Good morning church family,

Societies produce many points of tension for the people living in the honeycombed communities they create. Take the time we spend in public bathrooms, elevators, and waiting rooms, for instance. Complete strangers forced into tight, confined spaces are left with the difficult decision of either entering into pained conversation with one another or enduring some of the most awkward silence imaginable. I mean, what exactly does one man relieving himself say to another man doing the same or what do we say to one another as we collectively stare at the digital display on the elevator, waiting for our floor number to ding? Or, to mention another tension; how about four-way stops? Of course, there are rules to govern these traffic conventions but absent a uniformed enforcement agent of some kind, the vigilantes are left to employ nods, waves, flashing headlights, and cold stares to keep everything moving in an orderly fashion. And providing one more example; we all appreciate it when a stranger holds a door for us – but not when we’re twenty or thirty paces from that door. In those instances, we try declining with an aw-shucks wave of the hand but quickly hang our heads and do a half-jog to the door while the stranger stares smilingly at our awkward progress. It’s brutal.

Now none of the above examples represent any profound stresses in our lives nor are they illustrative of any real hardship we must endure, but instead are just little tensions for us to experience and study. There’s a lot that we might learn about human nature and the way we’ve been designed by God when we ponder on them a bit. I got to thinking about this recently when I was reading Paul’s letter to the believers in Ephesus. A part of the following passage jumped out at me: “But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus…” (Ephesians 2:4-6)

What struck me was that last part about Christ making his followers “sit together in the heavenly places”. I think we all understand the odd tension that’s created when a person in your company is standing while you and everyone else present is seated. You can picture it – you’re dining out with some friends when someone you know comes over to your table to say “hi”. Unless the exchange is very brief, you will feel the need to either have the person sit at your table with you or you will feel compelled to stand with him during the dialogue. The conversation is bound to be pained otherwise. You feel the same sort of thing when someone comes and stands by your desk while you’re in your chair at work or when someone drops by your house for a visit and proceeds to just stand there in your living room while you and everyone else is seated on couches and recliners. I get a keen sense of this phenomenon whenever I go and visit someone in the hospital. One of the most important things for me to do in order for the visit to have any chance of being a blessing, is to find some place to have a seat when I enter the patient’s room. Every moment that I remain standing in a moment like that, a palpable tension builds in the room until I either beg an early exit or finally have a seat. Why is that? Well, as social conventions go, sitting is certainly a more casual, unhurried, and open-ended manner of relating than standing seems to be. When someone opts not to sit down but to remain standing, he’s putting the whole exchange on a timer; the conversational equivalent of leaving the car running. But to sit down is to communicate a certain commitment to the time and place; it’s a decision to fellowship with another in whatever is going on. Sitting down somewhere with someone says “I’m with you in what’s going on here”, “I would like to belong here”, and “I’m in no rush to be somewhere else”.

Too many of us (myself included) leave the car running, so to speak, when we come to worship or when we sit to read the Bible or volunteer in some Gospel effort. We come into the Lord’s presence and He offers us a seat but we dip our heads, shove our hands in our coat pockets, and kindly decline. “We can only stay a minute,” we tell Him and then proceed to half-heartedly lean against the door jamb or anxiously shift our weight from foot to foot. We’re there with the Lord in what’s going on but, then again, we’re really not.

But praise the Lord – because of His great love for us and His mercy, He won’t let us stay in that cagey state for long but instead gives us new life and raises us up to where He sits. He lifts us out of all the worries, concerns, and entanglements that make our eyes dart about and which keep our souls shifty that He might bless us with Heaven’s perspective of things. The Lord lightens our hearts, lifts our heads, and causes us to want to dwell with Him. He makes it so we want to take off our coat, have a seat, and stay a while.

So, what do you say? Will you pull up a chair?

