The only time I have ever fainted was in church on an Easter Sunday morning. I was about 13-years-old. While not all of the details are clear I do remember the highlights of my embarrassment. My whole family sat together in church as was our custom.  During one of the Easter hymns, I fell over sideways into the pew. I was next to one of my parents who quietly took over the situation. Apparently since I was colorless, they roused me and gave me a Smith Bros cough drop. It worked. I made it through the rest of the service that morning, but I was the topic of teasing by my younger sisters for quite some time.

  Easter Sunday always held a special place in our family life. My parents were married on April 25^th on Easter Sunday afternoon in 1943. My father wore his Navy uniform and my mother wore a simple dress with a corsage. The church was already filled with Easter lilies and lots of other flowers. So each time our family went to church for Easter our parents always reflected on their joyous wedding day. Poetically, my mother died in her sleep on their 60th wedding anniversary weekend and Dad died a few months later. Easter was interwoven into their hearts and their love.

  Easter has always been about joy overcoming sorrow, love overcoming sin, and life overcoming even death itself. The Cross demonstrated to us the full extent of God’s love with words such as, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Jesus died and was buried, but on the third day, our Easter, He arose! 

  I have been blessed all of my life to be able to go to church every week with my family and the people of faith who are like family to me. Every now and then something embarrassing happens, but that is part of life and living with each other. Today the preciousness of Easter fills my heart to overflowing. 

Keep healthy. Pray mightily. Enjoy your life today. Celebrate Easter. And let’s experience the love and power of God together.

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I have accumulated several canes and walking sticks over the years. I keep them in a large bucket along with a few fishing poles. I pull a walking stick out each time I venture out into the neighborhood. I have a metal cane that was handed out one year by the pipefitter’s union at the fair. It’s an actual pipe that was fitted with a plastic cap on both ends. I inherited a cane from my grandmother. She bought it in Haiti on her biggest adventure—a  cruise with her bridge club friends.  Her cane has a carved handle shaped like a horse’s neck and head. The body of the cane was made from various pieces of wood, stained and hand-painted with black designs of fish, birds and the aforementioned horsehead. My oldest cane was given to me by the family of a church member born in the 1890’s. It is a typical cane that men carried everywhere they went in the 1930’s and 40’s. 

I began packing a foldable cane in my luggage when I traveled overseas at the suggestion of a missionary. He felt it was wise to carry a cane when walking alone in foreign cities, just to have something that might cause would be thieves or hungry dogs to choose someone else.  It is also good advice for walking in the neighborhood. One time, after trimming our ornamental crabapple tree, I decided to make my own cane from a nice straight branch. I was overzealous with my knife, and it came up too short. I donated it to the church costume closet for the children’s Christmas programs. Every shepherd needs a staff.

I came across my ideal walking stick while on a personal retreat at Camp Tulakogee. I spotted just the right-sized limb from a recently felled tree by my cabin. It even had a decent fork at the top. I worked on this walking stick for months. I skinned the bark and trimmed down the remains of the small branches. I whittled the tricky knots and sanded it all smooth. I was not allowed to do any of this in the house. Finally, I put a few coats of clear acrylic finish over the entire stick. It is my favorite walking stick. 

We had a dear senior lady in our church who was self-conscious the first time she brought a cane to church. She told me with a wink that day, “I’m just practicing for my old age.” By the way, the church has all kinds of canes and walkers available free to anyone who wants one.

Keep healthy. Pray mightily. Enjoy your life today. Keep walking. And let’s experience the love and power of God together.

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We bought a new patio table and chairs early last year. It took so long to “come in” that we only were able to use it once before winter set in. The birds have really enjoyed playing in it and on it. A couple of pairs of doves use it as their shelter in the time of storms, when they are not roosting on the back steps. Of course, I feed the birds.

The sparrow house is now occupied by black and gray dark-eyed sparrows. Our pair of mallard ducks have returned, or at least the next generation. We have no water feature in our yard, yet they check-in every day during the nesting time to rest in the shade and enjoy the bird seed. Basically, they are just following my back porch example. But all is not at harmony by the bird dish. 

A scrawny young squirrel with an already chewed tail has discovered what he must call Squirrel Food Heaven. He loves our bird food dish. He spends as much time as he can right in the middle of it all. I try to discourage him. Nevertheless, he returns. I resorted to buying a special anti-squirrel birdseed, Sizzle N’ Heat, made with chili peppers. The bag reads, “Squirrels Taste the Heat, Birds Don’t!” Save your money. The squirrel eats the parts he wants, the birds are smart enough to leave it all alone. We have crows; three great big, chicken-sized crows who scavenger the area like a motorcycle gang. Lately one of the crows has been sneaking off to spend a little time with the doves, sparrows, and ducks at our bird feeder. The squirrel is not happy about it. 

