Knocking Down Straw Men

The Arizona Daily Star ran a series of articles last week opposing Republican proposals to secure the border against illegal immigration. A team of reporters and photo journalists actually traveled both sides of the border with Mexico to develop stories. The Star called it “investigative journalism.” Actually, their minds were made up before they investigated, but that’s a separate question.

What interested me were the arguments set forward against sealing the border. They all took the form of straw men. The lead article laid them out: “Canyons, rivers and shifting sand—plus a multibillion-dollar price tag, more violence and less business—make sealing the border all but impossible.”

A straw man argument seeks to divert attention from the main issue. It also initiates ideas that seem to make the main issue irrelevant.

As a pastor who often introduced people to the good news about Jesus, I became very familiar with straw man arguments. One of the more common diversions came in the form of a question. “Where did Adam get his wife?” Sometimes they were simple statements. “I don’t believe the Bible.” “I’m an agnostic.”

Early on, I learned how to circumvent straw men and lead conversations back to the main issue. Straw man arguments are not without merit. They need to be respected and answered. However, they are diversions from primary questions. How does one find peace with God? On what basis may I seek forgiveness? What should I say when I stand before God?

When I began to teach others how to share their faith, I taught them to recognize straw men. I taught them how to respond in an appropriate manner. I encouraged them to “keep the main thing, the main thing,” not only in their conversations with others, but also in their own lives.

So, what do I think about a fence along the border with Mexico? Will it work? For those who want to cross without our permission, probably not. However, is that the main issue? Locks on the doors of my house can’t keep out thieves, either. I lock them anyway. I have a responsibility to do my part. So does America.

Back Home Again

When I was young, my parents hardly ever left the state of Indiana. On those rare occasions when we traveled across state lines, we always celebrated our return. My father’s rich baritone voice would lead us in singing “Back Home Again in Indiana.” It became a tradition for us. As the sign for Indiana came into view, we knew what to do.

Sixty years later, I still sing that song when I drive into Indiana.

Arizona doesn’t have a song like that, but it sure is nice to be home again. After traveling for twelve weeks and crossing 23 state lines, we finally arrived in Tucson the last day of August. Loreen and I unloaded the trailer in 24 hours and then collapsed. For the time being, we would rather not go anyplace or do anything.

The drive from Pennsylvania to Arizona consumed twelve days because we stopped four times. The first was a pause in Winona Lake, Indiana to visit my mother and do more work for the Association of Grace Brethren Ministers. The second was a “pit stop” at Middlebury, Indiana for maintenance on the trailer. The third was a visit to our friends in Arkansas, David and Cindy Frederick.

Dave and Cindy live in Lititz, Pennsylvania, but they were “home” in Arkansas for a couple of weeks. Dave talked so much about the family farm in Tollville that I had to see it for myself. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t fibbing. He wasn’t. It really is a rice farm, and it really is in the middle of nowhere.

Loreen called David on his cell phone when we arrived at their back door. When he and Cindy came out, they gave both gave us big hugs. Unfortunately, the commotion bothered a nest of bees nearby, and they attacked Cindy and me just as we embraced. Needless to say, it made for a short hug. It also made for a trip to the store where David purchased a weapon in a can. The bees no longer have a home. They should have left us alone.

Albuquerque was our fourth and final stop. We wanted to see the Native New Life Church where Arnold Betony is Pastor. We had a great lunch with Arnold and his wife Bessie. We also visited their home and met several of their children. Before leaving town, we squeezed in a visit to Andy Moyer’s home as well. Andy is the Associate Pastor of Native New Life.

Homes are precious to us. As I write this article, I am reminded that today is September 11. Five years ago, Islamic radicals attacked America. Like the bees in Arkansas, they should have left us alone. Americans are now aroused, because people are precious to us. We dedicate ourselves to loving and protecting them against all odds.

Home, sweet home.

Wild and Free

The first week of June, we went wild and free. Loreen and I drove the trailer to our house in Tucson, packed it with everything we needed for the summer, and lit out for California.

