.
I have heard of families having to walk up spooky hollers, down overgrown valleys and up into the thickets on the Saturday before Easter. They carry picks, slings, shovels, hoes, steel toothed rakes, jugs of water and little flower sets. Usually they all walk together, as one family, saying little, yet trudging along with purpose. When they reach their destination, they spend the first few minutes orienting themselves as to where everything is and how everything should appear. The first steps are to look for fallen stones and to erect them again. The second step is to locate every grave and mark it in some way. The final and most involved step, and the longest, involves the slinging of tools, the thrashing of weeds and the jerk removal of saplings, vines, and poison ivy, being careful to avoid the yellow jackets nests.
Usually the men sling tools, the women orchestrate and make piles of refuse vegetation, the children drag the piles out of sight and into the bramble. Finally, when the sling-cutting and rake-dragging are near completion, the young girls and women go from site to site placing little sets of flowers on each grave and carefully watering each set.
Once again the family plot has been recovered from the wilds of this world. Once again the honor and dignity of our forebears has been reclaimed. Again, the stories of who was buried here and how this one died and who said what and who did this is told to a new generation. This new generation can then believe and know that dark death and the cold ground cannot prevent a deceased relative from being known…and loved.
I have heard of other (perhaps more decent) people spending the Saturday before Easter cooking an Easter ham, boiling eggs to devil, chopping slaw, mixing yeast with flour and letting the warm kitchen air soften cream cheese for an icing concoction. I have heard of old picture albums being brought out with creaking bindings and musty and dusty aromas. Like so many others who have slowly turned these pages of a family’s visual history, I have seen endless pictures of nameless people who look like the people I live with.
We have heard the names, some the same as our own, variously being ascribed to a tall lanky man with a funny hat; to a proud woman with a well armed pocketbook as she stands in front of her azalea bush that is fully blooming in black and white. Then there is a photo of a small child who through the pages grows to full maturity and is later seen in the album with gray hair, stooped shoulders, and holding a small baby and you realize that this small baby is you. Then there is another infantile picture of you placed in a pose on a funny overstuffed couch which you have never seen and on a day you cannot remember.
All too often, the guide through this dried out book has to stop and ask themselves who a certain person is, only to suddenly laugh and say, “O, that’s Uncle so and so,” or “Well, that’s Aunt whatchamajig!” Too often, the guide has to stop and wipe away a little tear, for their heart has drawn too close to the picture. The guide has fortunately, but mistakenly heard a distant voice, smelled an old ancient smell or remembered a caring touch. Once again, the family story has been told to a new generation who will understand and believe that even the fabricated celluloid and dusty dry pages of an old picture album cannot prevent a deceased relative from being known…and loved.
I have heard of people who rise early on Easter morning and dress in dark silence to take a short trip to a graveyard where they meet other people who have followed and kept the same ritual. In the darkness, those who are gathered talk quietly as the night stars are casually overtaken by a glowing eastern sky. Their feet become wet from dew, their noses are moist and chilled, and they stand with their arms crossed, each in their own way remembering other visits to various locations in the cemetery on other days when the turf had been disturbed and dark holes awaited priceless family members. These visitors have not come in the vain hope that they will find their living relatives. They have come to claim the unending hymn of faith that “Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again.” They stand on holy ground, family ground, God’s ground, on God’s terms, and in the hope of a Risen Savior.
Once again, on one morning of this year, we gather in the belief that not even death, dirt and granite shall separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord and Savior. Once again, we humbly receive the sacred hope of salvation. Again we remember that God is the Lord of life and death, and that to God we always remain in a firm grip and warm embrace.
Our Easter faith is the predawn, affirmed belief in a God who knows us and holds everyone that we count precious when they fall.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Jesus: This Is Your Life
.
I have always imagined that on the first day of the week, (a Monday, so to speak), when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the triumphant visit, this event was witnessed by thousands of people and relations who had been touched by Jesus. I have always imagined the time as a reunion of sorts. I have pictured Jesus meeting up with the ascribed donkey somewhere by the Pool of Siloam down in the far southeastern corner of the old city and, from there, beginning the uphill jaunt toward the Temple.
