Browsed by
Tag: Easter

Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down

Ain’t No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down

Comments 1 comment

“Oh, there was a battle, a war between death and life
And there on a tree, the lamb of God was crucified
And he went on down to hell, he took back every key
And he rose up as a lion and he set all captives free” (from Ain’t No Grave)

 

Young Claude Ely was twelve years old in 1934.  Despite his young age Claude, sick with tuberculosis,  was dying. He claims to have spontaneously been inspired to perform and ultimately write the song “Ain’t No Grave” while his family was praying over him.

Now that is some inspiration.

Maybe I should get my family to pray over me.

It’s Easter.

I was listening to some music on YouTube this week, music videos created by the folks at Christ Church in Easton, Maryland, including one of “Ain’t No Grave”, and had a flashback to Easter of 2020.  Deep in the woes of the pandemic, on that Easter Sunday, Kim and I had a sunrise service by ourselves with coffee and the internet on the patio, under the canopy with the fire pit. That morning Kim shared a music video with me that someone had shared with her.

It was awesome.

That was the beginning of an online relationship with Christ Church’s music videos, which were and remain extremely well done, as well as the sermons of Father Bill Ortt.

My friend Frank, who, about a month after that Easter Sunday in 2020 would pass away from complications of the Covid virus, was always encouraging and once told me to keep writing and that I could weave a good story.

I don’t know how true that is anymore, but I felt the same about Bill Ortt’s sermons.  He could weave a story into a sermon better than anyone I had ever heard before or since.

Kim and I were fortunate to have attended a couple of services live at Christ Church in Easton and met briefly many of those we had come to be familiar with in the videos.

Unfortunately for us, but good for him, Bill Ortt has since retired, but I still go back and listen to his sermons and his stories from time to time.

 

Young Claude Ely eventually recovered from his illness and became a songwriter and preacher.

I suppose one could argue that we have never fully recovered from ours.  We lost friends, learning time, worship opportunities, job routines; many suffer long term post covid or post vaccine health issues.  We lost time with family, time that with some family will never be able to be made up.

Now it’s five years later, and whatever change we experienced is now baked into our routines, and except for the occasional reminder, it seems like ages ago.

And unlike that Easter Sunday in April of 2020, we are able to worship together again.  My mother, Kim, and I attended the Easter service at the Milton Methodist Church in Woolford along with 78  members of our Woolford church family.

 

It’s Easter.

And if you believe like I believe, you know there ain’t no grave that can hold us.

And today we celebrate that.

And so, we have hope.

Because we received Grace.

 

Happy Easter.

Jesus said unto her, “I am the resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live

 

 

Postscript:

That first video Kim shared on Easter morning from Christ Church was one featuring James Coleman titled “Jesus I Believe.”

The photo above was taken this morning at church.  The lily “tree” behind us was built by my father, originally for poinsettias at Christmas, but they leave it up year round now.

Removed…For Now

Removed…For Now

Comments 0 Comment

Who knows what the next six months will bring?

Until then I will keep warm and wait for the day when the first martin returns.

And I will pray that in those six months, time doesn’t change me too much.

And I will be allowed to write about another beautiful day, in another season, in another year, in time.

 

I wrote that while experiencing a beautiful day last October, yet realizing all the signs indicated that the season would soon be gone.  The purple martins, now removed from their houses, were on their long journey back to South America.  On that weekend I had lowered the martin houses for the winter.  In the coming months just as the martins do, I also would be retreating to places that would keep me warm as I waited for a new season to return.

 

Removed

Vanished

Gone

They’re just gone.

He’s just gone.

One day there, the next day gone.

 

Have you ever experienced that?

Someone or something you had one day but were removed from your life the next.

Sometimes, like the purple martins or the seasons, it’s temporary and they return.

Sometimes however, as with death, it is not temporary.

But is it not?

Jesus suffered death on the cross.

He was laid in the tomb only to be found removed a few days later.

But he wasn’t removed as Mary had thought.

“Woman, why are you crying?”  asked the angels.

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.”

 

No one took Jesus away.

As was promised, as was the purpose of his crucifixion, he was risen.

Now as Easter approaches, it is April and another beautiful day, in a different season, and in a different year. It has been almost six months, and as I prayed for, time hasn’t changed me too much.  On a recent weekend I cleaned out the tiny rooms where the birds would live and raised the three purple martin houses back to their high perch on top of the poles.  It was warming up, and like the new season, the martins should be back soon too.  In fact, three or four days later, I spoke with my mother, the martins had returned.  The older ones go ahead first, returning to the places they are familiar with, places where they had nested before.  They would soon be followed by the younger birds breeding for the first time.

 

In the coming days we will celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and we will return once again to a place we are familiar with.

