At harvesttime, three of the thirty chiefs went down and joined David at the fortress of Adullam, while a force of Philistines were camped in the Rephaim Valley.  At that time, David was in the fortress, and a Philistine fort was in Bethlehem.  David had a craving and said, “If only someone would give me a drink of water from the well by the gate in Bethlehem.”  So the three warriors broke through the Philistine camp and drew water from the well by the gate in Bethlehem and brought it back to David.  But he refused to drink it and poured it out to the Lord.

 “The Lord forbid that I should do that,” he said.  “Isn’t this the blood of men who risked their lives?”  So he refused to drink it.  II Samuel 23:13-17 (ceb).

Monday is Memorial Day.  Approaching that day brings me to consider certain aspects relevant to an observation of such a memorial.  I first began to get my thoughts together for a sermon for England’s Remembrance Day several years ago at Skipsea Methodist Church in East Yorkshire.  Shortly before that particular Sunday, I had read of a Veterans’ Day service at the huge Prestonwood Baptist Church in the Dallas area where paratroopers were lowered down from the (seemingly) very high ceilings of the huge church as the choir and orchestra led the singing of patriotic hymns.  To me, such a spectacle does some serious issue-clouding.   I also remember during the Desert Storm war sitting propped up on pillows in my bed watching on television the air strikes over Iraq while an excited voice-over told us of the very advanced weapons systems being used and what destruction such weapons could inflict.

Both scenarios make me very uncomfortable.  So, what do I do with Memorial Day?  One thing, remember the words of Civil War General Sherman on the subject of war:  “War is at best barbarism.  Its  glory is all moonshine.  It is only those who have never fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation.  War is hell.”
Another thing I recall is a World War II Bill Mauldin cartoon:  Willie and Joe, in Italy behind the battle line, dirty and exhausted, see a clean-shaven, well groomed young trooper striding by obviously with a chip on his shoulder.  “That cain’t be no combat man–he’s lookin’ for a fight!”  No combat veteran goes looking for more fighting…..

I think it is very important to make a distinction between remembering the men and women who have given their lives in defense of country and home, as well as the survivors of battle, and war itself as a political decision.

The Rev. Donald Sensing has written about war:  “There’s something about it that we need to be aware of.  There are many admirable features found among men and women in wartime, as writers from the Roman era on to our own have observed…there is a spirit of sacrifice for a greater good.  Charity and self-giving.  Soldiers come to know some of the finest sentiments that human beings can know…there is fear and anger, resignation, hope and despair.”  He says that the chief emotion at work on the battlefield is an unlikely one:  love.  ” Soldiers do not fight for queen or country, or for mom, apple pie and the girl next door…they fight for their buddies.”

It is said that William Manchester went AWOL from a field hospital on Okinawa when he learned his unit was scheduled to make an amphibious assault behind Japanese lines…and though terribly wounded…he couldn’t bear the thought of his buddies in mortal danger without being there to help.

David, in the passage from Scripture quoted above, in a moment of longing said, “Oh that someone would get me a drink of water from the well near the gate of Bethlehem!”  Three of his veteran campaigners go through great risks in enemy territory to bring back water from the Bethlehem well for David.  But David cannot drink it:  instead he pours it out as a thank offering to their bravery.
Somehow, the depth issues of life…love, sacrifice, giving one’s utmost…these qualities become obscured from our awareness in our comfortable, middle-class lives.  Instead of being challenged on Sunday mornings in church, so often worship becomes a feel-good community event or a staging area for Sunday lunch with friends.

We tend to forget that we are free because of the risks of mighty men and women who have bought the cup of freedom, sometimes at the cost of their lives.  Another thing which becomes obscured in the midst of life’s busyness and trivialities is that, underneath, we are all brothers and sisters.  About fifteen years ago, in the midst of a tour of a WWII battleship, a pastor from Maine observed an elderly Japanese man bringing a wreath, and reverently and in obvious sadness tossing it over the side of the ship while the tour lecturer continued on.  But the pastor was not the only one observing the Japanese man.  He saw one of the American vets step forward, salute and hold the salute until the Japanese gentleman turned and saw him.  He returned the salute — they faced each other with tears and then each returned to their separate ways…a moment of grace and recognition.

