God's Gifts

 Once in a while, usually when one of my younger friends is showing off some new “ink,” I am asked, “Jim, do you have any tattoos?” After saying “No”, I add a line attributed to the great Daffy Duck, “I’m not like other people—I don’t like pain.”

Don’t get me wrong, I get my flu shots, have had my Shingles vaccine and booster; but I don’t look for occasions to have a needle poked into me. Botox? I’ve no inclination to get the treatment, nor the money. (Besides, after seeing the “celebrities” who’ve had it, I’ve concluded the treatment only makes you look like someone who doesn’t want to look old—or ever smile again. But I digress.)

Yet, there is one needle I’m looking forward to. The needle carrying the coronavirus vaccine. 

Baptists don’t usually quote The Apocrypha, that collection of Jewish writings dated from the end of the Old Testament period to just before Christ’s birth, writings omitted from Protestant versions of the Bible; but I’m going to make an exception. In anticipation of the vaccine, I’ve been thinking about verses I read years ago in Ben Sira, a book by a Hellenistic Jewish writer born about two centuries before Christ

The verses say, “Honor the physician with the honor due him . . . for the Lord created him.” After acknowledging that “healing comes from the Most High,” Ben Sira adds, “. . .  the Lord created medicines from the earth and a sensible man will not despise them.” (Ben Sira 38:1-5 RSV) Indeed, Ben Sira saw the physician and “the pharmacist [who makes] compounds” as God’s partners, through whom He “heals and takes away pain.” 

Although the words are not from scripture, many share the feeling. They believe the physician who saved their child’s life or the eased their parent’s pain was sent their way by God. (Ben Sira even pictures physicians praying for “success” in their diagnoses and treatments: something I’m sure happened often in 2020.)

How different the past few months would have been if more of us had honored physicians by listening to them about masks and safe-distancing. How quicker this difficult time will be over if we don’t “despise” the vaccine. 

Ben Sira believed the work of physicians and their medicines “glorified” God. Many have been praying for this difficult time to be over. Perhaps the answer to those prayers is coming through the touch of a needle.

A Lamb's Tale

I posted this story/sermon several years ago.  Someone who heard the original presentation recalled it just before we left Ohio, saying their family often read it at Christmas time. The story has no references to politics or pandemics; it is a simple exercise of my imagination. For that reason, I've decided to post it once again. I hope it blesses you.

The sun was beginning to peer over the mountains near Bethlehem.  Soon, its warmth would overcome the chill of the night.  Still, it was too early for breakfast.  No one wanted to stumble around in the dark.  When Nathan began to sing, they would know it was safe to begin eating.   For now, everyone was still asleep or, at least, trying to sleep. 

Jake was groaning and his legs were kicking the air.  Mostly, they were kicking the air.  Occasionally, he would kick Eli who was sleeping next to him. 

“Jake, Jake,” Eli whispered, “wake up.  You’re having a bad dream.”

Trembling, Jake muttered something about “Dogs” and Eli said, “There are no dogs.  We’re all safe.  Nathan is with us.”    Jake settled down and went back to a quiet sleep.

As sheep go, Jake was not especially brave, which is to say he was not brave at all. 

But he was the oldest sheep in the flock and was much loved by all the other sheep, particularly by his friends Eli, Zeb, Faith, and Hope.  They all understood why his eyes grew wide and his knees began to shake when he heard the distant sound of dogs barking. 

They would remind him that he was not alone and that they had a good shepherd, Nathan, who would protect them.  Of course, Jake knew this but he could remember when Nathan was not so good a shepherd.

Jake had been born into a very special flock.  He was part of the flock of sheep that provided sacrifices for the temple in Jerusalem, which was only four miles from Bethlehem.  There were many sheep on the hills of Judea but only a few perfect enough to be offered in worship to God.  It was a great honor to be among those taken to the temple.  Of course, Jake didn’t really know what that meant but he knew it must mean he was very special.

While Jake was still a lamb, a new shepherd began to help take care of the flock.  His name was Nathan and he was the young nephew of the chief shepherd.  He had finally reached the age when he was expected to help with the sheep.  Nathan’s father had his own flock and Nathan’s older brother helped watch them.  Nathan’s uncle, who cared for the temple sheep, had no sons so Nathan’s father sent him to help his uncle.

Nathan didn’t want to help with his uncle’s sheep, or anyone’s sheep for that matter.  His other friends were still young enough to stay in Bethlehem and play during the day.  They didn’t have to sit on the rocky hillside and watch sheep eat grass.  They didn’t have to listen to the old men tell stories of Israel’s glory days before the Romans came.  Of course, none of them could remember what life was like before the Romans but they just knew it had to be better.  It was boring. 

Then, one day, Nathan’s uncle twisted his ankle while he was looking for a lamb that had strayed.  He needed to stay home and rest for a couple days.    So, he told Nathan he would have to work alone for those two days.  The first day went by slowly.  Not a single sheep strayed.  Nothing happened to break the monotony.  The next day started out just the same.   

