"The Horse and His Boy"

When we think of our misfortunes consider, there may be something else going on with which we are totally unaware because we do not perceive.  The following is an excerpt from "The Horse and His Boy" by C.S. Lewis.  (Thanks to Dr. Lee Barrett who used this writing in class at Lancaster Theological Seminary) 

Shasta remounted his horse and continued along the road he had chosen, in the faint hope of finding some cottage where he might ask for shelter and a meal...
     "I do think," said Shasta, "that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world.  Everything goes right for everyone except me..."
     What put a stop to all this was a sudden fright.  Shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him.  It was pitch dark and he could see nothing.  And the Thing...was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls.  What he could hear was breathing...It was a horrible shock.
   The Thing...went on beside him so very quietly that Shasta began to hope he had only imagined it.  But...there suddenly came a deep, rich sigh out of the darkness beside him.  That couldn't be imagination!
     "Who are you?  He said, scarcely above a whisper.
     "One who has waited long for you to speak," said the Thing.  Its voice was not loud, but very large and deep...
     "...Oh please...go away.  What harm have I ever done you?  Oh, I am the unluckiest person in the whole world!"
     ...He felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face.  "There," it said, "...Tell me your sorrows."
     Shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman.  And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert.  And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis.  And also, how very long it was since he had anything to eat.
     "I do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice.
     "Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?"  said Shasta.
     "There was only one lion," said the Voice.
     "What on earth do you mean?...How do you know?"
     "I was the lion."  And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued.  "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis.  I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead.  I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept.  I was the lion who gave the horses new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time.  And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."...
     "Who are you?" asked Shasta.
     "Myself," said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again, "Myself," loud and clear and glad: and then the third time, "Myself," whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.
     Shasta was no longer afraid...But a new and different sort of trembling came over him...
     The mist was turning from black to gray and from gray to white...Somewhere ahead he could hear birds singing.  He knew the night was over at last.  He could see the mane and ears and head of his horse quite easily now.  A golden light fell on them from the left.  He thought it was the sun.
     He turned and saw; pacing beside him, taller than the horse, a Lion...It was from the Lion that the light came.  No one ever saw anything more terrible or beautiful.

Evan Joseph Kreider and the Little Bird, with video tribute

I am the visitation pastor at my church so I get to talk to a lot of people.  Many of these individuals are older and therefore don't drive, have various medical problems, and tend to frequent the hospital more than younger folks.  I am deeply affected when the pass away because I have gotten to know them and formed close bonds with them, but there is often still the feeling that even though death has taken them and they leave holes in my heart, generally they have all lived good lives and for the most part, there are no regrets.  The same cannot be said when a young person dies.

Evan Joseph Kreider was 5 years plus 12 days old when he crossed over on Tuesday, just 5 days ago.  When a child crosses over there is no feeling of, "Well, he (or she) lived a good life."  For that child, life has just begun.  There is no satisfaction to be had from their long life because they never got the chance to live one.

Two years ago, Evan was diagnosed with DIPG (Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma), a cancer that invades the brain stem and hits little children, kids who are just beginning their lives.  There is no cure for DIPG - it is a death sentence.  But Evan was fortunate because he had an incredibly loving family who refused to give in to the cancer and who was also determined to give Evan the most that life could offer him, just in case he could not beat his cancer.  There are many aspects of both of these things that I don't know much about but I know the fight was a good one, and Evan outlived the predictions of his impending death by more than a few months, experiencing, outside of his treatments, quite a ride along the way.  

I was working at the church when Evan was born so I've known him his whole life.  He was an adorably cute kid with a totally infectious smile.  I used to play "peek a boo" with him but, unfortunately for me, that translated into always hiding his face from me even as he grew older, especially when I had my camera in hand.  In most of the photos I have of him, unless I was hiding from him or using a telephoto lens, he is peeking out at me from behind his fingers.

His mom called him Little Man at times and that's pretty much how I think of him, a little man in kids clothing, fighting his cancer with the strength of one much older, yet remaining totally a little boy, mischievous, rambunctious, full of life and grinning all the time.  His grin always melted my heart.   