I cannot say how the word would have ever gotten out or how people could have made the journey to Jerusalem, but, I can find each of them there that day: I can visualize the woman from the Samaritan well sitting by the spring-fed waters of Siloam at the beginning of the climb. I can visualize the Gerasene demoniac wearing usual clothes, not shouldering the frenzy of his former life but actually blending into the crowd unnoticed. I can see the son of the widow of Nain leaning against a wall, or Lazarus with his skin still healing from the three day encounter with death in a tomb, or various lepers scattered throughout the crowd all having nice and usual relations with “normal” people.
Can’t you, too, see Nicodemus, joyfully and in the light of day, interacting with individuals like he is newly born with every sunrise, even while there is a rich young ruler hiding in a shadow all the while wanting to find life in the new day? I see him bent and huddling there, still saddled with such wealth that has become his god, with his eyes lowered from the demonic nature of his personal burden and a fearful belief that poverty is a dreadful sin. Over there is a woman in full relationship with her neighbors after years of the lonely existence of constant bleeding and exclusion. Now she seems to be just like everyone else, mingling and conversing as one of the crowd.
Just around the corner is a smiling teenager, who, even though once objectionable and paralyzed, is now running up Zion to keep up with the pace of the sturdy donkey. Keeping his eyes on Jesus, he now runs along with his four friends who had once toted him to the house and lowered him through the roof to the very lap of healing grace in Jesus Christ. Throughout the remainder of the cheering crowd are the 5,000 individuals who were fed, and the throngs from Jericho who had known Zacchaeus, and the “white for harvest” residents who had first heard of Jesus from that “woman” who now sat down by the Pool of Siloam.
All of these people had been the beneficiaries of the gift of “normal” life in this world after having lived without choice or power in obscurity, pain, loss, near-death, delusion, frenzy, and sin. They had been delivered from their demons. They had returned to be the full residents of all creation, as broken as it still might be. But now they had come to receive what had been longed for. That which previously had not known the right time now was about to become fully incarnate. The very creation that had been returned to them would soon writhe with convulsions, darkness, blood, earthquake, torn best efforts, and sorrow at the birth of grace.
For any of us, our own little climb, our own riding on a donkey would have been an ascension of the steps to receive a plaque of honor, to have our name etched on a trophy, to have our portrait positioned on a wall of honor, or to receive an inscribed watch to commemorate good deeds to needy people. Jesus was being received as the Man of the Year. For any of us, this would have been enough of a reward for a job well done. But on that day, the accolades were hollow and lauded in vanity. Jesus had not come to make us normal. His touch was not to let us blend in and be accepted. Jesus had come to save the world, and now, more was required. The cheers and “hallelujahs” were empty words, the best utterances of praise that we earthly, bent-reed and feet-of-clay creatures could offer: a witness to our limits in worship.
All of the life and ministry to this point had not been enough. Now, the passion, emotion, dread, pain, and death are required; otherwise, this sacrificial life would only have been known as a good life of a good and caring person. Grace is almost ready to be wholly known, fully embodied even by those who had been touched. We were soon going to do the “undeserved” part as God climbed upon the Cross to do the “grace-filled and loving” part.
Lord, hear our prayers!
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
I have always imagined that on the first day of the week, (a Monday, so to speak), when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the triumphant visit, this event was witnessed by thousands of people and relations who had been touched by Jesus. I have always imagined the time as a reunion of sorts. I have pictured Jesus meeting up with the ascribed donkey somewhere by the Pool of Siloam down in the far southeastern corner of the old city and, from there, beginning the uphill jaunt toward the Temple.
I cannot say how the word would have ever gotten out or how people could have made the journey to Jerusalem, but, I can find each of them there that day: I can visualize the woman from the Samaritan well sitting by the spring-fed waters of Siloam at the beginning of the climb. I can visualize the Gerasene demoniac wearing usual clothes, not shouldering the frenzy of his former life but actually blending into the crowd unnoticed. I can see the son of the widow of Nain leaning against a wall, or Lazarus with his skin still healing from the three day encounter with death in a tomb, or various lepers scattered throughout the crowd all having nice and usual relations with “normal” people.
Can’t you, too, see Nicodemus, joyfully and in the light of day, interacting with individuals like he is newly born with every sunrise, even while there is a rich young ruler hiding in a shadow all the while wanting to find life in the new day? I see him bent and huddling there, still saddled with such wealth that has become his god, with his eyes lowered from the demonic nature of his personal burden and a fearful belief that poverty is a dreadful sin. Over there is a woman in full relationship with her neighbors after years of the lonely existence of constant bleeding and exclusion. Now she seems to be just like everyone else, mingling and conversing as one of the crowd.
