A NUT CRACKER?? SWEET!! 12 26 09

PARSON’S CORNER: “NOT FOR CRACKING NUTS! (OR SKULLS!!)” FOR 1/1/10 I don’t remember when it started exactly. Maybe about 11 years ago. My sons figured out by then that I was one of those men who had everything. So they started getting me what you might call “gag gifts.” They were odd ball Christmas gifts that they knew I did not actually need (or want, for that matter). The whole project had as its purpose, their watching my reaction on Christmas morning: to see me opening their crazy gift, and then exclaiming over it enthusiastically as to how wonderful – and even useful – it was, or might one day be. They knew that as their dad, I simply had to look and sound appreciative of their gift and the effort and imagination behind it. Hmmff! One of the first of these odd ball gifts was a giant eye-dropper. Actually it was a turkey baster (as I learned later on). Since I do not normally baste turkeys in the course of a day’s work, I thought at first I would have no use for this gift. However I soon discovered that I could use this oversized eye-dropper to clean out copper pipes and plumbing lines with mild acid. Foiled in their attempt to give me a useless gift, they tried even harder the next year. On Christmas morning I opened a large shoe box to find a garish, bright red pair of Converse tennis shoes. Oh joy! But I quickly discerned that these were size 13 and a half, whereas I actually wear size 10 and a half. These wonderful, new, red shoes soon found a temporary home in one of our local thrift shops. (And hopefully they found a permanent home in the closet of one of our local Artesia giants!) Fortunately I succeeded in teaching my children the gift of perseverance, for they did not give up in the least! The next Christmas on Sunday morning there appeared a strange figure that announced Christmas itself: it was a tall, wooden nutcracker. You have perhaps heard of Peter Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker Suite.” This is a beautiful ballet which tells the story of a young girl who was given the unusual gift of a nutcracker soldier. Shortly after this the poor soldier is broken by the girl’s younger brother in a fit of jealousy. After midnight that evening he comes to life again to save her life. In the course of a conflict the nutcracker dies, but the girl’s tears of love and gratitude bring him back to life. Long ago this ballet and its music gained a permanent place in the repertoire of Christmas performances, and fittingly so. “Wow, what a wonderful, useful gift! And so appropriate on Christmas Day!” I exclaimed upon receipt of my very first nutcracker. This particular one was designed after the manner of the great English Santa Claus: Father Christmas Himself. “Uh, it’s actually not that useful!” one of them said. He pointed to a label on the box which said (and I quote): “This is not a functional nutcracker. For decorative purposes only. Made in China.” Now, my face wanted to fall at this, but it was Christmas Day so I engaged in one of the greatest acting performances the world has ever seen: I continued to look eager, grateful, and even joyful! (But I do recall there was a very large barrel of new, yet unshelled pecans which looked more glum than I would care to describe!)