The Lord’s invited all of us to His house on Sunday morning! He has something to give us, something to tell us, and something for us to do. It’s going to be so good for all of us to be together with Him then and throughout the week. Isn’t it grand to be a Christian! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

–        Pastor Tate

Good morning church family,

Matt Munger never read a thing aside from the essays and articles his teachers assigned for him to work on in school. And work it was. Every paragraph was agony for Matt as he tried to get something out of words that drifted off the page and seemed to swirl about his head. Reading for him was something like trying to get honey from a hive with hundreds of stinging bees swarming angrily about his head. And that’s what makes the story of Matt reading his way to Jesus so remarkable.

Saturday was dump day in the Munger household. Since Matt’s father worked most Saturdays and the older kids were always off doing who knows what, Matt was usually pegged to help make the dump run with his mom. In the little town of Orvil, Vermont, the citizens had to haul all their garbage, recyclables, and returnables to the town dump located at the end of the Meetinghouse Road across town. Matt’s mom would give the word and Matt would begin loading the car. The Mungers stored everything going to the dump out in the garage. All the trash was stuffed into 25-gallon, black plastic bags sold exclusively by the dump for the purpose. Several plastic bins lined up against the wall separated colored glass from clear, plastic items from metal things, cardboard and newspaper from the beer bottles and soda cans. Sometimes there might be another thing or two to load in; a rusted-out tricycle, a discarded vanity, or anything else no longer deemed useful. Matt tucked everything neatly into the back of his mom’s Subaru, with one extra item having to go on the back seat. He then headed back into the kitchen to wait for his mom.

The drive over to the dump had grown uncomfortably quiet over the last year. Being thirteen now, Matt was no longer very keen on being driven around town by his mom. There was a time when he would have welcomed such an adventure; a knight on errands with his queen. But now, Matt was uncontrollably sullen – retreating under the bill of his cap and the hood of his sweatshirt while slinking down in the seat. His mom, a wiry and energetic woman who noted the change in her son with the stoicism of a lioness letting go of her cub; kept her eye on the road and her mind on the to-do list.

Nearing the entrance to the dump, Matt was glad to see there wasn’t much of a line; just a couple pickup trucks and a minivan. It was a damp and cool March morning. The sky was a shade of gray that made Matt think it might rain or possibly even snow. He sat staring at the cloud of white exhaust pouring out of the truck muffler in front of him while wishing his mother would turn on the radio.

They eventually advanced into one of the parking spots for offloading. Matt’s mom stopped the car and shut off the engine. “Take that hood off, son,” his mom said as she began getting out of the car. “You look like a thug.”

Matt dutifully pulled back his hood and straightened his ball cap before climbing out of the car himself. He rarely argued with his mom. Opening the hatchback, he kept an ear on the conversation his mom was having with the dump attendant to hear what he’d have them do with the old space heater they were junking.

His mom’s exchange with the attendant over, she began walking to the back of the car. She was about to report where the heater should be discarded when Matt cut her off with a gloomy look and four fingers held up on one hand; indicating that he’d heard that the heater was to go in dumpster #4.

“Okay, honey,” she said. “Listen, I saw Jen over there with Kaitlyn. I’m going to go say hello for a minute.”

Matt nodded assent and set about to unburden the Subaru of all the Munger garbage. It was quick work. Matt enjoyed throwing things into the dumpsters; delighting in the destructive nature of the work. No one junked glass with more gusto than Matt Munger.

Once all of the usual items were disposed of, Matt took the space heater out of the back seat and walked it over to dumpster #4. Eyeing an old computer monitor near the bottom of the big, metal container, he aimed the heater and threw it with all his might. He only managed a glancing blow to the screen and the black glass failed to shatter or even crack. Matt looked around and saw the attendant smiling at him. Matt put back up his hood.