About mid-morning, Nathan heard his name being called.  He looked down the hill toward a nearby stream and saw his friends.  They had come out from Bethlehem to see him.  He was so happy.  They asked how he liked being a shepherd.  He told them his uncle was very strict, which they believed.  He told them he and his uncle had had chased several bands of thieves, which they did not believe.  Then someone suggested they play a game of “David and Goliath.”  In this game, each boy tried to see how far he could hurl a stone with his sling.  Nathan was always very good at this game so he quickly agreed it was a good idea.

After playing several games, they began to wade in the stream to find more stones.  Nathan completely forgot about the sheep.

Jake saw Nathan wander away but didn’t worry.  He was young and knew nothing of the dangers sheep could face.  He just continued to munch away at the sweet grass.  After a long while, he heard the other sheep begin to bleat loudly.  They were all running toward him and before he could move they had bowled him over, leaving him by himself.  As he got back onto his feet, he looked up to see a pack of wild dogs bearing down on him. 

Almost instinctively, Jake knew he couldn’t outrun them so he looked for a place to hide.  Several rocks were piled up next to a large boulder, forming a kind of shelter.  Just ahead of the dogs, Jake squeezed between two of the rocks out of harms’ way. 

One of the dogs pushed his head into the opening trying to reach Jake.  He couldn’t reach the little lamb but Jake could feel his hot breath each time the dog’s jaws snapped.  Then one of the rocks moved and the dog got closer.  Jake had no place to run so he closed his eyes and waited.  The dog snapped at him once, twice, three times, missing each time.  Then Jake felt a fiery hot pain in his right ear.  The dog had bitten Jake’s ear.  Jake waited to be bitten again but, instead, he heard the dog yelp.  Then the dogs were gone.

Nathan had finally heard the commotion and came running.  He used his sling to chase the dogs away.  Hearing Nathan call him, Jake stumbled out of hiding.  His face and side were streaked with blood from his torn ear.  Nathan didn’t know what to do.

Meanwhile, Nathan’s friends had hurried to the pasture where Nathan’s father and brother kept their sheep.  They told them what had happened and Nathan’s father rushed to his younger son.

To his credit, Nathan admitted that he had allowed his friends to distract him and that he had left the sheep alone.  “You’ll have to tell your uncle what happened,” his father told him, “but right now we have to look after this little one.”

They bathed Jake’s ear and put some tar on the cut to stop the bleeding.  By then, it was time to lead the sheep back to the uncle’s house where the sheep would spend the night in the barn. 

Nathan’s uncle was angry and said he would never let him help again.   He could not be trusted.  Ashamed, Nathan went outside to wait while his father talked with his brother-in-law.  When Nathan’s father came out of the house, he was carrying Jake.

He handed the still trembling lamb to Nathan and said, “He’s yours to look after now.  Your uncle can’t use him.  Only perfect lambs may be used in the temple and his torn ear means he is useless as a sacrifice.  I’ve bought him for our flock.  Every time you see this sheep with the torn ear, you’re going to remember that you must never leave the sheep alone.  Do you understand that now?”

“Yes, Father,” Nathan said, as he took Jake and held him close.

Jake had remained close to Nathan ever since.  And Nathan had become a good shepherd.  He would never leave his sheep alone.  Despite what his uncle said, he could be trusted.

But, still, Jake was afraid.  Always afraid.  As the years passed, each time he heard a dog bark, even in the distance, he began to tremble and tried to get closer to Nathan. 

And, he had heard dogs bark often in the past few days.  For some reason, many strangers were traveling to Bethlehem.

“Whatcha think is happening,” Zeb asked.  Zeb was a young sheep who as sheep go, wasn’t very bright.  Which is to say he wasn’t very bright at all.

Eli said, “What do you think is happening Zeb?”  Eli, who was older than many sheep in the flock but not as old as Jake, liked to help look after the younger sheep.  He liked to help them learn.

Zeb answered, “Well, I think someone changed the road sign.  All those people going to Bethlehem are lost.  Why else would so many people go to Bethlehem?  Bethlehem’s just not that important.”

“Zeb!  What do you mean Bethlehem’s not important,” cried Faith, a very thoughtful young ewe.  “Bethlehem is the ‘city of David,’ the city where David the king grew up.  Why David may have tended sheep on this very hill when he was a boy.”

“Oh,” said Zeb, “but why are so many coming to Bethlehem right now?  I could be wrong, but I think David was born before I was.”

“Zeb,” Eli snapped, “It’s not nice to be sarcas….  Never mind, you’re not being sarcastic.  I’m not sure why so many are coming to Bethlehem but maybe Hope knows.  She often hears things.”

So, the four of them—Jake, Eli, Zeb, and Faith—looked around for Hope.  Finally, they saw her several yards away, her snowy coat glistening in the morning sun.

