INRI

So at the beginning of Holy Week we hear the epistle  to the Philippians.  Because of His humbling Himself to the death of the cross, God highly exalted Him, so that "at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father. 

And then on Good Friday we sing, "Christ the rock of our salvation, His the name of which we boast ..."

And what inscription sits atop the cross?  Pilate wrote --and refused to wussify it-- "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."  That cross, that name, that dead body -- His the name of which we boast.



Galatians 6: God forbid that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.

A Non-Christian Easter Celebration

How do non-Christians celebrate Easter? 

I know how non-Christians celebrate Christmas.  It's pretty much the same sort of things our family does, minus the church services.   But our Easter celebration is almost exclusively the church services.  Okay, we eat ham for dinner, but we do that on non-Easter days too.  And depending on the ages and availability of children/grandchildren, we either hide some M&M's in plastic eggs, or just break open the bag of M&M's.  Eating M&M's isn't normal for us; that's something unusually celebratory.  But c'mon, ham and M&M's surely isn't much of a celebration for normal people.

When I was at work during Holy Week, I listened to people wish each other "happy Easter!"  And this week, I've heard people talk about their Easter celebration.  I don't know what that means, though.  As I've listened, I gather it's got something to do with families getting together and candy.  Some people who don't usually go to church might go to church for Easter.  But many don't, and yet they still "celebrate Easter." 

I suppose Christians in other parts of the world are befuddled by American celebrations of secular Christmas.   But I am befuddled by what's involved in an American celebration of secular Easter.  Anybody have some clues?  Have you noticed what neighbors, co-workers, or non-Christian family members do to celebrate Easter?

Plowing Ahead Blindly

It's one of those days where the failures seem insurmountable, and I wonder why I even try instead of just lying on the couch, watching movies, drinking.

Usually life passes and I'm content enough to keep plowing ahead.  Just do the laundry, put the food on the table, keep the cluttered pigsty from becoming too dirty or too cluttered, go to work, squeeze in some school for Maggie.  No thinking.  Just doing.  And no stopping. 

But today.  For some reason, today I'm thinking of all the other things that need doing.  How will I ever manage any garden work?  What about real cleaning, like shampooing the carpet or fixing the drywall on that one spot in the ceiling?  I want to play piano.  I want to watch movies.  I want to go for a walk.  I want to lie in the sun and read some books.  There are a couple of projects for church that I'm itching to do (one that needs to be finished in four weeks).  And somehow, this kind of mood always makes me unhappy with the shabbiness of my rugs and my old-fashioned storage spaces and the ugly paint in the bathroom and the cobwebs draped across undone projects tucked in the corners of the basement.

Today I spent a couple of hours with Maggie, trying to put together a gift for someone, and it turns out that it won't work and we're back to square one.  We still need to find a gift, and those hours were for naught.  I need to go to a meeting with Gary tonight, and I need to put on my non-introvert facade.  I need to do a grocery run for soft foods, so that Little Miss Swollen Cheeks will have ice cream and sherbet for her sore jaws tomorrow.  Because of an overbooked calendar (a calendar that is so empty of events that many of y'all would covet it) for these few weeks I have three days at home to do all the regular work that I usually struggle to accomplish in eight days. 

Plus, right now there are thinking things to do.  I have to be prepared for a meeting with the school psychologist on Monday, as we have asked the school for an evaluation for special education services (anticipating the need for transition services and some sort of government-provided health insurance for Maggie someday).  Also, Gary has applied for a different position at his company, which would be a significant change from what he does now.  These and other matters require thought, deliberation, planning, and research.  And you can't just squeeze that in around the edges as you plow ahead blindly.  And yet, if you stop (!) and think and give something serious consideration, all that other daily stuff isn't being accomplished. 

I feel whiny.

Well, the living room was cleaned.  And next week we go back to having chapel every morning.  Now maybe I should see if I can find the bedroom under the piles of papers and herds of dust bunnies.

Exceptionally Good Deals Online

When the kids want to buy something online, and find a super-dooper el-cheapo deal, I've always been a little uneasy.  I couldn't say why.  Even though it's unlikely, I've wondered if maybe it was stolen merchandise.  Then there's also the mantra, "If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." 