From experience, Matt knew that his mom might be more than a few minutes talking. She knew everyone in town and was always up for a good chat. Ever since he was a little kid, he’d learned how to kill time in grocery stores, gas stations, post offices, and bank lobbies. Walking back over to the recycling station, he made his way to the far bin that sat beside the one keeping all of the corrugated cardboard. This bin was smaller than the rest and not nearly as deep. This was where the good people of Orvil dumped all their old books, journals, magazines, and catalogs. Matt had for years found some pleasure in sifting through everything in this bin. There were always a lot of old Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens magazines, ancient encyclopedias, dozens and dozens of Land’s End and L.L. Bean catalogs, and enough romance paperbacks to dam a small river. But every once-in-a-while Matt would hit paydirt and find a Sports Illustrated or a stack of Field and Stream magazines that he could take out and enjoy leafing through.

On this particular day, Matt wasn’t having much luck finding anything interesting. He’d found a Reader’s Digest and tucked it under his arm. If nothing better was discovered, he could at least read through the humor sections and maybe have a laugh. He was about to give up, when he noticed a magazine he’d never seen before. It was about the size of a Reader’s Digest but was called Guideposts. The headlines on the front were unremarkable to Matt and the person featured wasn’t anybody he recognized. What did catch Matt’s eye were the words “this is for you” written in blue pen on the upper right corner of the magazine. The front cover was glossy and whoever had written the message must have struggled to make the markings, for each stroke had been made over and over again; pressing deep furrows into the cover. Matt opened up the little magazine to the first page and scanned the table of contents. There were articles appearing to deal with matters like diet and nutrition, workplace conflicts, and grandparenting. Nothing seemed to be “for him” until he saw the headline: “Going Broke to Get Rich”. That grabbed Matt’s attention for some reason. The byline on the article read: “How losing millions led one man to much, much more”.

Matt was intrigued and turned to the page where the article started. He read the first couple of paragraphs and was immediately taken in by the story of a man who’d started a computer software company in the late nineties and who had built incredible wealth within a few short years.

“Alright, honey,” Matt’s mom said as she got back to the car, “I’m all set. Let’s get going.”

Matt snapped out of his reverie and closed the magazine. His mom hopped into the car and got the engine running. Matt tossed the Reader’s Digest back into the bin but folded the Guidepost into the back pocket of his jeans.

For the rest of the time running errands and during the whole ride back home, Matt couldn’t get the words “this is for you” out of his head. He couldn’t wait to steal away to his room later and read the rest of the story. He sensed the message of the article might actually be for him.

Arriving back at the house, Matt walked right past the refrigerator, the television, and the game room to his bedroom upstairs. He quickly turned again to the story and read the rest of the article. It ended up being a story of trial, heartbreak, and bankruptcy with the man in the middle of it all losing everything and wanting, at one point, to take his life. But in the depths of his despair, this man found Jesus and became wealthy in a very different way. The article concluded with a telling of Christ’s parable of the pearl of great value. Before the article was even over, Matt somehow knew that he wanted to get his own hands on that same pearl. Many years later, when Matt would tell the story of his conversion, he’d always say he came to Christ that afternoon while reading a Guideposts article in his bedroom.

“Honey!” Matt’s mom called up the stairs. “Dinner’s on the counter.”

Matt came out of his room feeling the way he often felt when walking out of a movie theater; with the real world seeming like a fiction for a moment. But he trundled down the stairs and walked into the kitchen; grabbing a plate and dishing some lasagna onto it. His mom was the only one there.

“Where is everybody?” Matt asked.

“They’re on their way,” his mom answered while leaning against the counter sipping a glass of iced tea. “Your dad’s upstairs changing.”

“I thought I heard him come in.” Matt was now pulling a piece of garlic bread out of the foil.

“Say, Honey,” his mom began uneasily, “when we were leaving the dump, I noticed in the rearview mirror that you put some kind of magazine or something into your back pocket.” Matt stopped fixing his plate and looked into his mom’s interrogating eyes. “That wasn’t some kind of girlie magazine was it?”

“No, Mom,” Matt said embarrassed; shooting his eyes back down to his plate. “Not at all.”

“Then what was it? I’m just curious.”

Matt thought for a moment before looking back up at his mom. “It’s actually not a magazine at all,” Matt said with a sweet and innocent smile. “It’s a pearl.”