Just around the corner is a smiling teenager, who, even though once objectionable and paralyzed, is now running up Zion to keep up with the pace of the sturdy donkey. Keeping his eyes on Jesus, he now runs along with his four friends who had once toted him to the house and lowered him through the roof to the very lap of healing grace in Jesus Christ. Throughout the remainder of the cheering crowd are the 5,000 individuals who were fed, and the throngs from Jericho who had known Zacchaeus, and the “white for harvest” residents who had first heard of Jesus from that “woman” who now sat down by the Pool of Siloam.
All of these people had been the beneficiaries of the gift of “normal” life in this world after having lived without choice or power in obscurity, pain, loss, near-death, delusion, frenzy, and sin. They had been delivered from their demons. They had returned to be the full residents of all creation, as broken as it still might be. But now they had come to receive what had been longed for. That which previously had not known the right time now was about to become fully incarnate. The very creation that had been returned to them would soon writhe with convulsions, darkness, blood, earthquake, torn best efforts, and sorrow at the birth of grace.
For any of us, our own little climb, our own riding on a donkey would have been an ascension of the steps to receive a plaque of honor, to have our name etched on a trophy, to have our portrait positioned on a wall of honor, or to receive an inscribed watch to commemorate good deeds to needy people. Jesus was being received as the Man of the Year. For any of us, this would have been enough of a reward for a job well done. But on that day, the accolades were hollow and lauded in vanity. Jesus had not come to make us normal. His touch was not to let us blend in and be accepted. Jesus had come to save the world, and now, more was required. The cheers and “hallelujahs” were empty words, the best utterances of praise that we earthly, bent-reed and feet-of-clay creatures could offer: a witness to our limits in worship.
All of the life and ministry to this point had not been enough. Now, the passion, emotion, dread, pain, and death are required; otherwise, this sacrificial life would only have been known as a good life of a good and caring person. Grace is almost ready to be wholly known, fully embodied even by those who had been touched. We were soon going to do the “undeserved” part as God climbed upon the Cross to do the “grace-filled and loving” part.
Lord, hear our prayers!
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
A Heritage Is Not All It Is Cracked Up To Be
.
I have a friend who was raised in a family of “real money.” His mother and father were the toast of the town. My friend always drove great cars that he did not have to pay for, on gas he did not work for, and on tires and insurance that he used up like they were as free as acorns to the squirrels. This friend always assumed that, because of his family name, he would be blessed above and beyond the standard of common laborers. His life would always be as sweet as a peach soda and an oatmeal cookie. He and I continue to be friends, but today he works (hard) for what he has. Somehow, the great amount of money was used up and all-too-soon gone, lost to poor investments and a free and happy style of life. My friend’s presumed great inheritance from his deceased parents was, as it came to pass, merely a piddly share of not much. The heritage he had assumed would continue forever had come to a screeching halt.
The hard realities of my friend’s life teach important truths for young people who are proud of the lifestyle they live on the coattails of their parents. Most youth erroneously assume that the way they are living is the way life will always be, simply because their family name and heritage have made it so. These youth tragically miss one of the great truths of life: just because a person’s family may hold great treasures of honor, integrity, wealth, prosperity, prestige, and influence, there are no guarantees of the same attributes extending to the next generation. So little of what makes a parent great can be passed along, free of charge, to the next generation. Any child who is oblivious to the truth of his or her treasure can, in short order, work through an inheritance, good name, and heritage from his or her parents and have nothing left of it. All these people are ultimately left with is a great story of where they came from.
I encourage youth to mindfully work to become who they will be, whether they work in spite of their parents or instead of their parents. The great name, integrity, and inheritance of parents say so little about who their children are or will be. Each new generation has to establish who they will become as a great family, nation, church, or individual by the course they take and the set of their sail, given the winds that blow in their time.
Now I have told you all of this in order to get at something else. I have come to believe that heritage is not all it is cracked up to be. So often, heritage is a story of who our ancestors were. We can be proud of their story that we, hold it, cherish it, and reenact it, but this story ultimately says so little about who we really are. A person, church, family, or community can have a rich and glorious heritage and, yet, be as dysfunctional as a cat living on concrete, (a lot of business to take care of and no place to scratch).