“I think I did hear something,” she said after they had explained their mission.  “I overheard some of the shepherds talking to Nathan.  They said the Romans were collecting taxes again and wanted everyone to return to their hometowns to pay them.  These people have all come from Bethlehem.”

“So, that’s all there is to it, then,” said Jake.  “Nothing more important than taxes.  We should’ve guessed.”

“I don’t know,” Hope said, “I have a feeling something very important is going to happen in Bethlehem very soon.”

“You know,” added Faith, “I overheard Nathan and his father talking about something they heard in the synagogue.  They said the prophet Micah promised the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem.”

“The Messiah?  Who’s the Messiah,” asked Jake.

“Jake, don’t you ever listen to Nathan when he sings those beautiful psalms,” asked Faith.

“I listen for dogs,” Jake said simply.

Eli took a deep breath and said, “Jake, have you ever noticed the world is not what it ought to be?  Why would a good God make a world where there is cruelty, death, and pain?”

Jake said, “I don’t know.  It seems like God would make a perfect world but this world sure isn’t perfect.”

“Well, Jake, God did make a perfect world,” Eli continued, “but people messed it up—for all of us.”

“I thought something had happened,” said Zeb.

“Shhh, Zeb,” said Hope, “let Eli talk.”

“No, that’s okay.  Like Zeb, most of us know something has happened.  It happened a long time ago, way back when things were as they were meant to be.  Then, the first man and woman disobeyed God.  The world changed after that.”

Jake asked, “Aren’t there still some good people?”

“Oh, there are people you would rather have as your shepherds than others,” Eli answered, “but no one is what God wants them to be.  One of the old writers said it in a way all of us should understand.  He said, ‘We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.  We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.’  Because we’ve all gone our own way instead of God’s way, the whole world is a mess.”

“Sounds hopeless,” Jake said.  “But don’t some say this is just the way the world is and that there is no God?”

 “If there’s no God, where does the grass come from, the water, the stars we see at night, the trees that give us shade,” Zeb blurted out.

“Zeb,  those are really good questions.  Most of us look around and can’t believe all this just happened,” Eli said.  “Jake, it would be hopeless if humans had to fix the problem themselves.  They don’t.  God promised to send someone to fix it.  This someone is the Messiah.  He’s been described in many ways but since I don’t read I can only say what I’ve heard the shepherds talk about.”

“Tell us,” Hope and Faith said together.

“They said he would be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Prince of Peace.  They even said he would be the Lion of the Tribe of Judah.”

“Lion,” gasped Jake, “that sounds pretty scary.”

“Maybe,” Eli said, “but one writer also said he would be like ‘Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered.’  You know, like the lambs we see taken to the temple.”

“You mean he would be a perfect lamb,” Jake said.

“Right, a perfect lamb,” Eli said.

“But not just a lamb,” said Faith, “some of the songs Nathan sings describe him in other ways.  I like the one that begins, ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’”

“I like songs,” said Zeb, “I want to learn to play the drum that Nathan’s little brother Andrew  brings with him so I can sing.”

“The drum?  Why the drum,” asked Faith.

“It would be easier than the harp,” Zeb answered.  The others continued talking as Zeb wandered away. 

Jake asked, “So, this Messiah is going to be both a Lamb and a Shepherd?”

“That’s right,” said Eli, “because people need a shepherd to lead them back to God.”

“Why do they need a Lamb,” asked Hope.

“Well,” Eli said, “people offer lambs at the temple so their sins may be forgiven.  Maybe, that’s what the old writer meant when he said, God’s ‘plan was that the Messiah give himself as an offering for sin so that he’d see life come from it.’  I think that means the Messiah is going to give people back the life they lost when they disobeyed God.”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from over the hill where the shepherds’ tent was pitched.  A moment later Zeb came over the hill.    He had a drum around his neck like a collar.  His head had broken through both sides.

“Zeb,” cried Hope, “what did you do?”

“I was trying to play Andrew’s drum,” Zeb said, sheepishly.

“Oh, Zeb,” his four friends said together.

Later that night, as the sheep lay under the starry sky, Jake whispered, “Eli, are you awake?  Eli, are you awake?”

“Yes, but only because someone asked me if I was awake,” his friend answered.

Jake said, “I’m sorry but I have a question.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” Eli said, “what’s your question?”

“Well, you know I was going to be a lamb offered at the temple,” Jake said, “then… well you know what happened.”

“Sure, I know,” said Eli.

“Well, if there are always plenty of perfect lambs, why does the Messiah have to be a Perfect Lamb?  Aren’t the others enough,” Jake asked.

“I’m not sure, Jake,” Eli said, “but I’ve thought about it.  What if those lambs—lambs like you were going to be—weren’t really perfect enough?  Maybe that’s why there are so many of them.”

“What do you mean,” Jake said.