We’re looking forward to coming together tomorrow morning to be encouraged in our faith and to lift one another up in love and strength. Isn’t it grand to be a Christian!?! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate

Good morning church family,

Having shaved and showered for the day, Danny quietly turned off the light before opening the bathroom door; being careful not to wake his wife who was sleeping peacefully in the bedroom beyond. Stepping back into the dark room, the blue glow coming from the digital clock on the dresser was the room’s only light. “4:48,” read the clockface. His eyes working hard to adjust to the darkness, Danny felt for the knobs of the dresser drawers and slid them open; pulling out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and socks. With the skilled quiet of a cat burglar, he got dressed. The brief clattering of his swinging belt buckle was the only sound he made. Danny paused for a moment and looked at the outline of his wife’s body as she lay under the covers in their queen-sized bed. He sighed as he spied the hollow place in the sheets beside her. The tired husband felt atop the comforter for the curve of his wife’s hip; gently waking her as he kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye sweetheart,” he whispered lovingly, “see you tonight.”

Padding down the stairs in his stocking feet, Danny walked through the living room, turning on the lights in the kitchen and starting the coffee maker. The sudden flood of light energized him as he fished things from the refrigerator and pantry for his lunch. He quickly packed his little Coleman cooler and sat down at the island. Danny couldn’t remember how it had started, but for years now he had always packed the dessert into his kids’ lunches. He bought little bakery boxes with flip-top lids and every morning he would put a cookie, candy bar, or some special confection in the box and write a note and draw a picture on the underside of the lid. Even though Avery was seventeen, Stephen fourteen, and Kirsten eleven, they still loved it just as much as when they were big enough to bounce on his knee.

The last of the dessert boxes stuffed in the kids’ lunch bags, Danny grabbed his keys to start his truck. He listened as the V8 engine rattled to life in the driveway just outside the kitchen door. The glasses in the cupboard chattered just a bit and the handle of the refrigerator vibrated as the engine worked to get in rhythm. Danny grabbed the breakfast sandwich he’d made the night before and put it in the microwave. He poured the coffee out into his thermos and turned off the pot. Taking his coat off the peg on the inside of the pantry door, Danny put his Coleman under his arm, his sandwich in his mouth, and with coffee in one hand, he opened and closed the door with the other.

It was a clear and cold autumn morning. Hopping in his truck, the temperature on the dash read 36° and the time read 5:21. It was election day in Michigan and all across America. Danny wished the polls were already open so he could shoot over to the Knights of Columbus and vote, but the doors wouldn’t be open for another hour-and-a-half. He put the half-ton Ford in gear and let the revving engine roll him out onto the street. He needed to be at the town sheds in Saginaw before 6am where he’d meet with the crew and start his day. “If I hustle with that grading job, I should be done mid-morning,” Danny said to himself as he reached to turn on the radio. “I bet I can buy a little time and swing back over to vote before lunch.”

Danny had worked for the Saginaw County Road Commission for over twenty years and had a good crew of guys working for him as he worked to keep the local roads and roadways safe and up to snuff. As part of that work, a couple-hundred miles of dirt road throughout the county needed grading once in the spring and once again in the fall. Danny hoped to tackle a rough patch of road in Chesaning on this particular morning and maybe do some repair to some portions of the shoulder that had washed out over the summer. The office had gotten a number of complaints from homeowners and motorists who said the washboards on the road were something awful. “It’s like driving over a hundred speed bumps!” was one of the screeds left on the office voicemail.

After setting up his crew for the day’s work, Danny drove out to where he’d left the grader on the side of the road the night before. It was a beautiful autumn day and the early sun promised to warm things up quickly. Danny climbed up into the grader and quickly got to work. He’d graded, sanded, plowed, brushcut, and repaired this stretch of road hundreds of times over the years. He’d scooped up a good amount of road kill off of it too. With an able confidence, he got right to work.