The story of the tomb.

Jesus was gone, but he was not removed.

In this single event we are given hope.  Hope of life eternal as was promised, hope of being reunited with those who went ahead first. Hope that maybe he’s not just gone forever.

And as we are reminded in Philippians Jesus is not a dead martyr to be pitied, but a living, reigning, returning Lord to be loved and emulated, both in present suffering and in future reward.

 

So as this beautiful day comes to an end, in this Holy season, this Easter season, I pray once again that time doesn’t change me too much, and for the hope and faith everlasting that this new season brings.

 

Postscript:

On the six Tuesdays during the period of Lent I was participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church.  The daily themes based on one word each day and some associated scripture.  Today’s word is Removed . This post concludes my participation. Thank you for reading.  If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link here in this postscript.

 

Spring

Spring

Comments 0 Comment

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”    (John 4:13-14)

 

Spring.

A word that can have many interpretations and meanings.

A mechanical spring tightly coiled ready to burst out with energy at any moment or one that is stretched and returns back to the shape it started from.

Maybe it is the time to “spring” forward providing more hours of daylight and more time for outdoor activities such as exercise.

Or maybe for you it brings to life images of daffodils, digging in the dirt, planting your gardens, and cutting the grass.

Or for you it might be pollen and allergies.

Since I have grown to dislike winter so much, I have used the analogy of winter for me to be like Jesus’ time in the wilderness and spring marking the end of my wandering.

Or maybe it makes you think of the reason I am writing this…Lent, the Holy Week, and Easter.

 

The Merriam Webster dictionary defines spring in many ways as well.  As a transitive verb and an intransitive verb, or as a noun.

I don’t know all about that transitive and intransitive stuff so my simple mind will stick to the noun.

The act of moving forward.

A time or season of growth or development.

A device that recovers its original shape when released after being distorted.

A source of supply as it applies to water from the ground or action or motion.

 

The days and the events leading up to what we now call Good Friday and Easter in Jerusalem may have felt like a coiled spring ready to burst out at any moment.

And for the world there was little chance it would ever return to the shape it was before.

It was the fulfillment of prophecy.

Jesus’ mission on earth was winding down.

He had shown them many signs, yet still for some, their eyes were blinded and their hearts hardened.

But we know the story.

We know how it ends.

We also know that was just the beginning.

The spring of water Jesus describes is not one found in Merriam Webster.  Being born again in the spirit, drinking the water that has us never thirsting again.

“A spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

Spring.

 

 

Postscript:

On Tuesdays during the period of Lent, I am participating in a daily writing that we are doing at my church, Sterling United Methodist Church.  The daily themes are based on one word each day and some associated scripture.  Today’s word is spring.  If you would like to keep up with the posts from others click on this link in the postscript.

Because He Lives

Because He Lives

Comments 1 comment

Almost twenty years ago now, Donny’s accident occurred on Friday, July 19, 2002.  His funeral was Tuesday, July 23. Tired from grief and everything else unimaginable that week, we needed to “get out of Dodge.”   So we gathered up some kids and some close friends for support and headed out to my parent’s house on the Eastern Shore in Woolford, Maryland.

My dad was crabbing at the time so he still had his crab boat which made for the perfect diversion spending some time on the water, fishing, and crabbing.

Outside of our world, the rest of the country was watching the events unfold in Somerset County, Pennsylvania where on July 24 eighteen coal miners were trapped in the Quecreek Mine. Somerset County was where Kim’s family resided so that crisis hit close to home as well and captured our concerns too.

Woolford is a small town about halfway between Cambridge and Taylor’s Island.  There is not much to the town but a small post office attached to the Woolford Store.  The Woolford Store had everything you needed for fishing, crabbing, and back then, hunting. You could also pick up your beer and groceries or have a seat at one of the few tables in front of the deli/grill and have breakfast or lunch. Camo was common or whatever you liked to fish in and pick-up trucks lined the road out in front.

Just a little ways further up Taylor’s Island Road was a small United Methodist Church named Milton United Methodist Church.

The Milton United Methodist church in Woolford at the time was part of the four church “Church Creek Charge.” The Church Creek Charge consisted of the Whitehaven UMC in Church Creek, Milton in Woolford, Madison UMC in Madison, and the Taylor’s Island United Methodist Church on Taylor’s Island.  The Pastor at the time was Reverend Bob Kirkley.  Kirkley was a preacher’s son who himself spent many years preaching in Baltimore and in St. Mary’s county on the Western Shore. Like my dad, he was born in 1929, so he could have easily been retired.  But instead, every Sunday morning Reverend Kirkley would start his preaching at 8:45 a.m. at the Whitehaven UMC in Church Creek, and once finished he would beat feet down the road to Milton at 9:45 a.m. then Madison at 10:45 a.m. finishing up the morning at Taylor’s Island UMC.

