For the love of reading to children

The book that started it all

"Once there was a witch who wanted to make pumpkin pie. So she planted a pumpkin seed. She weeded and watered, and after a while a sprout poked through. And then a pumpkin grew. And it grew. And it grew. And then it grew some more."  (Big Pumpkin)

This morning I completed my 29th year of reading to children at Roselawn Elementary. Since 1996, when my own children were students there, I've been invited into various classrooms on a weekly basis to entertain children by reading them a story either from their library or from mine.

I blame Karen Schaff for getting me started. It was October 1996 and I was volunteering at Roselawn as we already had two children who were students there and in the next few years two more would follow their older siblings. Besides, Roselawn is right across the street from Refuge, the fellowship I serve, making it rather convenient to pop over for an hour or two during the day. Our son, Charlie, was in Mrs. Roth's room and so I was assisting in whatever way I could. Mrs. Schaff, Mrs. Roth's aide, was attempting to read Erica Silverman's Big Pumpkin to the littles but one of her charges was having something of a meltdown. Without warning, Mrs. Schaff stood up and thrust the book into my hands and said, “Here. Read this to them” as she got up to deal with the distraught child.

You've got to read this

In case you're not aware of one of the greatest Halloween children's literature ever written Big Pumpkin is all about a witch who wants to make pumpkin pie on Halloween night. Unfortunately, she is unable to remove the pumpkin which hangs tenaciously to its vine and in succession enlists the help of a ghost, a vampire, a mummy, and last but not least, a bat, to aide her to get it off. I had never read the book before let alone heard of it but there I was with a captive audience of 15 or so kindergartners to entertain. So as I read I quickly came up with a different voice for each character and kept them separate from the narrator's voice as well. It was, if you will, a big splash and the beginning of what's now become thirty years of story-telling.

Here's to hot-buttered toast

Through the years that we had children at Roselawn I was reading to grades K-5 in 15-minute read-aloud slots. During my “down” times as I awaited my time to read, I would peruse the Roselawn Library in search of books and/or stories that could artfully be read in a quarter-hour segment (as great as J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit is to read it in 15-minute doses takes way too long especially for a weekly gig). Over the decades as teachers have retired or moved on to other assignments, my audience has shrunk significantly to primarily Kindergartners now (with Mr. Schommer's First Grade class as an outlier). But “the pay is the same” and so wherever there's been an invitation over the years I've gone and sought to bring joy to children through the art of reading. 

This'll preach

Along the way I've discovered wonderful authors – William Joyce
(Santa Calls), Margie Palatini (Piggie Pie), Kate Dicamillo (The Mercy Watson series) and Heidi McKinnon (I just ate my friend) to name a handful – and even more wonderful children who treat me as a rock star as I enter their room. I don't do it as a means to recruit families to our fellowship. I simply do it for the love of reading to children and the joy it brings me. I have it on good authority that the joy has been mutual.

I've gotten lots of fan mail

I'll miss my weekly excursions across the street for the next few months. But before you know it, it'll be September again and soon I'll be back at it on Wednesday mornings opening the cover of Mark Teague's delightful How I Spent My Summer Vacation kicking off a brand new year of read-alouds. 

A picnic in February

Because guys like to stand around a fire

This past Sunday, February 22, at Refuge was our third (mostly) annual Winter Picnic (we skipped it last year for reasons I don't recall). For the past few years we've held a picnic around this time in defiance of the winter gods that bring cold and lots of gray (like Sunday). We start a fire out on the lawn (because guys like to stand around fire), bring the grill over from home and shake up the morning gathering. Our sole purpose is to insert a bit of color into this otherwise melancholy season.

Refuge is a small church – perhaps 50 heads all counted from little Isaac to old Duane. And having only served this small church in my 34 ½ year pastoral career I'm a big believer in the maxim that small churches should do what only small churches can do. Like every church, every Sunday we gather in the sanctuary and engage in worship, prayer, Word and fellowship. But sometimes we mix up the order (e.g., message first followed by worship as we head to the table for communion) or I arrange the chairs in an oval for a “sharing circle” (see 1 Corinthians 14:26) so faith-stories and exhortations may be shared with one another. 

