August 6, 2020 The Good News at Noon from Good Samaritan

 2 Kings 4: 42-44 Ephesians 3: 14-21          Matthew 14: 13-21

PARISH PICNIC

So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown. Weather is quite often the main topic of conversation on the streets and on the porches of Fox Hill. No one, not even Mr. Ferguson, the oldest bachelor farmer in the area, can remember a July as damp as this past month. The water level in Lake Madsen is so high, there’s about 20% less beach at the village park next to the Motel One and Only.

The Fox Hill Badgers, our local team in the Sons of Lombardi Central Wisconsin Baseball League, has had so many rain outs of their doubleheaders scheduled because of their COVID-19 already shortened season that they feel more like drowned rats.

Judy Martin has just returned from two weeks in Frankenmuth, Michigan where she had been attending a family reunion. Her husband, David, the semi-retired pastor of Fox Hill Lutheran Church, had no desire to travel with her. When all her relatives gather, it’s like the feeding of the 5,000; only instead of loaves and fish, it’s tuna hot dish and jello salads – tables full of tuna hot dish and every imaginable flavor of jello salad. But this year, because of the coronavirus pandemic, it was going to be catered.  Catered!!

Judy couldn’t believe it, so she still whipped up several batches of her famous Pillsbury biscuits because everybody knows that good biscuits can power you through any family gathering. In the Martin home there is a regular liturgy to the serving of the warm biscuits, fresh out of the oven. As Judy brings them to the table, the whole family sings the popular jingle:

Judy begins by singing – “Here come the biscuits.”

David and the girls respond – “Pillsbury power!”

“Here come the biscuits – Pillsbury power!” 

“Well, if your family’s tried them, they’re powered by Pillsbury biscuits. You’ll never try Bisquick again.”

It’s very popular in Fox Hill anyway. 

So, when she showed up at the Krueger family reunion with them, they just thought she was crazy. But, despite COVID-19 concerns, they sure did devour those biscuits!

Because of all the rain, they had to move into the hall of the largest Lutheran Church in the United States so they could safely distance. However, the Krueger relatives remained undaunted. They are of hardy Northern European stock, dontcha know, and have been through hard times before and the weather only reminded them of the old country. I think the weather contributes highly in determining Lutheran disposition. Gray and overcast – yep, that certainly describes the congregation at Fox Hill Lutheran anyhow: a sullen, cheerless group, prone to jump to hasty judgements. Smiles are seldom seen. You associate a smiley face more with sunshine, like you might get in Spain, southern France or Italy.

Pastor Martin wondered if the flock at Our Lady of Desperate Hope across town smiles more than the Lutherans. “But,” he thought to himself as he looked over the frowns and stares of the Fox Hill Lutherans on Sundays, “you can’t change the weather.” The church had chosen, as it turned out, the nicest day of the month to hold their annual parish picnic spread throughout the church parking lot, because the town park on Lake Madsen had been closed. With pandemic fear and being unaccustomed to sunshine, only 33 Lutherans, dazed and exposing skin so blanched you would have though it was winter in Norway, dared to attend. Vicar Lena, the student intern, wasn’t surprised however. She remembered her mother saying, “It never rains on the Lutherans.” But that must have referred to New Jersey Lutherans!

Yet, as much less than 5,000 people arrived, out of innocent-looking picnic baskets came a feast so grand you couldn’t believe your eyes. Hamburgers, bratwurst, and chicken sizzled on the Webbers. And spread on the folding tables were baked beans, macaroni salads, bowls of fruit, brownies, pies and cheese doodles (Pastor Martin’s favorite!). Not one jello mold was to be seen. You’ve heard it said, “A good time was had by all” and that sure was true. They played seven rounds of Bingo, enjoyed tailgate visiting and nobody could beat Pastor Martin in horseshoes on the side lawn of the church.

But the real miracle of the day came when a beat up, old Ford pickup truck pulled into the parking lot and out climbed old man Ferguson. He hadn’t been to church in years and never talked to anyone in town, yet here he came to the picnic – with a platter full of two dozen biscuits. All conversation silenced. The horseshoe players stopped pitching. Even the children ceased running around.

