Repent! The Kingdom of Heaven Is at Hand.
Return to the waters of the Jordan: to the significance of your Baptism. Die, and be raised up.
The coming of the Kingdom of Heaven is not to be taken lightly or for granted, nor approached carefree like an annual Christmas party. This is no lark. God’s Kingdom comes upon you with both threat and promise. How shall you enter and live in that Kingdom?
Do not boast of your own works or pedigree, nor rely upon your own accomplishments or contributions. Do not rest easy on your Lutheranism, nor even rely upon your Baptism (far less your Confirmation) if you are not returning daily to the dying and rising of contrition and repentance, confession, and faith in the forgiveness of sins (which is what you need if you are to live).
Examine yourself. Consider where God has placed you in life, in light of His Ten Commandments. Remember that your entire life is from God, and that all your days and hours are lived before Him. He is a jealous God; He punishes the sins of the fathers and of their children. Fear God, therefore. Fear His wrath, and do not disobey Him.
Repent of your sins. Stop doing what you should not do, and begin doing what you should. Stop making excuses for yourself. Do not mock and despise the Lord your God by remaining content and at ease in your sin.
If you would live by faith — if you would live at all — confess your sins and seek the grace of God. Seek the Lord where He may be found: not in your heart, nor in your own head, nor in your closet, but in His Word and the preaching of it. Don’t hole up in your house. Go out to the Jordan (to the Church, the community of the baptized) to hear the Voice of the Lord in the preaching of His Word. Confess your sins, that you may hear and receive the Absolution of all your sins from the one who is sent to speak for Christ.
If you knew the wrath of God against sin — against your sins of thought, word and deed — and if you knew the wrath that is to come in the final judgment — you would not delay any longer; you would not stay away nor be so proud (or so shy, or whatever it is that prevents you).
Repent of your sins, and bear the fruit of repentance.
Confessing your sins and seeking forgiveness from the Voice of the Lord, that is the first fruit of repentance. And having then confessed your sins, do better. Go and sin no more.
God is able to raise up children for Himself from stones, that is true, but the stones do not presume upon Him. They are not so proud as those who rest easy in their self-conceit, who do not fear the Lord their God. The stones fear God and honor His commands.
Do you not fear Him? Obey His Voice.
The trees also do not presume upon the Lord, but produce fruit after their own kind, according to His Word (in their own proper place). Every tree that does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire to be destroyed. How is it with you and your tree?
Are you bearing the fruits of repentance? Are you living in faith toward God, in constant prayer, always hearing His Word as your very life breath, and seeking every opportunity to receive His gifts? Are you abiding in love toward your neighbor, with peace in your heart and grace upon your lips and tangible charity in your hands? Are you keeping the commandments of the Lord, not only superficially (so that man can see and praise you), but inwardly and outwardly, from a heart of faith and love, abounding in every good work?
The Lord has brought you out of Egypt by His mighty hand, yet you grumble against Him in the wilderness (as though He had wronged you), and you despise the bread with which He feeds you.
The Lord is coming, your King, the Judge of all the earth, of the living and the dead. His axe is already laid to the root of the tree. Shall you bear fruit and live, or be cut down and die? He shall harvest His fields and thoroughly sift His crops. His fruit He gathers, the chaff He destroys.
Repent — for His Word and Spirit leave no one unscathed and no one standing. Repent — for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Indeed, it is among you in the Person of Christ. Behold, your King is coming to you. He is righteous, and He judges the world in His righteousness.
But His ways are not your ways, and His thoughts are not your thoughts, and you never could prepare yourself for Him. Not even John, the Voice of the Lord in the wilderness, yet knows or comprehends His Wisdom and His Righteousness.
Your tree has been barren. But He hangs Himself upon it. It is cut down by the Axe of His Law, and He is stricken and slain by the judgment of His own mouth. He bears the verdict, the wrath, the punishment and death, in order to bear the fruit of repentance for you.
His tree is the burning bush, engulfed with flames in a blazing, fiery furnace, but not consumed. In this the glorious presence of God is manifest, in that He comes to save His people from their sins.
Here then is the tree of the Cross, raised by the Lord and standing as a signal for the nations, even to the ends of the earth: according to His promises, according to His mercy.
Here is the one tree that remains, bearing the fruit of Christ.
His death is the pathway of repentance for you: through the wilderness, across the Jordan, into life. When you are put to death with Him, you are not destroyed but delivered, for He Himself has conquered death. His Resurrection from the dead is the gathering of the first fruits into His barn (into His heaven). And you are gathered together with Him in that harvest, not to be scattered to the winds nor burned with unquenchable fire, but to live with Him in His Kingdom forever and ever.
Thus, the preaching and Baptism of repentance are for the forgiveness of your sins. This Voice and this water turn you around, away from sin and death, to face the Lord, your King, who comes to you: not for condemnation, but for mercy, peace and joy.