Danny wasn’t twenty minutes into the effort when, up on a nearby hillside, he noticed an old man struggling with a wheelbarrow as he walked toward a little house on the ridge. Danny kept one eye on his work and the other on the man. He didn’t like what he was seeing. The man appeared unsteady on his feet and looked to Danny to be laboring. Danny struggled with whether or not to make it his business to walk up and check on him. He needed to get this stretch of road finished before getting on to the next thing and, of course, he was hoping to shoot back home and vote.

But Danny pulled the grader over just shy of the old man’s driveway and turned off the motor. He scrambled down out of the rig and began walking briskly up the gravel drive. Walking along, he spied four or five cords of split firewood sitting in a pile not far from the house. Getting nearer the single-story ranch, Danny saw the man feebly attempting to stack wood out of the wheelbarrow and into a lean-to that sat beside the house.

“Morning,” Danny said, startling the old man a bit. “I was just down there grading the road and I saw you up here working. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.”

“Oh, thank you,” the old man said, turning to face Danny but unable to straighten up. Danny thought he must be nearing ninety. “I think I’m alright. Just picking away at that pile over there.” The old man put his hands on his hips and tried to smile. “I’ll get it all in before snow flies, I reckon.”

“That’s a lot of wood,” Danny said, returning the smile. “You don’t have anyone to help you?”

“Naw,” the man said while staring blankly at the pile; a hoarse rasp in his voice. “I manage alright.”

“I’m sure you do,” Danny said, joining the old man in looking over at the tall pile. “You living alone here?”

“No; my wife’s in there,” the old man said; swatting his hand back toward the house.

Danny looked at the desperate state of things around the house and at the proud old man dressed for work he really could no longer do. He looked up at the smoke curling out of the chimney stack and felt the conviction of the Lord. He knew He needed to offer some help.

“What do you say you let me and my son come over this Saturday and stack all this wood for you?” Danny asked humbly.

The man hesitated and looked Danny square in the eye; trying to measure him.

“We’ll let you direct us – we’ll stack it any which way you like.”

“Well,” the old man replied; cocking his head ever so slightly, “I suppose I might let you do that.”

“Wonderful!” Danny said with a big, honest smile. “We’ll be here right around 9am. Is that alright?”

“Sure enough,” came the humble reply. “You can come whenever you like. I’ll be here. I really do thank you, sir.”

“It looks like you’ve got more than enough wood there for this week,” Danny said with another smile, “and there’s no snow in the forecast, thankfully. I’d be pleased if you put that wheelbarrow away and leave the rest of the fun for me and my boy.”

“Alright,” the old man replied, “I won’t argue with you.” The two men shared a laugh and shook hands before Danny went back down the driveway to finish grading the road.

The work went quickly and Danny was back in his pickup truck before eleven. He didn’t need to be at his next job until one in the afternoon. He decided to hightail it back home to Saginaw and see about voting.

On the radio, the hosts were talking poll numbers, electoral college maps, and demographics. Danny opened his cooler and began fishing out items for his lunch. He listened to the chatter and looked out at all the signs, banners, flags, and billboards barking out their support. “Good Lord,” he said as he began peeling back a banana, “grant us favor today.”

As he drove on, eating his lunch and listening to all the breathless talk on the radio, Danny began growing anxious. It seemed as though someone was trying to tell him something. He reached over and killed the radio.

“What do you say, Lord?” Danny asked nonchalantly. “Who are You voting for today?”

The only reply coming was the sound of the rolling and running of the car as it rumbled down the road.

Danny smiled and reached for a piece of his wife’s zucchini bread. “I guess that’s right.”

“Well,” Danny said, keeping one eye on the road and the other on the Saran wrap encasing the zucchini bread, “I sure wish I could go in there and vote for You.”

“What do you mean?” the Lord replied loud and clear. “You’ve been voting for Me all day.”

It’ll be good to come into the house of the Lord tomorrow and share the communion meal with Him and each other. I can’t think of better medicine for all that ails us! And there’s so much more than that in store. God is so good! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate