On Acting Crazy in Gath

"That's life, that's what all the people say.
You're riding high in April,
Shot down in May.
But I know I'm gonna change that tune,
When I'm back on top, back on top in June."
   "That's Life" sung by Frank Sinatra

Psalm 34 in my NIV Bible includes an editorial commnet: "Of David. When he pretended to be insane before Abimelech, who drove him away and he left." Not really a catchy phrase to start a song but when I read it again today it sent me turning the pages of my Old Testament trying to refamiliarize myself with that odd little episode from King David's life. As most of us are aware, his life was replete with ups and downs. In fact, Sinatra might have been singing about David when he sang, "...you're riding high in April, shot down in May..." He explodes onto the scene as a teenager and becomes a hero when he takes Goliath out with a stone. From then on there can be no going back to his life of obscurity as a shepherd boy. But popularity has its price and soon King Saul is peeved at how loudly the people are singing his praises instead of his own. In fact, a bounty is put on his head and Saul wants him brought in dead or alive (but preferably dead). So when we pick up his tale in 1 Samuel 21, David is a man on the run. After a quick stop in the priest town of Nob where he picks up food and weaponry (most notably the sword of the aforementioned Goliath), David leads his small band of devoted followers into Philistine territory to lay low for awhile.

As luck or fate would have it, they end up in Gath, the home-town of Goliath. Maybe it was by accident that they ended up there. After all, how was he to know when they picked this city to hole up in that it was, in fact, the giant's old stomping grounds? Or was he being cagey thinking the safest place to hide is in plain sight of your enemies? Whatever the case, soon after arriving his cover is blown and now he and his men are deep behind enemy lines and in the open. It's soon reported to King Achish that David the giant-killer has taken up residence in his town and he intends to meet the man who cut down their native hero in the prime of his life. As for David, the lives of his men are in his hands so he must act quickly and cunningly if he is to get them out of this jam. So, he decides to gamble with a ruse and acts like a man who's lost his marbles, beating his head against the gate, moaning and groaning and foaming at the mouth. When King Achish is escorted to where David is carrying on he can't believe that the lunatic before him is the famed hero of Israel. "Are you serious? Whoever this guy is, he's lost it. Am I so short of crazy people in this town that you had to find me one more?" (see 1 Samuel 21:14-15). "Street the guy and get him outta here," orders Achish and unknowingly helps David and his men make their getaway. It had been a close shave but his gamble had paid off. They had made it out of Gath alive.

Soon he and his rag tag band of fighters take up residence in the cave of Adullam, near his home town of Bethlehem, where they remain for some time. Now safely hid in the Judean wilderness he has a little time to reflect on the events of the past few years. It had not been too long ago that the wandering seer Samuel had unexpectedly showed up at his family's home and to his surprise had poured anointing oil upon his head. Soon after he had confronted Goliath in the field and with the death of the giant he was catapulted from obscurity to fame overnight. He was not just the talk of town; he became Israel's favorite son and Saul's foremost champion. But his meteoric rise to fame had its price and soon he is perceived as a rival to be eliminated. Time and time again, Saul's attempts on his life are foiled, one near escape after another which ultimately lead to his "Robin Hood"-like existence living in the Judean hills surrounded by his own circle of merry men.

"I will extol the LORD at all times; his praise will always be on my lips..." the psalm begins. In comparison to David, I live a rather pedestrian life. Every night I come home to my wife and children. I sleep in a comfortable bed and my refrigerator is well stocked. And I certainly don't live in need of constant vigilance against enemies raiding my house. But I confess, I don't extol the Lord at all times and his praise is not always on my lips. Often Thursdays aren't good for me for my soul to "boast in the Lord" (v. 2). That's the day Linda and I usually sit down and sort through our bills. For me, it's a weekly reminder that our financial security hangs by a very frayed thread. It seems like our "Prayer and Praise" insert in our weekly bulletin contains far more prayer requests than answers. Our offerings are never adequate to pay me, our missionaries and our obligations. We pray for the sick and few are healed (or even get a little better!) Lives in our fellowship more often than not are waning with fear and unbelief than waxing with faith and devotion. No, truth be told, I don't "bless God every chance I get" (Msg).

"I sought the LORD, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears" (v. 4). I try and put myself in David's place and the fears he must have dealt with as the outlaw leader of a band of brigands. Obviously, the fear of King Saul was real enough but so also must have been anxiety over his family in Bethlehem or how to provide for his growing following that joined him at the cave or that one or more of his new recruits might, in fact, be assassins feigning friendship long enough to get close enough to put a knife in him. Compared to these, my own fears seem so shallow and trivial - fear that my ministry won't amount to much, fear that I won't get airfare together for my teaching gig in January in the Philippines, fear that our fellowship will always be scrambling to rob Peter to pay Paul. "This poor man called, and the LORD heard him; he saved him out of all his troubles" (v. 6). Certainly David's life bears witness to this truth but by my reckoning it's been a long time since I've truly been in a "tight spot" (Msg).