Evan's funeral was a celebration of life, yet I was filled with devastating sadness.  Although I had seen Evan's struggle for life in the hours preceding his death and knew he was now at peace, I wondered where that mischievous little boy with all the energy of an F-16 in full afterburners was?  I knew he was with the Lord, but I wondered if he knew how everyone, especially his family, loved him, missed him, and was mourning his passing.  

After church today I went to the Vacation Bible School picnic.  I didn't feel like it but wanted to take some pictures of it for the church, and also wanted to snap a few shots of the youth team leaving for a missions trip.  As I started for home, I decided to ride past Evan's grave.  I rode up around the church, parked my motorcycle and crying, went and knelt by the flowers covering the spot where, just yesterday, he was laid to rest.  I was there for a short time.  The breeze was blowing and every once in a while the clouds spritzed rain, but it felt good.  I took off my helmet, laid my jacket on the ground, and lay on my back, two feet on the ground and knees bent, right beside the flowers.  It was a comfortable position, so I remained there for a time, praying, thinking about Evan, wondering where he was now, what he might be experiencing, and wondering what a 5 year old does in heaven.  

I felt something odd, laying there, kind of like when it is hot out and your jeans stick to you because you are sweaty, and then give.  I thought, "it's not that hot out," and didn't think too much of it, until I felt it again. It felt like someone touching me, though I had not heard anything unusual and did not think anyone was near.  I opened my eyes and saw a bird perched on my right knee.  As soon as I looked at it, it flew away.  And I simply thought, "That was odd, but totally amazing."

I've been visiting cemeteries for 52 years...I've run in them, walked in them, stood, sat, lay, talked, sung, whispered, reminisced, napped and prayed in them.  I grew up running around outside, climbing, running, digging, snoozing, and continue to love being outside, sitting silently and unmoving while a perfect photographic opportunity manifests itself.  Never once, in  a cemetery or anywhere else, has a bird perched on me.  Only today. 

I tell people all the time to look for signs that a departed loved one is near them but I'm not sure I've ever experience it myself.  Nevertheless, I believe that our loved ones do not simply cross over, never to be bothered with us again.  Paul says that love continues, that love never dies.  I believe that love ties us together in this world, ties us together in the next, and ties both worlds together.  I believe our loved ones look in on us from time to time and know what is happening in our lives.  It may not be biblical, but it is what I believe.  I believe in the power of God, who controls both the seen and the unseen, as well as the power of love, and that because of these we can do amazing things and be witness to things even more wonderous.  I believe that our connections with one another, through God's love, may even allow those who have crossed over to send signs to those who remain behind, if we are looking for them.  Like Paul said, love never dies.  And all things are possible through God.

The scientifically minded skeptic in me could explain this bird coming to perch on my knee.  I wasn't moving much, my knee was softer than a tombstone, and like a typical bird, it flew away as soon as I moved.  But the mystical part of me sees things differently.  I don't look like a tombstone and I move frequently.  And the bird flew away when I looked at it, just like Evan always did when I looked at him.  Coincidence?  Perhaps.

Why has a bird never alighted on me before?  Maybe because I never mourned the passing of a mischievous little 5 year old boy before, who like this bird, alighted in my life for so short a time.  You may choose to call it coincidence but I choose to believe in the power of love that can surmount all odds to tell us, "Yes, I am still here and I will be waiting for you, because love cannot keep us apart."  I choose to believe that a bird can be used as an instrument of God's peace with the understanding that, as the sparrows, we are all seen by a God who loves us, cares for us, and is concerned when we are mourning.    God's worlds, both the seen and the unseen, are full of wonders, just like the life of a little boy who death could not conquer and who sent a message of life with the help of a little bird.  Oh grave, where is your victory?  Oh death, where is your sting?  

Thank you, Evan.  Thank you for reminding me that death does not have the final say.  Thank you for letting me know that you are still that mischievous soul, who delights in joy and who is cradled in the arms of a loving Creator.  

                                                       ++++
 
Evan means "God is Good."  Joseph means "God will increase."  His parents knew the meanings of those names and that is why they named their little boy  Evan Joseph.  