One Sharing Circle Sunday

The author of Hebrews wrote,

“Let’s see how inventive we can be in encouraging love and helping out, not avoiding worshiping together as some do but spurring each other on, especially as we see the big Day approaching.” (Hebrews 10:24-25, The Message) 

So long that by the benediction we've reached the main goals of worship, love and encouragement, I think there's a lot of latitude that can be taken toward that end. Especially in a small church. Thus, the Winter Picnic.

On Sunday, however, lots of things went sideways. Monica, the founder of the feast, woke up ill. Same goes for Kale, our youth guy, who was going to lead us in some fun “minute-to-win-it” kind of antics. What's more, the grill wouldn't fire. Some families were traveling or also down for the count with the crud. Long story short, only 18 people were on hand for our morning of planned frivolity.

Austin is always the grill master. This
was taken on a year the grill worked!

Austin, the grill master, improvised and moved his cooking operations into the kitchen. Everyone pitched in to set up the fellowship hall picnic-style and fortunately for me I had over-planned with a game of Baseball Bible Trivia in the hopper "just in case." As it turned out, it was just the thing our gathering needed.

This day will live in glory

After I shared a few fun-facts about February 22 (among them it being the 294th birthday of George Washington, the anniversary of the ratification of the treaty in 1819 that secured us the State of Florida from Spain for the paltry sum of $150 million in today's dollars and the 46th anniversary of the "Miracle on Ice" match between the US and the Soviets in Lake Placid, New York), my wife, Linda, led us in a Mad-Lib. A mad-lib is a "fill-in-the-blank" word game where players act as storytellers filling in missing words - such as nouns, verbs, adjectives or adverbs - without seeing the context of the story. Linda loves these things and we literally have pads of them around the house. Every time the kids come home we have to play a round or two before we do anything else.

Linda loves these things

At my request, Maggie read a portion of Psalm 118 and then I led our gathering in a few upbeat songs ("Forever" and "I've Got the Joy"). The pump now adequately primed we were ready to play ball. 

Baseball Bible Trivia is simple enough. Two teams go at it for three innings. Each "batter" picks a number (1-100) and then is asked a question. That question's answer is assigned a difficulty factor (single, double, triple and home run). Each batter can confer with his teammates before an answer is submitted. For simplicity, we batted through the order and then retired the sides. Questions included:

TRUE OR FALSE: Jesus is the Son of God (single) [True, duh]

What was Luke's profession? (double) [A doctor]

Name one of the two chapters in the Bible that lists the genealogy of Jesus (triple) [Matthew 1 or Luke 3]

Who was the son that boasted about seeing his father naked? (home run) [Ham, one of the sons of Noah]

As it turned out, Alicia and her boys, rather new to our fellowship, are BIG baseball fans and were game to play. In the bottom of the third, Gavin's team finally put his brothers' team away for good. For their efforts they were awarded the Teeny-Tiny Gold cup (a gimmick I picked up from Amazon for a couple of bucks). With the game over, I prayed and we headed downstairs for lunch.

Winners

The gathering was so simple – some laughs, a bit of levity and a fun learning experience (there were even a few “old” saints who struck out at the plate). And I think that's what I enjoyed most about the gathering – it was truly a cross-generational learning experience - grandpas, aunts, a 20-something gal, a young mom with three boys, and everyone in between. There was no home run king or queen or star recruit. Everyone was just working together vying for the Teeny-Tiny Gold Cup and enjoying the change-up from our usual Sunday morning routine.