Every church you see is the realized dream of a people who were faithfully and boldly led by God to establish a church home for people to meet God. Every church came at great cost and required great sacrifice and faithfulness. Every church began with a great heritage extended to a group of disciples.
The great sin of many churches, like the sin of many young people relying on the prosperity and honor of their parents, is that their buildings have outlived their movement. The great heritage that “got them there” was not taken up and passed on, and the church life of making disciples, teaching good news by word and deed, and witnessing of the saving grace of Jesus Christ has been replaced with stories of who we were, how we got here, and “Oh, what a great heritage we have.”
The death knell of any great church is very surely ringing when the leaders in a church begin to say, “We have to get some young people in here or we will die.” This is an attitude that screams of self-preservation and of feeding the “heritage” to keep it alive. Churches that only operate to self-preserve and maintain a heritage have forgotten that their mission is to make new Disciples of Jesus Christ and not to only exist.
I never forget the pivotal point in the life of the Church when Jesus had died: the disciples were afraid; some wanted to go back home and fish or do whatever it was they were doing before Jesus called them. It was a dark day in the Body of Christ, the disciples were accused of being only drunk. The church was ready to fall totally apart. Some were ready to just rock on the porch and remember who they had been. But in Acts 2:14, something amazing happened. It was at this moment in time that Peter “stood up among the brethren” and delivered a speech that would set the course of the Church even to this day. Peter’s sermon said in no uncertain terms, “If you think what has happened with the living Jesus is something, just wait until you see what is going to happen with the risen Jesus!”
The stunning faith declared by Peter’s speech conveys the stature of a living church. If you think our past is great, just wait ‘til you see what we will do in Jesus’ name in the future. Faithful, bold, and courageous disciples are what make a church heritage great and are what will transform a building with people into the Church.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
I have a friend who was raised in a family of “real money.” His mother and father were the toast of the town. My friend always drove great cars that he did not have to pay for, on gas he did not work for, and on tires and insurance that he used up like they were as free as acorns to the squirrels. This friend always assumed that, because of his family name, he would be blessed above and beyond the standard of common laborers. His life would always be as sweet as a peach soda and an oatmeal cookie. He and I continue to be friends, but today he works (hard) for what he has. Somehow, the great amount of money was used up and all-too-soon gone, lost to poor investments and a free and happy style of life. My friend’s presumed great inheritance from his deceased parents was, as it came to pass, merely a piddly share of not much. The heritage he had assumed would continue forever had come to a screeching halt.
The hard realities of my friend’s life teach important truths for young people who are proud of the lifestyle they live on the coattails of their parents. Most youth erroneously assume that the way they are living is the way life will always be, simply because their family name and heritage have made it so. These youth tragically miss one of the great truths of life: just because a person’s family may hold great treasures of honor, integrity, wealth, prosperity, prestige, and influence, there are no guarantees of the same attributes extending to the next generation. So little of what makes a parent great can be passed along, free of charge, to the next generation. Any child who is oblivious to the truth of his or her treasure can, in short order, work through an inheritance, good name, and heritage from his or her parents and have nothing left of it. All these people are ultimately left with is a great story of where they came from.
I encourage youth to mindfully work to become who they will be, whether they work in spite of their parents or instead of their parents. The great name, integrity, and inheritance of parents say so little about who their children are or will be. Each new generation has to establish who they will become as a great family, nation, church, or individual by the course they take and the set of their sail, given the winds that blow in their time.
Now I have told you all of this in order to get at something else. I have come to believe that heritage is not all it is cracked up to be. So often, heritage is a story of who our ancestors were. We can be proud of their story that we, hold it, cherish it, and reenact it, but this story ultimately says so little about who we really are. A person, church, family, or community can have a rich and glorious heritage and, yet, be as dysfunctional as a cat living on concrete, (a lot of business to take care of and no place to scratch).
Every church you see is the realized dream of a people who were faithfully and boldly led by God to establish a church home for people to meet God. Every church came at great cost and required great sacrifice and faithfulness. Every church began with a great heritage extended to a group of disciples.
The great sin of many churches, like the sin of many young people relying on the prosperity and honor of their parents, is that their buildings have outlived their movement. The great heritage that “got them there” was not taken up and passed on, and the church life of making disciples, teaching good news by word and deed, and witnessing of the saving grace of Jesus Christ has been replaced with stories of who we were, how we got here, and “Oh, what a great heritage we have.”
