The Neighbor Kids

A crew of boys were outside next door this afternoon.  They looked like they were having a grand time with their Airsoft guns.  I assumed they'd be in our yard part of the time, and they were.  That wasn't a problem.  But while I was washing dishes, the battle-zone changed from north/south to east/west.  Pretty soon, one of the fellows was escaping the enemy, running right through my muddy strawberry patch and asparagus patch.  I hurried to the back door, feeling like the Cranky Old-Lady Neighbor, and and hollered, "Guys, please stay out of the garden!  There's already stuff coming up out there."  They quickly scooted away and I hollered, "Thank you." 

The dad had just come out, and he witnessed this.  He called them together.  I didn't know what to expect -- if he'd be scolding them or complaining about me.  About five minutes later, there's a knock on the door.  The whole group of boys are there to apologize for being in our yard.

Wow!  I told them thank you, and that being in our yard wasn't the problem, but it's the garden that particularly needs to be avoided.  They again apologized and went back to play some more. 

Wow.  It's amazing what a little thing like an apology can do to soften the heart of a Cranky Old-Lady Neighbor. 

Assessing a Child's Reading Level

We're making arrangements for Maggie to be evaluated by the public school.  It's one of those things we never wanted to do, but we suspect that we're going to have a hard time accessing services from the county and the state if she has not ever been in The Government System, proving her need for assistance and accommodations.

Before she goes in for their evaluation, however, I want to have a sense of where she stands on their scale.  As a homeschool teacher, I know my students.  It doesn't matter how they compare to others, ahead or behind.  It doesn't matter what grade level they're at.  I'm not going to learn any useful information from a standardized test.  By simple observation and knowing my students/kiddoes, I have what I need to help them continue to learn.

However, that's not how the school views things.  They want grade levels.  They want test scores.  They want percentiles.  They want to compare children and line up a pecking order organize them into skills-groups. 

So how does one determine a kid's reading level?  I have a sense of what Maggie can read easily, what she can struggle through, and what's too hard.  When I hunted for online reading tests, they were stupid.  They had lists of words for kids to read.  That's not a reliable way to test reading!  So I'm having her read to me some chapters of books with an assigned grade level.  If she can read it correctly and understand what's going on in the story, that tells more way more than having her rattle off a list of unrelated (and increasingly difficult) words.

But how do I know whether Little House on the Prairie is a 3rd-grade book or a 7th-grade book?  Guess what?  I found the Scholastic website.  You can type in the name of a book.  If Scholastic carries it, you'll find both the reading level and the interest level.  (By the way, Laura's story is rated as grade 4.3.  I'm skeptical about the interest level, though.  The website says 3rd grade.  I say my 3-yr-old granddaughter likes it, my 8-yr-olds liked it, my teenagers liked it, and I still like it!)   Another graded list is available from a Massachusetts school.  This one can be sorted by reading level, by title, or by author.

So far, it looks like my guess of Maggie's reading level is likely to pan out according to this in-depth test.  I wonder if the school's test will be as realistic.

Installation Pictures

Pastor Suelflow was the installer.

President Suelflow, Pastor, Deacon, and Gary.

The ones Gary confirmed. All but one of my kids were there that day, and Bethany. (Some of you will remember when "and Bethany" used to be her name? LOL.)

Gary and me.




Some pictures have been posted to church's website.  Thanks to Mike and Laura!  (Their camera takes much better pictures than mine, so I didn't even bother pulling my camera out of my purse that day.)

The Burden of Raising a Handicapped Child

Go read Scott's reflections on being the dad of a kid with Down Syndrome!

And then,

don't be a burden.

Again Given Us Grace to Receive This Sacrament

Surely you couldn't take things for granted as much as I do.  Surely not.

The post-communion prayer we've used recently speaks of "grace to receive the holy body and precious blood" of Jesus.

Think about that.  Grace to receive.  Think about how many different things that means.

There are grape vines growing, wheat growing, and people who can make that produce into wine and bread.  The weather has been good enough.  There are people who tend the vines, people who drive the combines, and people who have the skill to turn grapes into wine without letting it become vinegary.  It's all by God's grace.

We have cars and gasoline.  We have a ride to church so that we can receive Christ's body.  That ride (or our ability to walk to church) is a gift of God's grace.

Our church building is still there.  It hasn't been blown away in a tornado, burned in a fire, or been bombed by terrorists.  Those things happen to Christian churches sometimes.  But as we are in church, praying this post-communion collect, we still have that physical place.  And a pastor.  That's only by God's grace.

The liturgy has been preserved to us.  The preaching of the Gospel continues to go forth.  That's not anything we can pat ourselves on the back for.  That's due to God's grace.

Attacks on Christian freedom notwithstanding, we are still free to assemble weekly or daily for preaching and prayers and the Sacraments.  There's no suspicion that when we pull around the corner into the church driveway, we'll find armed guards there, rounding us up for prison, torture, or execution.  That's due to God's grace.

For those of us who are in churches where the Lord's Supper is celebrated at least once a week, we rejoice in the frequency of this gift.  There are churches, even among us, where the Sacrament is offered only once or twice a month.  There are churches in other denominations where it is offered a few times a year.  But for us, Sunday after Sunday, the Lord has been gracious to give us Himself to eat and to drink for the forgiveness of our sins.

But more than anything else, He has graciously preserved us in the faith.  That's not something I do.  It's not something you do.  And it's certainly not chance.  We still believe in Him; we still desire Him; we still long to come to the Supper.  That too is a miracle of God's grace.

The Best Thing I've Ever Read on Depression

Well, maybe not the absolute best thing.  But really really good.

The author of the article recognizes that life is not a bed of roses, and we do not deserve perpetual happiness.  Anyone who's looking for that, any doctor who is trying to help his patients achieve that, lacks understanding about the theology of the cross.  That does not, however, mean that drugs (aka medications) ought never be used to treat depression.

Pastor Esget referred to the article and had a few other good things to say himself.

Sainthood

Saints.  "Forgiven sinners."

Contrary to what is taught in some parts of Christendom, saints are not the super-holy ones whose virtue and good works make them better than the rest of us.

In class last night, Pastor pointed out that, in Paul's epistles, he would refer to a whole congregation as "saints" or "holy ones."  If an entire congregation (even in Corinth!) could be called "saints" then there's something wrong with the typical definition of the word.

Attachment Parenting

There was no such term when my kids were little.

But it explains what I did.  And it also explains why I was so different from other friends with whom I shared so much in common.  At the time, I didn't know how to explain it.  Sometimes I would say, "But I like my kids."  However, that implied other people didn't, and that's not true. 

We rarely got babysitters.  I missed the kids when they went to visit Grandma.  I nursed "too long."  I often kept the baby in bed with us overnight.  I had a sling to carry the babies, but more commonly carried them in my arms without the sling.  We homeschooled, so they didn't have to "face reality."   We were told repeatedly that the apron strings were too tight, that the kids would never grow up, that we were training them to become dependent upon us, that they would never able to function without mommy and daddy helping them.

HA!  Look at 'em now, all grown up.   Definitely not dependent.

Rachel told me the other day that I was a "hippie mother."  I want to ask if hippies come in a conservative variety.  And yet, I did wear the Birkenstocks.

Ides of March Party

The Latin teacher at our school decided to have a party last week for the Ides of March.  Nearly the whole day was spent with ancient Roman customs, Latin practice ("Simon Says" in Latin, anyone?), Roman clothing, Roman food, a pottery demonstration, and more.

Along with the kids in the school, she invited Maggie and another homeschooler (both of whom are in the back center of the group here).  What a blessing for us!

Kitties During the Night

All winter: no screens on the windows.
Sleeping with the bedroom door shut, and kitties on the outside.
During the night, we slept.
Novel concept.