Kaz and me

There was a moment during the fellowship lunch that followed that
made the day extra special for me. About noon, while all of us were eating away at our brats and potato salad, a guy walked in wearing shorts (it was like 15 degrees outside on Sunday). Honestly, I thought he had come with a family that had decided to visit us that day. But he came right up to me and said, "Remember me?" I drew a blank. "It's Kaz." He offered me his last name and then it all came back to me like a brick to the head. Back in the day Kaz was a hyper kid who bounced around every Wednesday night at our youth ministry. Honestly, a lot of energy was spent just trying to keep him dialed in. Admittedly, it often felt like – and was -  a losing effort. 

Kaz lives downstate these days, is married with three beautiful children. He owns his own power-washing company that specializes in homes and businesses. He's been clean and sober he tells me for at least ten years. He happened to be in the area and had decided to stop by just to say hello. "Pastor Jeff," he told me, "I can't tell you how much I'm grateful for this place. It's here where my relationship with God began. It's here where the foundation of my life was laid." Talk about a microphone-drop moment. I asked him to share that with our small party. He did and then he excused himself and left. Just like that.

Kaz sharing his benediction

Perhaps Kaz's appearance was a sign of sorts. Certainly it was a reminder to me. I'm pretty sure everyone on Sunday had a good time. Of course, we would have had a better time if more of us would have been on hand. But it is what it is. People get sick at times and now and again people travel. But even if the gathering had been a strike-out, Kaz's short visit made it altogether a home run. a reminder to me that as Paul once wrote to the Corinthians, "always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless" (1 Corinthians 15:58, NLT). Even, it seems, a pick-up game of Baseball Bible Trivia on a morning so cold that even the grill won't fire.

"And they lived happily ever after..." (some thoughts after completing a study of Hosea)

Since Christmas I have been musing on the story of Hosea: the son of a priest called upon to marry a whore (Hosea 1:2, The Message). If Cinderella is a story of beauty's redemption, Hosea's tale is a love story on the effects of adultery on a marriage. These are some thoughts that came to mind after completing my study.

All good stories begin with "Once Upon a Time" and end with "And they lived happily ever after..." It's pretty much a Disney formula be it Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty or Beauty and the Beast. There's an abused beauty (be she Snow White, Belle or Rapunzel) oppressed by (often!) a wicked stepmother who metes out great trouble upon her step-daughter only for her to be finally rescued by a fine, young prince (be he Prince Charming, Aladdin or Flynn Rider). The foe is vanquished, the beauty is fully revealed and both beauty and prince ride off into the sunset to begin their happily ever after.

We call them "Fairy Tales" because they're mythical, something that in reality does not happen in "real" life. Or is there something true in them? The Bible speaks of a "damsel in distress" who is longing for her prince to one day return and take her off to her "happily ever after". However, unlike Aurora, Ariel or Jasmine, she's in trouble not on account of the wiles of an enemy alone; rather, it's because she's a rebel at heart. It isn't because she made a mistake and got herself entrapped. No, she chose disobedience in spite of being warned to the contrary.

Of course, I'm talking about us - the Church. Like Snow White, we're humming a tune that sounds similar to her song:

Some day, my prince will come

Some day, we'll meet again
And away to his castle we'll go
To be happy forever, I know

We, too, are awaiting the Return of our bridegroom, Jesus the Christ, Messiah and Lord. He will rescue us from the body of this death and ultimately overthrow Satan and renew the world entire. That's future. In the meantime we wait for his return and like a bride on her wedding day making herself beautiful for that long stroll down the aisle, we prepare ourselves too. How? 

"...his bride has prepared herself.
She has been given the finest of pure white linen to wear.”
    For the fine linen represents the good deeds of God’s holy people. (Revelation 19:7-8, NLT)

We make ourselves ready by "practicing" holiness now - in our deeds of kindness done for our neighbor, or for visiting those in prison, or feeding someone who is hungry, or helping another in distress. With each act it's like another weave has been wove into the wedding garment we'll one day be adorned with. 