You have not borne good fruits for Him, but He has borne the fruit of repentance for you; and with His Word and Spirit, with His Gospel of forgiveness, He bears good fruit in you (faith and love). He bears this fruit in you after His own kind: after His own kindness: with which He also now and ever feeds you, in the wilderness unto life, and in His Kingdom, here and hereafter forever.
Receive and eat this fruit of His Tree, His holy Body. Drink this fruit of the true Vine, His precious Blood. Eat, drink, and be merry, abounding in the hope of His mercy. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. In the Name + of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
14 December 2007
10 December 2007
Frederick Wilhelm David Thomas
My second youngest son turned three years old today. We didn't have a cake, a card or a gift for him (how sad is that), but I did manage to scrounge up the means to take the handsome young man out for lunch. That was a treat for him, and a neat opportunity for me to spend some time with him. I also enjoyed the chance to watch a movie with him when we got home after lunch, even if he did get bored with the movie halfway through it. Except for the fact that he doesn't have brown eyes, he is another Nicholai in appearance, but he's got a personality all his own. He can really be a pistol sometimes, but he can also be the most adorable little guy. It is still one of my favorite things in life to watch my children growing up and to savor each stage of development. Three has proven to be an especially fun age with a number of my boys so far, and I expect I will be delighted with my Frederick in this coming year of his life.
I should say right away that he is not named for any of the unionistic Prussian rulers who proved to be such a bane for the Lutherans. That would have been particularly ironic with his younger brother then named for Paul Gerhardt! But no, he is rather named for Frederick the Wise, who defended and protected Luther in the early years of the Reformation. In addtion to that, he is named for the exemplary Lutheran pastor, Wilhelm Löhe, for King David and St. Thomas, the Apostle. His due date was the 20th or 21st of December, which would have coincided with St. Thomas' Day, but as it was he showed up almost two weeks early.
As compared to the excitement of Gerhardt's birth last year, labor and delivery with Frederick was relatively "easy." (I know that such things are never really "easy," but I'm fairly certain that even LaRena would say it was "easy" by comparison.) In some ways, it was sort of humorous. Having had seven other children by then, I already knew how things tend to go with our babies; I'd learned how to read my wife pretty well in that respect. I certainly knew that delivery was getting close when we arrived at the hospital, and that it was also quite normal for LaRena to be calm and quiet about the whole thing. There was a resident on duty on the maternity floor, and a nurse assisting her, and they were both already focused on another woman in labor who was making a fair amount of noise down the hallway. They did a quick check on LaRena and made a judgment call that they had plenty of time with her, and that the other woman would surely deliver first. I had no idea, of course, regarding the other woman, but I did know there wasn't long to wait for our baby to be making his appearance. Labor generally goes smoothly and quickly for LaRena, and she progresses to the point of delivery in short order once the process is underway. This is one of the reasons that Zachary was delivered at home (not by intention), and why it is that Ariksander was born nine minutes after we entered the front doors of the hospital.
Well, anyway, we'd been at the hospital for not very long, and the nurse and the doctor were down the hall with the other woman, but I could tell that we were on the verge of delivery. So when the nurse poked her head in the door, ostensibly to assure us that everything was fine and they'd be around in plenty of time to assist LaRena, I casually observed that the baby would be born with the next contraction. I then watched with a certain degree of amusement, as the mental process played itself out on the nurse's face. She went from smirking incredulity to a dawning realization that, not only was I serious but, this being child number eight, I might actually know what I was talking about, and then came the look of frantic panic. She went tearing out the door and down the hall to fetch the doctor. I could hear them beginning to mess with the equipment, only to abandon that time-consuming nonsense in order to return more quickly. Sure enough, the next contraction delivered Frederick into the barely ready, waiting arms of the resident doctor, and that was that.
Dear little Frederick was baptized on the Feast of the Epiphany, which made for an all-the-more glorious celebration. His godfamily, Tim & Debbie Theiss and two of their daughters, were here for the occasion all the way from Texas. Getting them to come from Texas to northern Indiana in early January goes to show what good friends and devoted godparents Tim and Debbie are. We are grateful for them on all counts.
Frederick has been a challenge at times. He developed quite a piercing scream, which could send shivers up and down the spine, and for a while there I thought he would never outgrow it. I guess it was maybe a year ago that I threatened to write "Frederick and the Deadly Hollers," but I never have followed through on that potential best-seller. He's actually grown up a lot, and even though he still resorts to throwing a fit now and then, he can also be a real charmer. He asks lots and lots of questions, but does not hesitate to disagree with the answers he's given. We had several interesting such discussions over our lunch together today. Oh, the joys of mischievous, fun-loving little boys! They're not without original sin, but what you see is what you get, and there's something terribly refreshing about that.
