It began with an airplane flight like I haven’t experienced in years. Sharon and I were the only two in our row. Fancy headphones sat in the seat pocket in front of us, awaiting our use. Before takeoff, our flight attendant brought around a menu and took our beverage order. Our seats not only reclined but produced a footrest as well. The meal we were served (Yes, we received a meal!) was not only hot and delicious but was served with actual steel flatware and real glasses for our beverages. After claiming our baggage, the rental car agent treated us like family. The next day, two different store clerks went above and beyond the call of duty to serve us more fully. 

My shop is a mess but before you judge me, consider this. Mess comes in two ways: from idle disregard; from profitable labour. The first type is illustrated by that storage shed or that kitchen drawer that simply serves a a receptacle for all those things you don’t take the time to deal with properly. The second type of mess comes after a busy morning of baking or, in my case, two weeks of welding and grinding on a new project.

"Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself... loses all respect for himself and for others." — Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Deliver us from evil - from moral duplicity and weakness, from laziness and spiritual complacency, from those lies we tell ourselves from our fear of facing the truth.” — Rich Mullins

“Soil is enriched by all things that die and enter into it. It keeps the past, not as history or as memory, but as richness, new possibility. Its fertility is always building up out of death into promise.” (Wendell Berry, The Long-Legged House)

“I had just assumed that the energy would keep coming. Why wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what pastors are supposed to do? Stoke the fires? Prime the pump? Charge the batteries? Do the ‘American’ thing? After only three years was I already a failed pastor?” … But now he was trudging through miserable, monotonous conditions, with no relief in sight, with no goal he could identify to press toward. Submitting to the life he had been given didn’t come easily. (A Burning In My Bones; Winn Collier)

What’s it going to take for the church’s gospel to become relevant? What do we need to do to see the church succeed? What kind of evangelism will actually make a difference in people’s lives?

These are good questions but they are not new questions. I’m now entering my 47th year as a pastor and I’ve heard forms of these questions from my earliest days in ministry.

There are answers to these questions — good answers — but I’m not sure that you’re going to like them. But, my job isn’t to give you what you like but to tell you the truth. So, here goes.

The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails—given by one shepherd. (Ecclesiastes 12:11)

I find myself at a loss for words this week as I sit down to write. This is not bad in itself. I learned a long time ago that great words from the lives of others can often speak to me or for me in a way that nurtures and guides my life. So, rather than expound on some specific topic this week, let me share with you a few quotations that I’ve collected over the years. In doing so, I pray that you may hear the voice of the “One Shepherd” to you.

We’ve made it past the middle of January. The days are getting longer. Spring is now, at least, a distant hope. Yet, for many, these last days of January and the early days of February are the darkest of days. Whether its the “down” after the hopeful joy of Christmas, the cumulative effect of all the dark days and long nights, or the difficulties of life that seem somehow much heavier at this time of year, it’s hard to remember who we are, who we serve, and what is our responsibility.

I’ve been sick for two weeks and I’m sick of it — the lack of energy, the hacking cough, and worst of all, the lack of voice to be able to talk (and you all know how I like to talk!). I haven’t been really sick, just sick enough to ruin my plans and frustrate my efforts — sick enough to basically confine myself to office work, meetings in which I don’t have to talk (there aren’t many of those), and sad attempts at playing floor hockey when I have no energy. But, during this period, I’ve had an epiphany — two of them actually — which is great, since this is the season of the church year known as Epiphany.

On July 7, 1902, Theodor Herzl, the founder of political Zionism, giving evidence before a Royal Commission while in London, was asked why Jewish immigration to other host countries was not as important as immigration to Palestine, especially since Jewish philanthropists were providing significant financial backing for establishing settlements across the Atlantic.

Wilberforce was persuaded to give himself fully to Jesus Christ. It was no casual commitment.

Why hadn’t any of his friends, instructors, or tutors taken him aside and told him he was on a dangerous path? He put this question to Frewen (an old Christian friend and Cambridge instructor): Would not the golden rule have prompted you to use towards me the language of a friend, if not of a father? (My natural father I lost when eight years old, and my grandfather and uncle soon after I went to Cambridge.) Ought you not to have urged me to … consider what must be the issue of the course of life I was pursuing, and of the choice I was making of associates and friends?

(William Wilberforce: A Hero For Humanity; Kevin Belmonte; 11, 42)

The idea made both practical and logical sense. That should have been my first warning.

I once had a neighbour who said, “Why do something manually when there is a tool for that?” While I don’t always agree with that (I’m a contrarian, after all.), I’d say that it has strongly influenced my development as a handyman.

I looked up the word in order to get the definition. The irony of what I found wasn’t lost on me.

The word in question, “keening”, comes from a mid-19th century Irish word that means “to wail.” It describes wailing in grief or an eerie wailing sound. It can also be used as a verb (“keen”) in order to describe “expressing grief or pain out loud.”

Delivery was as predicted. The furniture arrived and it exceeded our anticipation. The colour was as we had hoped. Sharon had done a great job in researching, such that the size was perfect. Everything worked. Nothing was damaged in the packaging or shipping. After two years, we have a “furnished living room” (or something like it).

“The practice of hope” and the purchase of new furniture — a perfect paradigm as we move through the first week of Advent.

Sunday, Pastor Reagan did a great job of bringing the theme of hope to bear as he opened up Micah 4 to us. In passing, he used a phrase which captured my attention: “the practice of hope.” “How do I practice hope?” I asked myself. And that got me thinking about furniture.

It was a simple request from my loving wife: cut the fresh peanut butter rice crispy brownies into squares; remove them from the pan and place them in freezer containers. What could go wrong?

He’s an honoured and famous, champion football player. But this season hasn’t gone well for his team and, for the first time in his career, they are in jeopardy of missing the playoffs. After the team’s most recent loss by a field goal, in a game where he had the chance to lead a game winning drive with less than two minutes to play, he met the media. He made no excuses. He blamed no one else. His confession: “I have to be better.”

It was the middle of a conversation. I was talking about two young men who are very dear to me — one of my grandsons and his very good friend —and I couldn’t remember their names. I could see their faces in my mind, knew all kinds of facts about them but couldn’t remember their names in that moment. Honestly, it was a bit troubling.

The boat hit the rock with a glancing thud and lurched sideways. For a brief instant, I filled the air with language that shouldn’t be coming from the mouth of a father (there were two boys in the boat), let alone a pastor, language that definitely shouldn’t be heard by young boys. Meanwhile, the other father in the boat was laughing maniacally, which didn’t do much to dampen my internal temperature at that moment. It wasn’t my finest hour — by a long stretch. Honestly, it’s a bit embarrassing to even talk about.

I just found out that my friend died on this Sunday past. I was reflecting in my journal about the weight I was feeling because of his illness and how little time I had spent with him (he’s a new believer) because of all that has been going on in my life lately. I closed my journal and opened my email to find a note from his wife, telling me that he had died.