At the end of all things then the Marriage Supper of the Lamb will begin and to be invited to that gathering is a blessing (Rev 19:9). WE ARE BOTH INVITEE AND MAIN ATTRACTION (i.e., the Bride). And as the credits roll on this first heavens and earth, instead of some far-off castle in the sky that we'll ride off to the Bible tells us that the Kingdom will finally come here in fullness. 

Michael Wilcock writes poetically about that moment when the Bride at long last is wed to her Bridegroom:

We have passed beyond the bounds of space and time into regions of eternal light, unshadowed by the slightest imperfection, not to say evil; where the eyes of every created thing are fixed in adoration upon the Lamb alone. Yet he is not alone. For sharing the Scene with him – indeed, taking its very title role – is a radiant stranger whose features, as we consider them, are nonetheless familiar. Can it be...?

It is 'the Bride, the wife of the Lamb'. It is the church of Christ. It is you: it is I. Whatever metaphors we may use to describe our relationship with Christ, the last Scene of the Bible shows us ourselves married to him, 'cleansed...by the washing of water with the word', presented before him 'in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing' (Eph 5:26, 27).

Sounds like a fairy tale to me. And yet, just as we know that Snow White will ultimately be redeemed despite the evil queen's machinations to the contrary, we know that we, too, will one day be rescued from the body of this death and this present age of trouble. So we must persist waiting a little longer until He comes - or risk judgment on account of perfidy.

An exercise in peripatetic prayer

This past Sunday we did “church” a little differently.

We gathered as we are wont to do at 10 am but after about 15 minutes we then dispersed. Some remained at Refuge to pray. Some went to Main Street Park in our city's central business district to pray and worship there. And some walked several streets in our city and prayed in key locations. The whole exercise took maybe an hour at which point we re-gathered at Main Street Park to debrief a little and close in prayer and worship there.

The idea for this gathering arose from one of our elders – Renee – who is also a member of what we refer to as the Connect group at Refuge. “Connect” is our missions group and its purpose is not only to encourage connection with the missionaries we support monthly but also to foster missional thinking in our fellowship. That is, missions isn't something that only the select few we refer to as missionaries do; we are all – or, supposed to be - on a mission. Granted, most of us are called to cross the street or hall to share the love of Jesus with another rather than relocate to, say, Africa. But the principle is the same: we are all sent.

My first image from my very first
time to Africa in 2012 was a Holstein cow

Renee is a real down-to-earth person. While she's partaken in a couple of mission trips in the past – once to Uganda, once to Pine Ridge Reservation (a third world country inside the US) – she's pretty much convinced that most people will never leave their comfort zone in the name of missions. It's expensive. It's inconvenient (you may have to burn through two weeks of vacation in order to go there). It's uncomfortable (eating food that you're not familiar with, living temporarily with those who speak English only as a second language). And it's stressful (going through security check-points, putting your shoes on and off, flying, feeling like a duck out of water). These are reasons to say, in so many words, “I'll be praying for ya” to those who do choose to go.

Sheryl, Renee and Randy from Uganda '12

Renee also knows, however, that whatever good we may do in, say, Africa or Mexico, it's what God does in us as we go that is the greater work. A lot of us who live here in northwest Wisconsin like living up here in the woods a long way away from “the Cities” (i.e., the Twin Cities) and Madison. But should we be so fortunate to travel to, say, Palanan on northern Luzon (Philippines), we return to “the Shire” when it's over yes, with a lot of pictures, a couple of new friends on Facebook and a few souvenirs but really with a larger view of the world than we previously had. And that is a very good thing.

Palanan '11

Even so, a lot of people will still pass on the opportunity to go for one reason or another. So Renee (and Monica, another member of Connect, and myself) thought why not offer a mini-missions experience without even leaving Chetek? This is how “DO”-Sunday came about. We began talking about this in May and by early June had perhaps 30 people signed up for it. But it's summertime, after all, and it is when people understandably take advantage of the weather and do something fun – like go to a Twins game or attend a grad party or simply do other things than attend church. All that to say only 18 people were on hand when the bell rang on Sunday morning at 10 am.