I do recall a particularly tight place for Linda and I, though. It was the summer of 1988 and when we were attempting to plant a fellowship in southern Wisconsin. Christine was just a few months old and we had moved back from Illinois and were temporarily living in my in-laws' basement in Madison. I helped Linda's dad paint a barn and when we could we drove the 50 miles to Whitewater trying to make livable the broken down trailer we had bought and moved there. After two weeks of this, however, we decided that the best thing we could do was move into the trailer, ready or not, and for me to look for work around there. We had about a two and a half week window before the lot rent was due. I would go out each day and look for work and found jobs cutting grass or doing odds and ends for senior citizens. At the same time, we were waiting on my last pay check from the job I had left in Illinois as well as a large disbursement from a benefit package I had with them. "This poor man called..." and call we did, daily, upon the Lord. If the check did not come in a day or more, we figured we would have to vacate and move back to Madison. "...and the LORD heard him" and at seemingly the 11th hour (or, at least as I remember it) the check was in the mailbox just in time to pay our rent as well as put some food on the table. It certainly wasn't the ultimate fix. It was just God's provision for that month. As we would learn in time, there would be more "troubles" to come but more answers, too. And somehow or other, we didn't starve and for the next two years we made a serious go at our attempt to begin a Christian fellowship in that area.

It occurs to me as I think on David in that cave working out this irregular accrostic that we know as Psalm 34 that he wasn't an old man sitting in a rocking chair looking out on the hills recalling the good old days of his youth. He was a fugitive living in the shadows, hiding out and waiting for God to do something about mad King Saul. And while he waited for regime change there would be more difficult days ahead for him and his men, more tight places to wiggle out from. But for all that, who knows but years later when he was finally ensconced as king in Jerusalem, his every enemy defeated, perhaps he looked back on days like the day he played the fool in Gath, his life in the balance and smiled as he recalled how narrowly he beat fate, not for the first time, and how fully alive he must have felt knowing that his life was in the Lord's hands and how he had heard David's cry for help and rescued him (v. 17).

From time to time, Linda and I remind each other of those halcyon days when we were first married and moved to Illinois with first month's rent for an apartment in hand but no job awaiting for either of us. We were young enough and naive enough to believe that work would come one way or another. And it did eventually. Or we think on that move to Whitewater hoping and crossing our fingers that the proverbial check in the mail would arrive soon. It was something of a nail-biter but came it did. Neither place was ever as bad as holing up in a cave or living hand to mouth but both memories serve as a reminder to me that "a righteous man may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all..." (v. 19).

His Name is Earl

This is Earl wearing a funny hat

This past Monday morning I had a pleasant surprise. I got a visit from Earl, a man I haven't seen in many a year. The light was off in the entryway so when I heard the front door open and someone coming up the stairs I rolled my chair over to the door of my office to get a look-see. By his silhouette, I didn't recognize him for Earl has lost perhaps 70 pounds since I last saw him. But the moment he stepped into the light of my office, I knew him immediately. "Do you know who I am?..." he playfully asked as we eagerly embraced.

When we came to Chetek in 1991, Earl was the pastor of Chetek United Methodist. With his long, bold, white hair tied in a pony tail and usually sporting an EMT jacket he made an instant impression on me (as in, "Who is this guy?") He was in town this Monday to conduct a funeral. We moved into the sanctuary so we could more comfortably visit. Sitting across from me he sized me up and said, "Well, I see you've lost the suit." Dressed in a long sleeve tee and jeans, his comment brought a smile to my face and a vivid memory to mind.

The only pastors I ever had as mentors in my Bible school years were good men who believed in dressing your best for your job. They all wore shirt and tie, dress pants and polished shoes for their daily attire (even at the Saturday morning prayer breakfast!) This must have been before "Casual Fridays" were invented. In any case, when I landed here I just assumed that this was the proper uniform for a minister to don. Not that I cared to dress this way but I certainly didn't want to create any waves unnecessarily by dressing down right off the bat of my time here. Until one morning in mid-November of that first fall in Chetek when Earl and I happened to pull up at the post office at the same time. He was wearing jeans and his EMT jacket and I was wearing a trench coat over what had quickly become my standard suit and tie. "Who do you think you are?" is what he said to me. I was a little taken back since all I had said to him was, "Good morning." "I see you dressed up like that a lot," he answered me, "as if you have somewhere to go and I was just wondering if you like dressing that way?" "Frankly," I told him, "no. As a matter of fact, I don't. But I just thought that this was what was expected of me." "Lose the suit. Wear blue jeans if you like 'em. Be yourself," he told me with a smile. "Don't try and be someone that you're not." I've gone casual ever since and I've always been grateful to him for that good advice.