The death knell of any great church is very surely ringing when the leaders in a church begin to say, “We have to get some young people in here or we will die.” This is an attitude that screams of self-preservation and of feeding the “heritage” to keep it alive. Churches that only operate to self-preserve and maintain a heritage have forgotten that their mission is to make new Disciples of Jesus Christ and not to only exist.
I never forget the pivotal point in the life of the Church when Jesus had died: the disciples were afraid; some wanted to go back home and fish or do whatever it was they were doing before Jesus called them. It was a dark day in the Body of Christ, the disciples were accused of being only drunk. The church was ready to fall totally apart. Some were ready to just rock on the porch and remember who they had been. But in Acts 2:14, something amazing happened. It was at this moment in time that Peter “stood up among the brethren” and delivered a speech that would set the course of the Church even to this day. Peter’s sermon said in no uncertain terms, “If you think what has happened with the living Jesus is something, just wait until you see what is going to happen with the risen Jesus!”
The stunning faith declared by Peter’s speech conveys the stature of a living church. If you think our past is great, just wait ‘til you see what we will do in Jesus’ name in the future. Faithful, bold, and courageous disciples are what make a church heritage great and are what will transform a building with people into the Church.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
Friday, March 12, 2010
Modest Creation
.
All of Creation is modest, even shy, to
sight and touch. The summer foliage keeps the sky eyes from penetrating to the earth’s nakedness. The fall leaves float to a close covering that blankets the timid earth. Winter is a quiet time begging for a gentle and bashful snow.
Spring is nothing more than a shamefaced and squeamish creation sprouting prim and Victorian shoots and flowers to quickly and finally cover the coy and bleak creation.
We are made to not know nakedness.
In the days post-Eden we learned of our nakedness and were quick to pull the blinds
Post-Eden is where we learned words like bashful, pretense, squeamish, timidity, shamefaced, prim, and skittish.
Post-Eden is where we learned words like beauty, hideous, ugly, scar, popular, ostracize, clique, and exclusive.
Post-Eden is where we learned words like calories, cholesterol, diabetes, herpes, and psoriasis. Sin was a huge growth of vocabulary of words to define our being.
The Eden Creation was not modest but was blooming and open in every way, unashamed creation. There was no reason to cover, hide, or be coy. Creation was luxurious, fabulous, lavish, and delicious.
"Innocence" was the only attribute ~ and when innocence was stolen ~ we had no words. We were speechless. We had no words to describe the new order.
Language grew by volumes post-Eden.
At creation we became modest, timid, and shy. God became distant...we lost our image.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
All of Creation is modest, even shy, to
sight and touch. The summer foliage keeps the sky eyes from penetrating to the earth’s nakedness. The fall leaves float to a close covering that blankets the timid earth. Winter is a quiet time begging for a gentle and bashful snow.
Spring is nothing more than a shamefaced and squeamish creation sprouting prim and Victorian shoots and flowers to quickly and finally cover the coy and bleak creation.
We are made to not know nakedness.
In the days post-Eden we learned of our nakedness and were quick to pull the blinds
Post-Eden is where we learned words like bashful, pretense, squeamish, timidity, shamefaced, prim, and skittish.
Post-Eden is where we learned words like beauty, hideous, ugly, scar, popular, ostracize, clique, and exclusive.
Post-Eden is where we learned words like calories, cholesterol, diabetes, herpes, and psoriasis. Sin was a huge growth of vocabulary of words to define our being.
The Eden Creation was not modest but was blooming and open in every way, unashamed creation. There was no reason to cover, hide, or be coy. Creation was luxurious, fabulous, lavish, and delicious.
"Innocence" was the only attribute ~ and when innocence was stolen ~ we had no words. We were speechless. We had no words to describe the new order.
Language grew by volumes post-Eden.
At creation we became modest, timid, and shy. God became distant...we lost our image.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Little Decisions ~ Big Results
.
For three days the victor of the 1908 National League Pennant was unknown. New York’s Bennett Park, the home of the Giants and the location of the 7th game of the series, was empty, the last fan had gone home, and the headlines had run the news that the New York Giants were the Champions. But behind the scenes, involving a Commissioner, team owners, coaches, players, and lawyers (a volatile mix), the 1908 National League Pennant race continued.