No time was wasted on lamenting who wasn't there. Rather, we were happy that 18 people wanted to give this exercise a go. We modified our game plan and in the end carried it out successfully. A few stayed and prayed. A few gathered at Main Street Park, worshiped and prayed. A few walked the streets praying as they went.

The "balloon brigade" at work

Four women from our fellowship who dubbed themselves the
“balloon brigade” came an hour earlier and inflated 50 balloons for either the prayer-walking teams to take or simply put on display at Main Street Park. While out and about with his daughters, Kale, our youth leader here at Refuge, picked up some Popsicles and distributed them to people they met at the beach – perfect on a day that the heat index was in the 100s. Mary and LeAnne, who were at Main Street Park, didn't like the fact that the prayer table was not near the sidewalk so mid-way through the intercession set called an audible and moved the table right up to the sidewalk. The rest of the hour they spent waving at all the cars passing by and were rewarded with a lot of thumb's up and friendly honks.

Waving and blessing as they do

As the worship leader at Main Street Park, as I sang and played the random songs I picked somehow they meant something different being sung and prayed there as opposed to within the friendly confines of The Refuge.

I exalt Thee

I exalt Thee

I exalt Thee, o Lord!

Lord, let your glory fall as on that ancient day

Songs of enduring love and then Your glory came...

You are good, You are good, and Your love endures

You are good, You are good, and Your love endures today...

All the earth will shout Your praise

Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing

Great are You, Lord

Jesus is not just Lord at the gathering. He is the Lord of heaven and earth which includes this little town pretty much two hours from anything.

When we reassembled around 11:30 am we debriefed our morning exercise. The gals at Main Street Park loved all the complimentary honks and waves they got. The prayer teams shared about the joy they experienced as they went out and blessed the city in different locales. Those who had remained at Refuge in our very warmish sanctuary covered all in prayer. When I asked for critiques for next time almost everyone agreed that while the prayer-teams didn't really run into anyone nor no one visited the prayer station, everyone was fairly certain that it was a wonderful way to “do” church. Besides, Sunday afternoon or early evening events would not lesson competition with other goings-on; it might actually heighten it.

So, small crowd or large, go out in Jesus' name with the exhortation from the Apostle Peter in our ears:

“Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing.” 1 Peter 3:8-9, The Message

With God's help, I think we did just that this past Sunday and trust that he'll reward our act of faith with the confidence to continue to go forth in his name.

"This is the gate of heaven": a reflection on the quiet places

 “The most important discovery of my whole life is that one can take
a little rough cabin and transform it into a palace just by flooding it with thoughts of God. When one has spent many months in a little house like this in daily thoughts about God, the very entering of the house, the very sight of it as one approaches, starts associations which set the heart tingling and the mind flowing. I have come to the point where I must have my house, in order to write the best letters or think the richest thoughts.” Letters by a Modern Mystic by Frank C. Laubach

When I was a young man  learning how to follow Jesus, more often than not my “prayer room” was my basement bedroom in our home on Turner Avenue in Madison. As instructed, I would wake up a little earlier, get down on my knees, quiet my heart, read my Bible and pray. “Quiet Time” was the buzz phrase then (a term that has long since fallen out of vogue). Of course, the purpose was not to simply “punch the clock”; rather, it was to foster a relationship with Jesus. I don't remember any more how long my quiet time lasted but I probably averaged 20-25 minutes depending how late I had stayed up the night before and how soon I had to be to class or work.

During my Bible college years, my prayer room varied from an alcove beneath the basement steps at one town home I lived in to the bedside of the hotel room we were housed in. After I married, developing a new prayer routine was a bit challenging for awhile – Linda and I lived in a small one-bedroom garden apartment – but during that season I recall a certain chair in our living room where I would kneel, read and pray.