Eli paused a moment and then said, “What if the Messiah is going to be the Truly Perfect Lamb, the final lamb, so there will never have to be another sacrifice.  What if the Messiah is going to take the sins of everyone on himself, so everyone can be forgiven?”

Deeply puzzled, Jake asked, “Do you think that’s even possible?”

“It is if God says it’s possible,” Eli answered, “And the old writer said the Messiah would carry the sins of everyone.  Everyone, Jake, everyone.  That sounds like a Truly Perfect Lamb to me.”

At that moment, a light showed down on the hill, a light brighter than the brightest day.  In the sky was a strange creature, both beautiful and terrifying.  Jake was afraid, but so were all the sheep.  Even the shepherds were afraid.  The creature began to speak.

"Don't be afraid!

"I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people.   The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!   And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger."

Then many other creatures appeared in the sky alongside the first.  These creatures said

"Glory to God in highest heaven,
  and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased."

Then they were gone.

The shepherds all began talking at once.  Nathan’s father said, “We have to go to Bethlehem to see this baby they were talking about.”  So, they started out toward the city with Nathan and Andrew walking behind. 

Andrew said, “I’d play my drum for the baby but someone broke it.”

As Zeb looked at the ground, Nathan said, “I’m sorry about your drum but whoever heard of playing a drum for a baby? You’d scare him.”

As the shepherds disappeared over the hill, Jake said, “I can’t believe it.  They left us. ”

“It will be okay, Jake,” said Faith.

“Right,” said Hope, “I think those were angels.”

“I’ve heard of angels,” said Zeb, “I don’t know what they are but I’ve heard of them.”

“Angels are God’s special messengers,” explained Eli.  “God sends them to let people know when something special is happening.”

“I just knew something special was about to happen,” Hope said.

“If something special is happening, I want to see it,” Jake said calmly.

“What do you mean,” Eli asked.

“I mean I want to go to Bethlehem, too.  That’s what I meant when I said they left us.  We should be going with them.   I want to see what this is all about.  I want to see this Messiah,” Jake told them.

“But we can’t,” said Faith.

“No, we can’t,” added Hope, “we’re just sheep.”

“I’m going,” Jake said firmly.

“And, and, I’m going with him,” Zeb said.

Eli looked at Faith and Hope.  All three gently nodded and then Eli said, “We’re all going.”

The friends set out toward Bethlehem, crossing the hills toward the lights of the little town.

Once they got there, they had no idea where they should go.  So they hid in the shadows to talk about what they should do.  Faith said, “The angel said the baby would be lying in a manger.  Aren’t mangers in barns?”

“Yeah,” Zeb said, “but a barn is a funny place for a baby.”

“It is,” said Eli, “but that’s what the angel said.  Now we just have to decide what barn. “

Just then, Jake who was very tired from their journey said, “Listen.  Is that Nathan’s voice?  It’s coming from just down the street.”

They wandered a short distance down the narrow street until they came to an inn.  Behind the building, they saw light coming from a small barn and could hear Nathan’s voice more clearly.   He was telling someone about the angels who had appeared to the shepherds.

The five friends crept closer, staying in the shadows beyond the circle of light from the barn so they wouldn’t be seen.  However, they soon realized they weren’t alone.  A donkey, a cow, a chicken stood in the shadows with them.  All were looking at the scene before them.

A very young woman lay on the hay next to a manger where a newborn baby was quietly sleeping.  Standing over them, as if to protect them, was a man who looked lovingly at both of them.  Nathan, Andrew, their father, and the other shepherds were sitting on the ground before the manger.  Nathan had finished his story and the shepherds were looking at the baby with awe and wonder.

Zeb crept closer to see better.  Two doves sat on the ground next to him, unafraid of the youngster.  Zeb occasionally glanced back at his friends to make sure they were still there.

Other animals joined them in the shadows.  Jake could see the ears of another donkey as it looked around the corner of the Inn.  But Jake paid little attention to the other animals.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off this special family.

At one point, Zeb looked back, his eyes grew large, and he whispered, “Guys, guys.”

“Shush,” said Eli, “you’ll wake the baby.”

Zeb blinked a couple times and dutifully turned back around.

After a while, the moonlight threatened to flood the little courtyard.

 “We have to go,” Eli said.

“I hate to leave such a beautiful baby,” said Faith.

“Me, too,” added Hope.

“I wish we could stay longer,” Jake said simply.

“We all want to stay, but we have to get back before the shepherds see us,” Eli said firmly.

“That is truly a beautiful baby,” said a deep voice none of them recognized.

Jake realized the voice had come from whatever animal had quietly sat down next to him.  He turned to the stranger and saw the largest dog he had ever seen.

Faith, Eli, and Hope held their breath.  Zeb whispered, “I tried to tell you.”

Jake looked at the dog and said, “I’m Jake.  I’m a sheep.”

“I thought as much,” said the dog, “but I think we had better get back to the street before any of us are seen.”

So, the five sheep and the very large dog went back to the street where they stood for a moment. 

“I have to be going,” the dog said, “my master is a Roman soldier.  He brought me from Egypt—my ancestors hunted lions there.  I haven’t been here long but long enough to know that no one likes Romans…or their dogs.”

“We have to go also,” said Eli and then he added, “Jake we have to hurry.  Will that be okay?”

Zeb whispered to the dog, “Jake is a little older.  The trip was hard for him.”

The dog announced, “Then, I have an idea.”

Most people were asleep in the little town of Bethlehem that night.  Most of those who weren’t were looking at a tiny baby born in a barn.  But, if others chanced to peer out their windows, they might have witnessed another unusual sight.  They might have seen four sheep and a very large dog briskly walking together toward the hill country.  And, riding on the back of that very large dog, they would have seen another sheep.  A very calm, serene sheep.

With the dog’s help, the five friends arrived back at their pasture before the shepherds returned.  The dog quickly bid them farewell and began loping back to Bethlehem.  He ran with such speed and strength that none of those watching doubted that his ancestors could have hunted lions.

Though they had slept very little, the sheep were not ready to settle down.  So, Eli called them around and asked, “What do you think everything we saw tonight means?”

Faith answered, “I think it means God keeps his promises.”

Hope added, “I think things will never be the same and I don’t say that just because Jake rode on the back of a dog.  I mean everything will be different.”

“I felt love was all around,” said Zeb, “love for everyone.  And, now don’t laugh, but I also thought that maybe the day will come when dogs will help take care of sheep.”

Faith and Hope giggled.  Zeb just grinned and shrugged.

“Zeb, I don’t know where you get some of your ideas,” Eli chuckled and then asked, “What do you think, Jake?  What do you think about what we saw?”

Jake smiled as a gentle breeze lifted his torn ear, “Tonight, I think I saw a Truly Perfect Lamb.”

For Such a Time as This

    I’ve been attempting to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. Somehow, I missed the entire saga of Middle Earth while an adolescent; and, later, after becoming a father, I never read the stories to the boys. I’m surprised how slow-moving the story seems.  I had expected swordplay and wizardry on every page. Still, during some of the quiet moments there are thought-provoking observations.

   Early in the story, the wizard Gandalf attempts to warn Frodo concerning the coming conflict with the powers of darkness, a conflict in which the somewhat timid Hobbit would play a key role. After Gandalf explains that the world had been moving toward this moment for a long time, Frodo says, “I wish it need not have happened in my time.”

   To this the wizard responds. “So do I and so do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

   As Christmas and the new year approaches some of us may wish all the stressful events of 2020 “need not have happened” in our time. But they did; indeed, these times have not yet passed.

   Timing plays such a crucial role in some Bible stories that some insist there is no such thing as coincidence, that everything we experience is God-directed, coming in God’s timing. Even Albert Einstein reputedly said, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”

   And, of course, as we reflect on this Advent season, there is no clearer recognition of events occurring in God’s timing than the birth of Christ. Paul puts it plaining to the Galatians, “But when the appropriate time had come, God sent out his Son….” (Galatians 4:4)

   On one level, it might seem Christ’s birth could not have come at a worse time. Palestine was under the heel of the Romans and the local ruler Herod was a cruel, paranoid despot. 

   Yet, in other ways, Christians have long marveled at the timing of the first Christmas. The empire was experiencing a period of great peace, a peace lasting until well after the gospel began to spread beyond the boundaries of the Jewish nation. The Romans had built a road system that made possible relatively quick travel throughout the empire. The same roads that allowed soldiers and royal messengers to travel from place to place, would allow missionaries to do the same. The Roman laws would—for a while, at least—protect the rights of the new Christians. And, evidence suggests, the masses were spiritually hungry, tired of the false promises of their gods. 

   As Paul said, “the time was right.”

   But I first applied Tolkien’s words to the pandemic. Why must you and I experience this stressful time? 

   There are those who think they know. God sent the pandemic to punish us for such things as abortion, same-sex marriage, and even genderless bathrooms. When I hear earthquakes, hurricanes, tornados, famines, pandemics, and so forth interpreted as God’s judgment I always wonder how those making such claims can possibly know. And, frankly, I also wonder why, if God does use such “natural” disasters to punish us sinners, He hasn’t sent such chastisements for our chronic racism, our indifference to millions who are hungry or denied adequate health care, our addiction to violence. Too often fiery jeremiads are shaped by the personal tastes of the doomsayer. 

   So, is the pandemic God’s judgement on America? (Yes, I know the pandemic is a worldwide phenomenon, but I’m just echoing the typical prophet’s perspective.) I don’t have enough information to answer that question. I don’t know anyone who does, whether television evangelist or seminary president. Indeed, Christianity’s reputation has often been hurt by those who speak as if they know more than they could possibly know.