Warm weather; screens in; windows open.
Kitty-claws ripping the screen to wake us. 
"Let me in, let me in, I want a couple of bites of kibble!"
Kitty gets the idea that she can have whatever she wants during those nocturnal hours.  She knows the threat-of-her-claws is power.
"Let me use my claws to snag the carpeting.  You'll get up to stop me.  I know you will.  Then I'll get kibble.  Or water.  Or you'll operate the all-night rotating doors."

I do not care to be woken at 4:00 a.m.
Kitty may have to be spending the rest of her nights on earth locked in the garage.

Well, I've been up for over two hours now.
At least I made a lot of headway on preparing Maggie's high school transcript in these early hours before sunrise.

Mildew

When house hunting, we looked closely for mildew.  Our realtor couldn't believe how many times I found tiny signs of mildew.  And when we did, we refused to consider the house.  We lived with enough mildew in our previous house and wanted to be away from it. 

Fetching the rocking horse out of the attic yesterday, I noticed one small spot on the roof boards with some signs of mildew beginning.  Argh!   A box (with no signs of mildew) that had been in the basement of the old house was now in the attic, shoved right up against the inside of the roof, and it spread.   The box is now in the garbage, and the inside of the roof has been scrubbed well with a bleach solution.  I've washed my hands at least a dozen times throughout the day, and I can still smell bleach on them.  Hopefully that's strong enough to kill kill kill that nastiness!

I guess we need to check other spots in the house to ensure adequate airflow.

Last Few Days

Matt had board-certification tests this week.  He takes them in Milwaukee instead of Chicago.  That meant Rachel had a couple of days to kill while he was at the test center.  They spent the evenings with his family, and she spent two days hanging around here.  It was SO nice to just be in the same house, not necessarily trying to focus on visiting, still doing chores or putzing outside, but just being together and getting plenty of time to chat.  Katie and the girls came over on Friday too, and six of us had a picnic on the deck.

We also had non-family company.  A gal from Duluth was visiting CUW.  Her dad and sister needed a place to stay, so they were with us for a night this week.

I had my weirdest day ever at work.  One sweet elderly woman came in with a check to cash, but she'd accidentally torn off the "micr numbers" on the bottom of the check, the numbers that tell which bank, which account at that bank, check number, and eventually the amount is encoded on that line too.  I also had a couple come in and tell me that they were going to take a half hour.  An exaggeration, of course.  But it wasn't.  At least they were very pleasant.  Some other weird stuff happened too.

Katie, Nathan, and the girls showed up this morning at work.  Katie needed quarters for laundry.  Alia enjoyed talking to the personal banker about the little solar-operated Happy Flower on her desk.  Zoe smiled shyly.  It was clear from the conversation that these were my grandbabies.  When they left, my co-workers asked, "So, was that your son?"  Not one of them -- all of them thought Nathan was my son, and Katie my daughter-in-law.  That was kinda sweet!

Gary did a gentle tilling over the asparagus patch.  The sedum and hostas are cleaned out from the winter crud.  Lilacs are starting to bud out.  My bleeding hearts are not thriving, but they did survive another winter.  I finished pruning the apples and cherries; I'm afraid I may have been overzealous with one of the apple trees.  I dug up around the fruit trees and now need to surround them with a hefty dose of manure.  I prepped one raised bed for planting and put in about 18" each of kohlrabi, spinach, beets, and lettuce.  I have grand plans to put out a new 3' row of lettuce/spinach every two weeks, so we can load up with salads in May and June. 

Maggie and I both need shorts.  I don't think there's anything in the basement that will fit either of us.  Bummers.  Take time for sewing, or take time for shopping.  Maybe I'll just keep wearing jeans when I'm working outside.  But that will wear out my jean-knees, prevent tanning, and make me hot.  Hmm, this problem must be solved.

Last Sunday Gary and I attended "To Kill a Mockingbird" downtown.  I had low expectations because of our only other visit to this theatre, but this show was well done!  One of my favorite actors played the bad guy.  At the end of the show, Jimmy (having played the racist bigot who framed a black man for his own crime) came out for the curtain call with his arm around the actor whom he'd done in.  It was classy.

Gary injured his hand several weeks ago, trying to open a car door that was frozen shut tighter than he realized.  Having given it time to improve, and having it get worse instead of better, he saw the doctor and is now on drugs for a week.

 

Performative Word

When God says something, it happens. What He says doesn't merely give information. His word makes stuff happen.

When He said, "Let there be light," there was light. And there's still light.

When He says, "I forgive you all your sins," then, by golly, those sins are forgiven. His word makes it so.

When He says, "This is My body," then something happens. That bread becomes His body.

His word created light. His word created fishes and birdies and critters. His word to "be fruitful and multiply" means that people are still having babies. His word at creation means that grass still grows and that we can expect our gardens to bring forth food for us this summer.

That's the "performative word." It doesn't just describe. It actually performs what it says. But does it matter HOW it's said?

I don't want to tread into a naughty ground that implies the words must be spoken just so, with the right inflections and the right tone and the right pauses and all that jazz, lest the words be powerless.  That'd just be stupid.

And yet, you've probably heard the same thing I've heard: people who can manage to speak words of sweet gospel with a demanding tone-of-voice, with a scolding face, managing to turn "Trust Me" into a damning command instead of a faith-kindling invitation.  You've heard people who can turn the Beatitudes into words of law about how we're supposed to act, instead of being the blessing that they are.  So does it matter how the words are spoken?

I was told recently that God's word must be spoken in God's way.

Wow.  That answers a lot of things.  That applies to the things I was just writing about.  But it also explains why kids playing church (baptizing dolls or pets, saying the Words of Institution) are not administering the sacraments.  These aren't magic words, incantations, effecting circumstances by their mere utterance.  But when God's word is spoken in God's way, it is performative.

Stuff

Perennial onions and cilantro are poking up in the garden.

Maggie and I are working on identifying trees in the pine family. Almost everything we find are spruces, with a pine here and there. No firs, no hemlocks, no junipers. I need to find an arboretum.

We saw the oral surgeon this week about the extraction of Maggie's wisdom teeth.  The doctor said she's one of the rare people who actually has room in her mouth for wisdom teeth, and they came in nicely, unimpacted.  But becauce of the vcfs, her teeth rot so badly.  Some molars erupt with decay already in them.  Wisdom teeth will rot.  Not "might rot."  But will.  So they must go.

One of my favorite talk-radio hosts suggested using Verify the Recall to get an idea of where people running for [non-partisan] local office stand on some issues.  It seemed like a fantastic idea, and I spent some time this evening looking up school board members and town board members.  The village board is a good deal more liberal than the board governing the township.  County board is next on the list.  If you're in Wisconsin, use the list.  (Of course, first you should verify whether your name was added without your signing.  Not that I would ever suggest that there were irregularities or forgeries on these petitions....)

We stayed up too late last night, hoping for better ogling of the northern lights. All we found was ever-so-faint ones. But hey! Northern lights! Cool -- even if they are so faint as to be nearly invisible.

My regularly-scheduled days at work are going to be changing in mid-spring. I was SO looking forward to being able to attend symposium this year. Alas, I am again going to miss much of it. At least I make it through Passiontide this year, still with the bestest imaginable work-schedule.  My schedule will presumably change again in fall, when one of my co-workers begins a new semester in college and her class schedule changes.  This makes it hard to figure out what days to buy APT tickets for.

Athena has gotten snugly in her old age.  She likes sleeping with a person.  She will jump up on laps and ask to be petted.  Last night, our bedroom door did not latch when we closed it.  You know the game king-of-the-hill?  Well, I was the hill, and there was a cat-spat over domination of the hill, and who got to sleep on my back.  Silly girls.