My prayer room since 1991

Since becoming a pastor, however, my prayer room hands down is the sanctuary of the fellowship I serve, The Refuge International. As buildings go, our gathering place is fairly simple: a block building 45' by 30' feet with a front and rear egress. Originally a “cry-room” the one room off the entryway serves as a catch-all church/pastor's office. The lower-level contains a fellowship hall, a nursery, one Sunday School classroom, a kitchen, two unisex bathrooms and three closets. After 65 years, we finally replaced our boiler last year. And while it's not a fact to be proud of, we remain the only fellowship in our city that does not have air-conditioning (two large overhead fans in the sanctuary and few others scattered about the room suffice on those real dog-days of the summer). All that to reiterate: there is nothing about this place to write home about.

The altar steps is a place I frequent

But for me personally the steps of the altar (for many years the far
left altar and for several years running now the far right) has become my tent of meeting. In Exodus 33 we learn that Moses would post a tent some distance outside the camp and go there regularly to meet with God.

“It was Moses’ practice to take the Tent of Meeting and set it up some distance from the camp. Everyone who wanted to make a request of the Lord would go to the Tent of Meeting outside the camp.”

“Whenever Moses went out to the Tent of Meeting, all the people would get up and stand in the entrances of their own tents. They would all watch Moses until he disappeared inside. As he went into the tent, the pillar of cloud would come down and hover at its entrance while the Lord spoke with Moses. When the people saw the cloud standing at the entrance of the tent, they would stand and bow down in front of their own tents. Inside the Tent of Meeting, the Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.” Exodus 33:7-11, New Living Translation)

It is at these steps that I still my heart and seek to practice the presence of God. I used to pace more while I prayed. It kept me from falling asleep and somehow the movement helped focus my thoughts. But over the last few years, that practice has grown less. More often than not, it's getting easier to quiet my thoughts than it used to. Since the fall of 1991, this simple block building has been the place wherein I have developed my craft and enlarged my soul. While others often quip about bulldozing the whole place in and starting over (if God would be so kind to send, say, a natural disaster our way to expedite that), I love this old drafty building and one day – when I will no longer be the pastor here - will miss having it all to myself 98% of the time.

In the movie Dances with Wolves (1990), mule driver Timmons takes one look at Fort Sedgwick and spits. “Ain't much of a goin' concern, is it, Lieutenant?” he remarks to Kevin Costner's character, Lt. John J Dunbar. I suppose some might say the same thing of the church at the corner of Eighth and Leonard in Chetek. But to me it is quite literally, Bethel – the house of God (see Genesis 28). Frank Laubach, an American missionary who lived and served on Mindanao in the Philippines for over thirty years said of his small cabin among the Moro people:

“When one has spent many months in a little house like this in daily thoughts about God, the very entering of the house, the very sight of it as one approaches, starts associations which set the heart tingling and the mind flowing. I have come to the point where I must have my house, in order to write the best letters or think the richest thoughts.”

The only missionary to ever be honored with a US postal stamp

I feel the same about Refuge. It is, for me, the gateway to God, the tent of meeting where from time to time the cloud comes down and he reveals something more to me of him, his character, and his purposes. Yes, I sure would love to one day have AC but a fan will work much the same to cool me as I seek to know him better.

Sometimes miracles are so ordinary you almost miss them

In thirty-three years of ministry I haven't seen a lot of “miracles” as Pentecostals rate them (and I only mention them because, well, I am one). While I have prayed hundreds of time for healing I have seen but a few but even those were nothing to write home to Charisma magazine about. While I have prayed several times for people who were “demonized” to be set free, only once have I seen “it” happen in front of me. Having said that this exorcism would have never made the director's cut of The Exorcist because it was so pedestrian (and yet so real). A friend of mine and I were having coffee this morning and he mentioned a mutual acquaintance of ours (and a fellow Pentecostal) who once boasted that he had performed all the miracles Jesus ever did at least once. If that's so that's some resume. But that has not been my experience here. Our supernatural aspirations to the contrary, Refuge seems to run on a much lower octane.