   My friends who are more committed than I to Geneva’s famous son John Calvin may disagree, but I believe God grants us a great deal of freedom, that every moment in human history was not planned in advance—please note, this does not mean God ever says, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.” Nor does it mean anything we, as humans, may do in exercising our freedom can thwart God’s plans. It does mean the results of exercising our freedom are on us; thus, if we ignore the best counsel of those who understand the dynamics of disease, we can’t say, “God made me sick,” either to justify rage at heaven or to piously suggest God must have some purpose. As a pastor, I often struggled to comfort those who, having experienced some tragedy, were told to accept the experience as God’s will.  In fact, I don’t know how any pastor can say to a hurting church member, “Your child’s death was God’s will,” or “God has a purpose in your being assaulted in your home.” The older I became, the less likely I would endorse such theology.

   On a larger scale, God allowing us a degree of freedom may mean we need not try to reconcile God putting a narcissistic, hedonist in the White House after one election and an alleged socialist in the White House after the next election. Indeed, I recently opined God may not care who wins the U.S. presidential election; but, having said that, I’m not entirely sure I agree with me. Of course, when we begin trying to explain the mystery of providence we are tempted to digress, not to mention to pretend to know more than we can possibly know. 

   Instead, let me suggest what we might “do with the time that is given us.” There will be nothing profound here, but maybe it’s a chance to reflect and the new year approaches.

   Perhaps we can use this time to realize how important our relationships are. I’ve always been able to go into a café or restaurant, order something, and eat with a book propped in front of me. I don’t need a lunch or dinner companion. Yet, I know people who will skip lunch rather than eat alone. During the pandemic I’ve come to see how important that hour or so I used to spend each week eating with a group of fellow pastors was to my mental and emotional well-being. Zooming has helped but when the pandemic is over—and it will be over—I hope we all are more intentional about maintaining friendships.

   Perhaps we can use this time to model good behavior. This is a straight-forward observation with no intention to stereotype or offend: Back in Ohio, well before the pandemic, I often saw men and women wearing surgical masks in public (often they were Asian). I remember thinking they were afraid of catching a cold or the flu. Instead, a little research told me how in some cultures, people are very concerned lest they spread their cold or flu to others. So, these good folk wear masks to limit that possibility. Too many people are still refusing to wear masks. They use all sorts of excuses, from masks being unconstitutional to their supposedly impeding breathing to their being an insult to God. Why can’t we understand that we wear masks, not just to protect ourselves, but to protect others? Why can’t we allow ourselves to be a little inconvenienced for the greater good? Well, I know why. But so do you.

   Perhaps we can use this time to expand our knowledge and understanding. I’ve been surprised at how much reading I’ve been able to do since I’ve been unable to go to bookstores; indeed, I’ve been reading some of the books I bought in those stores and just put on the shelf. I’ve read books I might not have ordinarily read, books like a history of candy in America and, keeping other events in mind, three books on racism. When the pandemic is over—and it will be over—maybe I will have a better understanding of what has been called “America’s sin.” Don’t misunderstand, I often succumb to the temptation to binge watch TV, even those programs I’ve already seen. But, still, reading may help us get through this “time” we wish had not happened during our time. 

   Perhaps we can use this time to prepare to get back to church.  I’ve spent my life around people who go to church. For some, that weekly church experience is their only contact with others, with men and women who will give them a smile and not demand something from them. So, I can understand people wanting to be in church even if it threatened their health. I regret some church leaders haven’t done more to help their people stay safe, to maintain contact without putting themselves in danger, to help them hold on to the hope that one day the church doors will reopen.

   I can’t help but imagine that at least some of those walking back through those doors will want something different.

   As I envision an ideal post-pandemic encounter between clergy and laity, I’d hope to hear some church members say to their pastors.

--Your “feel-good” sermons didn’t prepare us for this; give us more depth.

--The strobe-lighted, concert-style worship services excite our emotions, but those emotions dissipate before we get back to our cars—we want something that exalts God, something that says the situation is not out of control.

--We don’t need celebrity preachers or singers; that money can be used to deal with practical needs in our community.

--Your refusal to censure your colleagues who scoffed at the virus and insisted their congregations meet, makes you an accessory to their foolishness and callous indifference to the health of their people. Risk criticism; say something.

--Your politics-infused activities hurt our witness and further polarizes an already divided nation; it’s time you preachers get back to eternal issues, time to lay aside political differences and unite behind the gospel.

--And, really, wear a tie once in a while. You’re balding and your kids are in high school: the 60s-youth-leader look no longer suits you. (Is that just mean?)

   It is almost Christmas. This year it will be different for most of us. Still, I hope it will be a “time” when you feel blessed by God’s love.

Don't Get Cornered

 The following essay contains language that may be upsetting to children and sensitive adults, especially those concerned about the welfare of unhygienic, destructive rodents.