On that particular late July, Sunday, Kim and I felt like we needed to be in church and we convinced my parents to attend with us.  We sat down in one of the pews of the small very traditional-looking aging church sanctuary.  As strangers in church that morning, once we were acknowledged my dad very uncharacteristically stood up and introduced us and explained the circumstances with Donny.

Though I don’t remember what the sermon was about that Sunday, I do remember Kim and me thinking that it was speaking directly to us on that day.

At the end of the service, everyone stood and sang “God Bless America.”

Later that morning we went over to the Volunteer Fire Department in Secretary, Maryland for buckwheat pancakes and caught some TV replays of the miners in Pennsylvania being brought to the surface one at a time in their rescue capsule.

Answered prayers for those families.

 

Once we returned to Herndon Kim emailed Reverend Kirkley and explained that my parents really needed a church family and could he visit with them and try to get them to start going to church.

He did, and it worked, and eventually, my parents became active members of the Milton United Methodist Church.

The aging church building benefited from some of my dad’s carpentry skills and in addition, he would build a new church sign out front and a special Christmas tree-shaped stand for the poinsettias at Christmas in the sanctuary.

 

As my dad’s health began to fail and walking became more difficult, they eventually had to stop attending services.

Kim and I would attend from time to time while visiting.

 

Eventually, Reverend Kirkley’s health failed too and he had to retire, and just this past February, he passed away.

And the once four charge “Church Creek Charge” over time became a three church charge with the closing of the Taylor’s Island church.

Now with a new pastor, Pastor Ben, who is actually a police officer on the western shore when he is not preaching on the weekends, the same traditions of the small-town congregation continue.

 

Yesterday Kim and I returned with my mom for Easter services at Milton.  She hadn’t been to church in a while and they were happy to see her.

Most of the faces of the small congregation were familiar.

The sign on the wall said “last week’s attendance 31.”

With Easter, however, this Sunday’s attendance swelled to 46.

The stand my dad built for the Christmas poinsettias was still present in the corner now decorated with American flags.

And since the lady who used to play the piano moved away, the hymns are sung accompanied by recorded music and vocals.  We sang “He Lives” along with Alan Jackson and “Because He Lives” with Bill Gaither.

And just like it was twenty years ago, “God Bless America” still ends every service.  No accompaniment was needed for that one.

 

After church, we visited with my dad and tried to remember Easters of the past when the big deal was packing the family in the Corvair and driving all the way to Middletown to have dinner at McDonald’s.

Now with our visit over, Kim and I got back in the truck to head home.

But not before a quick stop at the McDonald’s in Cambridge to keep the tradition going.

 

It was a nice Easter.

“Because He lives, I can face tomorrow
Because He lives, all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth a living just because He lives”

(From “Because He Lives” by Bill Gaither)

 

Postscript

The photo above was taken at the time the new sign that my dad built was installed at the church.

 

Pastor Ben leading the service
The poinsettia tree, now adorned with American flags
The sign my dad built, as it looked on Easter 2022
Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Flash Fiction in Five Hundred Words or Less

Comments 2 comments

Wake Up

 

“Wake up, wake up…we’ve got to move, patrols will be out soon, we’ve got to get back on the Trail.”

It’s Sunday.

This morning we attended church with a small group of Patriots. Services are different now, they are held quietly and secretly in basements by candlelight since all church buildings were destroyed by the early anarchists bent on eliminating Christian-Judaic traditions.

But that was before the Socialists gained power, ushered in by the failure of leaders to control their left after years of isolation, a pandemic, and the collapse of the economy.

Chaos ensued, opportunity knocked, and the North Korean missiles rained down.  Smoke and ash still linger in the air of the cities.  But in the mountains, the trail once known as the Appalachia Trail, now serves Patriots who want to travel north and south, staying away from the cities controlled by the Communists and their socialist natives in servitude.

The once majestic skyline of our Capital lies broken, its white stones darkened by fire and ash. Yet, the  statue of Saunders, the hero of the Socialist uprising, ironically still stands intact on the Mall covered in graffiti in a language once foreign to our country, a reminder of what can happen when a country loses its values.

But in the mountains and the rural areas, there is safety.  The new Government chooses not to worry about those who are too hard to control.  Besides, there are plenty of “comrades” falling in line in the cities, no need to care about folks like us.