This beautiful “Father Christmas” was joined the following year by a small band of “Three Stooges” nutcrackers – shorter in stature, but still striking in their similar frozen grimaces. As if to emphasize all possible dimensions of Christmas these chaps were followed in succeeding years by a soldier, a clown, and a hunter (complete with a decoy on top of his hat). This year’s nutcracker was a “Gepetto style” wood-carver who looks strangely like this author, complete with glasses, sport cap, and beard. All of them promise the same great truth each year: they will have no functional use but only serve to decorate and adorn. Well, they have very good intentions anyway . . . . My sons know perfectly well that I cannot get rid of these creatures. At least not until I figure out some gracious way to find them all excellent homes. After all they are the gifts of love from my own, dear children! In other words, they have succeeded in giving me a sort of “gag gift” which I cannot easily cast aside. Every Christmas now, the squad of nutcrackers grows larger, taking up more space in some prominent corner or window of the house. They sit today (just before Christmas, 2010) on our front window sill where they are covered each night by a double layer of curtains. And each year my abilities to express a (virtually!) sincere appreciation aspire to new heights! I shudder to imagine where this will end. I have visions, not of sugar plum fairies, but of row upon row of oddly colored, leering, nutcrackers surrounding my death bed in my last moments. But while we all contemplate this, why not contemplate something far better: God gave us the gift of Jesus Christ at Christmas. And with Jesus comes a life of grace and holiness, and many other good gifts. Like my “gaggle” of nutcrackers, many of those gifts from God will seem useless at first: as if they have only some short term decorative purpose. But that is not the way of our Father in Heaven: every good gift that comes down from above comes from Him for some good purpose. And even more than my nutcrackers, God’s gift of Jesus comes from a great, eternal heart of love which beats for us and shines in our darkness across all the ages. So think on that, dear friend, in the new year, and do not dare to look any of his “gift horses” (or nutcrackers!) in the mouth. LBC

THE CHRISTMAS THANKSGIVING . . . 12 27 09

PARSON'S CORNEUR: WHO GETS THE CREDIT FOR THE CHRISTMAS SHOW? Thanksgiving at Christmas time? Well, certainly! You thank other people for the gifts they give you, and they do likewise (if they are polite, that is!). The other night First United Methodist Church gave a great gift to the community of Artesia. Under the direction of Alice Lorang and the help of dozens of others, our Methodists presented their version of a Live Nativity Story. This performance takes place in our courtyard area and is put on every year, usually the Sunday evening before Christmas Day. After having seen nine of these presentations, I will have to say this was one of the best ever! I was standing in the courtyard area when it was over, thanking various people who had been involved and greeting our many visitors. It was then that someone from another church who knew me came over and greeted me. “Preacher, I want to thank you for putting this on! You did such a great job!” I smiled back, shook his hand, and began right then to feel that warm glow of “acceptance and good feeling” that comes whenever we receive a nice compliment. But before that nice, warm feeling had become ripe, a booming voice spoke out of the dark from behind me, “Don’t thank him!” I turned and saw a tall figure dressed in garb similar to that of our other Magi. But which one was he? Before I could guess, he spoke again. “Why sir, would you thank this man?” His voice was deep and regal. “This man did not do anything! He just stood around and watched.” I sputtered in embarrassment at this blunt declaration of God’s truth. I nodded in agreement and hoped against hope that this was the end of his speech. It wasn’t! “This man is only the pastor of this church. He didn’t do anything! All these other people did all the hard work,” the tall king insisted. “Like us, for instance,” he continued, resuming, as I supposed, his role. “We hauled all this expensive stuff – tons of it really – across all these miles; all the way from Persia and Turkey and places like that. We carried all these valuable gifts in search of the King of the Jews. We saw His star at its rising, and we wanted to come and worship Him. We did it once, and we would all do it again. Because we love the newborn king!” This “actor” was getting so worked up I did not dare to interrupt him! “Yes, we Magi: we really accomplished something. That is why our story is told in the Bible. Why, we even wore clothing like this for the whole journey. Does that not impress you?” The church member who had been talking with me turned to this Wise Man, nodding eagerly. “Of course! Of course, you are right, sir! You have done a lot, and this other fellow here has done nothing! Thank you for your part in this performance. And thank you for honoring the Son of