And as he approached the serving table, Mr. Ferguson began to sing:

“Here come the biscuits.” And the entire congregation responded – “Pillsbury power!”

“Here come the biscuits – Pillsbury power!” 

Together they sang: “Well, if your family’s tried them, they’re powered by Pillsbury biscuits. You’ll never try Bisquick again.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, “I just wanted to make sure they were warm.”

Everyone ate to their fill, and still one biscuit was left over. Mr. Ferguson took it in his hands, broke it in half and said, “You know, there wouldn’t be a church picnic today if it weren’t for my sainted mother.” Everyone made a circle of chairs around him as he shared the story of the day Enid Ferguson saved the church picnic.

“The Rev. Ole Olson was the pastor of Fox Hill Lutheran 75 years ago when he decided it would be a great idea to have a parish picnic on the shore of Lake Madsen. Pastor Olson was full of great ideas, but a bit lax on organization. He announced the picnic from the pulpit for two weeks prior to the event and everybody in our small congregation attended. But he never thought to tell people to bring anything, and they came expecting that the church elders were hosting the picnic. So, quite the opposite of today, there’s 100 people and no food for them to eat.

But mother never went anywhere without food. She had been experimenting with a new brand of flour for biscuits, so she had baked up three dozen and brought them with her to the gathering. When Rev. Olson saw all the hungry people, he realized his mistake and began quoting Scripture: ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’ And I yelled out, ‘My mom has three dozen biscuits!’

Pastor Olson, eyes glazed over as if in a trance, invited everyone to sit down. The biscuits were cut in half, huckleberries from bushes along the lakeshore were picked and crushed into a jam and everyone ate to their satisfaction.” (WOW!) “That’s not all,” Mr. Ferguson continued.

“Pastor Olson also had the idea that we should start an annual tradition of a Father-Son baseball game at the picnic. Teams were divided up, but nobody had brought a bat or a ball. A dead branch was broken off a tree to use for a bat and Pastor Olson asked, ‘Where are we to find a ball to play baseball?’ And I yelled out, ‘My mom has a biscuit left over!’ And that biscuit served as a ball not only for that game but for the following year’s game as well.” (WOW!) “That’s not all,” Mr. Ferguson continued.

“Rev. Olson was the catcher for the Father’s team and I was batting for the Son’s. I swung hard, the bat left my hands and smashed into the pastor’s left shin bone. Lacking any protective gear, he crumpled in pain and quite an ugly welt was rising on his leg. Pastor Olson cried out, ‘Where can we find a compress for my shin?’ And I yelled, “My mom still has a biscuit left over!’ We cut the biscuit in half and placed it over the purple egg on the pastor’s shin. Who would have known then that an egg and biscuit would become such a popular breakfast sandwich!’ Ja sure, everyone laughed.” 

Mr. Ferguson said, “But that’s not all. Pastor Olson wanted to have a communion worship service at the conclusion of the picnic, but of course, he had not planned to bring the elements for the eucharist. There was enough juice left over from the crushed huckleberries to use for wine. Then Pastor Olson asked, ‘Where are we to find bread for this holy supper?’ And I yelled out, ‘My mom has five biscuits left over!’ Rev. Olson took the biscuits, blessed and broke them and all 100 Lutherans communed on the five loaves.”

The Fox Hill Lutheran picnickers were spellbound by Mr. Ferguson’s story. “And that,” he finished,” is how Enid Ferguson saved the parish picnic. She returned home and began baking and selling Enid Ferguson’s Multipurpose Pillsbury Biscuits with the slogan, “They give you the power to do everything!”

It rained again last Sunday in Fox Hill as the Lutheran folk heard at worship the story of Jesus’ miraculous feeding of the 5,000 with only five loaves and two fish. At least 33 of them are thinking about last week’s picnic on the parking lot and the fantastic story told by Mr. Ferguson. And, despite the weather and their Lutheran heritage, smiles of joy and gratitude for God’s miraculous providence were breaking across their faces. What they couldn’t see was that, in the very back of the choir loft behind them sat old Mr. Ferguson with a biscuit in his hands. And he was smiling too.