We are traveling to Western Pennsylvania.  We have people there and it’s far from the metropolitan areas controlled by the invaders.  There we will have food and shelter.  We will follow the trail north through West Virginia and Maryland and into Pennsylvania, then travel at night on the rural highways west to the Laurel Highlands and safety, and some home cooking since the once-bustling free enterprises of “Eat More…” and “Have it Your…” have been converted into distribution kitchens serving those who serve our captors.  The food, mostly rice brought in from the homeland and provided by the Government since the fields within fifty miles no longer support crops or pasturing of livestock.

It’s a different world now. Once worried about the burning of fossil fuels, instead now we choke in the carbon monoxide tainted air left by missiles, fires, and barren tracks of land that one day were green, taking in the carbon dioxide and providing us oxygen.

I am sad. Sad for myself, sad for my family, sad for those who didn’t see it coming.

For now, though, I must concentrate on putting one foot after the other as I walk the ridges of protruding rocks. We have many more miles to travel.

 

“Wake up honey, wake up, you are going to be late for class!”

“I’m up, I’m up…wow Mom…I was dreaming, I mean I had this really weird dream.

“It was scary.”

“But it’s okay…

I am awake now.”

 

 

According to Masterclass.com:

Flash fiction is a favored genre … for its ability to convey deep truths and universal human emotions in just a few short paragraphs.

Flash fiction is a genre of fiction, defined as a very short story. While there is no set word count that separates flash fiction from more traditional short stories, flash fiction stories can be as short as a few words (while short stories typically run for several pages).

 

I don’t like to write fiction, but it was fun to try for a contest.

But I don’t expect I have conveyed deep truths and human emotions as described above.

 

I would prefer to do that with non-fiction.

 

 

 

It’s Palm Sunday.

The day Jesus entered Jerusalem.

I heard an awesome prayer this morning that moved me.

“You come among us in unexpected ways, whoever heard of a king on a donkey, a savior on a cross.  How do we know it is you?  How should we recognize your presence? Will we see you when you stand among us? Will we hear your voice and understand your message?

 Will we wave palms of enthusiasm today, but drop our arms in confusion tomorrow?”

 

The crowd mentality ensued that day.

Hosanna…” save us” they cried.

But that was quickly forgotten and replaced.

“Crucify Him.”

The prayer I heard this morning went on to question our ability to stand on our own beliefs and not to succumb to what may be the popular opinion.

The opinion of the crowd.

 

I guess it’s not so popular to believe in this story anymore.

This story of Jesus riding on the back of a donkey.

It’s certainly not so popular to yell “Hosanna.”

And it’s not so popular to believe Jesus died to save us.

 

But I believe.

And it’s okay.

I am awake now.

 

 

Post Script:

The photo above popped up on my Google memories or Facebook this week.  It’s from a year when we were still able to welcome the community and particularly the children to our church at Easter. We pray that will change again soon.

That’s me under the bunny head.  I get to play many roles in my job.  Even representing the fictional aspects of this season.

Happy Easter!

 

Hello In There

Hello In There

Comments 2 comments

Would You Like a Lime with That Week Six

 

“I am an old woman, named after my mother

My old man is another, child that’s grown old”

 

I am not an old woman and I don’t have an “old man.”  I didn’t write those words.

The person who wrote those lines was also not an old woman and didn’t have an old man either.

What made this person such a great songwriter was his ability to write from the perspective of the characters he created and wrote about in his songs.

John Prine passed away earlier this month, a victim of complications of the Covid-19 virus, another reminder of the times.

Those words are from the song “Angel from Montgomery,” one of my all-time favorite songs, written by Prine, made more popular by Bonnie Raitt.  It contains one of my all-time favorite lines:

 “If dreams were lightening, and thunder were desire

This old house would have burnt down a long time ago”

 

According to Jason Isbell, another singer/songwriter I have mentioned before who was a close friend of Prine’s, “John always said, when he grew up, he wanted to be an old person.”

I have always thought, when I grew up, I wanted to be a writer.  I guess for me being an old person some day was just assumed.

John Prine was a writer who just wanted the chance to grow old and proved you can’t just assume.

 

Kim and I had a nice Easter.

We got up at 6 a.m., had coffee by the fire pit while we viewed the on line Sunrise Service on Kim’s iPad.

Then we took a four-mile walk.

We planted flowers at Donny’s gravesite, now an Easter Sunday custom.

We did a Zoom call with all the kids and grandkids.

My cousin sent us a nice photo of my aunt, who along with my parents, are the last surviving members of that generation in my family.

We talked to our parents.

 

It hit home to me a little more this week, just how this virus, has impacted our older generation.

Almost a month ago now I wrote about how I wrote about “Mr. Nobody” and had read a lot of nice comments about my dad that I promised to read to him the next time I went out to see him.

When I made that promise, I thought it would be soon.

Now a month later I know I really don’t know when that will be.