Maggie had a hankering for cookies. So for some unreasonable reason, we threw together a batch of chocolate chip cookies  last night. Mmmmmm. Warm cookies!

Psalm 77 -- The Cliff's Notes Version

Verses 1-9 Asaph says that he keeps praying, but it sure looks like God doesn't care.

Verses 10-14 He says he will remember what God done.

Verses 15-20 Asaph recites the events of the exodus. That stuff was history hundreds of years previous. Asaph wasn't remembering something God had done specifically in his life, at least not something that was unique to his life. Asaph wasn't talking about a recent miracle. He went back hundreds of years; he spoke of the same old events that were sung about in all the hymns, over and over. What kind of help would that be?

All the help in the world!
Our God is funny that way.
Reciting the "same old things" that He did a long time ago, that is where we find our help and our comfort. That is where we learn that His promises are sure and certain. That is where we learn that He is for us.

Zoe and the Shark

We went to the science museum last week.

Alia peeking through the window of the boat.

Zoe could have hung out at the aquarium for hours.

Maggie peeking through the window too.

Nanna-mobile

I have car seats in my back seat.

And a cell phone in my front seat. But I was a good nanna and gave the cell phone back to its owner.

Perfectly Balanced

After 15 months, I finally had a month where my drawer at work was balanced every day, there was no need to contact customers to correct errors I made, and all my paperwork ran through the "proof machine" without mistakes.  That means I finally made the Perfectly Balanced List.

Thing is, there were a couple of mistakes I made that were the kind that didn't show up in the place that counts toward being perfectly balanced.  So I was feeling guilty for making the list.  (Some way to hit my first time on the poster, eh?)  Then I was the only one from our branch who made it this month, and my boss praised me before the rest of the employees.  More guilt.  Then to top it off, I won the drawing for a restaurant gift-card.  I didn't even know that making the list made you eligible for a prize, but I won it, the very first time I made the list.  More guilt. 

Can I enjoy the lovely dinner-date with Gary even if I know I don't deserve the prize?

At least Gary's having fun with this.  Look at the name of my blog and the reason I chose that name.  Gary keeps laughing at the words "perfectly balanced" being used in conjunction with me in any way, shape, or form!

God's Memory

Psalm 78 tells what God had done for His people: He brought them out of Egypt, fed them manna, gave them water to drink in the wilderness, defeated their enemies, and so forth.  Then I hit verse 53 where the Israelites are at the edge of the Red Sea:
He led them on safely
so that they did not fear.

They did not fear?!  Bwaaa haaa haaa haaaa!

Sorry.  That was my first reaction.
My second reaction was, "God, are You reading the same Bible I'm reading?"

Sorry.  That would be sassy, wouldn't it?

But then I started thinking about Hebrews 11.  Abraham, the man of great faith.  God didn't seem to remember that little incident in Egypt with Abraham's wife being married off to the pharaoh.  How about Isaac blessing Jacob "in faith"?  Not because of trickery and deceit?  Or how about David, the man after God's own heart, whose tale was told by Hollywood in the 50's because "telling a Bible story" was the only way they could get that much smuttiness and violence past the movie censors back then?

God calls them holy.
God calls them righteous.
God's memory isn't like mine.

According to Your mercy remember me,
for Your goodness' sake, O Lord.  (Psalm 25)
 

Harvey

We recently watched the Jimmy Stewart movie about the fellow who had a 6'-tall invisible rabbit for a pal.  Watching something like that makes you wonder about how society --then and now-- responded/responds to those who are mentally ill.  Did society used to have more tolerance of people who were odd or melancholy or hallucinating?

I have a theory.  Crimes used to be punished.  Violence was not allowed to get out of hand.  If someone was weird --but not a threat to others-- then that guy was allowed to be weird.  But if he was a danger to others (such as someone with lots of knives, who had made threats) then there was no dinking around with his rights.  If he was threatening other folks' rights, he was locked up.  Because we are accustomed to the breakdown of society and our unwillingness to call sin sin, does that make us unwilling to deal swiftly and firmly with the mentally ill when they are dangerous?  And does that make us uncomfortable being around anyone odd or quirky ... never knowing whether this is a safe person or not?

Mission Province in Sweden

The news is not good.

It's debatable whether the state church in Sweden is even Christian.  Some of the pastors who love their Lord and yearn to preach His gospel purely have associated themselves with the Mission Province. Among the many theological problems in the state church, some of the outwardly obvious are women's ordination and the blessing of homosexuality.  The state church (aka, the government) warned pastors not to officiate in services of the Mission Province's koinonias, and not to perform ecclesiastical acts, at risk of being defrocked.  Not only does this threaten the pastors' office and income, but it threatens the laymen with the loss of their shepherds.

Please pray for our Scandinavian brothers.

Tell No One

Jesus kept telling them, "Tell no one."  After miracles.  After the confession of Peter.  After the transfiguration.  "Tell no one." 

As we studied the last chapter of Luke, Pastor pointed out the verse where Jesus instructed the disciples to wait in Jerusalem until the Holy Spirit was poured out and they were "endued with power from on high."

All through Jesus' ministry, the apostles were botching it up.  They argued over who was the greatest.  They told the Canaanite woman to get lost.  They tried to shoo away the parents bringing their kids to Jesus.  They wanted to fight with swords to defend Jesus.  Even after the resurrection: "Lord, will You now restore the kingdom to Israel?"  Even after three years of hanging around with Jesus in His peripatetic seminary, they couldn't get it right until Pentecost when they were filled with the Spirit and He brought to their remembrance everything Jesus had said and done. 

It kinda sorta makes sense that Jesus had been telling them not to say anything.

Heart Recipe

Cover the heart with water and soak overnight in the refrigerator.
Drain.  Trim away the connective tissue and any other icky stuff.  Chop into cubes, about 1-2" square.
Sprinkle with seasoned salt.
Cover with water again, and let soak several more hours.
Drain and pat dry with paper towels.

Dredge meat cubes in white flour seasoned with pepper and Emeril's Essence.
In batches small enough to fit in your Dutch oven, brown cubes in bacon fat.  This will take about 5 minutes per batch.  Remove meat to a bowl and set aside for a few minutes.

Chop 3 large onions.  Saute them in the same Dutch oven.  I used bacon fat and a splash of sesame oil.  While the onions are cooking, roughly chop 1 rib of celery and 1 carrot.  Give them a whirl in the food processor to mince them, and then add them to the onions.  When the onions are soft and beginning to brown, return the meat to the pot. 

Add about 3-5 teaspoons of beef Better-than-Bouillon, stirred into 1/2 cup of water.  Or you could use bouillon if you fail to buy the yummy stuff, about 3-5 cubes.  Then add about 1 cup of wine.  I used Madeira this time.  Add any other seasonings you might desire, such as garlic. Put the lid on the Dutch oven, and bake it for 3 hours in a 350 oven, until meat is tender.  Check occasionally to stir and to see if stew needs more liquid.

Serve over noodles or mashed potatoes.

You Shall Not Make Any Graven Image

Pastor Wiest told the story of chatting with a few Wiccans one day. They had noticed his funny-lookin' pastor-clothes, and so they asked him about his crucifix and what he believed. One of them, having been raised Christian, knew the passage from the ten commandments (Exodus 20) about not making "graven images." The gals asked if his crucifix wasn't a graven image and wondered how that fit with the prohibition against worshiping false gods. His response was not what I expected. He said, "But this isn't a false god. This is the true God."

A friend asked once, "Who is the man in the picture with you, on the sidebar of your blog?" I told him, "That's my dad." That's what he expected me to say.