Having a larger family means that the older children are growing up and leaving home as the younger ones are just arriving. There are benefits to that, as the younger children are not then always overshadowed by their older siblings. It also enables this family to fit inside its house! But I do regret that Zach and Fredo don't get to spend much time together. The two of them, in particular, bonded pretty closely in the first two-and-a-half years of Frederick's life. I know that Zach misses his little brother, and that goes both ways. Last night Frederick wanted Zach to snuggle with him as he was supposed to be going to sleep. I reminded him that Zach is in Texas with Bekah (as Frederick often reminds the rest of us!), and Fredo knows very well that Zach's Bekah is also his own godsister. So then he was missing not only his big brother but also his godfamily, but he was content with the way things are and was willing to have Nicholai snuggle him. He is such a little clone of Nicholai, I suppose the two of them will hit it off, also.
I should say right away that he is not named for any of the unionistic Prussian rulers who proved to be such a bane for the Lutherans. That would have been particularly ironic with his younger brother then named for Paul Gerhardt! But no, he is rather named for Frederick the Wise, who defended and protected Luther in the early years of the Reformation. In addtion to that, he is named for the exemplary Lutheran pastor, Wilhelm Löhe, for King David and St. Thomas, the Apostle. His due date was the 20th or 21st of December, which would have coincided with St. Thomas' Day, but as it was he showed up almost two weeks early.
As compared to the excitement of Gerhardt's birth last year, labor and delivery with Frederick was relatively "easy." (I know that such things are never really "easy," but I'm fairly certain that even LaRena would say it was "easy" by comparison.) In some ways, it was sort of humorous. Having had seven other children by then, I already knew how things tend to go with our babies; I'd learned how to read my wife pretty well in that respect. I certainly knew that delivery was getting close when we arrived at the hospital, and that it was also quite normal for LaRena to be calm and quiet about the whole thing. There was a resident on duty on the maternity floor, and a nurse assisting her, and they were both already focused on another woman in labor who was making a fair amount of noise down the hallway. They did a quick check on LaRena and made a judgment call that they had plenty of time with her, and that the other woman would surely deliver first. I had no idea, of course, regarding the other woman, but I did know there wasn't long to wait for our baby to be making his appearance. Labor generally goes smoothly and quickly for LaRena, and she progresses to the point of delivery in short order once the process is underway. This is one of the reasons that Zachary was delivered at home (not by intention), and why it is that Ariksander was born nine minutes after we entered the front doors of the hospital.
Well, anyway, we'd been at the hospital for not very long, and the nurse and the doctor were down the hall with the other woman, but I could tell that we were on the verge of delivery. So when the nurse poked her head in the door, ostensibly to assure us that everything was fine and they'd be around in plenty of time to assist LaRena, I casually observed that the baby would be born with the next contraction. I then watched with a certain degree of amusement, as the mental process played itself out on the nurse's face. She went from smirking incredulity to a dawning realization that, not only was I serious but, this being child number eight, I might actually know what I was talking about, and then came the look of frantic panic. She went tearing out the door and down the hall to fetch the doctor. I could hear them beginning to mess with the equipment, only to abandon that time-consuming nonsense in order to return more quickly. Sure enough, the next contraction delivered Frederick into the barely ready, waiting arms of the resident doctor, and that was that.
Dear little Frederick was baptized on the Feast of the Epiphany, which made for an all-the-more glorious celebration. His godfamily, Tim & Debbie Theiss and two of their daughters, were here for the occasion all the way from Texas. Getting them to come from Texas to northern Indiana in early January goes to show what good friends and devoted godparents Tim and Debbie are. We are grateful for them on all counts.
Frederick has been a challenge at times. He developed quite a piercing scream, which could send shivers up and down the spine, and for a while there I thought he would never outgrow it. I guess it was maybe a year ago that I threatened to write "Frederick and the Deadly Hollers," but I never have followed through on that potential best-seller. He's actually grown up a lot, and even though he still resorts to throwing a fit now and then, he can also be a real charmer. He asks lots and lots of questions, but does not hesitate to disagree with the answers he's given. We had several interesting such discussions over our lunch together today. Oh, the joys of mischievous, fun-loving little boys! They're not without original sin, but what you see is what you get, and there's something terribly refreshing about that.
Having a larger family means that the older children are growing up and leaving home as the younger ones are just arriving. There are benefits to that, as the younger children are not then always overshadowed by their older siblings. It also enables this family to fit inside its house! But I do regret that Zach and Fredo don't get to spend much time together. The two of them, in particular, bonded pretty closely in the first two-and-a-half years of Frederick's life. I know that Zach misses his little brother, and that goes both ways. Last night Frederick wanted Zach to snuggle with him as he was supposed to be going to sleep. I reminded him that Zach is in Texas with Bekah (as Frederick often reminds the rest of us!), and Fredo knows very well that Zach's Bekah is also his own godsister. So then he was missing not only his big brother but also his godfamily, but he was content with the way things are and was willing to have Nicholai snuggle him. He is such a little clone of Nicholai, I suppose the two of them will hit it off, also.
08 December 2007
Halfway To Hazard
I don't know whether Zach has had a chance to pick it up and check it out for himself, but I've urged him to get the self-titled debut from Halfway To Hazard. I'm quite convinced that he would love it, given his musical tastes and preferences. This is one of those records that rockers with a prejudice against country most fear and flee, because it breaks down all their defenses.