He left Chetek after an 11-year run and took a church in Milwaukee that was right off Wisconsin Avenue and near the hotel my uncle used to own. I recall one summer day when we were down that popping in for a visit after he had relocated. He retired in 2004 and after two years, he told me, he was "bored stiff" so he went back to work. He got a job on a cleaning crew at a Ronald McDonald House with an injunction from his boss that he was not allowed to pray with anyone due to his long resume as a pastor. If his boss didn't want him to pray with anyone it would have been better for him not to say anything at all to Earl on the matter rather than giving him a cause to champion. Fortunately, she did say something because one day while he was cleaning he noticed a poor mother weeping uncontrollably. Her baby had just died. He sat down beside her and patter her hand until she settled a bit. She then asked him if he would pray for her (not knowing that he was a "former pastor") and, as he tells me the story, "I told her I would but not here." He escorted her down to the non-sectarian chapel and prayed for here there. It riled his boss up a bit but now four years later Earl the janitor is their unofficial chaplain.

He missed preaching and said as much to a friend who is a Methodist official and shortly afterward became pulpit supply to a small, dying Methodist fellowship "five miles west of East Troy" (he told me with a grin). There were eight people present on his first Sunday. They average 25 now and that growth has forced the powers that be in Methodism to refrain from closing the doors - at least for the time being. I think that gives Earl a small sense of satisfaction.

Prior to retirement he became very active in the Interfaith Conference of Greater Milwaukee, an ecumenical council made up of 13 denominations who advocate for the poor and address other social justice issues. Under his leadership, they have made monies available for poor families seeking loans for home improvements. And during the last few years, he and his wife, Audrey, though senior citizens, have become surrogate parents for a young girl whose mother is an addict. Their relationship with the girl stems back to when her mother was attending their church and pregnant with her. She asked Earl after church one Sunday if he wanted to help save a child. When he asked her which child she simply patted her abdomen and said, "This one." For a long while, the mother was clean but now has been sucked back into that lifestyle. So, Brianna, who is eleven now, has a safe place to be and grow up.

In that half hour or that I caught up with Earl, he shared with me about his Muslim neighbors "in the hood", the two guys with whom he and Audrey co-own their duplex and several other bits of trivia from his life since leaving Chetek. If ever I needed proof that "the gifts and callings of God are without repentance" here it is. They can push the old horse out to pasture but they can't put him down.

Earl's a lot thinner now

I marvel at the guy. He is a strange amalgamation of theologies, on the one hand able to tell you his faith-story of hearing the audible voice of God and his conversion at a Billy Graham crusade and on the other to affirm that Muslims and Hindus, though on different paths, will certainly find their way to heaven; practicing presence-based ministry like few others I know while attending a church whose pastor is gay ("I thought I was liberal" he chuckled, "but she's such a good preacher") But for all that, this man, title or not, is a pastor and his visit on Monday morning warmed my heart. Not only was it good to see him but it was good to be reminded that certain gifts that come from God are not determined or restricted by the vote of a certain group of individuals. I'd like to think that the good people of Refuge will embrace me as their pastor forever. But it may not be so. I may get old and slow down and they may then want some younger guy to fill the chair I now fill. To be fair, it may be the only way to get rid of me! But if it ever comes to that Earl's example reminds me that in these things God has the final word on the gifts he shares with us. After all, "Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia." Refuge may come to a point where they feel they do not need my gift any longer but there will be others who will and may yet benefit from it albeit, perhaps, as one of those Wal-Mart greeter guys who welcome you as you enter their store.

Taste and see

"I sought the LORD, and he answered me;
 he delivered me from all my fears."


"Those who look to him are radiant;
 their faces are never covered with shame."


"This poor man called, and the LORD heard him;
 he saved him out of all his troubles."


"The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
 and he delivers them."


"Taste and see that the LORD is good; 
 blessed is the one who takes refuge in him." 
    Psalm 34:4-8, NIV

Before the gathering

This past Sunday, our fellowship celebrated Thanksgiving. While we used to hold our annual service of giving thanks on the night before the day itself, we've come to do it on the first Sunday of November because, well, in this family deer hunting trumps turkey dinner every time. But regardless of when we do it, I love this gathering that I prefer to call the Service of Thanks Bringing. The chairs in the sanctuary, instead of standing on the parade ground in perfect formation, are arranged in two concentric circles with a table set with communion elements standing in the center. When everyone arrives it'll be like Pangea splitting up and great continents of customary turf dividing or disappearing altogether. Now we have to look at each other for a change while we worship instead of at the backs of our heads. On the outside walls of the sanctuary, the tables for dinner are preset hinting of the feast to come. While we will have a song to settle us in, all the worship on this day will be brought by those who will testify of God's faithfulness. It's unknown and unscripted who will share or what they will say. Psalm 107:1-2 are our basic guidelines: "O give thanks unto the LORD, for he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever. Let the redeemed of the LORD say so..." (KJV).

Father's house is packed

The house is packed. At least a third of our guests are related to Jon & Melissa who are celebrating the adoption of Erin and Cameron, Jon's step-children. But there are other visitors present. There are two guys who work the night shift at Wal-Mart and one of them has brought his toddler son. Both have been invited by a couple of their coworkers who are a part of Refuge. Two other guys are in attendance, one of which until recently was cooling his heels at the Barron County Justice Center where I serve as a volunteer chaplain. His friend has a tattoo on his neck which in order to read you would have to walk nearly all around him to do so. Another couple who used to live in our area but left when their construction business fell into legal trouble have moved back for a season and are in attendance this morning. A handful of YWAM-ers from the local campus join us as well, 20-somethings in search of a deeper walk with God among them which is a single mom accompanied by her three-year-old daughter. All have come into God's house either by happenstance or design on this day.