Below is a video commemorating the life of Evan Joseph Kreider.  Please watch it and with me, give thanks to our loving God for Evan's life and his family's love.  Evan will be missed but never forgotten.  We'll see each other again, Little Man.   

PRAY BIG

The following is my favorite quote from Norman Vincent Peale:

PRAY BIG.  Think big.  Believe big.  The gospel of Matthew 9:29 declares, "Because of your faith, you will be heard."  In other words, your life is going to be in proportion to how greatly you believe.  Believe little, and you get a little life.  Believe weak, and you get a weak life.  Believe fear, and you get a life of fear.  Believe sickness, and you get a sick life.  Believe big, and you get a big life.  Jesus said, "Anything is possible for someone who has faith!" (Mark 9:23).  Which means what?  That the person who believes is going to get everything he wants?  No, it doesn't say that.  It means that if you believe big, you move things out of the realm of the impossible into the realm of the possible.

Christianity is the religion of the incredible, the religion of the astonishing, the religion of the breathless.  You bring to yourself what you believe.

When uncontrolled, your mind can be damaging to you, but when controlled, it can develop unlimited power.  Think defeat and you are bound to feel defeat.  But practice thinking confident thoughts and you will develop such a strong sense of capacity that regardless of what difficulties arise you will be able to overcome them.  Fear is the  most powerful of all thoughts with one exception, and that one exception is faith.  Stress the thought of plenty.  Thoughts of plenty help create plenty. 

About Care, Wisdom and Service

CARE    by Henri Nouwen

We live in a world in which people are more concerned with cure than with care... To care is to be present to those who suffer and to stay present even when nothing can be done to change their situation.  To care is to be compassionate and so to form a community of people honestly facing the painful reality of our finite existence.

WISDOM    by Gerhard von Rad in Wisdom in Israel

Ignorance in any form will be detrimental to you; only the fool thinks he can shut his eyes to this.  Experience, on the other hand, teaches that you can never be certain.  You must always remain open for a completely new experience.  You will never become really wise, for, in the last resort, this life of yours is determined not by rules but by God.

SERVICE   by Anton Boison

...living human documents are the primary sources for any intelligent attempt to understand human nature...service and understanding go hand in hand.  Without true understanding, it is impossible to enter effective service in that which concerns the spiritual life, and only to those who come with a motive of service will the doors open into the sanctuaries of life.

Patienthood

To be a patient means losing a lot.  What do you lose when you're a patient?

You lose space.  When you're well, your world consists of houses, fields, streets, open spaces--all kinds of space.  As a patient, your world is ten feet by ten feet if you're lucky.  It may even be smaller.  Your world really shrinks.

You lose mobility.  As you get better--IF you get better--they may let you move around, up and down the hall.  For some patients, being allowed to go the john on their own is a privilege they look forward to for weeks.

You lose control over who invades your space.  At home you don't have to let anybody in.  Nobody.  Unless he has a search warrant.  When you are a patient, dozens of people suddenly have the right to come right up to you and touch you, and there's nothing you can do about it.  Most of them don't even say, "excuse me."

You lose control over time.  You do things when other people want you to, not when you want to.  Have you heard the old bitter joke about being awakened at midnight to take a sleeping pill?  It is not a joke.  It happens.

Our patients who are well acquainted with the Bible often remind me of a passage in which Jesus says to Peter, "When you were young, you fastened your belt about you and walked where you chose; but when you are old you will stretch out your arms, and a stranger will bind you fast, and carry you where you have no wish to go."  (John 21:18)  Jesus wasn't really talking about what it feels like to be a patient, but to many patients the words ring true.

You lose control over what's done to your body.  For most healthy people, the skin is a kind of barrier; nobody can get inside your skin unless you want them to.  But being a patient means that people get inside your skin with tubes, needles, liquids, and probes.  

You lose contact, and maybe that's the worst of all.  You can't go to people; they have to come to you.  And sometimes they don't come.

What does that add up to?