We spent the first night in the San Jacinto mountains. Cool. The next day, we celebrated our 44th wedding anniversary in Hemet – which is not exactly an international destination. However, our daughter Janae lives in Hemet, which makes it special. She joined us for dinner. Her husband Eric, who serves on the local police force, was off chasing thieves. He missed dinner, but we were able to see him on the weekend. (Janae is expecting our fourth grandchild in October.)

Leaving our family behind, we drove the length of California into Oregon and Washington, visiting pastors and their wives all the way. We had breakfast, lunch or dinner with sixteen pastors, twelve of them with their wives. What great times we had! We also had the privilege of attending four church services along the way.

We drove into Montana at the end of June to visit Glacier Park. A helicopter ride across the mountains was the highlight of our visit. It was expensive, but well worth the money. After Glacier, we dropped down into Idaho to see friends from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania who now operate a “working ranch” near Mackay.

Leaving Idaho, we continued driving east through Montana and North Dakota, which is more remote and beautiful than some people realize. The Midwestern plains end in Minnesota, and that’s where we found the headwaters of the Mississippi. We spent a full day at Itasca State Park.

Driving to Itasca, we found a sign along the road that pointed to the “Rice Free Lutheran Church.” Loreen wondered aloud what these Lutherans had against rice. I thought for a moment. Remembering that rice grew wild along the roads and lakes of northern Minnesota, I suggested that perhaps the word “Free” went with “Lutheran,” not with “Rice.” Naturally, I found other associations as well.

Growing wild carries the idea of unfettered freedom. In my experience, freedom without restriction is self destructive. This summer, Loreen and I cut loose from our place in Arizona and traveled the country. Others marveled at our plans and wished they, too, could be so free. Our freedom, however, is not without boundaries. We are hemmed in by all sorts of limitations and requirements.

Leaving Minnesota, we traveled through Wisconsin and Michigan, where we had lunch with another pastor and his wife. Then we dropped down into Indiana, and sought advice from an RV service center. We blew two rear tires on the trailer, the first in Montana and the second in Michigan. Both damaged the sides of the trailer, one quite severely. We have repairs to make after our long trip across the country. Being wild and free has lots of consequences.
My mother Edith still lives at Grace Village in Winona Lake, Indiana. She celebrated her 90th birthday last March. To our surprise, we learned that my brother Steve was visiting as well. Steve lives in Denver, Colorado. We had a great reunion with mom and Steve, as well as two sisters who live in the area. Winona Lake is home to many of our friends, and we saw as many as we could.

Leaving Indiana, we made it a point to drive through Columbus, Ohio for lunch with another pastor and his wife. Then we drove through the night to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Three grandchildren created the urgency, and we wanted to see them. Their parents are dear to us as well.

On Wednesday, we moved the trailer to the Thousand Trails RV Park near Hershey, Loreen’s home town. Except for a ten-day trip to the annual conference of the Fellowship of Grace Brethren Churches, Hershey will be our “home away from home” until we hit the road again on August 21st.

Wild and free. Well, sort of.

I'm Glad For A God Who Doesn't Forget

One of my favorite stories is about an older couple who went out for dinner with friends. They went in one car; the two men in front, their wives in the back. One of the men said to the other, “We were in a terrific restaurant a few weeks ago that we really liked.” “Oh?” said his friend. “What was the name of it?” “Hmmm,” replied the other man, “What’s the name of the flower, usually red or white, that men give to the women they love?” His friend thought for a moment. “Do you mean roses?” “That’s it!” exclaimed the other man as he turned to his wife in the back seat. “Hey Rose!” he said. “What’s the name of the restaurant we were in a few weeks back that we liked so much?”

I can identify with those whose memories fail them.

Two weeks ago, I worked hard to remember Mother’s Day. I have a mother yet living, another mother who is my wife, two daughters in law who are mothers, and a daughter who expects to give birth in October. It was complicated, but with the help of others, I managed to remember them all with flowers and gifts. It isn’t easy for me to remember.