Hallowed are the sacrifices made, and today we specially recognize and remember those sacrifices.  However, Rev. Peter Storey (a South African professor and who was a chaplain to Nelson Mandela as well as a peace activist) has pointed out, “Ultimately, Christians have a higher loyalty than that of flag or nation.   We belong to a wider commonwealth.  When Christ was nailed to the cross, he nailed us to our neighbors, breaking down the divisions between us.  All Christians, whether pacifists or proponents of “just war,” are bound to acknowledge that for those who follow Jesus, all wars are civil wars.  All wars, everywhere, are a form of fratricide.”  And I would add all people, whether Christian or not, are brothers and sisters.

From  the prophet Micah:  “They will beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.  Nation will no longer take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.  All people will be at peace, and no one will make them afraid, for the Lord Almighty has spoken.”

May that soon come to fruition.

as a little child…

As a little child….

This past Sunday was Children’s Sabbath at our church.  Consequently, this week I’ve been thinking of Jesus’ words concerning children and wishing I could have been preaching on the subject somewhere Sunday.  So I’ll preach to you!  (I am aware that actual preaching is an event that grows out of the connection between the preachER and the preachED TO….so this is really an outline.)

     People were bringing babies to Jesus so that he would bless them.  When the disciples saw them, they scolded them.  Then Jesus called them to him and said, “Allow the children to come to me. Don’t forbid them, because God’s kingdom belongs to people like these children.  I assure you that whoever does not welcome God’s kingdom like a child will never enter it.  (CEB)

What is it about a child that Jesus points to?
     **The classic image of a child is that of the powerless, without capacity to reward or repay.
The little one is utterly at the wishes or whims of its care giver.  As I think over my list      of friends, acquaintances, former parishioners, I am reminded to question my own motives with even those whom I hold closest.  Do I shower more attention on those who can benefit me?  Rev. Larry James in Dallas once said in a workshop that we will be judged on how we treat people who cannot help us in any way.
     **A child is vulnerable.  We mature out of vulnerability to varying levels.  We learn to be so cagey.  Nobody can put anything over on us.  In fact, that’s close to the essence of “coolness.”  Much as I like to be considered cool,  trying to live honestly with who I am challenges my coolness at times.  I have to be willing to be criticized when I am embracing an important principle or am asserting something about being me that is honest.  I have to risk…being vulnerable.
A child is vulnerable to what adults may or may not want to invest in them.  It seems to always be difficult to get sufficient volunteers to teach the classes of small children in the church.  They don’t know to thank us, they recognize us for our contributions before others nor praise us.  Mike Gilchrist told about his first experiences in church.  As a preteen, he began walking up the street to a church where he knew noone.  He sat alone in worship every Sunday and checked off items in the bulletin as they transpired.  One Sunday a well-dressed older woman sat by him, looked into his pimply face and said “Hi.” From then on, he got to feeling comfortable in her presence and, with her encouragement, he eventually joined that church….and became a terrific minister.  
     **A child is loyal.  Even when it’s not in his/her best interests.  A parent can so often get away with abusing a child because the child is so loyal and will actually help in the cover-up of mistreatment.  

“Being as a child” perhaps refers to the capacity to trust fully.  When busyness, or lack of caring leads to alienating our child, or anyone’s child, we deprive ourselves of the best, least self-interested friend we’ll ever have.

When the church alienates the poor, the powerless, the broken, the handicapped, it loses so much and never knows what it missed.  Apparently, receiving them is receiving Jesus. 

Country Living in East Texas


I’m having a good day and am rather in a contemplative mood.  The book is finally published on Kindle (The Road Taken) and we here in east Texas are having sunshine and 62 degrees.  Of course, in the next couple of days, we’ll have the cold onslaught  that so many are having now.

But the sun is streaming in my window and I can see a red-breasted woodpecker ranging up and down the smooth trunk of a leafless tree.  The bird feeder is almost empty and the backyard is full of birds.  So pleasant.  There are times when I really miss living in the city but living in the country certainly has its compensations.  Walking in the country is connecting with nature…..and, in my case, reconnecting with my past.  My sister Peggy and I live in the same house we grew up in so memories really crowd around all along the so familiar road.  I’m always aware, for instance, when I pass near the hillside where my mother lived the year she was 22, met and fell in love with my father. That was in 1922!  The place was called Mulberry Hill then.  Peggy and I may be the only two people now who remember this cow pasture was once romantic Mulberry hill.

I have cousins living in every house on this long block except two. Both my daughters and my four grandchildren have loved this place.  I guess Peggy and I have bequeathed a sense of deep rootedness to them.  For that, I am happy.  We need wings but also roots.

My East Texas walking trail

My walking trail

 Walking essentially the same route each time I walk, I love noticing the seasonal changes in the trees and the wide range of colors in the countryside.  We’ll talk another day…..