There were a number of CDs I picked up over the course of the summer at great sale prices, and this was one of the best. I took chances on various things because of the lower-than-usual cost, and I'm happy to say that I've been pleased with just about everything I snagged. In this case, it wasn't just the $7 pricetag, but also the fact that Halfway To Hazard is produced in part by Tim McGraw, that motivated me to pick it up. Zach and I both love Tim McGraw's brand of country music, and his own 70s classic rock sensibilities are fully in evidence here.
Oddly enough, I wasn't impressed with Halfway To Hazard the first time I listened to it. Or, rather, I should say that I wasn't terribly impressed with the songs; the music I thought was great from the get-go. DoRena and I heard it together on our way to Fort Wayne, and I don't think she was all that interested, either, but maybe we just weren't paying attention properly. The songs struck me as trite and cliche. But even then, I could recognize the musicianship in the performance. Think a countrified Aerosmith or Bon Jovi, and the original Bad Company; maybe Lynyrd Skynyrd, too, and even the Allman Brothers Band without the long guitar jams. It's clear these boys (there's two of them in the band) know and love their rock 'n' roll, and they know how to play. Musically, H2H is great stuff, including an impressive range of tunes. One song, "Welcome to Nashville," reminds me a little of "Hot Dog" on Zeppelin's In Through the Out Door, but neither of those two songs is really typical of its larger context; so there you go.
Well, whatever the reasons may have been for my lukewarm first impressions, the next time I got around to listening to the record, I fell in love with Halfway To Hazard. I honestly don't know what I was thinking previously, because the songs on this record are solid and engaging. David Tolliver and Chad Warrix (the guys who comprise H2H) co-authored almost all of the songs, along with various other writers (including Bobby Pinson on one and Anthony Smith on several others), and their work is frankly intelligent and interesting, in some cases even profound. In this respect, too, it is easy to see why Tim McGraw was inclinded to have a hand in the project, because Halfway To Hazard produce the kind of thinking man's country rock that McGraw loves. (Hecklers in the peanut gallery should check it out before rolling their eyes and snorting at such a description). There are various ways in which these guys remind me favorably of Big & Rich, Hot Apple Pie, and the Warren Brothers, too. And it's not surprising to find Bobby Pinson and Anthony Smith among the writers on the record, as there are also similarities to those artists.
I've been intending to blog about H2H for the past few months, and I've only grown to appreciate this record all the more in the time that it's taken me to get around to it. Maybe this will motivate Zach to find his way to the store and buy the record, if he hasn't already done so. I guess I normally identify some of my favorite songs when I write a "review," so I'll mention "Taking Me On," "Devil and the Cross," and "Die By My Own Hand," in particular. Good stuff.
There were a number of CDs I picked up over the course of the summer at great sale prices, and this was one of the best. I took chances on various things because of the lower-than-usual cost, and I'm happy to say that I've been pleased with just about everything I snagged. In this case, it wasn't just the $7 pricetag, but also the fact that Halfway To Hazard is produced in part by Tim McGraw, that motivated me to pick it up. Zach and I both love Tim McGraw's brand of country music, and his own 70s classic rock sensibilities are fully in evidence here.
Oddly enough, I wasn't impressed with Halfway To Hazard the first time I listened to it. Or, rather, I should say that I wasn't terribly impressed with the songs; the music I thought was great from the get-go. DoRena and I heard it together on our way to Fort Wayne, and I don't think she was all that interested, either, but maybe we just weren't paying attention properly. The songs struck me as trite and cliche. But even then, I could recognize the musicianship in the performance. Think a countrified Aerosmith or Bon Jovi, and the original Bad Company; maybe Lynyrd Skynyrd, too, and even the Allman Brothers Band without the long guitar jams. It's clear these boys (there's two of them in the band) know and love their rock 'n' roll, and they know how to play. Musically, H2H is great stuff, including an impressive range of tunes. One song, "Welcome to Nashville," reminds me a little of "Hot Dog" on Zeppelin's In Through the Out Door, but neither of those two songs is really typical of its larger context; so there you go.
Well, whatever the reasons may have been for my lukewarm first impressions, the next time I got around to listening to the record, I fell in love with Halfway To Hazard. I honestly don't know what I was thinking previously, because the songs on this record are solid and engaging. David Tolliver and Chad Warrix (the guys who comprise H2H) co-authored almost all of the songs, along with various other writers (including Bobby Pinson on one and Anthony Smith on several others), and their work is frankly intelligent and interesting, in some cases even profound. In this respect, too, it is easy to see why Tim McGraw was inclinded to have a hand in the project, because Halfway To Hazard produce the kind of thinking man's country rock that McGraw loves. (Hecklers in the peanut gallery should check it out before rolling their eyes and snorting at such a description). There are various ways in which these guys remind me favorably of Big & Rich, Hot Apple Pie, and the Warren Brothers, too. And it's not surprising to find Bobby Pinson and Anthony Smith among the writers on the record, as there are also similarities to those artists.