And this past weekend a similar situation presented with my dad’s birthday.  Again there were many nice comments and remembrances, I promised to read them all to him.  I was thinking this time over the phone.  But there were so many, that didn’t seem practical.

So just before dinner on Easter Sunday I tried to teach my mother how to access my dad’s Facebook feed on his smart phone while trying to communicate this while on a video call over the Amazon Echo.  Understandably for an older person, trying to learn how to use a smart as well as navigate Facebook proved to be way too hard to manage.

Let’s face it, technology isn’t always an option for an older person.

After dinner, again sitting by the fire pit, I sat with my wife as she talked to her mother on the phone and towards the end of the call I listened to my mother-in-law weep as Kim assured her she would up to visit as soon as it was possible.

Then I received the photo of my Aunt Joan being wheeled out of her assisted living facility on Easter Sunday by a healthcare worker so that my cousins and their kids could see her from a safe distance.

 

And I realized, on a good day without a virus, most older folks don’t get to see their families or friends enough.

Prine had a song for that too called “Hello in There” that might make you cry if you have never heard it.

“We had an apartment in the city
Me and Loretta liked living there
Well, it’d been years since the kids had grown
A life of their own, left us alone”

Sad right?

The kids have moved on, they have a life of their own now.

 

Special days, like birthdays or Easter Sundays, are a big deal for our older family members and friends.

Maybe they get to go to church, which may be their one social outlet.

Maybe they get a visit from their family.

Maybe they get taken out to lunch or dinner.

But not now.

Some, like my dad, may not always understand that.

They are being deprived of that birthday visit, deprived of the Easter visit, deprived of being able to worship and have fellowship in church.

Instead, they have to wave to their family on a six-inch screen.

Or, from a wheelchair, with loved ones a safe distance across the street.

And they have to watch their church sermon on their cell phone or computer, using Facebook or YouTube.

Maybe.

Because, what if your older person can’t navigate a cell phone or computer; like my mother, my father, my mother in law, and my father in law.

 

Prine’s song “Hello in There” beautifully yet sadly captures the loneliness of an older couple.

“You know that old trees just grow stronger
And old rivers grow wilder every day
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, “Hello in there, hello”

 

I understand why we have to live like this right now.

I guess the message is, if you have an older person or couple that you know is alone and isolated at this time more than ever, reach out to them.

And, if you have an older person who doesn’t have the technology or know how to use the technology, maybe once you are logged on to your online sermon or small group or happy hour Zoom group chat, call that person on the phone so they can at least listen with you.

Somehow find a way to do this:

“So if you’re walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes
please don’t just pass ’em by and stare
As if you didn’t care, say, “Hello in there, hello”

 

Say “hello in there.”

 

Post Script:

So, wanting to make sure my dad saw all those nice comments from all of you, I decided to print out hard copies of the Oceanport Centennial post and the birthday posts and mail them to him.  He received them on Wednesday and has been taking his time to read all of them.  He told me “they were great.” Thanks again to all.

The photo above is of my aunt,  Joan Christiansen, with the caption “Grandma! And the amazing healthcare worker that brought her out so we could wish her Happy Easter!”

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8)

Please continue to keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers.

And keep all those sick or compromised from the virus and all other health issues in your prayers.

And of course, all those families, who like the Prine family, who have lost loved ones.

The sun rising on Easter morning

And All God’s People Say…

And All God’s People Say…

Comments 0 Comment

Would You Like a Lime With That Week Five

 

In the darkness of the early morning, the worshipers began filling the benches of the church’s outdoor venue.  The fire was already burning, providing some helpful light as folks settled in their places, as well as a little welcomed heat on the chilly spring morning.  To the left of the fire was the cross, draped with white cloth and covered in fresh flowers now illuminated by the rising flame, creating a beautiful image to celebrate the resurrection.

As the time of the service approached the lone musician began singing songs of Easter unplugged on an acoustic guitar as the worshipers waited.

Now 6:30 a.m. the scheduled start time, and everything was perfectly in place for a beautiful Easter sunrise service; the fire, the cross, the music, the worshipers.

Yes, all the pieces were there, except for one, only one thing was missing.

The Preacher!

Six-thirty dragged on to 6:35 a.m., now approaching 6:40 a.m. while the music continued, the worshipers were starting to get antsy and whispering to each other.

I leaned over to Kim and said: “maybe I should go see where he is.”

I quickly walked into the building and found the pastor, Steve Vineyard, behind his desk hunched over his laptop working away.

I stood in the doorway of his office and the exchange went something like this:

“Hey man,” I said.

He spun around in his chair to face me and replied very cheerfully “hey Curt, how are you?”

“I am good,” I said.  “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he replied, “just reviewing my sermon, why?”