I was surprised to see the crow land a few feet from the squirrel one morning at breakfast. I was prepared for a royal battle. The crow sized up the squirrel. The squirrel looked over at the crow and kept on eating. The crow, rather than presenting a menacing presence, began to “sneak up” on the squirrel by turning his body sideways and hopping over to the dish in which sat the squirrel. It was not an impressive or effective maneuver. The squirrel hissed at the crow, driving him back. The crow has since discovered that the squirrel is not always around. 

 Keep healthy. Pray mightily. Enjoy your life today. Read Matthew 6:26. And let’s experience the love and power of God together.

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NOTE: This is adapted from an article Bro. Darryl wrote for the Center for Congregational Ethics, for March 23, 2022, based on the daily lectionary reading of Psalm 39, entitled “The Anguish of Our Lent.”

Based on Psalm 39

No one chooses anguish, yet here we are. The anguish of Ukraine ushered in our Lenten season. We see the constant stream of images of the death and terror of the innocent by weapons of war and mass destruction. Millions of families are torn apart, ripped from their homes to flee to another world, or forced to stay and fight to the bitterest of endings. We turn our eyes away from the anguish, but it does not the stop the pain. In today’s reading, the psalmist chose a path of silence, lest he say too much in his anger and grief. Suffering in silence. Suffering alone. Not speaking to anyone. Not speaking to God. “But when I was silent and still, not even saying anything good, my anguish increased.” 

Anguish is always accompanied by the whispers of despair. Despair leads us down the darkest of paths. When grief is the loudest voice in the room, we have endless questions with no simple answers. The psalmist cries, “Show me, O Lord, my life’s end.” What is the point of my life? Then he remembers that life is already too short. “But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.” With that declaration, the psalmist honestly unleashes his anger toward God by finally speaking out, “…for you are the one who has done this.” Why does God not make it all stop? An honest conversation with God, and trusted others, begins the healing. Anguish without hope is despair.

The inscription at the heading of Psalm 39 implies that this personal lament of anguish was to be sung as a corporate act of worship. Can you imagine singing a song like this on Sunday morning? We see the images of the Ukrainian people worshipping in bombed churches and refugee shelters. It is a reminder that, strong as we may think we are, the people of faith need healthy opportunities to express their own anguish, grief, and anger together.

How are we listening for the emotional silence of those around us? How are we providing opportunities for honest conversations for the anguished and distressed? How do we acknowledge the anguish of today in our Lenten worship?

Our hope of mercy and justice is built on God’s past faithfulness. We know about Easter.

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I grew up with a knife in my pocket. As a boy I carried a small pocket knife—a simple one-bladed jackknife. It was about 3-inches long. It was very handy for sharpening pencils and eating fresh oranges. In those days we were also taught to always carry a handkerchief or two. The extra one was in case we needed to help a lady in distress. In high school I carried a two-bladed pen knife, the kind with a big and a small blade. I also had a multipurpose Boy Scout knife and a fixed blade Scout knife. I still have both of my Scout knives and a few old pocketknives, including one that my father carried. When the Swiss Army knife became popular, of course, I had to have one of those. I found a handy-sized Swiss Army knife that I attached to my car key ring and used until the invention of the bulky car fobs. Over the years I almost donated a couple of pocketknives to airport security. I now keep my pocketknives strategically placed in the house, the garage, the church office desk and in the car. 

Some of my knives try to do too much. The Scout knife and the Swiss Army knife come equipped with bottle and can openers, serrated blades and an awl, which are handy when camping or fishing. They also have screwdriver bits, tweezers, scissors, a corkscrew and a plastic toothpick. You must have strong fingernails to open some of those knives. I prefer to have a few different-sized general purpose multi-tools for actual repair jobs. 

Most of my handy, ready for service knives sit neglected. How many assorted knives do you have tucked away in miscellaneous drawers? The secret to a good knife is a sharp, clean blade. I have some well-worn whetting stones in my workbench. Rusty knives do not help anything. Tender care helps everything. Proverbs 27 tells us, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”  There is an art to keeping a blade sharp. It takes practice, persistence, patience and a little bit of oil to smooth the way. Then the knife is always ready to fulfill its purpose. Who are you helping to spiritually sharpen today? Who is helping you? 

Keep healthy. Pray mightily. Enjoy your life today. Stay sharp. And let’s experience the love and power of God together.

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