God in this way.” The tall king bowed low, “You are very welcome, good sir! And now I must go.” I thanked my friend for coming, and I thanked the “Magus” for setting me straight. Because he’s right, you know! And not just for the Live Nativity show; but for all time. The mark and measure of any successful, thriving church is that everybody knows that the real work, the hardest work, the “bestest” work is all done by our wonderful church members. They put their shoulder to the wheel all the time and push real hard. They are the ones who get the “church wagon” out of the mud, into the track, and start moving again. I am reminded of that at least once every month of the year when I see these folks coming up with so many wonderful ministries of caring and witness. They are the ones who dream them up and bring them to fruition. The mark of any successful, “alive” church is that the pastor is in the background, and the members are in the foreground, doing ministry. By definition, ministry is “service to the Lord”, and we have many folk who do this daily. I watched this tall, mysterious king go stalking off into the dark. I was curious, however, that he was not heading in the same direction as all the others. He wasn’t going back into fellowship hall to turn in his costume. Instead he was walking off toward the east, around the south end of the worship center. I followed him a little way and noticed a small knot of people huddled around a strange looking vehicle. It had to be one of those new Hummers – you know the ones that are sort of shaped like camels? I was going to follow him and see just what sort of vehicle it was. But alas! The Minister in charge of refreshments was calling my name. She was reminding me it was my job to help “dispose” of the leftover goodies. I turned to obey her voice – but not without one last glance at the tall mysterious figure who had just begun to vanish in the shadows . . . . LBC

THE NASTY PREACHER, PART IV 12 20 09

WHEN IT CAME TIME FOR HIM TO PREACH, THEY COULD NOT BELIEVE THEIR EARS! . . . . (WHO DID HE THINK HE WAS, ANYWAY??!! The old women wanted to smack him one with their purses . . . !) All eyes and ears were on Bob. This is what he read to them in a very stern tone: 57 Now it happened as they journeyed on the road, that someone said to Him, “Lord, I will follow You wherever You go.” 58 And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” 59 Then He said to another, “Follow Me.” But he said, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.” 60 Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and preach the kingdom of God.” 61 And another also said, “Lord, I will follow You, but let me first go and bid them farewell who are at my house.” 62 But Jesus said to him, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” "Amen!" he tagged on when he got to the end of the chapter. "'Let the dead bury their dead'. That's good stuff! Straight from the top!" he said, straightening his glasses and looking at all the various faces in the audience. "It means if you're already dead, go and bury some other dead people that you already know. That's what it means. I guess . . . . Good stuff, but hard stuff! "That's because in this passage there are people who want to follow Jesus, but Jesus says they cannot! Wow, that's hard stuff. There are other people in this passage, and probably a lot of others he met along the way, and Jesus wanted them to follow him. But they would not and could not! That was because they had some dumb excuse. Like the dumb excuses you got here right here in this passage. They were things that sounded important. But compared with the high calling of following Jesus, those other things were insignificant; they paled in importance." He wiped his nose with his hand and watched for a reaction. A couple of the older ladies winced or flinched. A couple of really grizzled ol' babes scowled at him. So he got out an old handkerchief, and blew his nose hard the right way, with a long, loud honking sound. "Excuse me," he added, wiping his nose again with the hanky. "That's much better. Now why did I read this passage to you? Why is this so important for you to know about? It's easy: because many of you here want to follow Jesus. And that is a good thing, all by itself. You got to have your minds and hearts in the right place. So that's good as far as it goes." "But it isn't enough. You want to follow Jesus? He Himself tells us that 'Man, it is hard!' So that means it is not easy. Some of you want to follow Him. Some of you just think you want to follow Him. But you don't. And you cannot. And the reason you can't is because you got too many 'guard damned excuses'! Just like the people in this story. That's right, I'll say it again: you are like the people in this here story." There was a general intake of breath at Bob's use of profanity. "I am sorry. I been in secular employment for awhile, and that is the way I always talk on the job. Like it or not. Take it or leave it. So there that is." He cleared his voice and took a long drink of water. "You got too many damned excuses. You'd rather do this or that than follow Jesus. He