Jesse gathers the stones

After I state our few simple guidelines, thanks are invited to be brought and immediately Lenny stands to his feet to share. Lenny is my dad's age (75) and still gives ski lessons at nearby Christie Mountain. This past spring I had the joy to preside at the re-marriage of he and Paulette, formerly divorced from each other but now brought back together because of Jesus. And with that, the floodgate is opened and for the next 45 minutes thanks are brought and shared amid tears and laughter. Young and old, single and married, teens and senior-types, affluent and broke, a young single mom and a grandma of many, all give thanks to the Lord "because he's so good. His love never runs out" (Psalm 107:1, Msg). If there is a common thread it is the fact that though our lives are messy, God is good and he loves us. Jesse is a guy who came to us by way of his wife, Sheryl. To say that it's not been a good year for them is to keep mum on a lot of details. But he's had a change of heart in the last few months and he recently got a tattoo as a "memorial stone" of sorts. If a guy as shy as he has the wherewithal to stand up in he midst of so many strangers to thank God isn't proof of the change going on him, passing on the upcoming deer-rifle season in favor of more family time probably is. Again and again, I hear the same story: I screw up but he saves me. Another guy who is present has something less than a stellar, spiritual resume: he's been on and off the wagon for years and spent this past summer at the Justice Center for a DUI violation. He's present at my invitation. His theology is pretty screwy - part JW, part Christian, part AA - but he said something worth hearing when after giving his thanks said, "I've decided to let him love me." If ever there was an example of one's insight exceeding one's maturity, here it was.

The Family Lee (Hannah & Liz are sitting behind their dad)

After the sharing, we turn to blessing Jon and Melissa's family. The Lees came to us one Sunday morning in March 2004. All eight of them walked in and took occupancy in the second row where they have pretty much parked themselves ever since. Jon had been raised in a Christian home and had drifted a long way since then; Melissa had never been a part of a church before. Their brood of six were a his-hers-and-ours assortment and since that time we have seen salvation visit their home. Melissa's two children from her second husband (Jon is her third) have rarely seen their dad in the span of their young lives and from the Montana prison where he is presently incarcerated he recently relinquished his parental rights. Their birth certificates will now state that Jon is the biological father. Talk about spiritual analogy! So, Troy, our elder, and Jon's parents, who are godly people both, and a few others and myself gather around the Lees and begin to pray God's blessing upon them. Something of significant spiritual import is happening the extent of which none of us can appreciate.

Erin & Cameron's adoption cake

 We then turn to the elements and I give some simple instructions and read from Titus 3:

The meal of blessing

    It wasn't so long ago that we ourselves were stupid and stubborn,  dupes of sin, ordered every which way by our glands, going around with a chip on our shoulder, hated and hating back. But when God, our kind and loving Savior God, stepped in, he saved us from all that. It was all his doing; we had nothing to do with it. He gave us a good bath,and we came out of it new people, washed inside and out by the Holy Spirit. Our Savior Jesus poured out new life so generously. God's gift restored our relationship with him and given us back our lives. And there's more life to come - an eternity of life! You can count on this. (Msg)

"O taste and see...!"

Families and individuals are then encouraged to come to the table, pour themselves some of the juice and take a piece from one of the loaves and eat as a family or with friends. It is the meal of blessing before the meal. After it is complete, I give simple instructions to clear the sanctuary so that the crew designated to arrange the tables and food have room to operate. It's such a beautiful day no one minds stepping outside for a bit. Within 20 minutes we are all called back inside and once more I thank God for the blessing of each other and for good food. And then the feasting begins and continues for a good long while. As it is at all the dinners that Jesus hosts, there is plenty and to spare. The scene the ensues in the sanctuary is almost like something out of a Breugel painting - good food, laughter and sharing with all the marks of a love feast.

Subject material Breugel would get

Having been a part of the evangelical tradition for nearly thirty years now, I understand that in the lexicon of an "evangelistic meeting" you will find it includes a message about Jesus saving us from our sin and a call to respond to his invitation of forgiveness. That response usually entails a raising of a hand or coming forward to the front of the sanctuary to be prayed for. But in my mind, Sunday's gathering was one of the most evangelistic I had ever been a part of. It included a welcome from Jesus, plenty of testimony of how good he is and an object lesson of what happens when the Father adopts us into his family. If ever a seeker needed evidence that there was something more to this Jesus-thing other than talk, they saw and heard and tasted and smelled and felt the evidence that it is so. Maybe it was lost on a lot of those present but it wasn't lost on me.

Sort of like Refuge (Peasant Wedding by Pieter Breugel)

I want to see, too.