It adds up to words like this: lonely, isolated, shut in, caged, helpless.  That in turn adds up to words like this:  angry, suspicious, irritable, demanding.

from Hospital Chaplain by Kenneth R. Mitchell

Video: The Lycoming College Choir and Choir Alumni sing "Beautiful Savior"

Lycoming College Choir.  Those three words bring back so many feelings and memories that I can't even begin to describe them in one short blog.  But I can say that my four years at Lycoming College were, without a doubt, some of the best years of my life.  Here are a few snapshot memories that come to mind:

Walking through the park to a football game and listening to the leaves as I dragged my feet through them to make as much noise as possible; watching the snow fall out my window in Rich Hall; the musty smell in the basement of Clarke Chapel; waiting outside a teacher's door in the Academic Center to talk to them; talking to Mom and Dad on the phones in the dorm stairwells; the coldness of the planetarium; running to class late; sleeping in and ignoring class; fraternities coming through Rich Hall in the middle of the night and knocking on every door; conducting the band at graduation; drinking Mountain Dew so I could stay up late and study for an exam; London Broil for Sunday brunch; the beautiful colors of the fall leaves on the quad; watching squirrels play outside Clarke; the Pub; always having friends close by; Marc Abrams showing me his stack of punch cards needed to program a computer in the library; the day Three Mile Island melted down; John Lennon's death; the hostage crisis in Iran; Mount Saint Helens eruption; Hill Street Blues; the first time we heard of AIDS; Michael Jackson's Thriller; worrying about grades; going for grad school interviews with Becky Sweet; dressing up like clowns for Homecoming; the list goes on and on.

But I have choir memories too: everyone singing a D at the beginning of rehearsal; staring at the sopranos; arranging my cold metal chair so I was just close enough but not too close to others in the alto section; doing karate chops to the backs of people on your left and right to loosen up; working as a team; having Fred upset with us for not memorizing our music when he told us to; trying to figure out what our tour gowns would look like; staying in people's houses; crying during the benediction; wondering why those stupid alums came up at the end of the concerts all the time; parties in Brian Barth's room; singing Billy Joel's Piano Man in a circle with everyone hugging; singing wonderfully amazing, incredible songs; singing some amazingly horrible songs; trying not to throw up on the tour bus; wishing we were home at the end of tour when we still had hours to drive; the magic of going home for Christmas; pre-tour excitement; bag-dragging in the snow; post choir concerts at the Pub; singing at Fred Thayer's parent's church; singing a solo in a really "great" spiritual; a weak tenor section; tenors that could blow your socks off; making Homecoming floats at the Thayer's; Sue Huff heaving after eating sugar cane in Puerto Rico; Fred Thayer's smirky little smile when we did a good job; giving pitches; having the choir sing one of my compositions at Baccalaureatete; watching for the next sign Pat Thayer would hold up during a concert; following Becky Sweet in the Clarke Chapel restroom; the feeling that enveloped you when everyone was really on their game during a concert; loyalty; pride; companionship; devotion; acceptance; being a part of something bigger and better than yourself; trust; and most importantly, love.  

Choir memories are memories just like those I have of the school in general, but there is much more emotion attached to them.  My experiences with the Lycoming College Choir are a part of me, every day of my life.  I will never forget the friends I made in choir, and I will always remember Fred and Pat Thayer.  I will always be indebted to Fred and Pat as well, for sharing a part of themselves with me and allowing me to see what wonderful people they really are.  I miss Lyco.  But more than Lyco, I miss the Lycoming College Choir.  

Fred Thayer retired this year.  This is the final time the choir and alumni sang Beautiful Savior under his direction:    

Pat and Fred, I love you, and thank you so very, very much.  I hope you have a wonderful and blessed retirement.

So You Call Yourself a Christian?

What exactly does it take to be a Christian?  Does saying, "I'm a Christian" really make you one?  Should our words and actions be taken into account when we claim Christ, or does the proclamation alone suffice? 

It is no secret that many Christians have been turned off to church.  Usually something has happened that makes them rebel against the Christian community and it can usually be summed up in one word - hypocrite.  Most Christian churches are communities of hypocrites but we cannot admit it because we cannot see it within ourselves.  It is tough to look at ourselves in the mirror without bias or denial and see who and what we are with any clarity.  But the question is, does claiming Christ require that we act differently, talk differently, walk differently and love differently?  The answer is a resounding, "Yes!"  Most Christians would agree, and yet we struggle at times to even speak to each other with civility, let alone love. That glance in the mirror, even though we now see dimly,  should glaring show us the deep changes that are required in the very core of our beings to talk and act as Christ would desire.  