calls you, but you got something else to do. So you go do that instead. You sinner! You bunch of sinners." "Or you think you want to follow Him. You're feeling good about yourself. You think you finally got some time on your hands. So you want to go and serve Jesus. For awhile anyway. It'll look good. It might make you look good to others. That's what you're thinking. And He turns around and tells you, 'you don't know where I'm going. You don't know where I live. You got a nice house. I don't. I'm always moving on. I got no home here. You just go back to your temporary home, because you don't really mean it." "Or he says, you got other things you want to do first. But following me really won't let you do that. If you're going to follow Jesus Christ, you got to do that first, and put all the other stuff aside. Even if you think it sounds really important." He leaned over and took another drink. "So now, here's where it gets even harder for you. You know what a lot of you do, when you find out how hard it is to follow Jesus? You try to follow someone else instead who is going to follow Him for you. And for most of you that means you try to follow the preacher. "Well, today, I am telling you people, don't you dare try that with me! I am not Jesus, and I am no substitute for Jesus. By no stretch of the imagination! I am an interim, temporary preacher. That is all. I am not a good Christian, so you got to watch that and see that you do a lot better! You got to try to follow Jesus by yourself. I am not going to follow Him for you! Hell, people, I have a damned hard time doing it for myself. I sure as hell am not doing it for you!" He had their attention now. He was on a roll! So now for the wind-up and the big finish. Time to "body slam" this group. He figured if he did it once this early, he might not have to do it again later. "Okay, so here's the deal. I got a full time job. A real job! This is just on the side. It's not a priority for me. And I let God know that from the top. He knows it. You need to know it too. So don't follow me as a substitute for His Son. I am not even that committed to you; and you need to know it today!" "Heck, you don't want to follow me anyway. I have always had difficulty with my foul mouth. I curse and swear a lot. You may have noticed that. I have lusted after other women for years. I got addicted to internet pornography years ago, and haven't had much luck or success getting out of it. I smoke cigars occasionally. And I drink. I love my booze! I don't give a damn what the stupid "Book of Rules" says. I left pastoral ministry because I knew I had these problems, and I could not be a good example to you. So I'm not. So there." "Jesus is the only example you need, and he is the one you got. The one we all have. So follow him. We all have to follow him. Don't follow me! Don't think I'm going to follow Him for you. I'm not. I'm doing all I can to follow Him for myself. I hope I made that clear." He took another gulp of the official pulpit glass of water. "So does anybody out there have any questions about this?" he thought to ask. There were again many shocked faces. Clearly these folks were not used to being asked real questions from the pulpit. Nobody raised a hand to ask a question. But there were several nods from different folks scattered here and there around the room. "Okay, that's good," he said. "We understand each other. Well, if you do have any questions about it, or think of things you want to ask later, you can write down a question, or call me. If you can get me. Don't call me at work, of course! If I don't know your name or number I won't answer; that's if I am at work. All right then! Well, I guess I'm done. The sermon is over. So we're going to sing a song. It's the one in your bulletin. Then I'll say a prayer, and we'll be done for today." After the closing hymn, Bob prayed, "Well, God: I picked a bible passage; I tried to preach a sermon. It wasn't very good, but I think some people here got the point. And I got the point too, even if maybe I didn't teach it very well. So anyway, we don't serve any blessings, so we will just settle on asking for help. A little help down here from you. That would be very nice. And help each one of us follow your Son; not some other weak, sinful human. In Jesus' name. Amen." He suited actions to words, and everyone moved out chattering after the closing prayer. Bob slipped out the side door through which he had entered . . . . LBC

SANTA CLAUS? HE'S MY MAN! 12 13 09