I've been intending to blog about H2H for the past few months, and I've only grown to appreciate this record all the more in the time that it's taken me to get around to it. Maybe this will motivate Zach to find his way to the store and buy the record, if he hasn't already done so. I guess I normally identify some of my favorite songs when I write a "review," so I'll mention "Taking Me On," "Devil and the Cross," and "Die By My Own Hand," in particular. Good stuff.
This Country Girl Is a Gem
So far as I can tell, Rissi Palmer is an African American. A young child could look at her and tell you that she's not "black," nor even dark brown, but a caramel-hued light brown in appearance. None of this has any bearing on her musical ability, her artistic creativity or vocal performance. But I do find it interesting that an African American country singer should seem so unusual. There is that tall black rapper, Cowboy Troy, who came into the spotlight a bit with Big & Rich, but he's somewhat unique in his own right. Black singers have always had a big foot in the door of rock 'n' roll, but they are most commonly to be found in the Rhythm & Blues, Soul, and Gospel genres, and they've had close to a monopoly on the rap music industry. Why not country music? Am I just missing something? In any case, Rissi Palmer is a gem of a country girl singer.
Rissi's self-titled debut is really a great record. I'd compare her musically to Faith Hill, but she has a stronger and more versatile voice than Faith. The production strikes me as a bit thin or tinny at times, but not her voice. She's written many of her own songs on the record, and she's obviously got some real talent in that regard, too. All of the songs (both her own and those she has selected) are thoughtful, well-crafted, and interesting; they convey a depth of emotion and, in a number of cases, genuine cleverness. I found the entire record to be instantly enjoyable, yet it has continued to grow on me with repeated listening. I certainly have not grown tired of it, but really delight in it.
I'd put Rissi Palmer in a league with Carrie Underwood, Kelly Pickler and Taylor Swift, though I suspect that Rissi may actually exceed them all. She seems to have a little more natural breadth than those other girls, both in her writing and in her singing. Her voice is pleasant and mature, at times with subtle hints of Soul and R&B. For those who like country music, I recommend giving her a listen. I suspect that my Beanie and a number of my young friends, including a few southern belles I know, would find Rissi's music quite a treat. There's not a song on her record I don't like, but my favorites are "Country Girl," "Heart Don't Know When to Quit," "All This Woman Needs," and "Flowers on My Window Ledge."
Rissi's self-titled debut is really a great record. I'd compare her musically to Faith Hill, but she has a stronger and more versatile voice than Faith. The production strikes me as a bit thin or tinny at times, but not her voice. She's written many of her own songs on the record, and she's obviously got some real talent in that regard, too. All of the songs (both her own and those she has selected) are thoughtful, well-crafted, and interesting; they convey a depth of emotion and, in a number of cases, genuine cleverness. I found the entire record to be instantly enjoyable, yet it has continued to grow on me with repeated listening. I certainly have not grown tired of it, but really delight in it.
I'd put Rissi Palmer in a league with Carrie Underwood, Kelly Pickler and Taylor Swift, though I suspect that Rissi may actually exceed them all. She seems to have a little more natural breadth than those other girls, both in her writing and in her singing. Her voice is pleasant and mature, at times with subtle hints of Soul and R&B. For those who like country music, I recommend giving her a listen. I suspect that my Beanie and a number of my young friends, including a few southern belles I know, would find Rissi's music quite a treat. There's not a song on her record I don't like, but my favorites are "Country Girl," "Heart Don't Know When to Quit," "All This Woman Needs," and "Flowers on My Window Ledge."
07 December 2007
Sixteen Deep Compelling Truths (Dave Barry)
I've been contemplating various deep thoughts of my own lately, but haven't managed to think any of them "out loud" this past week or so. Who knows when my muse will strike? Meanwhile, I spotted the following on the wall of a sub sandwich shop (which is not so different, I suppose, than the words of the prophets written on subways walls), and I was happily able to find the same profound wisdom readily available on the internet. There's more than one version of this list, but what follows is the list as I spied it with my little eye on the wall of the sandwich store.
I'm not as witty or funny as Dave Barry, but I'm evidently a faster learner. I'm only 42, and I can already verify most of these things; the rest of them, I could have guessed. But still.
16 THINGS THAT IT TOOK ME OVER 50 YEARS TO LEARN:
By Dave Barry (on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday)
1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be 'meetings.'
3. There is a very fine line between 'hobby' and 'mental illness.'
4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.
5. You should not confuse your career with your life.
6. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
7. Never lick a steak knife.
8. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.
9. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.
10. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.
11. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
12. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers.
13. A person, who is nice to you, but rude to a waiter, is not a nice person (This is very important. Pay attention. It never fails.)
14. Your friends love you anyway.
15. Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built the Titanic.
16. Men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it's up to the women to stomp [on] them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.
I'm not as witty or funny as Dave Barry, but I'm evidently a faster learner. I'm only 42, and I can already verify most of these things; the rest of them, I could have guessed. But still.