“Well,” I said, “because there are a whole lot of people outside waiting for you to come out and preach the Sunrise Service.”

He bolted straight up out of his chair and stood briefly visibly disturbed by what I had just told him.  He quickly collected his jacket, Bible, and sermon notes while muttering   “This is my worst nightmare!  I have nightmares about this kind of thing! Forgetting the service!”

We headed out the rear door towards the outdoor sanctuary and split up to not give the appearance that anything was wrong and that this was nothing more than Steve’s dramatic Sunrise Service entrance.

With the sunrise still some minutes away he hit the lectern and began the service, with surely a sigh of relief from the musician and the worshippers.

As I settled back in my seat next to my wife, in the distance I could hear sirens.

As the sirens in the background began to get louder indicating they were getting closer, once again I leaned over to Kim and whispered: “I hope they aren’t on their way here.”

Within minutes, a fire engine from the Sterling Volunteer Fire Department pulled up to our Sunrise Service.  Apparently a concerned neighbor had reported a fire at the church.   After a brief discussion with the firemen and a few laughs, we were able to finish our service with our fire intact.

At 6:54 a.m. the sun rose.

The sun was now up on Easter Sunday, April 1, 2018.  Our service ended around 7:15 a.m. The fire engine provided the necessary comic relief and the pastor being late for the service was quickly forgotten.  And Pastor Steve, it turned out, was a huge fan of fire engines. All was perfect again.

 

Twice in the last couple of weeks, I have been reminded of the events of Holy Week of 2018.

Kim was going through our Google photos one evening and said “look, here’s a picture of Steve,” as she found some photographs I had taken of the Good Friday service on March 30, 2018.

A few days later, while preparing for a presentation for this year’s Good Friday virtual  “service” I found folded up in one of my Bibles, the instructions for my role in that 2018 Good Friday service.  I was one of the eight readers assisting in the service.  I was reader number four, the eighth and final reader was Steve.

My instructions were “After you read your Scripture, each of you will be helping to ‘strip the Altar’ as the lights in the sanctuary are slowly dimmed.  We have eight items and eight readers…LEAVE THE LAST CANDLESTICK FOR STEVE TO CARRY OUT AS HE LEAVES THE SANCTUARY AFTER THE FINAL READING…Steve will read the eighth and final Scripture and carry the remaining candlestick out of the Sanctuary.

Bell Toll.

Pastor Steve stripping the final item, the candlestick, off the altar and carrying it out of the Sanctuary. Good Friday 2018

Though it was nice reliving those memories from the past, it was a hard reminder that in spite of the chaos of our current crisis that is affecting all of our church services,  Easter at my church wouldn’t have been the same anyway.  My church was broken before the disruption caused by the virus.  Maybe you know because you attend my church, maybe you remember my post from January titled The Stone,  but our pastor who delivered all our sermons for the last four Easter Sundays, Pastor Steve Vineyard, passed away unexpectedly in January of this year.

He would end all of his sermons by saying, “And all God’s people say…”

Only one of those sermons that I know of, was he late for.

Only one I can pretty much bet, featured a real fire engine.

And though all were meaningful to me, I can say, truly one of those sermons was life-changing for my family.

And so, this Easter’s diversion, this Easter’s “fire engine,” is in the form of a virus. On that Easter Sunday in 2018, it was the fire engine that helped us forget that the preacher, who for the only time in his shortened life, was late for a service he was to preach.

For my church, I hope that the arrival of this Easter’s “fire engine”, the Coronavirus, doesn’t have the same result it had two years ago, I hope it doesn’t cause us to forget.

Therefore, let us not allow this virus to help us forget what is really missing from this Easter season.

Because once again,

It’s the preacher.

Pastor Steve.

 

“And All God’s People Say…”

Amen

 

 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy” (Matthew 5:8)

Please continue to keep those healthcare workers and their families in your prayers.

Happy Passover and Happy Easter to all.

By the way, the photo above was taken at 6:35 a.m. Easter morning, 2018.  The lectern located between Willis on the guitar and the fire, as you can see, was still vacant at that time.

The arrival of the fire engine.

 

Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

Comments 0 Comment

My hands hurt.  They are cracked and bleeding.

I am washing my hands a lot.

Back in the early 80’s I was working as a Respiratory Therapist in the ICU at Fairfax Hospital (now INOVA Fairfax Hospital) and I worked with a nurse whose husband was from somewhere in Africa.  I remember her telling us one evening that her husband would say that if you had a wound or cut your skin you should urinate on it.

I don’t know about that but I do know that on those occasions that I have to apply hand sanitizer to my now split, cracked, and sometimes bleeding hands peeing on them sounds like a less painful option.  Alcohol on cut skin stings.