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus in Jericho (as found in Matthew 20:32)

It's just a brief vignette in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. In between more teaching on the "upside-down"-ness of the kingdom of God and the Triumphal Entry is this brief little episode of healing, yet another in the storied life of the rabbi from Galilee. It is a story of desperateness and what despair can cause you to do. Two men from Jericho - one who may have been the Bartimaeus in Mark's gospel - both of whom are blind, hear that Jesus is passing by and though the moment be inopportune, these guys seize the day. The healer of great renown is pasing by and this is their moment. So with a 'now or never' kind of swagger, they raise a cry: "Master, have mercy on us! Mercy, Son of David!" (Matthew 20:30, Msg)

They must have been loud - loud enough to disrupt an otherwise uneventful walk out of Jericho as Jesus and his following began the trek to Jerusalem. Why else would they have been shushed by the rest of the lookers-on? But these guys won't be denied and cry out all the louder. In a day where there were no social safety nets like SSI or HUD or food stamps, after years of living in degradation and shame, what, after all, did they have to lose? Like it or not, they were going to make their need known and if the Son of David refused to stop and pay them a small kindness, then it wouldn't be because he had not heard their plea for help. Imagine their joy when Jesus stops what he's doing and calls to them, "What do you want me to do for you?"

There have been several times over the past few years I've tried to put myself in their place and imagine how I would answer if the Lord of all the earth would ask me the very same thing. Would I revert to my native Lutheranism and go religious - you know, "Oh, Lord, I know you're busy and my needs really aren't worth quibbling over..." Or would I pontificate questions that come to me easily while I sit in my comfortable chair typing these words that you read now. Things like, "I want to be free from my debt I'm under" or "I want whatever it is I need to become a successful writer" or "I want the discipline I seem to lack so that I eat better"? I wonder how he would respond to these rather bland requests. Would he smile and pat me on the shoulder and simply say, 'God bless you"? Or what?

Their needs were far more visceral and immediate: "Lord, we want our sight. A blind person is a nothing and worse than a nothing to his family - he's a burden and life is nothing but trouble. You can't work or contribute meaningfully to society. We want to see and have a chance at life." There was no apologizing for asking a decidedly self-centered request. They ask as children would ask (with tears in their eyes, no doubt): "WE WNAT TO SEE!" "Deeply moved, Jesus touched their eyes. They had their sight back that very instant and joined the procession" (Msg).

On Monday morning, I began thinking of the Service of Healing and Wholeness which will be held tonight in our sanctuary. We have held a monthly gathering dedicated to healing for over five years now. They have usually been gatherings attended by only a few if you don't include the ministry team most of whom are present because they want to be and also because they know it is expected of them. And God has been present, people have been blesed and every once in a while, something a little out of the ordinary occurs. But for the most part they are fairly non-events as healings services in a Pentecostal tradition go. Last month, no one came (other than the ministry team). I place a small notice in our local paper. I announce it from the pulpit. So what does it mean when you host a Service of Healing and no one comes? Certaily, we are not in the Millenial yet. There are still sick among us - at Refuge and in our community - but for whatever reason sick people do not come to these gatherings as a rule. Maybe they prefer going to a doctor instead. Maybe there's just that much unbelief in our hearts. And when a few of my ministry team members hint that maybe we need to give "this thing" a rest, while I understand where they're coming from my discouragement increases nonetheless.


Over the last five years I have read perhaps two dozen books on healing from those who minister healing in many different traditions of the Church - Catholic (Francis MacNutt), Anglican (Roy Lawrence), "Third-Wavers" (John Wimber, Charles Kraft), Episcopal (Dennis Bennett), Presbyterian (Anges Sanford), and others - and every time I read my heart is stirred and my faith elevated. I've attended conferences on healing and gone through training for the same. And every time my heart says to all of it - "YES, YES, YES!" Which leads me back to these two guys sitting aside the road in Jericho. I feel in my spirit somewhat like them. I'm a begger wanting to see - to see the works of the kingdom manifested in my community. I know exactly how I would answer if the Lord were to ask me the same question this morning he asked them: "I WANT TO SEE! I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HEALING ANYMORE OR CITE EXAMPLES OF HOW THE POWER OF GOD FLOWED THROUGH OTHERS TO BRING HEALING. I WANT TO SEE THE POWER OF GOD MANIFESTED IN OUR MIDST. IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE ME - USE SOMEBODY ELSE. STILL, I'D LIKE TO DO THE STUFF. FOR PETE'S SAKE, I WANT TO SEE YOUR KINGDOM COME!!!"

I don't think I can quit "this thing." To quit praying for the sick is to succumb to the notion that the medical establishment has all the answers and the church should just stick to giving out messages of the peace and reward in the kingdom to come. So, I'm sitting beside the road this morning with my bowl out hoping that the Man from Nazareth will walk by me tonight and hear my plea and touch my eyes that I, too, may see the power of his Kingdom in action. If he comes, I'm not going to be shushed by anyone who tells me not to make a big deal about it. I'm going to raise a cheer and follow the procession wherever it goes.