PARSON'S CORNER: SANTA CLAUS, EVANGELIST! “And Santa Claus, you know of course, is one of the boys from home!” Those lyrics are taken from the great old Bing Crosby song, “Christmas in Killarney” (1950). He recorded it for his “White Christmas” LP in 1955. And I’m here to say those lyrics are true! Santa Claus is one of my boys from home. (Or maybe it’s better to say I’m one of his!) I’m writing this because every year Santa gets a bad rap from other Christians. They think, they say, and they even preach that the season surrounding the birth of Jesus Christ is not about St. Nick; that he gets way too much attention and credit; that he distracts from the real meaning of the season, and so on, and so forth. Well, he didn’t ask me to defend him, but I am going to do it anyway! I am myself an evangelical Christian, and I just love Santa Claus! Sure, I know that Christmas is primarily about the birth of God’s Son, Jesus, and that we all needed (and need) a Savior, and that is what and who Jesus is. But because He is all of that, He carries the full force and weight of the entire Bible with Him, with all of the attributes of God rolled up into one person, heralded by angels, and presented first to shepherds in or near Bethlehem of Judah. Jesus is Christmas Itself! But most people are not born into this world knowing Jesus. I certainly wasn’t! So the thing that led me to Christ eventually was my meeting with a variety of people who were like Him, or who talked about Him. That’s where Santa Claus comes into the picture for me. I met him first in a big Sears Department store in Dallas, Texas. I was no more than 3 or 4. He was very busy, and very popular, but I remember that as busy as he was, he took time to talk to and listen to me. (Sort of like Jesus – right?) He even got me exactly what I asked for – a small, mechanical robot which turned out to be one of my favorite toys. So that’s kind of like answered prayer, isn’t it? Just like Christ our Lord. As I grew up I found out he was capable of being many places at once – as if time kind of stood still for him. Well, that’s like the Son of God too. Jesus Christ has always been well able to listen to millions of prayers at the same time, answer them all, and then intercede for people who do not even know what to pray. And he does all of that in almost no time at all! Soon enough I also found out St. Nick was fabulously wealthy: that he had financial resources beyond anyone’s imaginings; but that even though he had everything a man could possibly want, yet his tastes were very simple; and therefore he gave freely to any and all regardless of their station in life. I learned that he would give expensive gifts to poor men and sometimes not so much to those who had a lot. He seemed to enjoy giving away some really great gifts, that I always thought he could have used and enjoyed himself. And yet he seemed always to live to be generous. But then – isn’t that also like our Lord Jesus? I remember once being at school for a special Christmas assembly. Santa Claus showed up with a large bag of goodies, and lots of "ho, ho, hoes!" It was amazing to me how the whole room just lit up when he walked in. Whatever our mood was before, it was pure joy and joyful anticipation after he arrived. But Jesus in his earthly life very apparently also had that same effect on people: he would transform any situation for the better just by showing up. He brought, healing, happiness, and renewal wherever he went. In this way also Santa was preparing me to know Jesus Christ. Even to wicked and lazy boys and girls, like me, he would give things. In legend I learned that he gave things to them like black bread sandwiches, with no mustard or condiments, and switches in paper sacks. But even those are good gifts! He knew that even bad or wicked people needed to eat to survive; and he knew that wrongdoers received God’s grace by being punished and given a chance to repent and reform. But Christ does the same thing for us, showing us His steadfast love by punishing us (often through other persons or circumstances) when we do wrong, and calling us back to Himself through repentance. And though I grew up and am growing older, how odd it is that Santa Claus has not changed! Why he looks the same as he did when I was a boy – still the white haired gentleman with a glint of everlasting humor in his eye, as if he has a great joke to tell – only not now; but one day, when he has more time. (I know he is the same: I had supper with a couple of policemen last Friday evening; both of them had seen him in Walmart a few days before. From their description of him, he has not changed at all! And remember: these were members of Artesia’s finest citizens who cannot tell a lie!) But Jesus is also like that: unchanging, the very eternal flame from the heart of God the Father; the one who is called Eternal God Himself. He took His very earthly, manly character with Him through death and resurrection, ascension, and in His reappearance to John the Gospel writer on the Island of Patmos. He is unchanging Savior of love and the Great Amen! So anyway, I got to know Santa Claus first before I ever heard of Jesus. And Santa turned out to be a great evangelist! He prepared me to meet my Lord and my God better by far than any other human, because he, more than any other man in history, modeled to me the Savior’s life and love. So I will celebrate the birth of Jesus, as will you. But may we remember this one that nameless persons discovered centuries ago as a herald of these best of tidings. (Even as we will continue to marvel at how he gets into houses that have no chimneys!) LBC

THE BEST, FIRST CHRISTMAS, PART II 12 05 09