Those Wiccans knew that Pastor Wiest didn't think that the little piece of metal hanging over his heart was, itself, his god. They knew he meant that it depicted his God. Just like you and I know that my dad is not an arrangement of electricity and pixels on a computer screen. He's a flesh-and-blood person who begat me and taught me to bowl and ate supper with me. Still, we say of the photo, "That's my dad."

That was the only response I ever had for the iconoclasts (the people who disapprove of crucifixes, icons, stained glass windows in churches, and creches at Christmastime). But a friend's blog yesterday mentioned something from the 700's. St John of Damascus (whom we Lutherans might know because of his hymns "The Day of Resurrection" and "Come, Ye Faithful, Raise the Strain") said that we can make graven images now.   (Aside: I'm not saying I agree with everything at this link. Some Orthodox writers talk about icons as representations of salvation history and the saints, while others talk about icons as a way to have a mystical encounter with the saints. Representations I understand; it kinda creeps me out to hear talk of icons being a means to communicate with those who've gone on before.)

Anyway, back to John's point.    In the Old Testament times, God did not have a body. But in Christ's incarnation, God took on flesh. And if Jesus has a face, we are able to draw pictures of it, based on the pictures drawn by the guys who hung out with Him a couple of millenia ago. If God has a body, we can make a statue depicting it, especially when it shows what He has done to save us.

Zoe

11 months old:

Saving the Environment

So, there are people in this country who are opposed to drilling for oil or building nuclear power plants.  Man is the bad guy.  Man ruins the environment.  Man is the enemy of the animals.  Everything in nature is good ... except for man.  Man is evil.

But aren't these the same folks who don't believe in original sin? 

Prayer, and the Fall of Jerusalem

Pastor's always telling us that God never tells us to pray for something unless He promises to give it.  It sounds reasonable.  God promises to forgive our sins, and thus we pray, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."  He promises to provide for our temporal needs, and so He bids us pray, "Give us this day our daily bread."

But sometimes I still wonder.  Really?  If God tells us to pray for something, does that really mean He's promising it too?  Always?  Or is this valid only for the Our Father?

So, anyway, we're reading along in Matthew about the warnings of the approaching fall of Jerusalem and how it's connected to the end times.  In that section where Jesus is telling His followers about escaping the destruction, there's a verse (24:20) where He says, "Pray that your flight may not be in winter or on the Sabbath."  Hey!  How does this fit with the rubric that God's invitation to pray for something is also a promise to provide it for us?  After all, escaping Jerusalem was merely a temporal situation.  Surely it wasn't a promise too?

Guess what?  You look up the history of the Fall of Jerusalem, and you find that the Roman siege of the city began at Passover and ended in late summer.

I shouldn't find that freakily delightful.  But I do.

I should be certain

that these petitions are pleasing

to our Father in heaven,

and are heard by Him,

for He Himself has commanded us to pray in this way

and has promised to hear us.

"Amen, amen" means "yes, yes, it shall be so."

Still Getting Stuck

Shouldn't Christians overcome sin?

You'd think so.  We're not in favor of sin.  The Spirit dwells in us.  Shouldn't we just be done with it?  Maybe the problem is we're not trying hard enough.  Maybe there's another problem that we haven't figured out.  Maybe, if we could figure it out, we could take care of the problem.

My eyes are ever toward the Lord,
for He shall pluck my feet out of the net.  (Psalm 25:15)

"Shall"?  That a future-tense verb.  But the person praying the psalm is already a Christian who has lifted up his/our soul to the Lord.  Somehow, it appears that my Christian feet are going to get themselves tangled in the net, in spite the Lord's instructing me.  Even though I will become snarled in the mess, still He will pluck me out of it.

And where is our focus through all of this?  On my feet?  On my efforts?  On my obedience?  No.  My eyes are ever, always, perpetually, unrelentingly, toward the Lord.

Psssst:  And when my eyes go somewhere 

else, that seems to be when I am tripped up

 and have to be rescued.

Homeschool Story

At last Saturday's graduation ceremony, Milwaukee School of Engineering gave the Very Influential Person Award to some homeschooling parents.  The award usually goes to a high school teacher.  Logan Gill, whose parents homeschool(-ed) all 17 of their kids, chose his parents for the VIP Award.  The Journal-Sentinel had a lovely story.   More pictures are at another link.  Looky there, a happy, functional family, Christians, successful at school, and they even like each other.  And it showed up in the newspaper!  Cool!

Oh, Those Dirty Dishes!

It's 9:45 pm. I wash the dishes. I wipe the counters. By 10:00 the sink is empty and clean and spiffy. And this is what I wake up to the next morning. Hmmmmm....

Original Sin

In Psalm 58, we read about some bad guys.  Verse 3 mentions, "The wicked are estranged from the womb; they go astray as soon as they are born, speaking lies."  I always thought that was just showing how very bad they were: they've been rotten their whole lives! 

From the womb?
Sinners from the time they were born?

Maybe it's not about their badness and how early they started in on being rotten dudes.  Maybe it's about the inborn sin.

They Received the Word with Joy

When we studied Acts, we observed that the apostles always went first to the synagogues.  Sometimes the people would just eat up everything the apostles preached.  Other times the people listening got all hacked off and decided that murdering the preacher was a good plan.

When Jesus sent out the seventy, He told them to go preach.  He warned them that in some towns they would not be received. 

Jesus said on several occasions that the Old Testament Scriptures were about Him.  They testified of Him.  They told what the Messiah would do.  And yet, somehow, the Jewish leaders of His day didn't want that.  They had a different concept of what the Messiah would be ... and it certainly included some pats on the back for them and their self-made holiness.

It makes me wonder if the response to the preachers might have been indicative of the faith beforehand.  Yes, I know that the preaching could and did soften hearts.  I know that the preaching of the Gospel created faith where there was no fear, love, and trust in God before.  But do we also see people in the Bible who were firmly committed to a [false] faith in how good/nice/helpful/obedient they were?  If Jesus or an apostle came and had no regard for their self-made goodness, people would be ticked.  On the other hand, Jews who already believed in the promise of the Gospel shown forth in the Old Testament, the ones who trusted that the Messiah would save them, those folks would receive the apostles' Word with joy. 

Thy Blood My Royal Robe Shall Be

In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve hid. They sinned. They hid. God came. He called to them. They said they were hiding because they were naked and ashamed.

Gerhardt wrote:
Thy blood my royal robe shall be,
my joy beyond all measure.
When I appear before Thy throne,
Thy righteousness shall be my crown.
With these I need not hide me. (TLH 142:6)

Adam and Eve didn't really confess to God so much as they blamed somebody else. Nevertheless, our God, who is full of compassion, killed a lamb. Blood was shed. God made the lamb's skin into a garment, a robe, to cover their shame. And they didn't have to keep hiding.

"Drink of it all of you; this cup is the new testament in My blood which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sins."  "Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness my beauty are, my glorious dress." With these I need not hide me.

Baklava

Baklava would be an elegant thing to take to the bake sale tomorrow that's in conjunction with the Goods & Services Auction. With company this weekend and too-much-sleepiness on my part, the timing wasn't so good. Baklava is easy; it's just time-consuming. But worth it -- ah, deliciousness!

This morning I hauled out my thawed phyllo dough, ground up a pound and a half of almonds and walnuts and honey, melted nearly a pound of butter, and started assembling.

Pricing is hard. Marcy told me that desserts were selling for $2.50 a package, and to package my amounts accordingly. With it being all nuts and butter, it's not cheap.

