making friends and goofing off. Once those hands were laid on me and I was ordained a priest, the anxiety really kicked in. Serving the Lord by trying to measure up is enough to make anyone anxious.

The dictionary defines anxiety as “an abnormal and overwhelming sense of apprehension and fear; a nervousness about what might happen.” That was me! I never thought of myself as fearful but my sense of having to measure up to other people’s expectations was a recipe for disaster.  

Life began to take a different path when I accepted Jesus as my Savior and Lord. I know that sounds religious but the truth is that He is the one who is teaching me that I don’t have to measure up and He loves me just as I am.

The Bible says: “Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers. Letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.”

Amen.

Sheila

Sheila

Recently my good friend and mentor died. She had been ill for some time. Talking with her long distance on the phone became an increasing emotional ordeal. For the last dozen years she lived in Florida with her friend Kit. My son Tim and I went to visit her last October knowing that this would be the last time we would see her. Watching a friend lose their physical health in old age, even from a distance, is a painful reminder of our human fragility.

Knowing that Sheila is finally home with the Lord is certainly some consolation. But the reality that all my mentors are gone invites an aloneness that I do not welcome. It was so easy to call and ask for counsel with the assurance that wisdom would speak forth. Those voices are now silenced by death. I am faced with having to seek the Lord on my own accord.

I do not write an obituary for my friend, although she surely deserves one. Rather, I am reflecting on all that the Lord gave to me as Sheila shared her relationship with God. One thing I have learned is that God puts people in our life to enrich us. That enrichment comes by allowing others to speak the truth in love. Our response of willingness to listen and apply the truth brings forth abundant blessing.

I find it unfortunate that in our age of social media face-to-face interaction seems to be on the decrease. What has happened to the old fashioned “in your face” discourse? I tell you Shelia was a pro at telling it like it is to your face. She would go where angels fear to trod. That is what I most liked about her. Lots of people have trouble with that kind of personality and I understand. With Sheila you always knew where she stood even if you didn’t agree.

The Lord never ceases to amaze me. He is so creative with his messengers. The Bible records the many ways God spoke to people. My friend Sheila was a wise woman. I am most thankful for the years we walked together.

Requiesce In Pace, Mi Amice

Filthy Lucre

Filthy Lucre

The church I was raised in didn’t put much emphasis on money. There was the Sunday offering plate, the emergency fund to replace the boiler, collections for pagan babies and the bingo games. It wasn’t until I changed denominations that money was much more a sermon topic. That may be because Jesus talked a lot about money.

The phrase “filthy lucre” appears five times in the King James Version of the New Testament. The reference is to those who are in positions of authority in the church warning not to teach wrongly about money. Apparently money or the love of it was an issue way back then.

I confess that I would rather have money than not to have it. I also confess that I see no virtue in being poor. Having been a pastor for a long time, I know from experience that you don’t make a fortune preaching the gospel. Although there is a segment of the church which teaches that wealth is a sign of God’s favor on your life. There is more to a prosperous life than accruing wealth.

One of the biggest complaints about the church is that we are out to get their money. Channel surfing on the religious cable channels, I can see where you might get that opinion. Fleecing the flock is not an attribute encouraged in the Bible. The Bible teaches that money is a means to an end not an end in itself. Teaching and modeling the principle of giving is the responsibility of every believer.

More than once in recent times, the media has heralded the fall of a Christian ministry because of its misuse of money and the abuse of the trust people place in the church. That kind of publicity makes the lucre look filthier.

The Bible says: “But if it’s only money these leaders are after, they’ll self destruct in no time. Lust for money brings trouble and nothing but trouble. Going down that path, some lose their footing in the faith completely and live to regret it bitterly ever after.”

Amen

Balm In Gilead

Balm In Gilead

At my first Mass, when I was ordained a Catholic priest, I asked a friend, a blind lady who played guitar, to sing a traditional Black-American spiritual as part of the service. The first time I heard this hymn I was deeply touched by its simplicity. Having come out of the oppression of slavery and an abiding faith in God, these words are unction for the weary soul.

The theme comes from the Old Testament Jeremiah “Is there no balm (a spicy aromatic oil) in Gilead? Is there no physician there?” This man of God, crying out for the healing of his people, could easily be speaking to us today. The hurt is all around. The words of man cannot heal what ails our nation. Is there no balm in Gilead?

Let the words of old hymn restore your soul:

There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole; there is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul.

Sometimes I feel discouraged, and think my work’s in vain, but then the Holy Spirit revives my hope again.

If you can’t preach like Peter, if you can’t pray like Paul, just tell the love of Jesus, and say He died for all.

Don’t ever feel discouraged, ‘cause Jesus is your friend, and if you lack for knowledge, He’ll never fail to lend.

There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole; there is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin-sick soul.