But last Tuesday night I was reminded quite clearly that God was in our midst and working supernaturally among us. A week ago tonight it was Christmas Eve and like a lot of fellowships we host a candlelight service that includes the singing of traditional carols. In addition, I have created a liturgy of sorts that involves the reading of a dozen passages of Scripture from Genesis to Revelation. Before the service begins I always ask for volunteers to read and without fail participants young and old raise their hands to help out. When asking for someone to read Luke 2:8-20, Dylan's second-grade daughter, Presly, raised her hand. I simply looked at Dylan and said, “All right, Dad, you're in the bullpen just in case.”

Dylan is new to us. I met him on the “inside” as part of my ministry as a chaplain at the Barron County Jail. This past spring he came to Jesus while incarcerated at the jail and a week or so later kneeled on the carpet of Classroom 2 and was baptized. When he was released in May he had to serve additional time on the monitor but per the conditions of his release he faithfully attended both our Sunday morning gatherings and our Saturday evening Life Recovery Group that he and his brother, also a former inmate, had begun.

Dylan on his baptism day

In October, when he was finally off the monitor he asked to bebaptized again as this time he wanted to do it in front of his daughters. And so in late October after the service began, he and his girls, my wife and I and a few other close friends of his jumped in our vehicles and drove to City Beach and livestreamed his baptism to the sanctuary back at Refuge. There's a memory for you!

Since his release he has been mentored by a few Christian guys and myself. He's a drummer so every fourth Sunday when I lead worship he assists me in that. And he has been intentional in bringing his two daughters to worship with him.

And so on Christmas Eve they were with him again, perhaps their first Christmas Eve spent in any church. The sanctuary lights were off. We had been singing and reading Scripture for some time and finally we arrived at Luke Chapter 2 verse 8 and I heard Dylan's voice begin to read about the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night. In my mind I thought, 'Too bad. She chickened out.' But no, they had a plan. Because at the paragraph break, Presly's voice began to read about the angels' song and Glory to God in the highest. Then Dylan read again about the shepherds running to see the child. And finally Prestly read again of Mary reflecting and pondering all that she had heard.

It was somewhere in the reading of this passage it dawned on me: God is real and the evidence is sitting in the third row reading about the angels appearing to lowly shepherds and announcing the news of Jesus' birth. Dylan's year began with not a clue about God or a desire to follow him. But in the wintertime he was arrested and with the encouragement of his brother began to sign up for programming. That's when he heard the Gospel from Duane, one of the other volunteer chaplains. That's where he surrendered his life to Jesus and submitted to his first baptism. And since that time he has been walking out his faith in fits and starts like everyone else. And how is his year ending? Sitting in a darkened sanctuary reading by candlelight a part of the Christmas story from Luke 2 along with his second-grade daughter. Talk about a 180! That, by any definition, is miraculous and testimony of what God is able to do when humans submit themselves to the Lord who loves them and gave himself for them.

Dylan is only thirty-two and his new life in Christ has just begun. We all know that there will be seasons of challenge ahead of him just like anyone else. But for one hour on Christmas Eve it was wonderful to be reminded that God is real and Jesus not only was born in Bethlehem but grew up and later died on the cross outside of Jerusalem only to be resurrected three days later. He lives now forevermore seeking all those who are lost and in need of saving.

Hosea's One Message

 “The word of the Lord that came to Hosea son of Beeri during the
reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezekiah, kings of Judah, and during the reign of Jeroboam son of Jehoash king of Israel” Hosea 1:1, NIV

I've recently begun my devotions in the book of Hosea. After reading what is often referred to by commentators as the “superscript” (1:1) I was struck by the phrase that begins the verse - “The word of the LORD”.

It made me think of something Leif Peterson, Eugene H. Peterson's son, wrote in the Commemorative Edition of A Long Obedience in the Same Direction printed after his father's passing in 2018:

“When I was in high school I used to joke with my dad that he only had one sermon. And although it was a joke between us, I believed then, as I do now, that it is largely accurate. My dad had one message.”