There was a bake sale at our old church once, and I took baklava. The ladies couldn't understand why I had such a high price on such a small piece of dessert. Nobody touched the baklava for the first hour. Then a guest noticed it. "Baklava? For only $1.50?" She bought one piece, took it back to the dinner table, sampled it, and told everybody else at the table about it. Most of them went over to the bake-sale table, bought a piece or two, and then the Discoverer went back and purchased every single piece that was left after her friends had had a shot at it. The church ladies were puzzled. :-)

I did some online hunting for baklava prices at restaurants and through online sales. It looks like I came up with a good size to fit the appointed price-tag. And worst-case scenario is that people look at the price, avoid it, and I have to bring it home and eat it myself.

Science and Christianity

Most of us learned in school that science disproves Christianity.

But when we begin to look at science, it doesn't disprove anything in the Bible. This year at church, we've been watching some documentaries. They aren't apologetics, intended to "prove" details of the biblical record. But they are neat! God made things that we are only now discovering (and presumably things that we have not yet --and may never-- discover). But it delighted Him to create the intricacies of mathematics and the universe, the varieties of plant life, the loveliness of all the animal life, whether it's in our back yard or in the depths of the Pacific.

Christians revel in the beauties of creation. Science is something that Christians DO. Throughout history, the vast majority of scientists were Christians, spurred on by their faith in the God of the Bible.

So what happened?

Pastor suggested that the devil had to attack scientific knowledge and true scientific pursuit. If science is what Christians do, then that's something the devil can't let stand. Well, of course! Why didn't I see that?

Oh. Yeah. Because I'm still imbued with the brainwashing we got in public schools and from books and from the museums.

But the tide is turning. Christians are no longer shunning the sciences like we did for so many years.

Rescued Pizza

Let's say a pizzeria was going to trash a pizza because the person who ordered it didn't bother to pick it up for hours and hours, and it was finally time for the restaurant to close. Which emotion rules? Gratitude that you are allowed to dumpster-dive the pizza (before it splashed into the garbage can)? Or disgust with the people who would do that to a business owner?

Few people would use a gun to threaten someone into handing over 20 bucks from a cash register. And yet it's very common for people to steal from a businessman by requesting services and then not coming in to pay for it.

A Holiness in Uncleanness?

It's rather oxymoronic, isn't it? And yet, where do we most clearly see God's holiness? In His separateness? In His perfect awesomeness? In His awesome perfectness?

No. His holiness is that He is willing to be contaminated by my uncleanness.

Let the Little Children Come to Me

I'm used to seeing the pastor lay his hands on adults and speak to them. It might be an ordination or installation. It might be while you're waiting in line for private confession. It might be in the hospital when a family member is ill. It might just be Bible class with an animated pastor.

But the children. There is something so dear and precious about seeing the man dressed in the stole and chasuble, down with one knee on the ground, placing his hands on the head of a toddler or preschooler, to speak Jesus' word of forgiveness into the child's ear -- a picture of Jesus' tenderness and compassion.

When Your Conscience Troubles You

Luther, on the Lord's Supper:

You've sinned here.  And you've sinned there.  When you want to be free from your trouble, then go to the Sacrament.  Say, "Although I have sinned, this body has not sinned.  This body is without guilt.  This body is offered for me, and this blood is shed for me for the remission of sins.  This I believe, and as a token of it I will receive the Sacrament."  When you do this, your sins are taken away and can cause you no more distress.  For who can then do any harm to you? 



Sermons, volume 2, published by Baker, page 229, paraphrased

Fat Tuesday

Fat.

There was a Fat Tuesday party planned for today at Gary's work place.  Something else came up.  The party was not canceled.  It was rescheduled.  For Thursday.

???

A few of my co-workers brought goodies to work today.  After all, it's Fat Tuesday.

I heard the DJ's on the radio wishing people a fabulous Fat Tuesday.




When I was growing up, I'd never heard of Fat Tuesday.  I had some awareness that Mardi Gras was going wild in New Orleans.  But nobody we knew lived it up prior to Lent.  (That might've had something to do with Lutherans not fasting like the Catholics.)  I don't know if it's a cultural difference because of living in a different state or living in a different decade now.  But Fat Tuesday sure is a bigger deal than it used to be.

What blew me away this week, though, was the utter lack of understanding as to what it IS.  People think it's a day to eat treats and get fat.  Hence, Fat Tuesday.


[head shaking in astonishment....]

Presidents' Day

It turns out that it's not really Presidents' Day after.  It's Washington's birthday.

People had been celebrating Washington's birthday for nearly a century when Congress made it an official, legal holiday.  Then in the late 1960's, Congress was discussing the Uniform Monday Holiday Bill.  (That's the law that bopped nearly all the holidays to Monday, so now there are few people who actually know when Columbus landed in the Americas or when Washington's birthday is or when MLK's birthday is or when Memorial Day was.) 

Along with the UMHBill, Congress debated whether to change Washington's Birthday to a celebration of Washington's and Lincoln's birthdays.  I remember the fuss in Illinois from government workers who would be cut from two paid holidays to one, should this legislation pass.  That part of the bill failed.

But "Washington's Birthday" was no longer celebrated on Washington's birthday.  Somehow, as the years passed, Washington's birthday began to be known as Presidents' Day.  Part of it was because of teachers wanting to touch on more history than just the one president.  Part of it was advertisers.  There were probably other influences too.  Whatever the causes, the creation of "Presidents' Day" was something that grew out of society instead from a declaration of the government. 

Chariots and Horses of Fire

In the story of Elijah's ascension (2 Kings 2), Elisha and Elijah are separated by the chariot and horses of fire, and then the whirlwind whisks away the senior prophet into heaven.

Interestingly, a few chapters later we read about the Syrians trying to continue their attacks against Israel.  But Elisha kept telling the Israelite king where the Syrians would be sneaking in, so the king kept putting watchmen in those spots.  When the Syrian king found out who was thwarting his attacks, he decided to take down Elisha.  He sent chariots and horses and a great army to surround Dothan.  When Elisha's servant woke up the next day and saw the armies, he flipped out.  But Elisha told him to chill because "there's more on our side than on theirs."  Then Elisha asked God to open the eyes of his servant, and the fellow saw hordes of chariots of fire and horses of fire.

I couldn't find anywhere else in the Bible where it spoke of chariots of fire and horses of fire.  The fact that these stories both happened to Elisha means something.  I don't know what.  At least, not yet.   (If you know, give me a hint.)

Dirt Devil Hand Vacuum

One of my Christmas gifts was a hand vacuum for making it easier to clean the upholstered furniture and vacuum out the vehicles. 

What a bust!

The air filter clogs in a few minutes.  The filter can be cleaned and reused, but it cannot merely be tapped to knock dust loose.  I had to use a dry toothbrush to remove dust from the folds of the filter, and every time I used the machine, I spent as much time cleaning the filter as I did vacuuming.   The owner's manual says to change the air filter every 3-6 months.  It seems like changing it every hour would be the outside limit.  And these filters are $8 each.

When I asked for a refund, the company told me that I only had 30 days to return it.  A Christmas present that is purchased in early December means you have only a week or two to discover the problem and request your refund.  So now I have a machine that is fit only for the trash can.  I'd hate to take it to Goodwill and inflict it upon an unsuspecting customer there.

I spent half a year looking at Goodwill for a used Dirt Devil.  I finally stumbled upon one two days after buying this one online.  I didn't buy it.  Now I wish I'd nabbed that one anyway.  Those old ones actually worked! 

Violating Consciences -- What's the Big Deal Anyway?

Don't make me sin.  The laws of the government ought not force people to transgress God's laws. 

Why not? 

Is it because I want to keep my holiness?  (Picture me with my nose in the air and my chest puffed up.)  "Oh, I'm so good and so pure.  I don't want to do anything naughty so that God would zot me."

Rubbish.