16 THINGS THAT IT TOOK ME OVER 50 YEARS TO LEARN:
By Dave Barry (on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday)
1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be 'meetings.'
3. There is a very fine line between 'hobby' and 'mental illness.'
4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.
5. You should not confuse your career with your life.
6. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
7. Never lick a steak knife.
8. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.
9. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.
10. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.
11. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
12. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers.
13. A person, who is nice to you, but rude to a waiter, is not a nice person (This is very important. Pay attention. It never fails.)
14. Your friends love you anyway.
15. Never be afraid to try something new. Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark. A large group of professionals built the Titanic.
16. Men are like fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it's up to the women to stomp [on] them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.
01 December 2007
You Shall Not Bear False Witness
I was recently reminded how important it is to keep the Eighth Commandment, and how challenging that can sometimes be. The Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Commandments protect our neighbor's life, wife and property from us (and ours from him), and they are considerably assisted in this good work by the significant consequences that perpetrators of murder, adultery and theft are likely to suffer. Perhaps there would be less false witness of the "garden variety" type, if all forms of gossip, innuendo and misrepresentation were dealt with as firmly as lying under oath in a court of law. Yet, I know how easily I can fall into the trap of speaking out of turn, putting not the best construction on things but assuming the worst, and not explaining things kindly but cynically.
We ought to speak to and about our neighbor in the way that Christ Jesus speaks to us in love, with grace, mercy and peace, and in the way that He defends us and testifies on our behalf unto righteousness and life. But that is often not the case, even among Christians. For my own part, I do not always speak with such evangelical eloquence. I ought to know better.
There are people in the South Bend area who barely know me, including some who have never met me, who have formed impressions and opinions of me on the basis of what they have heard about me. "Oh, that Pastor Stuckwisch, he's 'too Catholic' (sic), or he's too conservative, or he only wants to find fault with other people, or he's opposed to Lutheran education," or whatever. Consequently, there are people (near and far) who have written me off and rejected me, who prefer to avoid me and have nothing to do with me, because they've already drawn their conclusions from such and sundry comments. Not only that but, in some cases, people who don't really know me at all, have passed on these assessments with apparent impunity.
It is hurtful to be treated in this way. So, as I say, I ought to know better, and I ought to do better in speaking to and about my neighbor. I can't control the way that people speak concerning me, and I finally have to trust the Lord to vindicate me with His righteousness, even if none of my neighbors defend me, speak well of me, or explain my actions charitably. As the Lord does defend me, speak well of me, and cover me with His charity, so should I do and speak for my neighbor.
The old saying goes, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." That is rubbish. Broken bones can heal more readily than the wounds that words can cause. Sometimes those very real hurts and consequences go well beyond personal feelings. When someone bears false witness against me, not only is my name and reputation damaged, but the confidence that my parishioners need to be able to have in me as their pastor is jeopardized, and that is ultimately a far more serious offense than any other sort of hurt, because it undermines the Gospel. I would sooner be martyred outright than to have my integrity and veracity thrown into doubt and tossed up for grabs. A Christian has to believe that his or her pastor is speaking the truth and acting faithfully according to the Word of God. Even small misrepresentations or "spins" on the truth can cause great harm to faith and life.
In the same way that my good reputation as a pastor is important for the sake of the Gospel, so is it all the more important that I not bear false witness against my neighbor. All of my speaking needs to be a confession of the Word of God; not only saying what He has said, but saying it according to the order that He has established, that is, within my proper vocations and stations in life. If any man speaks, let him speak as the oracles of God. The way that I speak to and about my neighbor in general, informs the way that people will expect me to speak from the pulpit and in the confessional. It is imperative that they be able to trust what I say as the very Word of God, and also that what I say is not simply true but truly evangelical. Even the Law that I preach must finally serve the truth of the Gospel.
The Gospel never bears false witness. It testifies the righteousness of Christ on our behalf, and so declares us "not guilty." That contradicts the sin and death that we find and feel in ourselves, but let the Gospel be true and the accusation of the Law a liar. This is no deception, but grace. Which is why the "truth" of gossip is a lie, and the forgiveness of sins bears the truest witness.
We ought to speak to and about our neighbor in the way that Christ Jesus speaks to us in love, with grace, mercy and peace, and in the way that He defends us and testifies on our behalf unto righteousness and life. But that is often not the case, even among Christians. For my own part, I do not always speak with such evangelical eloquence. I ought to know better.
There are people in the South Bend area who barely know me, including some who have never met me, who have formed impressions and opinions of me on the basis of what they have heard about me. "Oh, that Pastor Stuckwisch, he's 'too Catholic' (sic), or he's too conservative, or he only wants to find fault with other people, or he's opposed to Lutheran education," or whatever. Consequently, there are people (near and far) who have written me off and rejected me, who prefer to avoid me and have nothing to do with me, because they've already drawn their conclusions from such and sundry comments. Not only that but, in some cases, people who don't really know me at all, have passed on these assessments with apparent impunity.