 

This is now the third week of our escalation of caution related to the Coronavirus Pandemic.

And speaking of peeing, there was a lot of pissing on boots and claiming it’s raining this week from all sides but thankfully the bill was finally passed that would begin to bring some economic relief to workers and businesses big and small.

I don’t know that I understand all the detail nor do I want to but I am comforted to know that it may be just the beginning and could be expanded should it be needed in the future. I want to be sure that if the Kennedy Center goes through their $25 million too soon they can get more.

 

Also this week I had a “first” experience.

Instead of kissing my wife goodbye when she leaves for work we started elbow bumping.

Now I want you to know that this year, on July 1st to be exact, will be my 20th wedding anniversary.

And if, by July 1st, the only thing my wife and I are touching are our elbows, I am going to be pissed.

 

And this week the President got in trouble encouraging the use of a drug called chloroquine and another closely related drug called hydroxychloroquine.  Sadly, a man in Arizona ingested an aquarium cleaner with a similar name, chloroquine phosphate and died, which the President got blamed for on social media.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, who we have all come to know and love, said he would take the drug if sick but only within a clinical trial.  I understand the need for data, but sometimes it’s hard to understand the delays in treatment while you set up the protocols, qualify the patients to meet those protocols, and then finally at some point begin the treatment while all the time you are your loved one is dying.

 

Yesterday I was going back through some Google photos and realized it has been four weeks since I have seen my parents. The first Sunday in March we were attending the 9th Annual Crawfish Boil and Muskrat Stew Festival in Cambridge, Maryland with my parents and my sister Pat and brother-in-law John, as we celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary that weekend.

Ralph, the winner of last year’s and this year’s Muskrat Leg Eating Contest.

Life was still normal back then.

Well, at least as normal as eating Muskrat legs can be.

Congratulations to “Peg Leg” Ralph Bramble for repeating as Muskrat Leg Eating World Champion again this year.  We didn’t stay to watch the competition but I did ask Ralph for a photo before I left.

 

We also learned this week that Easter was canceled.

Well, not canceled really, you can’t cancel Easter, but churches, at least United Methodist churches are to be closed until at least April 23.

Too bad, I think we could all use a little reminder of Jesus and what Easter is all about right now and in the coming weeks.

 

Please continue to pray for those who are sick, those who are taking care of the sick, those families who have lost loved ones, for our leaders as they navigate us through this situation, and those working on a cure and vaccine for all diseases.

 

Post Script:

While writing this I thought it best to look into this peeing on a wound question and from what I have determined, it is not advisable.  So, let me make it clear I am not encouraging you to pee on the next wound you get.  I don’t want to be demonized on social media for causing you to be septic.  Soap and water and little antiseptic only, please.

Easter and the Funky Dollar Bill

Easter and the Funky Dollar Bill

Comments 0 Comment

Last Sunday Alexa sent some photos and videos of Christian participating in the Hollywood Hills United Methodist Church Palm Sunday procession.

It was awesome.

He was waving his palm and dressed in a green robe.  The text Alexa sent us afterward said “Christian said at Sunday school they talked about Jesus.  The people who didn’t like him deaded him.”

Thursday evening, Holy Thursday, I sat on my deck and watched the full moon rise.  The pink moon it’s called from what I have read.  That moon is significant because Easter always occurs on the Sunday following the rising of that full moon.

Today being the day after Easter, I had off from work.  Today turned out to be Earth Day as well, which I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t heard on the radio while on one of my multiple trips to Home Depot to buy dirt and plants.  I think every weekend that it is not raining and I am not traveling this time of the year, is “Earth Day” at my house.

This weekend and today was particularly intense with earth activities.  We spent most of the weekend working on the yard, the koi pond, and the gardens.  As we usually do the day before Easter, we took a break from the yard to go to the cemetery and plant new flowers at Donny’s grave site.

 

Each spring when I clean up the yard and the gardens I cut down last year’s now brown and dry ornamental grasses so that the new growth can occur. In one such grass I cut down I found a long overlooked relic from an Easter past.  Stuck deep in the stubble of the now trimmed grass was a plastic Easter egg.  I opened it up and inside I found this funky old dollar bill, weathered from the years it was hidden and overlooked in its colored plastic shell.

 

Funky dollar bill.  I had to laugh a little when I thought about it.

When I was a freshman in high school, a kid down the street used to drive a few of us to school every day.  One day he had a new eight track tape for us to listen to by a band I had never heard of called Funkadelic.  It was a little out there, but it was awesome.  We would be head bobbing all the way from Oceanport to Shore Regional High School.

Funky Dollar Bill was a song written by George Clinton, a name that meant nothing to four white kids in 1971 but George would go on to be quite influential in music.