I learned recently that sometimes a disreputable company will post unbelievable prices.  After all, the customers think, why pay $30 for something when you can buy it for $4?  Yes, that's a real price.  And yes, you'll get your merchandise.  But the company might also implant malware that will log your key-strokes, so that they can obtain your passwords to various accounts as well as financial information.  If they get past your firewalls and other protection, that cheap stuff is going to cost a lot more in the long run.

Sometimes it's worth it to pay more.

A Christmas List from About 10 Years Ago

I found this tucked into a book today --

Andrew: hamster toys and a chess game
Philip: a passport and a glasses repair kit
Paul: art desk and a hat
Rachel: CuddlDuds and specialty soaps
Katie: photography class and CuddlDuds
Gary: loofah, Limbaugh Letter, black pants, outdoor fire pit
Maggie: Ken doll and a toy stroller
Susan: jojoba shampoo from Geneva Inn and potholders

In Nanna's Cupboards

Matching lids and pots.  That's math for a 1-yr-old, right?

Wisdom Teeth

So Maggie's scheduled to have her wisdom teeth out on Friday.  We've been trying to decide between laughing gas and the IV sedation.  Her teeth aren't impacted, and she actually has room for her wisdom teeth.  But vcfs folks have teeth that rot.  She's had molars erupt with decay already in them.  One of the wisdom teeth did too.  So it seems best to get rid of those teeth that are waaaaay back in the back of her jaws.

Two weeks ago she caught a cold/cough from one of the kids in preschool.  Of course, with her immune deficiencies, she is still coughing away.  Two nights ago, she had that inbreath that sounds like whooping cough.  (We went through this last year, and it wasn't whooping cough; don't panic.)  Yesterday she discovered that her inhaler helped.  So now we're wondering if we have to postpone the oral surgery, or alternately if her cold will determine which kind of sedation she needs.

What really struck me was something the nurse said when I was consulting with her yesterday.  "Well, it's still three days away.  Call us on Thursday.  It's very likely she'll be fine by then."  In two days?  Things could change in two days?  Oh.  Yeah.  I guess for most people, that's realistic.  But for Maggie, I'm thinking, "Good grief, why would I expect things to be improved in only two days?!"

Playing Barbies

McCarthyism?

So yesterday's Milwaukee Journal-Sentinal (page 3B) contained an opinion piece by one of the paper's writers.  He discussed the public's response to finding out that certain people in the media (radio, paper, tv) had signed the recall petition for Governor Walker.  The question these days is "Should reporters have the right to sign petitions?"  The employers say no.  Some employees suggest that this is like blacklisting.

Eugene Kane wrote,

The ethics code of my company is comparable to those of other media organizations that want to always remind their employees of the dangers of exposing a conflict of interest that could impede their ability to report or cover the news.

Got that?

Read it again.

Apparently the danger is not that the reporters HAVE a conflict of interest that messes with their ability to report the news.  The danger is that the conflict of interest be EXPOSED.

Yeah.

And that's why people don't trust the media.

Hunting for Eggs

What Might've Been Today's Closing Hymn

After five glorious days of multiple services, the thing that came to mind at the end of second service today was:

'Tis good, Lord, to be here,
Yet we may not remain.
But since Thou bidd'st us leave the mount
Come with us to the plain.

The end of the Job reading: "How my heart yearns within me," ....

yup.

Peter's Contrition

In the last verse of Mark 14, after Peter denies Jesus, after the rooster crows, Peter remembered that Jesus had said this would happen.  "And when he thought about it, he wept."

You know what?  I don't think that night was the only time he thought about it and wept.  Even after Jesus forgave him, even after Jesus reminded him of his call to be an apostle, even after Pentecost, I bet there were still occasions when Peter "thought about it" and wept with shame and grief. 

Good Friday Decorum?

As a kid, I remember going to Tenebrae service in the evening of Good Friday.  We were supposed to leave in silence.  At my home congregation, we didn't have the practice of leaving in silence on Thursday night, nor gathering in silence on Saturday evening (because there wasn't a vigil on Saturday night).  I don't even remember anything particularly somber about gathering on Friday.  But leaving?  Yeah.  Quiet.  Serious.  No hand-shaking and chatting.  Just leave the building and go home. 