PARSON’S CORNER: for Artesia Daily Press, 12/11/09 If you read last week’s article, you’re probably thinking of me as some sort of saint. That I am some kind of paragon of virtue. You’re thinking, “Wow!! That guy is soooo amazing! He did something so wonderful for his young wife at their first Christmas together. He was so sensitive and caring. Why, he is almost as good as St. Nicholas himself!” That’s what you’re thinking. And that’s all right for you to think that about me, because it makes me feel real good! But my wife insists that I pull a “Paul Harvey” on you and tell you the rest of the story. So I am going to do that this week. You are probably going to change your mind about me after you hear this. But please don’t change it too much! I sort of like being held up as a great example when it comes to all this Christmas stuff. Like I’m some kind of expert. Even though I’m really not. Here’s what I mean. You know how at every Christmas season people think they ought to get a Christmas tree? A lot of people go out and buy a tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, and they put it up in their front living room. They’ll get great big trees and spend lots of money on it. But when we first got married, we did not have lots of money. Money was in fact tight, and my salary was much smaller then than now. My wife did not have a paying job at that time. We went around and looked at various trees. All of them seemed so very expensive! For the forty dollars a typical tree cost we could buy groceries for the week and then some! We had to think about eating first. “Why don’t we just see if we can find some kind of a tree,” I suggested. “Well,” she said. “We did used to do that when I was growing up. But that was in Maryland. And we had lots of forests and trees. All kinds,” she added. “But this is West Texas, and all you have here are Mesquite bushes and scrub cedars. How are you going to just find a tree??” That’s what she asked. But what she didn’t know yet about me, was that she was talking to one of the greatest scavengers that God had ever made. She was about to learn that she had married a man with singular qualities: in the first place, he was one of the greatest ever tight wads (still had my first nickel!); but secondly, her young husband was one of the most creative “garbage innovators” or “users-of-cast-off- materials” that there ever had been in the history of all mankind! “Trust me!” I shouted, as I put on my scarf and hat and went for a walk. “Where are you going?!” she hollered after me. “I am going to get our Christmas tree!” I said with a certainty I did not feel. Now let’s see: wasn’t there this vacant lot not far from our house on which grew all kinds of vegetation? I was sure I had passed it many times in my visiting. I headed off in that direction and found the place a few minutes later. It was just as I had remembered it: a big, neglected lot with a prominent “for sale” sign on it. But most importantly there was the “green growth” of various kinds growing all over the lot – and especially on the far side where the lot ended against a high brick wall. I remembered from a science course that “if it was green, it was growing.” But in early December there wasn’t much there that was. Over by the brick wall I found a variegated pile of tumbleweeds and other bushes. One that was still a light, dull green caught my eye in the midst of all the other bushes: why, this one was shaped just like the most perfect little Christmas tree! It’s true, it’s branches were rather thin, and the leaves were very short; or non-existent. But the shape was so perfect, I just couldn’t leave it. I walked all around it in disbelief (shoving the some of the fallen tumbleweeds aside). I could tell it was still sort of fresh and growing, because it was still stuck in the ground by its trunk and root. I could imagine it sitting on a nice round, end table in our living room. Why, then it would be up around seven feet tall from the floor! It would be perfect to bear most of our home-made and keepsake ornaments. The perfect little Christmas tree! And for free. Even better! I looked around in all directions to see if anyone was watching. Then said to myself, “well, you know: the realtor probably already got cited by the city for letting their weeds and stuff grow to tall. I’m really doing them a favor, I suppose . . .” I said, as I grabbed the trunk and lifted up firmly, all in one highly athletic move. I shook off the dirt, and looked around again, but it was cold, and nobody was out. I hustled back home even quicker than I had left and placed this beautiful thing in the stand I had left on the front porch. Then I hoisted the whole thing up on the end table of choice and whistled for my wife. (Okay! I mean I just called her name very sweetly.) I took the stance of one of those models on “The Price Is Right” and called out, “Honey! Behold the perfect Christmas tree!” She came out, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and immediately her jaw dropped in surprise. To this day I like to think this was “pleasant surprise” or even “overjoyed surprise.” And after all these years, I have about convinced myself that this was the case. But boy it has taken considerable effort on my part! “Wh – what kind of tree is it?” she asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. She knew all the effort I had just put forth in obtaining this lovely little bush. “I don’t know. Maybe some kind of ‘partial green’,” I answered. “What’s a ‘partial green’?” she asked; still sounding somewhat polite. “Well,” I thought quickly, “that would be a tree that isn’t quite an evergreen; but it isn’t a cactus either.” “Kind of an ‘in-between green’,” she volunteered. I could tell she was starting to get the “Christmas Spirit”, just like me! “But – where did you say you got it?” she pressed me. “You know, dear. Down at that vacant lot. You know, the one where nobody lives.” “Isn’t that the lot with all the tumbleweeds?” she asked, still sounding slightly polite.