The reason Christians don't want to be forced to sin is because of the other guy.  We don't want other people damaged.  We want to show mercy.  We yearn for others to know joy.  We desire that they live in peace. 

Is God going to send me to hell because my taxes are helping to pay for abortions?  Of course not.  But babies are dying.  When the government forces me to sin, it's not my own personal problem, but it's even more about the damage that is inflicted upon my neighbor.

I Didn't Cry

Gary's installation is scheduled for the early service on the day of the Goods and Services Auction.  That's an annual fund raiser for our congregation's school, and because of the time-frame for the auction, early service is VERY heavily attended that day, and late service has abnormally light attendance.  This makes the planning ideal: many people will be able to attend the installation.

It also means the "celebration dinner" will be just part of the party atmosphere at the auction.  Our first couple of years we didn't attend the auction.  One year we volunteered to work but didn't eat dinner at the country club.  Another year we were invited as guests of another family.  It sure is fun to be there!

So this morning, I'm filling out the reservation for our table and hauling out my checkbook to pay for our tickets.  Someone came along and saw what I was up to.  "NO," she said.  She told me I couldn't do that.  She told me it would be nonsense for us to pay for tickets for "our own party."    I don't quite know what happened.  I'm not sure who's paying for our dinners.  But we aren't.

I remember discussions about the turkey-dinner fund raiser at our former congregation.  I remember being told we had to attend, that it was outlandish when someone suggested tickets be given to the pastor's family, and that this whole thing occurred when the congregation owed the pastor nearly two thousand dollars in back pay and mileage reimbursements.

Toto, we're not in Kansas any more.
Is this heaven?


(I know that this congregation is full of sinners.  Sometimes we bump into each other and grate on each other.  But forgiveness reigns.  And somehow, that actually makes a difference in people's lives and the entire atmosphere around the place.  This is a weird weird congregation, full of laughs and love and kindness.  Once in a while I have to blink back tears.)

Do You Really BELIEVE It?

I saw a bumper sticker the other day: "You don't have to believe everything you think."

Huh?

Because of an event earlier that day, I've been pondering that bumper sticker. Throw in the political events of the last week, with the government saying that they're going to force religious organizations to violate their beliefs, and there is yet more to ponder.

On the day-of-the-bumper-sticker, things were slow at work.  In the drive-ups, tellers are allowed to read or do puzzles if and when all the work is done and there are no customers.  My co-worker was finishing The Invisible Wall, a book about the dividing line between Jews and Christians in a British village nearly 100 years ago.  At one point my co-worker gasped.  She was at the point of the story where the Jewish girl had married the Christian boy, and the Jewish family was in mourning.  The newly married couple walked into her parents' home, and it was as if she did not exist.  My friend could not believe the horror of it.  "Can you even imagine this?" she cried.

Not knowing whether the "this" was the mourning or the shunning, I floundered.  "Well, if you really believe what you believe, then I can understand the mourning.  I mean, if you just 'believe' it and don't really believe it, then there would be no mourning over a child who abandons what he's been taught.  After all, it's just opinion to you, just a preference or a ritual, just a tradition from your culture.  But if you truly believe it, then how could a parent NOT mourn when a child gives up the truth?"

She hadn't thought of that.  Then she wondered if Lutherans would shut out a child who left the faith.  I emphatically answered "no" and told her why.  She understood what I said about continuing to be full of love for a person who rejects everything we hold dear, but I'm not sure she understood that there might still be great grief.

Somehow, I don't think that bumper sticker was referring to "I think the living room might look better if the couch were against this wall instead of that one."  Even though I think granola tastes better when I put in black raspberry schnapps instead of vanilla, that's not something I believe.

Do Americans today even recognize "beliefs"?   Liberals are not okay with Christians having those old-fashioned beliefs.  But do liberals recognize that they too have beliefs?  It's just that they [ahem] believe their beliefs (in science or humanism or consumerism or whatever), and take those beliefs for granted, so they don't even exactly see them for what they are.  They just think their way of seeing things is true.  And self-obvious.  And how could anybody ever disagree?

Isn't that what it IS to believe something? 

For Thine Is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory

God has spoken once,
twice have I heard this:
that power belongs to God,
and to You, O Lord, belongs mercy. (Psalm 62)

Suppose the one who is merciful and loving is also the one who has all the power. Suppose the one who is full of gut-wrenching compassion is the one who controls everything in the universe.

If that's the guy who promised to preserve you in the true faith, and if He is the one who has the power, then what can thwart His plan?

"For Thine is the kingdom and the power and glory" isn't just telling me that "our God is an awesome God." Rather, it makes the claim that no power is greater than the power of His will to save me.

The Healing of the Leper

Our story in chapel today was from Mark 1, where Jesus healed the leprous man. Pastor asked the children why Jesus sent the man to the priests to offer the sacrifices commanded in the law. Jesus said, "As a testimony to them." Testimony to what? A testimony that He had not come to set aside the Law. It was not to be abolished. But it was fulfilled in Him.

He also asked the children to tell him when the man was healed, and to be careful to use the words in the text. The first answer was "when Jesus touched him." Not really, though. The text actually says, "As soon as He had spoken, immediately the leprosy left him." When the little kids found this in their Bibles, they answered, "It was when Jesus SAID."

There's just something that makes your heart bubble with joy, and thankful tears come to your eyes, to hear these little ones speaking out of their utter faith in the words which proceed from Jesus' mouth. What He says surely comes true! And they know it.

Exercise?

After reading Katie's blogpost the other day, extolling how much better she feels when she exercises, I remembered. I remembered what it was like before I started. I remembered what it was like when I had the energy to run two or three or five miles whenever I wanted. I remembered how my stamina waned when I had to stop the jogging. I keep trying to armtwist myself into returning to my exercise regimen, but there's just not the time for it. Today I woke up and figured that 10 minutes was better than nothing. (Right? Isn't it? I'm the queen of "if I can't do it perfectly, why bother doing it at all?" So I am insisting to myself that 10 minutes four or five times a week is better than nothing. I'm not sure I believe it, but it makes logical sense....)

Anyway, in the 60 minutes that passed from the time my little eyelids first fluttered open, I said my prayers, bundled up to go outside, jogged/walked a mile, returned home, showered, and dressed. Not bad. I don't think I can pull it off on days I open at work, but most days, this should be doable. Maggie too got up, exercised, showered, and dressed, all in time to leave for chapel. We both noticed how much quicker our minds woke up today.

Of course, by early evening we were yawning uncontrollably.

We'll work on that.

Meal Plans

~ lasagna
~ Maggie makes hamburgers and frozen veggies
~ beef vegetable barley soup
~ chicken marsala
~ leftovers, and maybe egg-&-ham sandwiches
~ crab and screw noodles*
~ ham & bean soup
~ baked beans
~ baked potato bar

Gee with that line-up, I'm thinking that it would be getting high time for some meat. And the next day is Ash Wednesday. Hmmm.



* Crab and screw noodles is a quick pasta dish. Thaw the fake crab. In one pot, boil up a package of California blend vegetables (broccoli, carrots, cauliflower). In another pot, boil up a package of rotini, preferably the multi-colored kind. Drain the water from both pots. Slop a bunch of butter on the noodles so they don't get sticky. Sprinkle generously with salt, pepper, garlic powder, dried onion flakes, parsley!, and parmesan. Toss crab and veggies into the buttery spiced-up noodles, and enjoy.

Call for Gary

On January 31, the voters of our congregation extended a call to Gary to serve part-time as assistant pastor. This morning, his letter of acceptance was read to the congregation.

Installation is scheduled for early service (7:45) on Sunday, February 26. There's already a dinner scheduled for that day [Goods and Services Auction] so we'll be celebrating his installation while we're bidding on wine bottles and babysitters and bookshelves and pie and stuff.