I know that some people say that's just a tradition that's about feeling and mood, and it's not important.  My brain can acknowledge that.  But my tradition isn't exactly okay with it. 

My parents had some friends; Roy worked with Dad; they were members of the same congregation; and we often went out for pizza with them on Friday nights.  One year, Roy and Carolyn came to church on Good Friday.  That wasn't normal for them.  They were Sunday attendees, and rarely come for midweek services.  After church, they approached my folks in the parking lot.  They suggested we go out to a nearby restaurant for a milkshake. 

We did.  Bright lights.  Treats.  Cheery waitress.

That was weird. 

The Candles at Vigil

Vigil.  The wee hours of the morning.  Alone in a quiet church.  Praying.  Candles in the torch stands around the pews, flickering.  Every now and then, the peripheral vision catches movement.  Is someone here?  How did I not hear the door open?  Oh, no, it's just the movement of those tiny, lively flames.

But it reminds me.  This holy night, in this holy place, angels and saints, apostles and prophets and martyrs, pray and praise. This holy night, in other holy places (where it is already daylight), the Church throughout the whole world prays and sings of her dear Lord's passion.

Not alone here after all.

Self-Righteousness versus Self-Loathing

I love the quote posted by Pastor Esget today:  

The satanic powers don’t care if your illusion is one of personal grandiosity or of self-loathing, as long as you see your current circumstance, rather than the gospel, as the eternal statement of who you are.

(The whole quote is on his blog, with the citation.  But I'm posting this sentence here, lest he should change his blog address and I lose this quote in cyberspace.)

Real Music

Usually, when someone's making music, you notice the music.  But if a real person is making music with a real instrument, which vibrates a real string or a real reed (as opposed to the sounds made by electronic music), there's something else to hear -- the sound of the person using the instrument.

When a person is playing guitar, there's the sound of the fingers on the strings, sliding from one fret to the next.  When a person is playing organ, someone nearby can hear the ever-so-soft sound of the feet hitting the pedals.  When a person is singing, between lines there's that sound of air being sucked into the lungs.

I used to think those were bad-but-necessary sounds.  Now with all the electronic ways of making music, I'm happy to notice those subtle indicators of real music.

Nursery Rhyme Game -- "Throw It Out the Window"

Have you sung the "Throw It Out the Window" song?  Something came up at work once when we were between customers on a slow day, and I demonstrated the nursery rhyme song that we would use to kill time when we were on a long car ride.  A couple of my co-workers thought it was a crack-up!

Basically you start with a nursery rhyme.  The tune is on you-tube, starting around the 2-minute mark.  You sing three lines of the nursery rhyme and then flip to

threw it out the window, 

the window, the second-story window.

If you can't make it rhyme,

or sing it on time,

throw it out the window.

For example:
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
and a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl,
and he threw them out the window.  (Refrain)

Or:
Jack and Jill went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
and threw it out the window.  (Refrain)

Or:
Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
they threw them out the window, the window, ... (refrain)

Haul out as many nursery rhymes as you can remember.
And have fun!

If My Kingdom Were of This World

Jesus told Pilate that if His kingdom were an earthly kingdom, His servants would fight.

Hmmm.  Peter fought.  In the garden.  With a sword.  So apparently Peter didn't know what the kingdom of God was.  (Isn't it nice to know that our cluelessness is nothing new for God to put up with?)

Judicial Activism

The Supreme Court heard arguments about ObamaCare.  In response, the president said recently,

And I'd just remind conservative commentators that, for years, what we have heard is, the biggest problem on the bench was judicial activism, or a lack of judicial restraint, that an unelected group of people would somehow overturn a duly constituted and passed law.

He thinks it would be "legislating from the bench" for the court to overturn his health care plan.

There's this document called the Constitution.  It sets the rules for how the government is supposed to work.  It's real simple: when the Congress makes an unconstitutional law, the court is supposed to say "No no -- not permissible."  That's not activism.  That is what the court is there to do.

War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.
Striking down an unconstitutional law is judicial activism.


He thinks we'll buy that line.
What scares is ... we might.

Is That Kid Paying Attention?