“Yeah, they got a few tumbleweeds that collected there. But this surely ain’t one of them. It was still a-growing. And besides that, it looks like a Christmas tree. And what’s more, it didn’t cost a penny!” I beamed. I was so proud of myself. “Well,” she said, sounding somewhat cold, “let’s get out the decorations and decorate it.” I just loved her enthusiasm! We got it all decorated, and with all the “clutter” and tinsel on the branches that made up for the lack of leafy vegetation. We had a chance to “test” our Christmas tree a few days later. My wife had had the brilliant idea of impressing everybody by inviting them over to the parsonage for an “open house.” So on the Sunday before Christmas here they came after the short service that evening. They enjoyed the goodies my wife had put out – even the Styrofoam “package peanuts” my wife put out as fake candy. Everything went well until one old grouch muttered under his breath to several others, “they gots themselves a tumbleweed for a Christmas tree!” “Naw!” said someone else. “Oh, yeah, they did!” insisted the first old grouch. My wife heard this, and the damage was done. She kept a pretty straight face for the rest of the party. But after the last one went home, she collapsed on the couch with her head on her arms, shaking with sobs. “I know, I know --,” I said, trying to be supportive. “These are tears of joy you are shedding. And all because our very first parsonage party went over so well. I’m happy too, Dear!” That only made the bawling louder, and I began to suspect these might not be tears of joy. (Honestly, what do you think?!) In fact later on I found out they were not, because from time to time since then she has brought up the topic of our first “cheap” Christmas tree. And each time, she has started weeping. And I am starting to feel just pretty awful about the whole thing! But then I think of something else and that makes me feel a lot better. I think of Joseph. Good ol’ Joseph! There was no room in the inn, and he was real short of cash himself. So he and his wife Mary spent the night out near the farm animals where there was a manger nearby. Simple, make-shift stuff. But it worked! God made it work. I like to think I participated in a small Christmas miracle (so small it was recognized only by me). But God gave us the big one. That’s the one you read about in Luke 2. The simplest, cheapest Christmas of them all! And the best!!! LBC

THE NASTY PREACHER! (PART III) 12 1 09

(fiction) THEY HAD NEVER SEEN OR HEARD ANYTHING LIKE HIM. WHAT THE HECK WAS HE TRYING TO DO?!? AND WHO THE CRONK DID HE THINK HE WAS??!! "Sunday school be over in a little bit," said Jim Bob Flakers. "We got time to look at something here first. Might interest you," he said, half apologetically. "Might. Or might not," replied Bob. "Lead the way, and let's see what you got," he added, stifling a yawn. On the way he cast a glance over to the rest of the parking lot. It wrapped around the building to his left, where its biggest area was. It was about half full of cars. This was the lay out of ol' St. Stephen's "Was I expected, or something?" asked Bob as Jim Bob led the way through a white framed doorway. Flakers looked up, surprised. "Well we knew we were going to get a substitute today, and we knew your name. So it's a treat to have a real preacher, and not just another dumb ol' lay speaker," he winked. "Hey, I'm just kidding. We like lay speakers too, and I happen to be one myself." "You could preach here each Sunday, yourself then and save the church some money," offered Bob. Jim Bob laughed. "I think they are good and tired of me." "I bet you're right!" laughed Bob with him. The other stopped laughing. So Bob did too. Eventually. He found himself following the stumpy, bald man down a long hall. Class rooms opened to the right and left as they passed. Jim Bob stopped at one office, and pushed the door open, then switched on the light. Bob looked in and saw a nice, large office, with many mostly-empty bookshelves, and a nice, bare desk. "Now, this here 'ud be your office." He said. Bob held up a hand. "You mean the office of your next preacher, Flakers, don't you?" He retorted. Rudely, he could admit. He didn't know why, but he just wasn't in a good mood. Probably because of all that sleep he had missed out on. "And who's fault was that?" he asked himself sarcastically. "You, Lord!"