For those who've asked, yes, Gary will still be working full-time at his day-job. This is part-time, preaching when Pastor is out of town, assisting sometimes with hospital or shut-in visits, and helping out in some other ways on an as-needed basis.

Polished Shoes

After a shoe-shopping ordeal before starting my job, I finally ordered a humongous box of shoes from Zappo's and found a pair that fit, didn't cause too much pain, would accommodate my orthoses, and met the dress-code for the job. I've worn those shoes about 180 times by now.

I finally polished them.

For being boat-sized Mary Janes, they are actually kind of cute. They were charcoal-grey, almost black, but had some pretty little white stitching on them to make them look more charming. I knew they needed to be polished, but how can you blacken and buff your shoes without wiping out that little white accent? (If any of you know how, it's too late for me now, at least with this pair of shoes. But maybe you could tell me for when I have to buy a replacement pair someday.)

Well, at least they're shiny and clean-looking again.
More boring-looking, to be sure. But shiny.

No Condemnation

Paul has this big ol' discussion about how he can't act/think as holy as he desires (Romans 7) and how he just keeps sinning even though he hates it. Then chapter 8 starts with "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

Where did he get that idea?

Maybe? possibly? it might have come from something he heard earlier. Paul was a pharisee in Jerusalem during Jesus' ministry, and he likely witnessed (albeit without faith) some of Jesus' miracles and teaching. Do you remember the story in John 8, where the woman was caught in adultery, and the scribes and pharisees wanted to stone her? They brought her to Jesus. They were trying to pit Moses' law against Jesus' teaching that just kept forgivin' people. This story happened in Jerusalem.

And what did Jesus tell this sinful woman? "Neither do I condemn you."

A PG Rating

From what we'd heard about Marley and Me, the movie was appropriate for entire families, including little kids. Yes, there's the sad ending that you get in all dog-stories, but scuttlebutt suggested that it was a nice, decent, heart-warming story.

We watched the movie last night. I don't know what I'd be thinking right now if the container had been labeled as a PG-13 instead. Probably I'd be thinking it was a pretty nice little story.

But all I can think is, "THIS film was rated PG? THIS?" There was language. No, not much, probably less than I hear at work or at the grocery store. But if I were watching this with my granddaughter or with an 8-yr-old, I'd be perturbed about the language. And the sex. There was way too much suggestiveness, including the main character's womanizing pal. Yes, I realize the married couple was ... well ... married, but look how far things have changed on-screen from when Lucy and Desi, when Rob and Laura, slept in separate twin beds.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just in a puritanical mood at the moment.

Or maybe this explains why I'm happier with Leave It to Beaver and Hogan's Heroes.

The Problem of Sin

Woe is us! The church is plagued with bad practice and bad doctrine. Maybe we could solve it by electing the right guy as synodical president. What if that doesn't work? Maybe we could go to a different church body which has a cardinal or a patriarch that will enforce the rules properly.

Woe is me! I'm a sinner. I keep on being a sinner. Even when I can control my behavior, my thoughts don't comply with my self-improvement plan. I guess I need a new self-improvement plan since the one I have seems to be such a failure.

Sin in the world.
Sin in the Church.
Sin in our relationships.
Sin in our selves.

This is a problem.




There is ONE solution to sin. Only one.

But we protest: No, surely not. Jesus' blood shed on the cross isn't enough. I have to do something. I have to find something else. I have to help. I have to try harder. Forgiveness of sins just doesn't cut it; it doesn't do enough to rid me and my world and my home and my church of sin.



If the blood of God, who made me and you and everything else, if His love and mercy and His death ain't enough to solve the problem of sin, does it make any sense whatsoever to think that something I can do will fix the problem? Do we really think the absolution is that impotent?

So Cold. So Tired.

The last week I've been freezing. It had been especially warm, so why the chills? I'm suspicious that the warmth at work might be making the 65-68° at home feel uncomfortable. I also suspect that my lack of daily outdoor exercise -- whether it's 25° or -10° -- has made me wussy.

Haven't been able to stay awake recently either. I was actually grateful for a big ol' problem at work earlier this week: it required my mind to stay aware and engaged at the time of day where I'd be snoozing on the couch were I at home.

With a calendar that looked exceedingly bare this week (woo hoo!) I had toyed with the idea of a visit in central Illinois, squeezed in between my days at work. But after a few afternoons of daily naps and being so so cold, my brain said, "You idiot, you're on the verge of getting sick. Don't drive ten hours. Stay home and get extra rest." So with sadness I dismissed the idea of visiting my mommy (who probably wasn't up to company this week anyhow).

After driving home from chapel this morning and watching cars fishtail all around me, maybe it's just as well that I didn't make the trip. The flurries forecast for today are no mere flurries.

An Impression

A customer came in today. I've waited on the mom but never the daughter. I knew the daughter's name without being told and called up her account to begin filling out the deposit ticket. They were impressed that I remembered.

But it's not me that was being impressive.

I started thinking about the customers who made an impression on me when I started the job. There was the one to whom I gave $20 too much. An hour later she showed up with a $20 bill and said, "I think you counted wrong." I was so grateful for her honesty. She made a huge impression on me.

Another customer saw The New Girl and made sure to heckle me and give me the Trial-By-Fire, handing me a transaction that was none too simple, right at the start. "Break 'er in right," he plotted. The heckling is consistent with his fun and constantly upbeat demeanor. He made a big impression on me.

Then there was the customer that chewed me out royally for not wanting to cash a check that I wasn't supposed to cash, and taking the time to consult with the boss. The yeller made an impression on me too.

And then there was this family that came in today. When I first started work, Maggie was sick, and getting sicker. Just when I was wondering day-by-day whether we could keep her unhospitalized for another day or two, a man (who turned out to be a regular, frequent customer) came in and said his daughter was hospitalized. He started to cry. A grown man. In the bank. His strength for his wife and daughter had been holding up fine through the ordeal. But when he was running an errand, when someone asked how things were going, it was suddenly too much. His worries and the depth of his love got the better of his composure. And hitting so close to home with my own worries for my own daughter, that family too made an impression on me.

Dance

I stole some pictures from Jessie's facebook:

Mary, Jessica, Olivia

Andrew and Bryce

Upon This Your Confession

In the Divine Service, after the congregation confesses sin, the pastor says, "Upon this your confession, I ... forgive you all your sins ...." 

There were times Pastor would be teaching, making the point that what instigates God's forgiveness is not our confessing but His love and mercy.  Pastor would ask, "Do you think God forgives you because you say you're sorry?"  You could tell from the way he asked the question that the answer was supposed to be, "Duuuuh.  NO!"  But it didn't seem like a no-brainer to me.  "Yeah," I would think or say sheepishly, "that was kinda sorta the impression I had."  Of course, I knew that God forgives sin for Jesus' sake.  But doesn't it depend on our being sorry too?

Oh, he would talk again and again about how my repentance doesn't cajole God into being forgiving.  And I do believe him.  (Do you detect a subtle "but ..." in there somewhere?)

Last night when he was talking about such things again, the liturgy came to mind.  "Upon this your confession ...."  That's what we hear, week after week.  I had tried to make sense of it for myself.  But last night, I finally asked.  And now I can finally say, "Duh!  Of course!!"

"Upon WHAT confession?"  In the confession we first confess that we are poor, miserable sinners who have offended God and deserved His punishment.  We are sorry for our sins.  But then what?  We beg "of Your boundless mercy and for the sake of the holy, innocent, bitter sufferings and death of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ" that God would forgive.  And THEN Pastor says, "Upon this your confession ...." 