Today is Memorial Day. As Loreen and I walked our circuit this morning at 6:30, a neighbor stepped out his door to raise our country’s flag. “Hand over your heart!” he called out with a smile. He remembered, and I wished for a flag pole of my own. When I opened the newspaper, I found an entire page dedicated to seventeen men and women from southern Arizona. They gave their lives while serving our country in Afghanistan and Iraq. I read their stories. By the time I finished, my eyes were no longer dry. I need these reminders.

To be sure, I have a better memory than some. A couple of weeks ago, I read about a man with brain damage. He has an 8-second memory. His wife visits the long term care facility where he lives, and they have a wonderful time together. However, he can’t remember her between visits. They have to get re-acquainted each time. I’m better than that. I can remember at least eight days.

At times like this, I’m especially glad for a God who doesn’t forget. I know – when we are discouraged by awful things in life, we are tempted to think otherwise. In the Bible (Isaiah 49:14), the prophet Isaiah reports such a complaint from Israel: “The Lord has forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me.”

The Lord replies through the prophet: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands.”

Think of it! Every time Jesus looks at the palms of his hands, he remembers me. He remembers you. I’m glad for a God who doesn’t forget. Aren't you?

Am I Retired, Or What?

Loreen and I live in an adult retirement community. That is, it’s especially designed for the “over 55 crowd.” However, we have learned along the way that about a third of them are still gainfully employed – whatever that means.

The other day, a neighbor of mine asked a question that made me think twice. Three times, maybe. “When did you retire?” I knew what he meant, so I told him that I retired as pastor of Grace Church in Lititz, Pennsylvania at the end of June, 2004. The real answer is much more complicated. I may have retired from being the pastor of a church, but I am still very much “employed” within the Fellowship of Grace Brethren Churches.

The last three months have been busier than I would like to admit. During a 45-day period in February and March, I put together a “certification summit” for the chairmen of examining boards in the Fellowship of Grace Brethren Churches. Men came from points as far away as Alaska and Florida – 26 of us, counting myself. Of the 22 Districts listed as members of the Fellowship, 17 were represented.

Grace Church in Lititz hosted the gathering, so we flew to Baltimore and drove up to Pennsylvania on March 23. The Summit was historic in nature because we had never done anything like this before. We gathered on Monday night and concluded Wednesday morning. In my opinion, it was a huge success.

The Certification Summit was sponsored by the Association of Grace Brethren Ministers and funded by Grace Brethren North American Missions. Our first priority was to achieve basic agreement on a new ministry certification for church planters. Obviously, we discussed other things as well.

Loreen and I returned to Arizona on April 5, but flew back to Pennsylvania three weeks later to participate in a “mortgage burning” at Grace Church. The building debt is no more – at least for now. As you might imagine, we had a great time with friends and family. It’s always a joy to speak to a great congregation and urge them on to greater things.

After the celebration at Grace Church, we flew to Chicago for a meeting of the Board of Directors for the Grace Brethren Investment Foundation. I serve as a member of the Board until 2008. We returned to Arizona on April 30.

During the month of May, Loreen and I need to get the trailer ready for travel. If we have enough money for gas (spell that diesel), we’ll drive up the coast of California during the month of June. We have lots of churches and pastors we want to visit. If our plan holds, we’ll get all the way to the east coast before fall.

Whew! Am I retired, or what? Sometimes I wonder. Another neighbor of mine put it succinctly: “You travel a lot.” Uh-huh.

Superstition Everywhere

Back in January, an evangelical Christian minister by the name of Rob Schenck performed a service for superstitious people everywhere. He entered a U.S. Senate hearing room and daubed each seat with “holy oil” to bless the proceedings. Confirmation hearings for Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito were scheduled for the next day, and Rob wanted them to go well.

After all, said the minister, he had performed the same service for Chief Justice John Roberts’ hearings. Look how well he did.

Rob is on a roll. If he can find more ways to integrate superstitious practices with Christian faith, he could become famous. Lots of people think there really is something to these things.

I’ve talked with people who were sure their marriage would be more successful if the ceremony were held in a church. Never mind the fact that they had little interest in building a relationship with God. A young father once told me that he wanted his infant son baptized because “he didn’t want to take any chances.” I’ve lost track of the number of people who wanted me to pray for them because a minister’s prayers are surely more effective. I still receive requests to pray at the very moment something BIG is happening, because timing is everything. And of course, fasting is the trump card that doubles the power of prayer. People ask me to fast for them, too.

I have a question. If a minister fasts and prays at the very moment someone goes into surgery, and that very same minister anointed the patient with oil the day before, is there a better chance that the surgery will be successful? Hmmmmm. Maybe if the surgery were especially serious, we could do it in a church. That should do it.

Forgive me. This is getting silly. But then, superstition is a silly enterprise. Christians really should know better. Some do.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I gave blood today. The American Red Cross team came to the club house here at Saddlebrooke, and dozens of seniors bared their arms for a good cause. Goodness! Do you know the questions they ask of blood donors these days? I wanted to say to the young lady, “Do people really do those things?”

Once upon a time, I was a frequent blood donor. It was easy when I served as a Chaplain with the Army Reserve. Ten years ago, I retired from the Army and it wasn’t so easy any more.

Somewhere along the line, the doctor noticed that my blood pressure was high. Not real high, you understand, just high enough to raise a red flag. He asked me an interesting question. “Did you ever consider giving blood?” It turns out that, according to the doctor, I have too much fluid in my system. He put me on a water pill called Hydrochlorothiazide. It worked, but not very well. It sent me to the little boy’s room every hour and the blood pressure was still a little high.

Then we moved to Saddlebrooke. The local paper announced that the American Red Cross was coming, and it was easy, so I gave blood in November and January and March. My blood pressure today is 112 over 80. Who needs Hydrochlorothiazide? I had trouble spelling it anyway.

You can have too much of a good thing.

I have been in worship celebrations that went too long. The people in charge actually believed that people who enjoyed 90 minutes would have the same level of appreciation after 120 minutes. Wrong. I have stood in worship music segments that were inspiring for ten minutes but tiresome after 20. I have listened to sermons that were done at 30 minutes and overcooked at 45.

There are lots of things in life which are good, but only in the right amounts. An eight ounce drink of water can be very helpful. I wouldn’t advise anyone to drink a gallon all at once. One plate of delicious food can hit the spot. Eating two plates of food can produce indigestion at bed time. Lifting weights can prove beneficial in the maintenance of upper body strength. Lifting too much weight at one time can strain muscles and injure the body. A nice chunk of milk chocolate can . . . oops. I’ll drop that one. I think Loreen is reading over my shoulder.

Anyway, I think you get the drift. There is hardly any good thing in life that can’t be ruined by overindulgence or overuse.

So, I have an appointment with the American Red Cross on May 13. I have too much blood.

The View From Our Patio

The View from our Patio

It Almost Rained

Last Tuesday in Tucson, it almost rained. Clouds hung over the Catalina range which lies along the east side of our home. It was an ugly winter day. We saw a few drops of water on the stones outside, and the temperature didn’t rise above 60.

You have to understand. We haven’t had any rain since the first week of September. Well, OK. The newspaper reports that .01 of an inch fell at the Tucson airport on December 12. Does that count? This is the driest fall and winter for Tucson since records began in 1895.

As the sun began to set in the west, a double rainbow appeared over Mount Lemmon. A double rainbow! I never saw that before. Not one, but two rainbows rising side by side from the foot of the mountain up into the clouds above. I got up from the table and went for my camera. Let’s see. Where is it? I moved it from my den when I cleared the clutter to make room for office furniture. I searched high and low. Finally, there it was, in the utility room cabinets, right where I left it two weeks ago.

You guessed it. The rainbows were gone.

A lot of things get away from us when we are unprepared. When I began ministry some forty plus years ago, I wrote sermon notes on a small piece of paper and flew by the seat of my pants. In time, I realized that things got away from me. The time got away from me. Important points were missed. I made mistakes.