The 7th game of the 1908 pennant race began with the Cubs and the Giants tied with three wins each. The teams had fought to a 1 to 1 tie after eight-and-one-half innings. In the bottom of the ninth, the Giants began to come to life, as they were able to place runners on base. Finally, with two outs, the Giants had Moose McCormick on third base as the possible winning run, and Fred Merkle was on first base after hitting a single to right field.
The hometown Giant fans were up and rowdy with anticipation of a National League Pennant for their team. This was particularly exciting since the Cubs had won the pennant race against the Giants in 1907, and the Cubs had gone on to win the World Series outright. The roar of the fans was more than heard as the very ground trembled with the excitement of the closing moments of the game. Fights were already breaking out in the stands, and some intoxicated fans began to throw trash onto the field.
Al Bridwell was at bat for the Giants. The entire season came down to the next series of few pitches. Some who were there said the fans standing around the outfield were already beginning, in anticipation, to collapse in on the field. Bridwell came through with a single up the middle to center field. McCormick trotted home, Merkle ran in leaps, and with his arms flailing, toward second base. Bridwell joyfully loped to first, and the fans burst onto the field in a riotous celebration. With no crowd control and the player exit from the field being in center field, it was a mad dash for both the Cubbies and the Giants, racing against the flow of the Giant outfield doggery. Most made it safely to the clubhouse believing that the game was over.
But one attentive Chicago Cub, Johnny Evers, the second baseman, noticed that in an attempt to put safety before the game at hand, Fred Merkle had never touched second base and had actually, for safety’s sake, run like the wind from first base toward the center field exit. Evers recovered what was supposed to be the game ball, even though there was no proof that it was the actual ball, and tagged second base, ending the inning, nullifying the run supposedly scored by McCormick and leaving the game alive at the top of the 10, tied at one to one.
Evers and the Cubs Manager, Frank Chance, found an umpire, and Merkle was called “out”. But since the field was full of Giant Fans and there was a need for good judgment and much talk between various officials, three days passed before it was finally ruled that the Giants and the Cubs had ended the National League season in a “tie”. The playoff game was played, the Cubs won the 1908 National League Pennant, and the Giants lost due to the errant fear of one player who chose safety over frugality.
What if Joshua had marched around Jericho for six days and, since his feet were tired, slept in on the seventh? What if Moses had said, “I have a headache. It ‘ain’t’ so bad here. Let’s just stay in Egypt!” What if Peter had responded to the call to be a disciple by saying, “Naw, I think I will just keep on fishin’.”
It has been said, and I think it is true, that the course of history is governed by the small sacrificial decisions we make in hard times more than the large, easy decisions we make in good times. It is the overcoming of our fears, our shortsightedness and our weaknesses that will ultimately govern how faithfully we can serve as disciples and witnesses.
We cannot forget that there was a garden outside Jerusalem where our “Lord,” in a dark, fearful night, chose to be our “Savior”. Such a decision has changed, and still changes, individuals and the world.
The 1908 World Series is notable in several areas. The Cubs beat the Detroit Tigers in 5 games for the second time in as many years. Ty Cobb had a great showing for the Tigers but his teammates let him down. This was the first Series where 4 umpires were used and featured the lowest attendance (just over 6,000 for the 5th game) of any Series game before or since. “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” was a brand new song. To the present day, this was also the last time the have Cubs won the World Series.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
For three days the victor of the 1908 National League Pennant was unknown. New York’s Bennett Park, the home of the Giants and the location of the 7th game of the series, was empty, the last fan had gone home, and the headlines had run the news that the New York Giants were the Champions. But behind the scenes, involving a Commissioner, team owners, coaches, players, and lawyers (a volatile mix), the 1908 National League Pennant race continued.
The 7th game of the 1908 pennant race began with the Cubs and the Giants tied with three wins each. The teams had fought to a 1 to 1 tie after eight-and-one-half innings. In the bottom of the ninth, the Giants began to come to life, as they were able to place runners on base. Finally, with two outs, the Giants had Moose McCormick on third base as the possible winning run, and Fred Merkle was on first base after hitting a single to right field.
The hometown Giant fans were up and rowdy with anticipation of a National League Pennant for their team. This was particularly exciting since the Cubs had won the pennant race against the Giants in 1907, and the Cubs had gone on to win the World Series outright. The roar of the fans was more than heard as the very ground trembled with the excitement of the closing moments of the game. Fights were already breaking out in the stands, and some intoxicated fans began to throw trash onto the field.