It is hurtful to be treated in this way. So, as I say, I ought to know better, and I ought to do better in speaking to and about my neighbor. I can't control the way that people speak concerning me, and I finally have to trust the Lord to vindicate me with His righteousness, even if none of my neighbors defend me, speak well of me, or explain my actions charitably. As the Lord does defend me, speak well of me, and cover me with His charity, so should I do and speak for my neighbor.
The old saying goes, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." That is rubbish. Broken bones can heal more readily than the wounds that words can cause. Sometimes those very real hurts and consequences go well beyond personal feelings. When someone bears false witness against me, not only is my name and reputation damaged, but the confidence that my parishioners need to be able to have in me as their pastor is jeopardized, and that is ultimately a far more serious offense than any other sort of hurt, because it undermines the Gospel. I would sooner be martyred outright than to have my integrity and veracity thrown into doubt and tossed up for grabs. A Christian has to believe that his or her pastor is speaking the truth and acting faithfully according to the Word of God. Even small misrepresentations or "spins" on the truth can cause great harm to faith and life.
In the same way that my good reputation as a pastor is important for the sake of the Gospel, so is it all the more important that I not bear false witness against my neighbor. All of my speaking needs to be a confession of the Word of God; not only saying what He has said, but saying it according to the order that He has established, that is, within my proper vocations and stations in life. If any man speaks, let him speak as the oracles of God. The way that I speak to and about my neighbor in general, informs the way that people will expect me to speak from the pulpit and in the confessional. It is imperative that they be able to trust what I say as the very Word of God, and also that what I say is not simply true but truly evangelical. Even the Law that I preach must finally serve the truth of the Gospel.
The Gospel never bears false witness. It testifies the righteousness of Christ on our behalf, and so declares us "not guilty." That contradicts the sin and death that we find and feel in ourselves, but let the Gospel be true and the accusation of the Law a liar. This is no deception, but grace. Which is why the "truth" of gossip is a lie, and the forgiveness of sins bears the truest witness.
Three Christmas Memories
Susan tagged me for a "meme," which I understand to mean that I am to follow her and others in listing three Christmas memories. I've been giving this some thought, off and on, for the past day or so, and I guess it doesn't have to be anything that profound; so, here's my contribution:
I remember one Christmas in particular during the years that my family lived in Australia. My Dad was the headmaster of a rural Lutheran school in Tabor, Victoria, and we lived in the "teacherage" right on the grounds of the church and school. It was a very neat place to live as a young boy, and I treasure my memories from those four years very fondly. Anyway, the headmaster (my Dad) and the pastor were each welcome to select and cut down an evergreen tree for Christmas from a row of such trees on the church's property. On Christmas Eve Day one year, my Dad went out to pick a nice tree. The teacherage happened to have rather high ceilings (in my mind's eye, I remember them to be a good ten feet tall), so my Dad selected and chopped down a suitably tall tree to fill the living room impressively. Well, I cannot tell a lie. Turns out that particular tree was actually tall enough to have been the very one intended for the sanctuary that year. Oops! As it was, we certainly enjoyed it. I well remember coming home from the Christmas Eve Service and finding the tree set up and decorated with presents under it, including some nice gifts from our Grandmas and Grandpas back in the United States. It might have been our first Christmas in Australia, but I'm foggy on which year it was exactly. There was a game from Mom and Dad under that great big tree, called "Discover Australia," and for a long time that was a real favorite of mine. Things have blurred together in my mind since then; I was maybe only eight or nine years old at that point; but it was definitely a "best Christmas ever" kind of occasion.
Another Christmas I remember well is the one that came immediately after our return from Australia, when I was twelve (so that was thirty years ago this month!). We had left my Dad at the seminary in Fort Wayne after flying into Chicago in November, and then the rest of us had continued on to Seymour, Indiana, where we would live with Grandma and Grandpa Stuckwisch for the next couple of years. Those were difficult times in lots of ways, as it was hard to be away from Dad so much of the time. He came to be with us on weekends whenever he could, but that wasn't always possible. He had his studies and a campus job, and there was the weather to contend with, and the cost of the trip back and forth (both time and money). He was "home" with us that first Christmas, though, and it was wonderful to be there with all of us together, not only our immediate family but Grandma and Grandpa and aunts and uncles and cousins galore. I was old enough to remember Christmases at their house from before we lived in Australia, so even at the age of twelve I was feeling pretty nostalgic and sentimental about the whole thing. I don't have a clue what I might have gotten as gifts that year, but that hasn't dulled the sense of joy and happiness that I still recall from that occasion. I can still picture the tree in front of the window, full of ornaments and colored lights, and sitting there on the davenport just soaking it up and feeling as though I were living a wonderful dream. That was great.