I started writing everything out. Then I learned to go over everything I wanted to say, again and again. Mind you, I still made mistakes. But it got better. I learned that the more I prepared, the better I performed. Not only did this apply to preaching, but also to teaching and organizing and leading board discussions and visiting homes. Everything got better when I prepared ahead of time.

Now that I watch others from the sidelines, the value of preparation has become even more obvious to me. Most of the ministers I observe do not prepare as well as they should. They fly by the seat of their pants. Some of them do pretty well. They could do even better if they would only prepare.

Some years ago, Don Shula, football coach for the Dolphins, wrote a book entitled Everyone’s a Coach. He built his chapters off the word “coach:” C for “conviction-driven,” O for “over-learning,” A for “audible-ready,” C for “consistency,” and H for “honesty-based.” His ideas were very helpful to me. The chapters on “over-learning” and “audible-ready” have a lot to do with preparation.

The will to win is not enough. You must have the will to prepare.

My camera now sets on the window sill, waiting for the next rainbow.

Say It Isn't So

Earlier this week, the newspaper reported that a Vermont congressman collapsed while attending the funeral of a soldier from his state. He was later treated at a hospital for flu and dehydration. “I feel all right,” said 64-year-old Bernie Sanders, as he left the event before it was finished. “My wife had the flu. I’m fine.” Minutes later, he fell to the floor.

This is called denial, and it’s a human condition most often observed in the male gender of the species. It’s common for men to discover weakness in their wives long before they notice it in themselves, if ever.

It happened to me just this week.

For several months, I have reported that our move to the Southwest brought improvement to my respiratory system. I suffered with chronic sinusitis and bronchitis for years. I needed a desert, and I found it in southern Arizona. It’s great. I can take a deep breath without coughing. I became careless with my medication. I pretended that my chronic condition no longer existed.

Last Sunday, I woke up with a head that felt like a pumpkin. I started using my inhalers immediately, but it was too late. I’m very familiar with this cycle. It begins with heavy drainage from my sinuses, then moves down through my throat, into my bronchial tubes, and settles in my lungs. The process takes at least seven days, and if I’m lucky, it won’t go back to my head and start all over again.

We could wish that denial occurs only in connection with physical illness, but it doesn’t. It happens in other arenas as well. We all put on our happy faces, and pretend. We pretend because interacting with truth is hard. It takes courage.

Today is Friday, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and things are looking up. My wife is feeling better, and so am I. Or is it the other way around?

Here We Go Again

Tomorrow morning, we catch a plane for Los Angeles, the city of angels. Do they still call it that? I heard some time ago that folks who don’t believe in God want the city’s emblem changed. It contained a cross. Maybe the name will be changed, too. Who knows? I’m not surprised by anything anymore.

It’s a quick trip. We’re going to a retreat for pastors and ministry leaders being held at San Juan Capistrano. It begins Monday afternoon and finishes Wednesday morning. By the time you read this, it may be history.

Five regional “focus retreats” are held every year for pastors and ministry leaders associated with Grace Brethren churches. Tom Avey organizes and leads them, but he won’t make it to this one. He had quadruple bypass surgery last week. Whoa! That should slow him down temporarily.

I’m not sure who is in charge at this retreat, but it doesn’t matter. The men who attend always make it a success by their interaction with each other. Loreen fits right in, though she is usually the only female present. She has her own retreat. This year, she is threatening to go her own way. The program 24 is scheduled for Monday evening. She loves it. I hope the Lord doesn’t return Monday evening. She might be . . . never mind.

We love to connect with pastors and their wives. Ten days ago, we drove to Phoenix for dinner with Ed and Debbie Waken. Other ministry leaders were there as well: Larry and Sue Johnson, Henry and Cindy Staggs, Bud and Diana Miller, Joe Ritenour and Don Julien. Ed called us together. We met at Joe’s Crab Shack in Tempe, south of Phoenix. We had a great time getting acquainted.

We’ve had overnight guests at our place in Saddlebrooke, too. John and Martha Schumacher were here the second week of January. Merv and Charlene Bruckhart were here last week. Merv and Charlene left on a road trip last week, but we are getting together for dinner Wednesday night when we return.