Precious in his sight: A meditation on Matthew 19:15

"One day children were brought to Jesus in the hope that he would lay hands on them and pray over them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus intervened: 'Let the children alone, don't prevent them from coming to me. God's kingdom is made up of people like these.' After laying his hands on them, he left." Matthew 19:13-15, The Message

It's another day in the life of Jesus, the wandering healer/teacher. He's just finished yet another round of discourse with a group of religious types who continually are looking for ways to discredit him. This time the subject happens to be about marriage and by the end of their conversation he has managed to confound both his enemies and his friends. A group of locals have been patiently waiting for him to finish their interchange that he might pronounce a blessing on their children. The disciples, acting more like his handlers than his students, are more intent on shooing them away. 'Give the guy a break for crying out loud,' I imagine one of them saying to these groupies of sorts. But Jesus will have none of it and tersely rebukes his disciples and announces, "Bring them to me, everyone of them. They are a blessing and they represent just the kind of citizens that the kingdom of heaven is made up of."

So here's Jesus, sitting in the midst of a gaggle of parents who have been bringing them their children to bless. We don't know how many and we don't know how long it takes but I love the little detail Matthew gives: "When he placed his hands on them [that is to say, all of them] he went on from there." No one gets missed. Every child is welcomed and lovingly touched. We're not told if there were any in that group that were afflicted with birth defects or suffered from abject poverty (although both are possible). We're just told that he warmly gathers each one to himself and blesses the Father for creating each life.

I've been reading at Roselawn, our city's elementary school, since our oldest was in kindergarten (and she's 22 now!) I show up on a scheduled day and read the stories that kids love to hear - about talking pigs and frogs and teddy bears who are really mean and pirates who refuse to change diapers (oh, now that's a good one!) I don't read many Bible stories. It' not that I'm not allowed; it's just that I haven't found many good Bible stories in children's books that are neither too preachy or illustrated well. All I do is read to them and make them laugh and want to hear more. This year, more so than ever before, when I enter a room kids flock to me to hug me. And not just little girls (that's a pretty normal occurrence) but lots of little boys, too. They want to show their love and delight with my company and are in need of the same. I return each hug - first, because I love hugs; second, because each of these children are precious.

I celebrate their significance and this is my reward: they hug me. But this is what I really think: I think that when I read to them somehow, some way, they hear their Maker's voice in mine; that just like animals can sense things lost to our human perspective, children often have a means of discernment that evades we grown-up ones. And I also think (or I certainly hope) that the Spirit of God in me stirs something within them and this is why as they hear my voice they are drawn to me. But not me, Christ in me and as I return their hugs Jesus in me blesses each one. So, I love reading at Roselawn. Sure, I like to entertain people and I think I'm a pretty good story teller, too. But I love this certain intangible transaction that occurs every time I enter a room via the Spirit of Jesus who dwells in me.

A few days ago at our local Justice Center, I shared a similar thought with about 20 inmates ranging between 18 and 50 years old. I took them into that moment of Jesus touching, blessing, celebrating each child that was placed on his lap or thrust in his arms. For a brief moment I saw these assorted individuals in their jail issue orange jumpsuits as little children with their whole lives ahead of them and not as the scarred, broken, chewed-up people they have become because of sin, pain and self-hatred in all its manifestations. I told them that in a group this size, it was possible that there was someone here that instead of being celebrated at birth they had been rejected or seen as a burden and a hardship to this very day they bear the emotional scars from such abandonment. And then I said this, "But if that had been you as a child thrust into Jesus' arms he would have received you gladly and blessed you and thanked the Father for you." In that moment, a 50-ish year old woman in the audience began to weep. And so before I closed the service on inspiration I lifted my hands over that group of sex offenders, alcoholics and drug addicts and blessed them and thanked God for each one. Hugging is discouraged at the jail - for good reason - but perhaps in that moment of blessing I'd like to think the Father reached out to hug each one.

Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in his sight

Jesus loves the little children of the world.
  - "Jesus loves the Little Children" by C. Herbert Woolston, 1856-1927

Finishing his course

'...for them that honor me I will honor..." (1 Samuel 2:30, KJV)

Our son, Ed, who is a senior in high school, has been a runner for a good part of his young life. I think it was during his first season of middle school Cross Country that his coach and teammates gave him the nickname, Fast Eddie, and for good reason. While he never won any of the races we ran in as a team, he consistently finished near the front end of the pack. These last two years, he's been our Number 1 guy and our Team Captain. Running is more than a sport for him. It's a passion and a means of expressing his heart. Eric Liddell, the famed "Flying Scot" of Chariots of Fire fame, is one of his heroes and Ed (in the best Scottish brogue he can muster), frequently quotes his favorite line from that movie: "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure."

His runnin' bud, Andrew

One of his goals for this season was to finish in the Top Ten at our conference meet. He missed it by one spot last season (and on Hayward's "monster" course, too!) and this year his hopes were solidly pinned on gaining that platform on Ladysmith's far more flatter and runner-friendly course. The day of the Heart of the North Conference meet dawned bright and clear. Midway through ou family's devotions that morning before school began, the phone rang. It was Andrew, Ed's friend from Ladysmith and their Number 1 guy. He called to wish Ed well in the race that afternoon and to have him pray for him. And so Ed did as much and wished him best of luck. The day was off to a propitious start.