But he knew without saying anything out loud, that the great 'Sleep Depriver' would just answer back to him, "well, that's no excuse for being cranky and rude to anybody else. Even Jim Bob here." Yeah, that's just the kind of thing He would say. "It's a nice office," he muttered. "Your next real guy ought to appreciate it a big bunch." "Thank you," nodded Jim Bob, ready to agree. "The last guy took pretty good care of it. And we come in afterwards and fumigate it, picked up the dead roaches, and cleaned it all up for you. Or, I mean, for whomever," he added quickly. "That's good. That's real good," nodded Bob. "Now then. What about your worship space?" "I was taking you there next. Bathroom's here, if or when you need it," he pointed off to the right. "I better wash my hands," grunted Bob, and pushed the door to go in. Minutes later, he and Jim Bob prayed, then went out into the sanctuary or worship area. Many folk had already come in and taken their seats. As the two came in by way of the chancel side door, all eyes riveted in their direction. The sound of an old organ was coming through some scratchy, echo-y speakers. On the far side a bent, decrepit, elderly woman was leaning heavily on some organ keys, in a low, dull tuneless melody of some sort. Bob thought at first he might recognize the tune she was playing. But he soon found it to be so eratic and unpredictable, that soon he just gave up. "You want to go around and greet some of the worshippers?" asked Jim Bob.

"Naw, I'll just take my seat. Let 'em look me over, while I look them over. I guess." Flakers seemed shocked that Bob would refuse to go out and shake a few hands before the service started. It was then he made a tragic mistake: he decided to make an issue of it. "Our previous preachers always greet some of the folk before worship starts. Sort of a custom, you know." "Not my custom! So just better drop it right now, if you know what's good for you!" Bob fired back; like he was knocking a bottle off a fence with a rifle at close range. "Maybe your next guy will do that, if it's all that important." Flakers wasn't afraid of much of anything; but he knew ice-cold hostility when he saw it, and decided finally to do the smart thing, and just drop it. "Okay. Suit yourself." "I always do," answered Bob. They were making their way up into the chancel area. There were several fine chairs there. "You can sit right here. It's my day to help with the worship service. I'll introduce you, and you can say whatever you want for an introduction. Then later, you'll get to preach." "You got a bulletin?" asked Bob. "I'll go get us one," answered the other, and he left to suit actions to words. Bob sat there glaring out over the congregation. Some of those looking back at him had very concerned looks. Almost no one was smiling. He had always found that if he put his mind to it, he could stare down damned near anybody. Even in worship. And especially a bunch of easily cowed, old worshippers. He proved it to himself again right now. After he had forced each one, one by one to look down in their laps or away out of a window, he looked at the paper bulletin Jim Bob Flakers had put in his hand. The latter introduced him, and the service began. It ran its usual course, covering the usual parts with which he was familiar. And as usual from this position, at the front, he found it nearly impossible to worship God. It was one of the shortcomings of being a pastor. He gave a long sigh, as the time for the scripture lesson came. Usually someone else would read that, Jim Bob had explained. Flakers had introduced him earlier; so when it was time to preach, he stood up to read his own bible passage. He cleared his throat and stood up to do that. "Luke, chapter 9!" he called out. LBC