So right at the beginning of this collection of sermons the editor – or Hosea himself – is telling us that all that we read over the next fourteen chapters is “the word of the LORD” that came to him during his 30-plus years of preaching. Its his “one message.”

Of course, we mostly remember him for the audacious thing he was asked to do. I prefer the Message version for its bluntness:

“Find a whore and marry her.
    Make this whore the mother of your children.
And here’s why: This whole country
    has become a whorehouse, unfaithful to me, God.” (1:2, The Message)

And later, when she went back to turning tricks again, he was commanded to go out and “buy her back” from whatever legal hole she had dug for herself. All of this and the words that would come out of a broken heart become Hosea's one message: God loves us always, he's faithful to us even when we are unfaithful to him and he pursues us relentlessly.

Over three decades Hosea ministered, preached, exhorted, and plead with the people of God to turn and return to their first love. During the course of his preaching he used similes and metaphors galore referring to Israel at different times as an adulterous wife, a stubborn heifer, a wild donkey, and a senseless dove, to name four. Nothing he said let alone did seemed to have an effect on their determination to live badly. And before he died scholars contend that he sought refuge in the southern kingdom of Judah as the northern kingdom came to an end by the ruthless hands of the Assyrians as its citizens were scattered to the winds.

Of course by that standard one could say that all the prophets of the Bible – both the “major” and the “minor” ones - ultimately failed in their calling to warn and, if possible, provoke Israel's wanton heart back into loving submission to her husband, Yahweh. For all their elocution, their fantastic use of language as well as the unusual and peculiar things they were tasked, at times, to do, the people still chose to reject the word of the Lord.

I, too, am now in my third decade of ministry. Since receiving the
call to serve The Refuge, six presidents have served our country – George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barak Obama, Donald Trump, Joe Biden and soon, Donald Trump for the second time. During that same period, America has fought over 20 of those years in the Middle East, has endured the crisis of 9/11, the banking crisis of 2008 and the pandemic of 2020. I don't know how later generations will judge my effectiveness – let alone the thousands of other servants of the Lord who have served during this same period of time. Will they say we failed to capture America's fleeting attention? Will they say we accommodated too much to the growing secular culture? Thirty-three years later is Chetek, Wisconsin better for my and my family living and serving here? Has the cause of God's kingdom been furthered because of my preaching and teaching here? Of course, I'd like to say yes but who can really say?

As I have kept tabs, over thirty-three years of ministry I have preached 1,136 Sunday morning messages from 63 of the 66 books of Scripture (I have yet to preach a single message from Obadiah, Micah and, as it happens, Hosea). That's a lot of words, a lot of times sitting at this same desk pounding out an outline that hopefully will rouse some sleepwalking disciples awake or persuade a prodigal to give it up and come back home. In the end what will they say of me? What will they say that my “one message” was?

For the last twenty years I have been a volunteer chaplain at the Barron County Jail and if that ministry has taught me anything is that I don't control outcomes. The ground is hard and many of the guys have fleeting moments of clarity that once on the street yield to old thought patterns and behaviors. But regardless of my audience be they “inside” or “outside” the same can occur: they hear the messages I preach and share, and watch my life and how I live it and at the end of the day still decide, “No thank you” and go the way they feel best.

Let me write something that all stewards of the Word know: faithfulness matters; loyalty matters; commitment matters. Hosea was faithful to the call God gave him crazy as it was. Even though the phrase had not been coined yet I think he would agree with what a later apostle wrote about his ministry: “I have finished my race.” I have long ago let go of the expectations I once had for my ministry here when I first began. It's all kind of fuzzy now but it had something to do with growing a big and influential ministry that would grab the attention of the world. Yeah. Ultimately, regardless of the outcome – fame or notoriety, distinction or disappointment - I pray to be just as faithful to the task as Hosea was until I preach my last message here and say Amen.