The song was from the album titled Free Your Mind and Your ♦♦♦ Will Follow (sorry, this is the redacted version of the title).  A now classic album in my opinion, it included a song by the same name. Of course I wouldn’t have known it in 70’s but I read recently that the album was said to have Christian themes.

 

“Free your mind…, the kingdom of heaven is within,” the opening lyrics repeated over and over throughout the song.

 

The kingdom of heaven is within.

 

The kingdom of God is within.

 

The kingdom of God is amongst us.

 

The Bible tells us Jesus would say that when asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come.

 

Jesus knew God had come and was already among them.

 

In the next chapter of Luke, Jesus would tell his disciples for the third time what was about to happen to him as was written by the prophets.

And then a few chapters later, as Christian learned, Jesus was “deaded.”  But it didn’t really have so much to do with those who didn’t like him, it was as it was meant to be, as it had to be.

And three days after that, prophesy was completely fulfilled.

 

So, I think George had it right.

Free your mind…

Because there is much that can follow.

Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do on Saturday?

Comments 2 comments

On Good Friday Jesus was crucified.

On Easter Sunday he was resurrected.

So what did Jesus do on Saturday?

That question was posed at my house as we celebrated on Easter Sunday.

 

I heard a story recently about a local physician who every year on Good Friday, instead of the typical white lab coat look he normally wears, will put on a dark suit instead.  His patients, used to him looking medical like, would ask why he was wearing a suit, are you going to a wedding or going to a funeral?

“A funeral” he would answer.

“Well who died?”

“Jesus.”

This was his way of reminding people.

Kim and I went to church on Good Friday.  The service is always moving and somber.  It is, well, like a funeral.

 

When I was a kid growing up in New Jersey I didn’t go to church on Good Friday, only on Easter Sunday. After church, my parents would pack us all into the Corvair and we would make the drive north through Little Silver and Red Bank to the McDonald’s in Middletown.  This was one of the few times we would go out to eat at any restaurant so it was a real event.  Our Easter dinner would be hamburgers or cheeseburgers, French fries, and milk shakes because that is all they served back then.  You just drove up, parked, walked up to the window and got your food and ate it in the car.  No indoor playrooms or sitting at a table.  It was great.

Easter was also, other than maybe Christmas or the start of the new school year, one of the few times we got new clothes.  My sister would get a frilly dress and the rest of us little suits and maybe a hat.

In our new clothes, we would visit with the extended family and that was about it,  but it was always a nice day.

Easter traditions change.  The suits and hats are now replaced by Hawaiian shirts and khakis.  There is nothing really special about McDonald’s anymore so thankfully home cooking is a better option.  And they don’t make Corvairs anymore, maybe we should be thankful for that too.

 

I got up this past Saturday morning and did the usual; I paid a couple of bills and ran some errands.  Like other holidays, now that the kids are older, they have their own obligations so I was expecting to see them and feed them more in shifts this year and had to plan accordingly.

In the afternoon we did what we have always done this time of the year for the last almost 15 years, we took our dirt and our tools and some potted flowers and went up to the cemetery to plant new at Donny’s grave site.  Cameron helped this year getting the water and unloading the truck.

 

We cooked dinner on grill and then sat outside on the patio.   When it got a little later we put Cameron to bed.  Kim always says prayers with Cameron before bed and on this evening he thanked God for the nice day and for planting flowers for Uncle Donny.

He made a comment to Kim that Uncle Donny was “as tall as the world” or “taller than the world” and when she asked him to explain he just said that Uncle Donny “was in Heaven with Jesus.”

“Cameron how do you know that?” she asked.

“I just know” he said.

 

Church on Sunday was awesome.  To our surprise we had the whole local family with us at church and we filled a pew.  The preacher’s sermon was great.

Who will roll away the stone?  The question asked by Mary and Mary in Mark 16 verse 3 on their way to the tomb early on that Sunday morning.

The stone.

The stone of great weight blocking their way to Jesus in the tomb.

In our sermon the preacher explained that the stone represented all those hard times in our lives.  Those times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis.  All things tough.

It spoke to all of those sitting in my pew.

Just as I am sure it spoke to all of those in the pews surrounding me.

We all have had those stones.  Some have been heavier and harder to move than others. Many we still feel the weight of.

Sometimes we even plant flowers around them.

 

What did Jesus do on Saturday?

Maybe it was meant to be that way, to have that day in between.

Maybe Jesus, like us, needed a day of contemplation.

A day of reflection.

Maybe he was focusing on the weight of that stone and what was to be.

Maybe he was even starting to move that stone, as the world and life beyond it became clearer.

I think so.

How do I know?

“I just know.”

 

One of our heavier stones on the Saturday before Easter