Philip was one of those kids who would've been kicked out of school unless we put him on Ritalin.  He was bright.  He had an awesome memory.  He could problem-solve like nobody's business.  But he wiggled.  He touched everything.  He bounced.  He had to move.  If you're homeschooling, it's no big deal.  "Hey, Philip, go run across the field out back, and run back."  Some large-motor use, some exercise, some calories spent, and he was ready to play with Matchbox cars while I read some more history to him.

His father knew this.  And yet, even his father came home one night from confirmation class, frustrated as all get out that Philip couldn't sit still during class.  (Now, I realize that some people think that it's far more important for kids to learn to sit still, behave properly, and not be a nuisance to others.  But I am a bad person, and at home I cared more about whether he was absorbing the books we were reading and whether he was learning to think critically.)

Back when Philip was about 9, Gary would try to drum up discussion at the dinner table on Sunday about the sermon.  What did the kids hear?  What was the story?  What did Jesus do for us?  One Sunday, Gary directed his first question to Philip: "So, what was the sermon about today?"  The quick and innocent answer was, "I don't know; I was being good today." 

Gary looked at me quizzically.  What was this all about?!

I knew!  I was surprised Gary didn't.  It took SO much effort for Philip to sit still, to stand still, to not wiggle wiggle wiggle his way through church, not poke his sisters, not turn around and check out where everybody was sitting, etc etc, that he couldn't listen and be good.  It was one or the other. 

Is that good?  Probably not.  Do lots of people disapprove?  Probably so.  But that was the reality of his childhood. 


So, now Katie has said things to Alia's Sunday School teachers, expressing appreciation for their efforts.  The teachers don't seem to think Alia pays attention.  She is the youngest one in class.  She sometimes walks around during the lesson.  To all outward appearances (especially if the observer expects calm, compliant, classroom behavior) Alia couldn't possibly be getting anything out of class.  Her outward behavior is not consistent with what most teachers expect from a child who is paying attention.  But what she says at home to her mommy shows that she's absorbing the stories fabulously.

Yesterday the children processed with palms while they sang "Sing Hosanna to the Son of David."  Alia didn't exactly stop right where she was supposed to in the line-up.  Alia sang sometimes and didn't sometimes.  I'm sure many people would've thought she was clueless.  But just before the kids sang, "Wave your palms and sing your praises; blessed is the king who comes," Alia began waving her palm branch vigorously. 

She knew where they were in the song.
She knew what the song was saying.
And boy, she was ready to wave her palm!


(Guess what?  She's paying attention.)

Pilate Marveled

When Jesus didn't defend himself or answer questions, Pilate marveled.  Late on that Friday afternoon, when the centurion came and reported that Jesus had already died, Pilate marveled at that too (Mark 15). 

In the Passover psalm (118), we pray about the Father's acceptance of the Savior's sacrifice: "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes." 

But it is not just we who marvel.  Pilate marveled.  All through the gospel accounts, people marveled at what Jesus said and did.  Believers and unbelievers.

It's kinda sorta like the praise song in Philippians 2, where every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord.  Even those who do not believe will finally come to the last day when Christ will be vindicated and they will have to confess the truth.  And the whole world will marvel at the redemption that we find so marvelous in these holy days.

All Those Political Phone Calls

Insanity!  Several robo-calls a day from one of the candidates for the presidential nomination.  The answering machine keeps filling up with messages.  We keep interrupting our chores and our school-reading to jump up to answer the phone, only to discover that it's a Republican-paid computer again.

I'm going to have a hard stomaching voting for anybody on the ballot.  My inclination at this point is either
1) to not vote, or
2) to vote for the guy endorsed by the one man I actually want to vote for.

Conundrum: The guy who's making all the phone calls is the guy endorsed by the man I want for my president.  So do I vote for the pesky phone caller?  Do I want to reward that sort of obnoxious behavior?

But Isn't That Arrogant?

I have more understanding than all my teachers,
for Your testimonies are my meditation.
I understand more than the ancients,
because I keep Your precepts.  (Psalm 119:99-100)

Once upon a time, when I was talking with a friend who was considering leaving the Lutheran Church to be Eastern Orthodox, he told me that I ought not disrespect my fathers.  The church fathers are our fathers.  We ought not act like petulant teenagers who think we know everything.  He certainly had a point.  Sometimes fathers do know things that the children "know" to be oh-so-stupid, and it will take a few decades before the kids find out Dad was right after all.