And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too. AMEN.

July 30 - The Good News at Noon from Good Sam

Luke 10: 1-11, 16-20
After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, 'Peace to this house!' And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, 'The kingdom of God has come near to you.' But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, 'Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.'
Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.
The seventy returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!" He said to them, "I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."

A WARM UP VISIT

                So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown, the gateway to central Wisconsin. The streets and houses all seemed to be deserted this week.  There’s still traffic on Main Street, but no one ever stops.  It’s summer people, travelling from Chicago and Milwaukee to their lake camps in northern Wisconsin.  They don’t even blink an eye when they pass through Fox Hill.  They think Bud’s prices for gas at the Sinclair station are way too high, but Bud has to pay a hefty price to get the gas delivered.  They’re all in too much of a hurry to stop at Bertha’s Bagels and Brews; where you can get a bagel and coffee for breakfast, a bagel and root beer for lunch, and a bagel and a Leinenkugel beer for dinner.  Bertha doesn’t have outside tables for coronavirus dining, so she has been tempted to move her restaurant to Appleton.  That would be just another on the long list of businesses that have either left town for greener pastures or just gone under.

                There aren’t many Fox Hillians left in town either.  With a forecast of blistering July heat in the middle of the week, even town folk took the whole week off and headed for their camps along Lake Madsen where it’s just a little bit cooler than the pavement and sidewalks in town.  Yes, it does get hot in central Wisconsin.  They say we have two seasons: winter, from September to May when it’s not unusual to have consecutive weeks of temperatures below 0 degrees; and a short but brutal summer, June through August, when 90 degree temperatures and 90% humidity will melt the winter fat out your pores like Chippewa Falls.

                Clarence Johnson, out at his camp on the lake, cranked up the radio when he heard the song “Hot town, summer in the city,” thinking John Sebastian must have visited Fox Hill when he wrote that.  And he pretended that he felt a little bit cooler, even though there was no breeze coming off the lake.

                Those left in town weren’t opening their doors or coming out of their homes, and it wasn’t just because they had their air conditioners pumping away or were pretending to “work” from home. Telephones were ringing and text messages flying all around town as the rumor spread that the JWs were canvassing, you know – the Jehovah’s Witnesses, going from house to house, knocking on doors or ringing door bells.  Or maybe it was the Mormons?  They couldn’t tell them apart, even though they are very different religions.  And who would want to open doors to strangers with a worldwide pandemic going on! In any case, the Catholics of Our Lady of Desperate Hope and the German Lutherans of Fox Hill Lutheran Church were in united cooperation of pretending they weren’t home.

                But the visitors were never fooled.  They could hear the conversations behind closed doors.  Mothers would yell at their children, “Don’t open the door!”  Kids would ask, “Why not?”  Fathers would answer, “Because they are proselytizers.”  Kids would say, “What’s that?”  Mothers would answer, “They are a threat to our religion.”  Kids would say, “But we never even go to church.”  Fathers would say, “If we don’t answer, they’ll eventually leave.”

                And so it went on.  It sure was quiet in Fox Hill. The only sound was the purr of all the air conditioners.

                David Martin is now enjoying semi-retirement after his 38 year tenure as the pastor at Fox Hill Lutheran Church.  He and his wife, Judy, still live in town, but he tries not to interfere much with the ministry of the new church leader, Vicar Lena, a young (oh, oh) woman (oh, oh) seminary student from New Jersey (oh God!).  He fills in for her once a month or when she’s away on vacation, but mostly he lets her make her own mistakes, learning the same way he did from his.

                Pastor Martin always wanted someone to come knocking at his door, but in all that time it never happened.  It was as if the proselytizers knew the field of Fox Hill wasn’t ripe for the harvest, even though there was a lot of white on the top of the stalks, if you follow my drift.  But now, that rumored couple was coming up his sidewalk and about to ring his door bell.