    Krissy, a four-year-old Australian Kelpie mix, joined our household a few weeks ago. The very first week she saw a Norway rat in the corner of the yard. She quickly dispatched it and brought “the gift” to us. A few days later she caught another, and then a couple days after that, she caught a third—both in the same corner as the first. Then, suddenly the rats were gone. (sounds like the cheesy title of a hard-boiled mystery or film noir.) Perhaps she had eliminated the entire family, or the Rattus norvegicus were smart enough to move to yards without predators. Perhaps, we’ve reason to wonder about Krissy’s status as a representative of the “extremely intelligent” herding dogs from Australia’s sheep country.

    In the weeks since her successes, Krissy has lain with her nose pointed toward the corner, waiting and waiting. She even awakened us in the middle of the night, not to use the use the bathroom, but to check the corner. At 4:15 am, you only hear the owls and an occasional coyote. I’m pretty sure they were laughing. Still, though Krissy misses the opportunity to chase a ball or just run around with abandon, I suppose it doesn’t hurt anything for her to spend time with her nose pointed at the corner.

    We’re a little like Krissy: We embrace things that give us joy and satisfaction, especially during the Christmas season. Some of us enjoy shopping. Even those who aren’t big on shopping the rest of the year may enjoy looking for just the right gift for a granddaughter or grandson, then triumphantly joining other “shoppers rush[ing] home with their treasures.”  Some of us enjoy eating out with friends during the holidays; back in Ohio, no matter how busy we were, we usually made time to meet friends at a favorite (not necessarily “fancy”) restaurant to eat, reminisce, and laugh—we reserved the trip to the fancy restaurant to take our son and daughter-in-law out. Of course, the American Christmas season is also a time for travel, a time when, as the song says, “the traffic is terrific” (perhaps the songwriter had in mind the word’s archaic meaning: “causing terror”). We didn’t always get to see our geographically extended family at Christmas (either we couldn’t travel, or they couldn’t); but when we did, we loved being together and seeing Grandson open his gifts. And, of course, Christmas is a time for church. Many who don’t go to church during the rest of the year, will go to sit in a festively decorated sanctuary and hear a cantata recount the story of God’s Gift of Love being born in an insignificant little village in a backwater of the Roman Empire. During our years in Ohio, Christmas Eve services were always special, with the songs and tidbits of verse the children had memorized, and, maybe, a member recalling a Christmas years ago.

    But this season—this pandemic season—each of these activities is dangerous.  Yet, many will still go shopping, still eat out in crowded restaurants, still go shopping, still travel, still go to church. We’re like Krissy. Krissy sometimes seems so focused on what once gave her joy and satisfaction, she is unable to imagine finding satisfaction and joy from another source. Medical experts are concerned about this holiday season because they just know Americans won’t stay home, won’t deny themselves. I hope they’re wrong. But we’re quite capable of fooling ourselves, of coming up with strange justifications for our behavior. Over 50% of French anti-maskers claimed masks are a Zionist plot. A shameful excuse, we all agree, or we once would have. A sizeable number of anti-maskers in Florida claim masks thwart God’s will, the rationale being God wants us to breathe, masks prevent that; medically, those Floridians are using the wrong masks, theologically, they have a somewhat limited view of the Almighty. 

    It’s one thing to invoke bad theology to defend a personal decision (if God had wanted us to read, he wouldn’t have given us Netflix), but it is an entirely different matter to endanger others by our behavior.  The town council of a small community in Missouri voted against requiring face masks and other safety measures. Not long after, a thirteen-year-old middle-school girl in the town died from COVID-19, making her Missouri’s youngest victim at the time. A council member, whose daughter went to school with the thirteen-year-old, changed his vote; as a consequence, the measure now passed. 

    Krissy’s corner-watching activity hurts no one; foolishly insisting on doing what we’ve always enjoyed doing at Christmas could put lives at risk. Yours, the customer at the next table, the worshipper in an adjacent pew, your grandchild.

    Recently, Krissy has been getting satisfaction guarding the containers of sunflower seeds hanging from the deck, keeping them safe from birds that are intent on stealing their precious contents. From time to time, she still looks longingly at the corner, but she’s learned other activities can give her a sense of purpose, even joy.

    Someday, it will again be safe to shop, safe to go to church, safe to eat out, safe to travel. Until then, let’s think about others—and ourselves. Until then, let’s try to be as creative as an adopted Kelpie.

". . . and statistics."

Herb was urging members of the Church Council to add funds for a neighborhood Vacation Bible School to the church’s evangelism budget. The past summer, Herb and his wife Gena had persuaded the church to approve a special allocation for the effort to reach out to children living a few miles from the church. With the church paying for flyers and supplies, Gena recruited three other church-members (not including Herb) to help her conduct the school, which met at a park in the affluent neighborhood. Gena taught Bible lessons and provided music for the children; the others helped with crafts. After describing what he and Gena had in mind for the upcoming summer, Herb concluded by reminding us of how successful their experiment had been: “From Monday to Friday of that week, attendance increased by twenty-five percent.”