So what's up with this verse in Psalm 119?
Who had the audacity to say this?
Oh, yeah, it was somebody who was inspired by God.
Hmmm.

Didn't Paul praise the Bereans for searching the Scriptures to see if his message was faithful to the doctrine of the Old Testament?  There seems to be a place for asking questions.

Can we sometimes say, "I have more understanding than my teachers"?  When Luther came along, did he say anything different from the church fathers who preceded him?  Or did he just refine what had been said earlier?  When problems arise, we learn something as we deal with them.  There's a problem with the plaster in the house, and maybe we learn something about drywall.  There's a problem with the stove, and we learn to adjust the settings, or maybe we even learn how to replace a heating element with the help of a you-tube tutorial.  There are other problems too.  Some dude is selling indulgences over in Mainz in the 1500s, and somebody has to say why that's wrong and how Jesus' blood is my righteousness.  We have some other pastor-guys fighting about election in the late 1800s, and how God elects His chosen ones, and why, and when, and what it means, ... and maybe there are personalities involved and not just doctrine, so that maybe we today have insight that even our fathers didn't have in the midst of the controversy.

Is that really arrogant?  I know it can be.  I know the temptation is always there. 

But it's not wrong to say "I understand more than the ancients" when our view continues to be illuminated by the light of Jesus' cross.  When I am navel-gazing, and when my teachers have their eyes fixed on the Savior and His work, then I understand bajillions less than they do.  But sometimes you hear a toddler or older child confess the Faith purely and sweetly, and the teacher is embarrassed to see that her own faith is cluttered with garbage.

We are blessed to "understand more than the ancients" when our heart is captured by the things into which kings and prophets longed to look but could not see (Luke 10).

Medicinal Uses for Incandescent Lightbulbs

Save some of the incandescent bulbs you hoarded.  There are certain skin problems that need sunshine for healing.  Diaper rash, for example.  There are other rashes too that respond well to sunlight.  Some superficial infections heal as well from light as they do from medicines, with none of the prescription's side effects.

But there are times --especially in Wisconsin-- where the sun is not available for medicinal use.  Are you going to expose a baby's bare bottom to the sun in January in Wisconsin?  What happens when baby is feeling sick, nurses too often, and Mommy gets sore?  Although we may be advised to expose our nipples to sun for the healing effects, few of us live in an isolated enough place to try that.  A fungal infection on your foot could be exposed to sun easily enough, but there are other parts of the body that are not meant for display at the park or in the backyard. 

That's where an incandescent lightbulb helps so much.  Several ten-minute stints each day, with the light shining on the sore spot, makes good headway on healing sore nipples, cuts, superficial infections, and skin rashes.  Maybe I need to hide a few of my good old-fashioned lightbulbs with the first aid supplies, so they won't be used up for silly little things like providing light in the kitchen.

The Squeegee in the Shower

Don Aslett taught me to clean.  So we have a squeegee in the shower.  The shower walls should be squeegeed after every use, unless people are getting in the shower,  boom-boom-boom, one after the other.  Sometimes people forget.  Sometimes we have company that doesn't know or doesn't want to bother squeegeeing.  (Let's be realistic here -- how many people would know that they're supposed to squeegee my shower before they dry off?)

So is this too fussy?  Is this necessary?  Does it really make any difference?

Evidence #1 -- We were on vacation.  Seven adults in a cabin.  No squeegee in the shower.  No daily spritz-spritz quick-clean as we do at home.   You know what?  A bathroom gets nasty pretty fast that way.  I can live with one middle-of-the-week cleaning on vacation.  After all, it's vacation.  We're not supposed to be doing all the regular cleaning.  But I don't think I could bear a bathroom (used by that many people) that went uncleaned for a whole week.

Evidence #2 -- A few months ago we had company.  I think less than half the showerers were using the squeegee.  After a week, I needed to [gasp] clean the shower walls.  Y'know, like, scrub them.  With a cleanser.  What nonsense!  Who has time for that?  Who wants to spend money on the chemicals to do that?  When you squeegee the walls faithfully, you only have to scrub the walls once or twice a year.  [Oh, now, don't give me that.  It is NOT gross to clean the walls twice a year.  Not if you squeegee all the time.  That's how awesome the squeegee is!]