Al Bridwell was at bat for the Giants. The entire season came down to the next series of few pitches. Some who were there said the fans standing around the outfield were already beginning, in anticipation, to collapse in on the field. Bridwell came through with a single up the middle to center field. McCormick trotted home, Merkle ran in leaps, and with his arms flailing, toward second base. Bridwell joyfully loped to first, and the fans burst onto the field in a riotous celebration. With no crowd control and the player exit from the field being in center field, it was a mad dash for both the Cubbies and the Giants, racing against the flow of the Giant outfield doggery. Most made it safely to the clubhouse believing that the game was over.
But one attentive Chicago Cub, Johnny Evers, the second baseman, noticed that in an attempt to put safety before the game at hand, Fred Merkle had never touched second base and had actually, for safety’s sake, run like the wind from first base toward the center field exit. Evers recovered what was supposed to be the game ball, even though there was no proof that it was the actual ball, and tagged second base, ending the inning, nullifying the run supposedly scored by McCormick and leaving the game alive at the top of the 10, tied at one to one.
Evers and the Cubs Manager, Frank Chance, found an umpire, and Merkle was called “out”. But since the field was full of Giant Fans and there was a need for good judgment and much talk between various officials, three days passed before it was finally ruled that the Giants and the Cubs had ended the National League season in a “tie”. The playoff game was played, the Cubs won the 1908 National League Pennant, and the Giants lost due to the errant fear of one player who chose safety over frugality.
What if Joshua had marched around Jericho for six days and, since his feet were tired, slept in on the seventh? What if Moses had said, “I have a headache. It ‘ain’t’ so bad here. Let’s just stay in Egypt!” What if Peter had responded to the call to be a disciple by saying, “Naw, I think I will just keep on fishin’.”
It has been said, and I think it is true, that the course of history is governed by the small sacrificial decisions we make in hard times more than the large, easy decisions we make in good times. It is the overcoming of our fears, our shortsightedness and our weaknesses that will ultimately govern how faithfully we can serve as disciples and witnesses.
We cannot forget that there was a garden outside Jerusalem where our “Lord,” in a dark, fearful night, chose to be our “Savior”. Such a decision has changed, and still changes, individuals and the world.
The 1908 World Series is notable in several areas. The Cubs beat the Detroit Tigers in 5 games for the second time in as many years. Ty Cobb had a great showing for the Tigers but his teammates let him down. This was the first Series where 4 umpires were used and featured the lowest attendance (just over 6,000 for the 5th game) of any Series game before or since. “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” was a brand new song. To the present day, this was also the last time the have Cubs won the World Series.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Where Is God When I Want To Throw A Rock?
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In Exodus 17 Moses and the Children of Israel truly show their pitiful and self-serving intentions when they worry, gripe, complain, quarrel and test the Lord over whether they have enough water to drink or not. They plead with Moses to give them some water since they are about to “thirst to death”. We’ve all said words like these that declare our great, deprived condition when in reality, we were far from death and only stressing our point for emphasis.
This thirsting-to-death mob immediately jumped to exclaiming how they were better off as slaves. "Were we brought here to die in this dried up ditch?" They probably even said something about how the Nile River had plenty of water back in “Good Old Egypt”.
God is an easy target for all of our griping and complaining. Any time something goes wrong, we are quick to jump on God for the hard ride with disobedient behavior and wailing. “O God, why have you caused this to happen to me?” we exclaim. But as much as God is an “easy” target, God is not a “good” or particularly satisfying target, since there is little we can do to hurt or “get at” God, we think. And so, this is the reason the Children of Israel were ready to pick up some rocks to throw at Moses. They could not hit God with a rock, and Moses seemed to be the next best option.
I will tell you, these Children of Israel were truly acting like spoiled children in their behavior, and, of course, we find their childish and selfish actions abhorrent. One would think that they would have been better “God followers” and would have learned more from their Saturday School teachers than they are revealing here.
Then we ask the great question, “Do you think God can handle it if we are angry at God?” Behind the question is the belief that God expects us to always be cheery, complacent, decent and agreeable, and we wonder how God deals with us when we are angry, upset, and questioning.
We point out those Israelites and how they seemed to be poor examples of human beings. Here they were being offered the land of plenty and blessing with all the provisions needed to get there, and all they could do was complain.