My third Christmas memory is from the holidays that LaRena and I have celebrated and shared with our own children. Sad to say, I'm a little hazy on which year it would have been, but I think it must have been 2001 or thereabouts, maybe 2000. My wife and older children will probably remember the year, and I trust them to set me straight on the specifics. In any case, it was the first year that we observed each of the Twelve Days of Christmas together as a family. There have been some years, and that was one of them, when we've received enough gifts (counting both the "big" and the "little" packages) to allow each of the children to open up one thing on Christmas Eve, and then one thing on each of the next Twelve Days, and still have a bit of a pile left over to open up on the Feast of the Epiphany. Of course there are years when we have to stretch out the presents a little thinner, but we still make a point of celebrating each of the Twelve Days, and then we pull out whatever stops may be left for Epiphany. There were various reasons for adopting this approach. For one thing, we wanted to be able to focus on the Services of Christmas instead of the rip-roaring hoopla of tearing open a mountain of presents in one fell swoop. By the same token, we also wanted the children to appreciate and really enjoy each of their gifts, and to have a clear sense of the people who had given them each gift. Not only did all of this work very well for us; it also established a family tradition of our own, which we have cherished and enjoyed each year since. It fits nicely with our observance of the Twelve Days of Christmas at Emmaus, too, and it helps us to celebrate the beauty of the entire Season.
I remember one Christmas in particular during the years that my family lived in Australia. My Dad was the headmaster of a rural Lutheran school in Tabor, Victoria, and we lived in the "teacherage" right on the grounds of the church and school. It was a very neat place to live as a young boy, and I treasure my memories from those four years very fondly. Anyway, the headmaster (my Dad) and the pastor were each welcome to select and cut down an evergreen tree for Christmas from a row of such trees on the church's property. On Christmas Eve Day one year, my Dad went out to pick a nice tree. The teacherage happened to have rather high ceilings (in my mind's eye, I remember them to be a good ten feet tall), so my Dad selected and chopped down a suitably tall tree to fill the living room impressively. Well, I cannot tell a lie. Turns out that particular tree was actually tall enough to have been the very one intended for the sanctuary that year. Oops! As it was, we certainly enjoyed it. I well remember coming home from the Christmas Eve Service and finding the tree set up and decorated with presents under it, including some nice gifts from our Grandmas and Grandpas back in the United States. It might have been our first Christmas in Australia, but I'm foggy on which year it was exactly. There was a game from Mom and Dad under that great big tree, called "Discover Australia," and for a long time that was a real favorite of mine. Things have blurred together in my mind since then; I was maybe only eight or nine years old at that point; but it was definitely a "best Christmas ever" kind of occasion.
Another Christmas I remember well is the one that came immediately after our return from Australia, when I was twelve (so that was thirty years ago this month!). We had left my Dad at the seminary in Fort Wayne after flying into Chicago in November, and then the rest of us had continued on to Seymour, Indiana, where we would live with Grandma and Grandpa Stuckwisch for the next couple of years. Those were difficult times in lots of ways, as it was hard to be away from Dad so much of the time. He came to be with us on weekends whenever he could, but that wasn't always possible. He had his studies and a campus job, and there was the weather to contend with, and the cost of the trip back and forth (both time and money). He was "home" with us that first Christmas, though, and it was wonderful to be there with all of us together, not only our immediate family but Grandma and Grandpa and aunts and uncles and cousins galore. I was old enough to remember Christmases at their house from before we lived in Australia, so even at the age of twelve I was feeling pretty nostalgic and sentimental about the whole thing. I don't have a clue what I might have gotten as gifts that year, but that hasn't dulled the sense of joy and happiness that I still recall from that occasion. I can still picture the tree in front of the window, full of ornaments and colored lights, and sitting there on the davenport just soaking it up and feeling as though I were living a wonderful dream. That was great.
My third Christmas memory is from the holidays that LaRena and I have celebrated and shared with our own children. Sad to say, I'm a little hazy on which year it would have been, but I think it must have been 2001 or thereabouts, maybe 2000. My wife and older children will probably remember the year, and I trust them to set me straight on the specifics. In any case, it was the first year that we observed each of the Twelve Days of Christmas together as a family. There have been some years, and that was one of them, when we've received enough gifts (counting both the "big" and the "little" packages) to allow each of the children to open up one thing on Christmas Eve, and then one thing on each of the next Twelve Days, and still have a bit of a pile left over to open up on the Feast of the Epiphany. Of course there are years when we have to stretch out the presents a little thinner, but we still make a point of celebrating each of the Twelve Days, and then we pull out whatever stops may be left for Epiphany. There were various reasons for adopting this approach. For one thing, we wanted to be able to focus on the Services of Christmas instead of the rip-roaring hoopla of tearing open a mountain of presents in one fell swoop. By the same token, we also wanted the children to appreciate and really enjoy each of their gifts, and to have a clear sense of the people who had given them each gift. Not only did all of this work very well for us; it also established a family tradition of our own, which we have cherished and enjoyed each year since. It fits nicely with our observance of the Twelve Days of Christmas at Emmaus, too, and it helps us to celebrate the beauty of the entire Season.
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