Praying with his teammates

For October 12, the day actually turned out to be on the warmish side of things when the temperature was at or near 65 degrees by race time. As he has every race this season, prior to the girls' race he gathered them into a circle and prayed over them and then he and his teammates cheered them on as he ran. When it was the guys' turn to race, he gathered them up into a circle and prayed over them. He then ran over to Andrew and hugged him quick and wished him well before resuming his own pre-race preparations. Soon all the guys were off to the races.

Leader of his pack

He ran well and at the mile marker he was running solidly in the fifth or sixth position. But Cross Country is all about stamina and speed over 5 kilometers not just 1600 meters in and by the home stretch he was in 10th place and a Northwestern kid was closing fast. That kid caught him with about 40 yards to go and for the second time in two years, Ed crossed the line in 11th place at our conference meet. Given the fact that the race was still going on, I had to turn my attention to the rest of my runners. He joined me soon enough, dejected and fighting back tears but to his credit, cheering every one of the guys into the chute.

After the guys had all crossed the line, our team began packing up their things due to the fact that no one would be standing to collect any hardware that afternoon. I was reluctant to join them wanting to see the official results before heading to the bus myself. So there Ed and I stood before the results board waiting for the chip-timing guy to post the official times, Ed looking as if he had just lost his best friend. The team results were posted first listing not just the scores but the ranking of each one of the runners from every team. So imagine our perplexity when we noticed that the print-out stated that our first runner (Ed) was listed as finishing 10th. I had counted him as 11. Linda, who had stood nearer the finish line, had counted 11 and the rest of the members of our team not running in the race had counted 11. So how could the computer have calculated incorrectly?  While we were waiting for the individual results to be posted, one of the coaches from Northwestern revealed the mystery to us: one of their runners, who normally ran Varsity, had been entered in the JV race that afternoon. While these races were run at the same time, the computer considered them two individual events and while their runner had, indeed, finished sixth, he did not count in the final tabulation. Ed had made Top Ten after all and his face went from dejection to joy in a heartbeat.

Top Ten Heart of the North 2010

But now there was another matter to deal with. His teammates (and his mother) were now all on the bus waiting for he and I to join them and the bus was parked about 100 yards away. The awards ceremony was about to begin and none of them were present to cheer for him. I managed to flag one of our guys and shout enough for him to turn and get Linda. She got to the awards ceremony ring just as his name was announced. Neither of us were prepared for what happened next. For at the mention of his name, members from several of the other teams and many of their parents joined our cheers in loud acclamation. Here his own team wasn't  present but his network of friendships on some of the other teams took up the slack. And when we finally got back to the bus, his teammates stood to their feet, began clapping and shouting his name: "ED! ED! ED!" Were we not on a moving bus, they might have tried to pick him up and carry him from the field. I am more proud of those two moments than any hardware he might have brought home that night or any other night for it speaks loudly of the character of the man he is becoming.

Moments before the start of the Sectional race

I wish I could write the rest of the story of his season like this: "Two weeks later, in the WIAA Sectionals race, Ed ran the race of his life and qualified for the State meet at Wisconsin Rapids." But it didn't play out that way. He ran well at the Sectional meet but did not qualify. Truthfully, time-wise he wasn't even close. His four year dream of competing at State will have to remain that way - a dream. Just like the morning of the conference meet, Andrew called him up on Friday morning to wish him well and have Ed pray over him. Just like he has done at every race this season, he gathered the team up to pray over them before they ran and wished his friends on opposing teams well. If I were writing his story, I would write it the way I dreamt about it, too: Ed running to Sectional glory and being able to testify from that platform of God's strength and power in helping him to do just that. But I am not the Author of Ed's story - and that's a good thing, too. The Father works in our disappointments as much as He works in our accomplishments and will certainly use yesterday's "defeat" as grist in Ed's life.

After the conference meet, when we had a quiet moment, I told Ed this: "You didn't luck out, Ed. You didn't get any charity here today. You earned it and you were due. God says, 'He who honors me I will honor' and God wants you to know how proud of you he is for being faithful to him and being a good captain of this team.' During our last practice the night before Sectionals, I had our team sit in a circle and go around and affirm each other. When it was Ed's turn, Rachel - our other team Captain - said, "Ed, you're a champion. You are definitely the leader of this pack." And Joey added: "When I think of Chetek Cross Country, I think of you. You are the face of this team." Okay, I admit it. Today, I'm feeling a little sorry for my son because, yeah, I think he deserves to run in the Big Race at Wisconsin Rapids. I'm sure so many dads of so many runners who won't be there next week as well are feeling the same today. But in the bigger picture how proud Linda and I are of Ed because of his care for his teammates and the guys on the other teams and the faithfulness to Jesus both on and off the trail, whether it was a good run or not. No parent could ask of their child more and there can be no award greater than the "well done" of heaven.

The champion

Being reminded of the obvious

This past weekend, I was given a reminder of something that I know already: I have been blessed with a pretty wonderful family. Case in point: on Saturday alone, Ed turned in arguably his best race of his running career, Emma scored in the ribbon category and Charlie won (to him) the coveted Trail Walking trophy in the Adaptive Riding competition at the County Fair. “Hardware” was being collected copiously that day in two different counties by Martin kids.