No doubt, it will take more than a song to heal our own hurts or the wounds of a nation. Yet, a simple reminder of words written long ago can point us in the right direction. The chorus of a child’s hymn also shows the way: “Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so.”

Yes He does!

Charlie

Charlie

It is quiet around our house at the moment. Not because of an absence of the grandkids or visitors. There is a lack of presence. It is because Charlie is gone. Charlie, the faithful companion of our son Tim, had to be put to sleep. For fourteen years Charlie and Tim were inseparable buddies. They were the embodiment of the man-dog friendship.

Charlie came into our lives those many years ago because his owners abandoned him. At the time his name was Mocha, a terrible name for a dog. This runt of a Sheltie moved in with Judy and I while the owner was trying to decide what to do with him. We already had a Sheltie puppy named Sparky. I wasn’t sure we could handle two dogs.

When Tim met Mocha, it was love at first sight. From that moment on, Mocha was Tim’s dog. It wasn’t long before Mocha became Charlie. The rest of the story is a saga of man and dog teaching each other about life especially unconditional love. Rarely did you see Tim without Charlie and vice versa.

All my life there has been a dog around. I can’t recall all of their names but I do remember most of their faces and the friendship we shared. For the past thirty years we have taken a fancy to Shelties: Jingle Bells, Sparky, Charlie and now Daisy Mae. They grow on you, become part of the family and almost become human.

John Steinbeck wrote a book some years ago titled “Travels With Charley.” This quote reminds me of Tim and his Charlie: “It is my experience that in some areas Charley is more intelligent that I am, but in others he is abysmally ignorant. He can’t read, can’t drive a car, and has no grasp of mathematics. But in his own field of endeavor, which he is now practicing, the slow, imperial smelling over and anointing on an area, he has no peer. Of course his horizons are limited, but how wide are mine?”

Charlie may have been small in stature but where it really matters, he was larger than life. Thanks Charlie for sharing your life with us. We miss you much.

Mangy Moose

Mangy Moose

There has been some question among my faithful blog readers on how I chose the name “Mangy Moose.” So I decided that I would explain the “why” of this name and my fascination with moose. Let me say that this blog title was not my first choice. I wanted to use “Dan The Man” but somebody out there in cyberspace got there before me.

The name “mangy moose” was my creation as a CB handle when we ran a ski lodge near Bozeman, Montana. This was the time before cell phones, smart phones or the Internet. The only way to communicate with Judy while I was in the truck plowing snow, running to town to pick up guests or supplies was by CB. That is the name I chose and it has stuck with me ever since. The 1050 part is our current street address. Thus ends the mystery.

I do confess a fascination with moose. Living here in the mountain west, the moose is a fairly familiar sight. In the winter, if you drive up to Big Sky and stop to shop at the Meadow Village, often you can see a cow moose and her young one roaming the sidewalks. Several weeks ago there was a report of a bull moose wandering around the neighborhoods of a small community near Bozeman.

Moose are majestic animals. They are very large and very unpredictable. They like wooded marshland and tend to be loners. I have seen them up close and heard lots of stories about hunters being cornered in a tree by an angry moose. They are to revered and feared!

Here is Advice from a Moose I found on a birthday card I sent my son in law recently:

Think Big. Spend time in the woods. Eat plenty of green. Hold your head up high. Stay on track. Keep your nose clean. It’s ok to be a little wild!

Good advice coming from one of God’s unique creatures.

Late For A Funeral

Late For A Funeral

It was a lazy June afternoon. I had just returned from a two-week trip to East Africa teaching at a Pastors Conference. Recovering from jet lag, I was in my office at church when I received a call from the local funeral director. He informed me that the family of a deceased church member was waiting for me at the funeral home. Was I planning on coming over?

This church member had died some months before and was cremated. The widow wasn’t up to a burial at that time. Before leaving for Africa, a date was set upon my return. With all that goes into re-entry after an overseas trip, I promptly forgot all about the service. The family didn’t and was gathered at the funeral home wondering what happened to their pastor.

When I received the call, I was dressed in jeans and a short sleeve shirt, presentable enough to perform the service. Speeding across town, I made it  there in record time. I was so flustered as I walked in that I could hardly speak. No excuse would be good enough to explain my poor memory. In all my years of ministry this was the first time I forgot to show up at a funeral. A sure sign I was starting to slip.

The widow and the family were very gracious. We were good friends and they were generous is their forgiveness. On the way to the cemetery all I could do was try to pull myself together and focus on what I needed to say at the graveside. I must have sounded like an idiot because I kept losing my place in the prayer book and the family kept laughing because they had never seen me so shook up.

Somehow I made it through still feeling embarrassed at my meager performance as their pastor. As we were walking back to the car, the widow thanked me for coming. She gave me a big hug and presented me with a plastic case about the size of a shoebox. She told me that her late husband would want me to have this as thank you gift. As I opened the box inside was a brand new Smith and Wesson stainless steel revolver! I confess that God does work in mysterious ways.