Go to the hardware store.  Spend the five bucks to buy a squeegee to hang in your shower.  Take the 45 seconds daily to use it after your shower.  Even if you're in a hurry.  It saves so much time later!!

Toasting

Maggie, Alia, and I were having a "picnic" at the "beach."  We sat on the living room floor, with our beach blanket spread out, arrayed with toy food, and filled our mini-teacups with water from the teapot and the lemonade pitcher.

Alia carefully poured water tea for each of us.  I raised my teacup and toasted the beach.  "To the beach!"  Maggie repeated, "To the beach!" and we clinked our teacups.  I said, "Hear, hear!"  Maggie said, "Hear, hear!"   And Alia clinked her cups to ours with a hearty, "We're here!"

The Old Adam and the Old Eve?

I heard a sermon recently (not here!) that referred to the sinful nature as "the old Adam and the old Eve."  The pastor said something about how the "old Eve" couldn't be reformed but "she" had to be put to death.

It kinda creeped me out, and I was thankful that the preacher accepted my objection.

There's a reason the Apostle Paul and Luther talk so much about the old Adam.  Neither Scripture nor the church fathers referred to the sinful nature as "the old Eve."  Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."  We are sons of Adam, not "sons of Adam and daughters of Eve"  --  C S Lewis notwithstanding.  Christ is the second Adam.  Christ is the Man who continues to be what man was intended to be and who does all that man was intended to do. We are joined to Him.  Therefore God sees us (whether male or female) as His son/sons.

This is not sexist language.  Neither is it sexist to refer to male Christians as members of "the bride of Christ."  When we depart from scripture's vocabulary and start in with the gender-inclusive language, whether we realize it or not, whether we intend it or not, we begin to do damage to theology.

The Tent

Two girls.  Giggling and fun.  Day after day of early-summer temperatures.  Olivia spending the night here.   Two girls decide it would be fun to set up the tent and sleep outside. 

Tent is erected.  About 9:00 the girls head to their outdoors bedroom.  After a bit, it begins to sprinkle.  No big deal.  They have a roof.  But then ... it begins to really rain.

At 11:00, two wet girls straggle into the kitchen.  The tent had collapsed.  They had to slither out, with the wet nylon draped across their backs.  We all headed out --in the rain-- to try to prop the tent up enough to haul out the wet sleeping bags, wet blankets, and wet pillows.  You know what?  In a rain, it's hard to lift even a light nylon tent.  But we retrieved the contents of the tent.

Two days later, it was no longer sopping, soaked, and dripping, so that we could set up the tent poles again, letting the muddy nylon begin to dry.  Another day, and we could take a bucket of soapy water and try to wash the mud off the inside and outside of the tent.  Another day, and we can try to finagle a way to dry the underneath side of the tent floor.  Maybe we can have it fully dry before the next rains come.

Problem is, we don't even know why it happened.  So how do we avoid a repeat?  Poor girls -- they may be traumatized for life.  I'm sure they'll remember this every time they crawl into a tent for the rest of their lives.  Hopefully they'll laugh.

Typo in LSB

A sharp was left out of the music.  At least, it was in the first printings of the hymnal.  Wide Open Stand the Gates is LSB 639.  Same tune at LSB 674, Jerusalem, O City Fair and High. In the last score of 639, middle measure, the G is supposed to be sharped.  It's the same run of notes as occurs twice earlier in the hymn.  In 674, the G needs adjustment in the second measure of the last score, where the three notes are tied.

Acolytes

Sometimes kids have a booger of a time remembering in which order to light the candles.  I heard an explanation recently that seemed so clear and easy-to-remember. 

The cross is in the middle, over the altar.  See it?  Jesus is the light of the world.  So when you're lighting the candles, start in the middle and work out from there, because it's like the light is spreading out.  When you're extinguishing the candles, you start at the edges and work toward the middle, because even when there's darkness, there's still light from Jesus.  So it's always that the candles nearest the center --nearest where Jesus hangs on the cross-- are the ones lit even when others aren't.

Isn't that simple?

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.)