How does God handle us when we throw a tantrum, stomp the ground, scream and yell like a child “wollarin’ around” in the floor of the grocery story in the checkout lane before the great altar of candy? How does God deal with us when we pick up rocks and get ready to hurl them with the intent of harm? How does God handle our anger?
God handles our anger by “taking it”. Maybe the thirsty and peeved Children of Israel in Exodus 17 had no target at which to throw their rocks when they wanted to hurt God, but there was a time when humanity HAD a target. God was with us, physically, in Jesus, as a real target. Jesus was available to receive our rocks, to hear our complaints, to witness to our selfish conceit.
Can God handle our anger?” you ask. The answer is “Yes.” God handles all anger by taking it, receiving it, bearing it, being a victim to it, and being defeated by it. Can we “get at” God? We can, we did, and we will. How does God deal with our anger? God deals with it by understanding, forgiveness, and love. Can we hurt God? Yes we can, yes we have, and yes we will, again.
God is available, present, approachable, imminent, intimate, and touchable. If we are self-serving, conceited, vicious, unruly, and abhorrent, God can take it on the chin, suffer wounds, die a little death, and at the same time be quick to forgive our sin.
Where is God when I want to throw a rock? God is on the Cross as the available victim of my sin.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
In Exodus 17 Moses and the Children of Israel truly show their pitiful and self-serving intentions when they worry, gripe, complain, quarrel and test the Lord over whether they have enough water to drink or not. They plead with Moses to give them some water since they are about to “thirst to death”. We’ve all said words like these that declare our great, deprived condition when in reality, we were far from death and only stressing our point for emphasis.
This thirsting-to-death mob immediately jumped to exclaiming how they were better off as slaves. "Were we brought here to die in this dried up ditch?" They probably even said something about how the Nile River had plenty of water back in “Good Old Egypt”.
God is an easy target for all of our griping and complaining. Any time something goes wrong, we are quick to jump on God for the hard ride with disobedient behavior and wailing. “O God, why have you caused this to happen to me?” we exclaim. But as much as God is an “easy” target, God is not a “good” or particularly satisfying target, since there is little we can do to hurt or “get at” God, we think. And so, this is the reason the Children of Israel were ready to pick up some rocks to throw at Moses. They could not hit God with a rock, and Moses seemed to be the next best option.
I will tell you, these Children of Israel were truly acting like spoiled children in their behavior, and, of course, we find their childish and selfish actions abhorrent. One would think that they would have been better “God followers” and would have learned more from their Saturday School teachers than they are revealing here.
Then we ask the great question, “Do you think God can handle it if we are angry at God?” Behind the question is the belief that God expects us to always be cheery, complacent, decent and agreeable, and we wonder how God deals with us when we are angry, upset, and questioning.
We point out those Israelites and how they seemed to be poor examples of human beings. Here they were being offered the land of plenty and blessing with all the provisions needed to get there, and all they could do was complain.
How does God handle us when we throw a tantrum, stomp the ground, scream and yell like a child “wollarin’ around” in the floor of the grocery story in the checkout lane before the great altar of candy? How does God deal with us when we pick up rocks and get ready to hurl them with the intent of harm? How does God handle our anger?
God handles our anger by “taking it”. Maybe the thirsty and peeved Children of Israel in Exodus 17 had no target at which to throw their rocks when they wanted to hurt God, but there was a time when humanity HAD a target. God was with us, physically, in Jesus, as a real target. Jesus was available to receive our rocks, to hear our complaints, to witness to our selfish conceit.
Can God handle our anger?” you ask. The answer is “Yes.” God handles all anger by taking it, receiving it, bearing it, being a victim to it, and being defeated by it. Can we “get at” God? We can, we did, and we will. How does God deal with our anger? God deals with it by understanding, forgiveness, and love. Can we hurt God? Yes we can, yes we have, and yes we will, again.
God is available, present, approachable, imminent, intimate, and touchable. If we are self-serving, conceited, vicious, unruly, and abhorrent, God can take it on the chin, suffer wounds, die a little death, and at the same time be quick to forgive our sin.
Where is God when I want to throw a rock? God is on the Cross as the available victim of my sin.
Rev. Dan Martin is pastor of First UMC, Hendersonville. He can be reached at moose1953@hotmail.com
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