What if, after claiming Christ for years or decades, we don't change?  What if we still continue to act entirely out of our own sense of "rightness" and self-importance, never looking back at the bodies of the faithful we've trampled beneath us as we pursue our desire to "live out" Christ's call to us?  If we work in the church, volunteer in the church, or simply come to church, some change should be evident, somewhere, somehow, sometime, to somebody.  So often it isn't.  Why?  

A church filled with people who hear the word of God preached weekly but never listen to that word becomes an unsafe place.  Actually listening to the word, the Good News of Jesus Christ, should change us, unquestionably.  That change should not even require conscious action on our part - the word alone is powerful enough to change us if we really listen and absorb it.  The power of Christ's love for us all, the promise of real life regardless of the world, and the realization of the presence of the Kingdom here and now should be enough to transform us, if not immediately, then certainly after years or decades of establishing a relationship with God.  What does it mean when it doesn't happen?

Perhaps the preaching isn't good enough, perhaps the written word is incapable of penetrating a bivouacked mind, perhaps the church's milieu is a barrier to change.  I could spend hours listing reasons, however, the blame lies in only one place - the individual who hears the word but doesn't listen, the one who claims he is a Christian but acts like the world. 

The early church required change in a person.  Catechism was at least a year long and if your words and actions did not reflect your profession, you were not permitted to join the community of Christians.  Either you stayed for additional study and instruction, or if you persisted in your former ways and did not take up the yoke of Christ, you were sent away.  The catechism required dedication, persistence, obedience, hard work and time.  Time to ingest what you were learning.  Time to transform.  Proclaiming that you were a Christian meant that you were now a different person, reborn into a being unlike your previous self.  Saying you were a Christian really meant something.  

Unfortunately, that's not the case today.  Anyone who wants to can hang a cross around their neck and say they are Christian.  But the world knows that actions speak louder than words.  I wish we had a faith-o-meter to see if a person really was transformed, or better yet, a love-o-meter.  If you score low you are not permitted to join the community of Christians.  You could still come to church, to learn and grow, but then at least your un-Christian words and actions would not turn people off or turn people away because those words and actions would be expected.  If your love-o-meter scored high you would be permitted to join the community of faith and be expected to act as one, to live as one, to be Christ in the world - even to those who are different or who you don't like.  If you don't or can't, you're booted out for retraining.  No questions.  

What would the church be like if we really walked the talk?  What would the world be like?  

They would both be transformed, just as we should be transformed.  If you say you are a Christian but still act like you are of the world of non-Christians, something is wrong.  Really wrong.  Don't go looking to place the blame on others.  The blame is yours.  Do something about it.  Seek the transformation that eludes you.  Read the Bible, listen to preaching, hang out with real Christians, pray, pray, pray, meditate, read and pray some more.  Examine yourself.  Get counseling if you need to.  Do whatever it takes so that when you say you are a Christian, people can see that Christ lives within you, that you are, to the best of your ability, Christ in the world.  If you speak and act as a non-Christian, then you're not one, regardless of what you claim to be.  Claiming Christ is not lip service to the world.  Claiming Christ is real, deep, meaningful, and is the most important thing in your life, hands down, without question.  Pursue Christ as if he is the only thing that gives you purpose, life and breath.  Because he is.  Pursue Christ because you are tired of your old, crappy, meaningless life, because Christ is the only one who can give your life meaning and purpose.  But whatever you choose, by God, don't say you're a Christian if you can't act like one.  Don't take others down with you.

Miracle

Do not pray for easy lives;
     pray to be stronger.
Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers;
     pray for powers equal to your tasks.
Then the doing of your work shall be no miracle,
     but you shall be a miracle.
Every day you shall wonder at yourself,
     at the richness of life which has come to you
     by the grace of God.

Phillips Brooks