But a few of us on the council were privy to the raw numbers. On Monday, three neighborhood children attended; on Friday, and only on Friday, attendance rose to four children. I don’t recall anyone mentioning the small attendance; still, the Council felt the effort was not an efficient use of time and resources.

Several essays in Evangelicals: Who They Have Been, Are Now, and Could Be (2019), suggest the mere mention of “81%” generates a frisson of outrage among some evangelicals. (I have friends who have the same response.) Of course, the percentage refers to the evangelicals who voted for Donald Trump in 2016. Those who are so outraged at their fellow evangelicals cannot imagine any justification for voting for such a reprehensible human. Maybe they are right. But I wonder if we will ever know. 

In the same book, one editor comments on efforts to explain the 81%: “…even the best cannot explain everything that was pertinent—for example, how much of the 81 percent represented votes against Hillary Clinton more than for Donald Trump.” Well, why not find out? Pollsters and other researchers believe they can tell us within a point or two the percentage of Americans who have cold pizza for breakfast on Mondays. Why not ask, “Was your vote for Trump really a vote against Clinton?”

Michael Hamilton quotes InterVarsity Press’s Dan Reid who exclaimed, “How can Trump have gotten eighty-one percent? I don’t know a single person at IVP who voted for Trump!” One wonders if Hamilton asked, “How many of your co-workers voted for George W. Bush? How many voted for the McCain/Palin ticket?” Are evangelical academics and elites too far removed from the evangelical laborer who thought Trump would be more likely than Clinton to pursue policies that would keep the factory where he worked in this country?

Some writers, though seeming to present themselves as dispassionate analysts, could not keep their anger at bay. Again, consider Hamilton’s mocking comment on James Dobson’s switching his support from Ted Cruz to Trump. “Dobson,” Hamilton says, “helped invent and promote the fiction that Trump had recently and miraculously had a conversion experience. Trump was now—praise the Lord! —'a baby Christian.’” (Emphasis added.) For a contributor to a book that spends so many pages discussing the Bebbington Quadrilateral, such a disparaging attitude toward conversion is ironic. Yes, in some of my earlier essays I have expressed doubt about Trump’s conversion, but I have never invoked the Lord’s name to deny the possibility. (I stopped listening to Dobson long ago but not because I thought him an opportunistic liar.)

In the past few years, I’ve read some pointed books on the shocking alliance between Trump and “the eighty-one percent,” books like the compendium Still Evangelical? (edited by Mark Labberton) and John Fea’s Believe Me. Each of these books begins with the assumption, evangelicals should not have voted for Donald Trump. Some of these books offer to explain why so many benighted evangelicals did just that. Perhaps four years is still too close to the election for a thoughtful book presenting both sides to appear, too soon for those still angry at Clinton’s unexpected loss to realize those who voted for Trump may have prayed about their votes, just as they did; may have given careful thought to their vote, just as they did; may have wished they had another choice, just as I’m sure some who voted for Clinton did (come on, some of you Democrats know you harbored that wish).  

Herb and Gena knew their project had failed, knew most of the children in the targeted neighborhood were already on some church’s roll, knew cautious parents would not send their children off to be taught religion by strangers who offered snacks, yet they persisted, perhaps because they wished to embrace a “missional” lifestyle or because they remembered the good old days when children attended VBSs in droves. Whatever the reason, Herb used statistics to try to make his case, hoping that fellow Council members would say, “Wow, a 25% increase! Let’s do it.”

I may be wrong, but I wonder if some evangelical writers, still angry at the outcome of the 2016 election, are using statistics to justify calling other evangelicals (theoretically their spiritual siblings) racists, misogynists, and worse. And conservatives are accused of libeling their enemies! Indeed, their characterization of the 81% might tempt us to believe there really isn’t much to the evangel “those” evangelicals talk about, much reason to believe their conversions implanted a new heart, much reason to believe they even read the Bible, much reason to believe the cross accomplished its purpose (at least for them), much reason to believe their activism is anything but self-centered, much reason to believe the 19% don’t imagine themselves the true “Gospel People.” 

As I began work on my doctorate, I took a required course on statistics. It gave me no special expertise, but I know statistics can be a valuable tool for scholars trying to understand the past and the present. But just as so useful a tool as a hammer can be used to bludgeon an enemy, statistics can be used to mask an agenda. About the time I took the course, I came across a statement attributed to Mark Twain (but actually anonymous): “There are lies, d-----d lies, and statistics.” I know people who voted for Trump: I know they give generously to food banks, have friends who don’t look like them, and respect women. I don’t care what the numbers say.

I’m waiting to see a collection of essays, compiled by an editor who didn’t vote for Trump and one who did. For that matter, I’m waiting to see if those who voted for Joe Biden will listen to the new president and stop demonizing those who disagree with them. (So far, it seems they missed that line in his acceptance speech.) 

By the way, not that it matters, I followed John Piper and sat this presidential election out. That’s likely the only time I’ve agreed with Piper. But I digress.