We love Tucson. Come visit us sometime. Call first to make sure we are home and the guest room is empty. We do travel a lot.

The Rear View Mirror is Helpful

I know. Sometimes, looking back is a bad idea.

One of my favorite stories is about a Sunday school class of second grade boys and girls. The teacher had just completed the Bible story of Lot and his family, how they barely escaped from Sodom before it was destroyed. The angel warned them not to look back, but Lot’s wife did, and she turned into a pillar of salt.

Before the teacher could begin her application, a little boy excitedly raised his hand and offered his own. “My mother looked back last week,” he said loudly, “and she turned into a telephone pole!”

I often encourage people to look forward, not backward. Looking back is a bad idea, especially when it involves a selfish refusal to step forward in obedience to God. The Bible is full of examples, and Lot’s wife is only one of them.

However, the Bible is also full of “rear view mirrors,” as I like to call them. They call us to look back, to remember. Jesus used one of them when he spoke to his disciples of a judgment of God yet to come. It’s recorded in Luke 17:32.

Looking back, I can see that God has placed rear view mirrors not only in the Bible, but also in my own life. I understand the present and anticipate the future much better when I pay attention to the past. A recent example came to me when a friend called to discuss the organization of the Fellowship of Grace Brethren Churches. He noticed that ministers hold nearly all the elected positions in the Fellowship and wondered aloud whether or not we are actually a fellowship of ministers.

Aha! Someone noticed! I remember my own surprise when I finally put the pieces together about ten years ago. I was reading old documents dating back to the origins of the Progressive Brethren movement. One of the leaders answered a question about the form of church government we would take. “We are still deciding,” he wrote, “whether or not we should be Episcopal in form.” That raised my eyebrows. About the same time, I found a book written by a critic of the newly minted Brethren Church. The writer suggested that Progressives had developed another way to “control the churches.” They would control them through the ministers rather than through a central government.

My eyes were opened and I saw our arrangement of churches in a new light. I see a crazy patchwork of Episcopal, Presbyterian and Congregational forms being used among the separate churches. However, when we gather churches together in district and national forums, the voices of ordained ministers are the ones being heard. That’s an Episcopal form of government. The past has a firm grip on our future.

In the final analysis, I don’t think the form of church government matters a great deal to God. Any form will work, unless leaders misbehave or struggle for power over others. When that happens, followers of Jesus are embarrassed and troubled. They feel what Jesus must feel. I see that in my rear view mirror as well.

Rear view mirrors are helpful.

Turn the Page

My favorite page in the calendar is January. Somehow, just the turning of it arouses new hopes and dreams. Does it work that way for you?

This year was no different. After the hoopla of the holiday season, I found myself at the bottom looking for light at the top.

We took the RV to southern California on December 21. Our daughter Janae and her husband Eric live there. They have been married less than two years, and we were glad to spend time with them. I forgot that it rains a lot in California during the winter. It was cold and damp. I came down with bronchitis on Christmas day. Then it began to rain. Continuously. The roof of the trailer leaked. We came home early.

Happy New Year.

We drove straight home to Arizona on New Year’s Day after attending church. Then we spent another day unpacking the trailer and putting it in storage. On day three of the New Year, I turned the page and began to dream of things to come. Do you dream? In the daytime?

I hope so. Without a dream, a hope of things to come, every New Year becomes a repeat of the old year. A dream runs deeper than resolutions, which are made to be broken. Dorothy Heller wrote a rhyme some years ago, and it really fits here.

I spent a fortune on a trampoline,
A stationary bike, and a rowing machine
Complete with gadgets to read my pulse,
And gadgets to prove my progress results,
And others to show the miles I’ve charted—
But they left off the gadget to get me started!

We need dreams, not gadgets.

Ask God for a dream. The best dreams always start with Him. Ask the One who made you to change your heart and open your eyes. Ask permission to see your life through His eyes. Then, turn the page. You’ll be glad you did.