On Saturday morning, Ed ran in the Woman of Courage 5 &10K race in Ladysmith. Even though he has been focusing on 10Ks of late, I wanted him to run the 5K to get a read on how his summer training was coming along. What’s more, this gave him opportunity to run with and against his budding friend Andrew Hetke, who is Ladysmith’s No. 1. All during this past track season, Andrew was the rabbit Ed chased at almost every event. Also showing up that morning was Schmidt from Flambeau, the guy who beat Ed out for the last State qualifying spot in the infamous “snow” run in Bruce last October. I knew Ed would run well but it was a bit of a thrill when in the home stretch there was Andrew and he running 1 & 2 respectively. Andrew had 3 steps on Ed and was able to hold him off but even so, Ed crossed the line at 18:18 crushing his previous best by 7 seconds. And, oh yeah, Schmidt was nowhere in sight. But taking 2nd place overall is not what thrills me but seeing Ed being rewarded for his work ethic and doing it with so much class. Before the race he asked Andrew if he could pray for him and I managed to capture that moment on camera. It’s a picture that speaks. It means that as much as Ed is passionate about running, he is as much or more passionate about Jesus and his relationship with his friends. I am more proud of that moment than the picture I snapped of him crossing the line.

That afternoon, it was off to the Fair to be wowed by two more of my kids. Our daughter, Emma, is remarkably talented – artistically, musically, dramatically and dance-wise. What’s more she’s a good golfer and a darn smart kid. She entered a variety of projects at this year’s fair – a painting, a tin man lawn ornament, jewelry, a tie-dyed shirt, an exhaustive poster about the anatomy of rabbits, a flower pot and flowers and a scrap book. She collected various ribbons – several blues, a few reds and a white and, in the case of her scrap book, a purple which spells G-R-A-N-D C-H-A-M-P-I-O-N. Emma is a very focused individual and I sincerely believe that whatever she puts her mind to she can do and do well. I not impressed with her because she is so talented. I’m impressed with her because though she is so talented she works diligently to develop her craft whatever that happens to be at the moment be it developing her golf swing or painting a picture or working on a term paper. But just as earnestly as she takes school or dance, she takes her friendship with Jesus, what one guy refers to as “the most important love relationship in our life.”

But as good as the day already had been it was about to get better. Charlie has been in the Adaptive Riding program of 4-H for the past four years. During “horse season” (May-June), Linda faithfully drives Charlie up to the fairgrounds every Wednesday night where he and his “pardner”, Lannie, work on horsemanship and riding skills. Lannie and his wife, Shirley, loan their steady mare of 14 years, Dakota, and the three of them – Charlie, Lannie and Dakota – make quite a team. But Saturday afternoon, here came Charlie sitting tall in the saddle riding Dakota without a lead rope. Lannie was at this side but Charlie was riding and, as he has been coached, smiling. He looked like he had been doing this all his life. Charlie’s autism aside, to me, his birth was so traumatic that in many ways he is like a snarled ball of string that slowly but surely as the years pass and people pour into his life and prayers are prayed over him, he unfolds and reveals the mystery that he is. Here’s a kid who when he was five years old hardly spoke a word and now is more fluent than he ever has been. He continues to grow and develop and seeing him ride atop Dakota so confidently while wearing his brand new shades was a poignant moment to me and I was reminded that he’s going to be alright. Maybe more so than when it was announced that he had won the Trail Walking trophy, the one that mattered to him more than any of the other awards they were handing out that day.

But we have another amazing kid to be proud of as well. Christine graduated from high school in 2007 and that summer spent five weeks in South Korea tutoring kindergarten through college-age kids in conversational English. Now, it’s the place she wants to get back to most of all. She works these days at a day care in Rice Lake saving what money she makes while at the same time, paying her own way. She has a wonderful eye for photography but one of her greatest strengths is her heart. Christine loves and believes in people. She never forgets a birthday and frequently buys little gifts for her friends and the other special people in her life. She has a way with babies and is a blessing to those who know her. In so many ways she is very Joan-like (referring to my mother): inordinately considerate, always encouraging and via her camera (which is always in her big bag she lugs around) ready to celebrate the moments of her life be they large or small.

And I must not forget Linda, my wife and life-companion. During the twenty-four years we have been married most certainly I have been loved more than I have loved. She’s cheerfully and willingly followed me whether we ended up living in an apartment, a trailer, a rented house or in the home we have owned since a week before Ed was born. But on this Saturday afternoon, I was reminded again of what a wonderful mother she is to her our children. There she was in the stands cheering for Charlie while Emma nestled in her lap, and in between performances, either joking with Ed or talking with Christine about trivia at the day care in a way that only mothers can multi-task.

So, I’ve taken nearly 1,200 words to state what most of you already know or could have told me much fewer: I am very fortunate to be surrounded by such good company. But it’s good to be reminded of these things because the response can only be gratitude for the small circle of love that you find yourself a part of.