What confession is the basis for the absolution he's about to bestow?  Not "I'm a sinner and I'm sorry."  But the pastor forgives on the basis of the truth [that is, the confession] that God is merciful because of Jesus' death on on the cross.

Wow!  So all along, the liturgy has been saying just what Pastor had been explaining.  How 'bout that?

Jesus Hushing the Demons

I finally heard the answer to a question I've been wondering about for over forty years.

In Mark 1, there was that demon crabbing about Jesus being the Holy One of Israel and about not wanting to have anything to do with Jesus.  Jesus told him to shut up.  Then later in the chapter, after Jesus had been healing all sorts of people and casting out demons, we hear that He would "not allow the demons to speak because they knew Him." 

So why not let them speak?  After all, what they were saying was true: this guy was indeed the Holy One of Israel.  It was true that the demons didn't want to have anything to do with Him.  It was true that He did come to destroy them.  So what's the problem?

In the past I've been told that it would be unseemly of Jesus to have demons telling who He was.  Y'know, bad company, bad reputation, and all that.  But this is Jesus, for crying out loud.  He hung out with tax collectors and sinners.  He didn't seem to worry too much about His reputation getting sullied. 

But Pastor pointed out the answer in last week's sermon and this morning's chapel.  And it makes complete sense!

The demons always get it wrong.   They can't speak God's word without twisting it, perverting it, putting a works-righteous spin on it.   Even though they may say many true things, it's never fully true.  So Jesus orders them to shut up. 

Eventful Day

On the way home from work, I wanted so badly to open the sun roof ... which doesn't exist on the car I was driving.  And this afternoon we sold the car with the sunroof.  I will miss it.  But one of those old cars needed to go.

Andrew and Bryce are all spiffed up, on their way to fetch the girls for the dance tonight.  Aren't they a couple of handsome fellows?!

Peter Walks on the Water

So after reading the story to us from Matthew 14, Pastor asks the school-children, "Could Peter walk on the water?"

Hannah answered, "No."

"Why not, Hannah?"

"He was a sinner.  He sunk."

But Joey's hand was still raised.  He answered, "Yes, Peter could walk on the water."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Jesus told him to.  And whatever Jesus says, happens."



Perfect.
They're both right!
In our own strength, we can't do nuthin'.
But whatever Jesus says, happens! 
If He says "walk on the water," Peter could do it.
If He says "I declare you holy and righteous," then we be holy and righteous, no matter what it looks like to us.

My Apparent Need for a Hair Product That Will Tame the Unruliness

A man I know is sweet, gentle, kind, and patient.  He has some mental illness, but he is no more ashamed of coping with his health than if he had cancer or heart disease.  So, yesterday when I saw him, we exchanged superficial pleasantries, and then took care of the business we needed to exchange.

Then he says, in such a kind and affirming voice, "Susan, you have on that long, flowing, beautiful skirt.  I just had a vision of you as a Greek goddess."

Oh.  Okay.  How do you respond to someone who's not your husband who says something like that?  I really don't think he was hitting on me.  He just saw it as a simple fact that he might mention.  With an uneasy and questioning voice, I respond, "Oh?  Really?"

"Oh, yes.  You know ... the one that has snakes for her hair."

"MEDUSA?"

"Yes!  That's the one," he says with an encouraging smile.

Well.
Okay then.

Y'know, most people aren't that honest.

The Demon-Possessed Man in the Synagogue

The story this past Sunday (in the three-year series) was about Jesus' preaching in the synagogue in Capernaum.  They were all astonished because He taught with authority, not as the scribes and the pharisees.  And there was this guy in their synagogue who started making a scene: "Hey, I know who You are.  You're the Holy One of God.  Did You come here to destroy us?"  And Jesus cast out the unclean spirit.  (It's Mark 1, if you're hunting for it.)

Pastor pointed out a small detail from the story that is easily missed.  This guy was a member of the synagogue.  Think about it.  You know what your church is like.  Visitors are noticed.  Somebody who is "in our church" is a member, not just somebody who happened to stop by for the day.  (And yes, I realize that the Bible doesn't unequivocally state this as an indisputable fact.  But still, it makes loads more sense than the alternative: "in their synagogue" would have more to do with being "in the congregation" than "in the building.")

So why did the demon throw his tantrum in response to Jesus' preaching?

Because He taught a different message than did the scribes and pharisees.


The demons are content to keep quiet when the churches are telling people how to be nice, how to be good citizens, how to improve themselves and their spirituality.  But when Jesus comes along with a weird and different message --forgiving people who don't deserve it-- the demons get hacked off.

The same thing happens today.  The devil is just hunky-dory with pastors who preach self-help messages, eco-loving messages, penance, etc.  But when the pastor calls people to repentance and extends God's mercy and peace to them, well, that's something the demons and the self-righteous just ain't gonna put up with.

  

Superficiality

Superficiality makes the world go round.

I've never been keen on that.  I like real.  I like genuine.  I like honest.  But that requires trust and love and commitment. 

Customers come into the bank.  "Hi, how are you today?"  "Just fine.  And you?"  "Pretty good, thanks."  There are certain conversations that are acceptable: the weather, the Packers, gardens, the Brewers, the Badgers, and plans for upcoming holidays (if there's one around the corner).  If you really want to push the envelope and go a step closer to real conversation, you might say, "You been keeping busy?" 

People say they're "fine" when they're not; they know this is all superficial.  Sometimes you bump into someone who's very alone, and you learn not to ask about holiday plans because the loneliness is overwhelming and they can't respond according to the rules of The Superficial Game.

And yet, I'm beginning to see that this is necessary.  "Have a great afternoon."  "Thanks.  You too."  "Well, thank you."    It's what we do.  It keeps things pleasant.  It may be shallow.  We may not be connecting with those hundreds of neighbors that cross our path.  But the other option is grumpiness and incivility. 

This pervasive superficiality leaves a person yearning for a real relationship.  But so many times, in so many places, that's not an option.  So I guess the superficial pleasantries are better than complete aloofness or general crabbiness.

The Will of the Christian

If anyone desires to come after Me,
let him deny himself,
and take up his cross daily,
and follow Me. (Luke 9:23)

This is our verse for the week.  Notice the verb "desires."  Paul tells us more in Romans.  In chapter 7, Paul uses the word repeatedly as he describes how he wills to follow Christ but is stymied by his sinful flesh. The desire to belong to Jesus and to live the holy life sure ain't gonna show as it ought.  But still, Jesus invites us to hold fast to Him.

Take Up Your Cross Daily

If anyone desire to come after Me,
let him deny himself,
and take up his cross daily,
and follow Me.   (Luke 9:23)

If we have to take up our cross daily, that would mean we are not going to become free of the cross any time in this life.  Every. single. day. we're going to be back at it, living with that sinful nature, bearing the burden of not being as pure and holy as we'd like, and finding our only hope and rest in what Jesus has done to forgive that icky sinfulness.

Luxury or Freedom?

Cedric the Saxon, to Athelstane (only remaining descendent of the royal Saxon line), remembering the days when their prison was the Great Hall still in Saxon control, before the Normans conquered the land --

Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace and liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of which has delivered us as bondsmen to the conqueror!

From Ivanhoe, chapter 21.


Will Americans come to the same conclusion some day soon?  Or is it already too late?

Pr Bender's Sermons

Revamped website -- audio of sermons is now available.  (Top of my listening list is January 1 and January 8.  Oh, and probably today's again.)

Being a Grandma

Church is ending.  Time to leave.  Little Miss Punky holds up her finger, says "Here, Nanna, you hold my booger," wipes the booger on her finger off onto my finger, and goes on her merry way.

Oh.

Gee, thanks, kid.
  :-)