                Pastor Martin opened his front door and was surprised to see Al and Jean Swanson standing there.  They had stepped about six feet back and they were wearing masks. He remembered when Al and Jean joined Fox Hill Lutheran about four years ago.  They were both recently retired and moved to Fox Hill to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.  No one ever told him they had become Jehovah’s Witnesses. He wondered when that had happened.

                “Why, Pastor Martin!” said Al, “We didn’t know this is where you and Mrs. Martin lived.  Well, I guess we don’t need to share much with you.”

                But the pastor was hoping they would stay and talk.  He had prepared for this moment for so long.  His plan was to first invite them inside and offer to pray together, because Jehovah’s Witnesses aren’t allowed to pray with “heathens.”  Pastor Martin remembered his youth in the Wisconsin Synod of the Lutheran Church when he had been taught to never recite the Lord’s Prayer in public because even some who called themselves Lutheran weren’t truly-believing Lutherans.  So they would have to explain why they couldn’t pray together and he would be ready for that.  Then, using his limited memory of Biblical Hebrew, he would explain how there really was no such word as ‘Jehovah’; that it was a trans-scripted combination of the consonants of the name of God, ‘Yahweh’ in the Hebrew, and the vowel points of the Hebrew word ‘Adonai,’ meaning Lord, written that way as a reminder for faithful Jews not to pronounce the divine name, but read ‘Lord God’ instead.  That for sure would shock the Jehovah’s Witnesses.  Then he would counter their dark, apocalyptic theology of the sinful world and God’s final destruction with the good news of the love and forgiveness of Jesus and the promise of eternal life to all. That, at least, was his plan.

                “Please, come inside.  I will pour you a cup of coffee and we’ll talk,” invited Pastor Martin.  “Oh, no coffee for us,” said Jean.  “That’s right!” thought David, “They probably don’t do caffeine.”  “No, It’s too hot for coffee,” Jean continued, “How about some lemonade?”

                While Pastor Martin poured three lemonades, Al began his well-rehearsed speech, “As you know, we are going from house to house in Fox Hill…”  “Oh, yes,” Pastor Martin interrupted, “Word is getting around that the Jehovah’s Witnesses are in town.”

                Al and Jean looked at each other in confusion and nervously chuckled, “Jehovah’s Witnesses?  No, we’re from Fox Hill Lutheran.  You know that.”

                “Then why this door to door thing?” asked the perplexed pastor. “Lutherans don’t do that kind of thing!”

                Al then explained, “Vicar Lena shared with our Bible study group the Gospel story of Jesus sending out the seventy in pairs to spread the message of Jesus, and we thought that we could try that right here in Fox Hill.  So we even invited Father Jack and his congregation to join us. We were hoping we could get 70 people to come to our training session, but Jean and I were the only ones to show up.  But we still wanted to do it, even if by ourselves, because we’ve always been, well, impressed with folks like the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Mormons who are so convicted about their beliefs and who follow the Biblical example that Jesus himself offered.”

                Now Pastor Martin was curious, “But why do that in Fox Hill where everybody is already either Lutheran or Catholic, or those Communal Brethren in the barn outside of town and none of them are going to change?”

                “First,” said Al, “It’s not about proselytizing and conversion.  It’s about invitation and offering help to meet the needs in our community.  We’re really proud of our little church.  You established a long-lasting foundation of faithfulness and now Vicar Lena is challenging us with some new ideas and new ways of doing things.  It’s really quite exciting to be part of Fox Hill Lutheran Church right now, even when our opportunities to gather for worship together are so limited by the coronavirus pandemic.  Vicar Lena described this as being more of a survey to find out what people are looking for from our church and how we can meet their needs and concerns.  We were going to call it ‘Together to Gather.’  Pretty clever, isn’t it?”

                “And second,” added Jean, “More and more people, even in Fox Hill, don’t have any church connection at all.  And we want people to know that Jesus and the people of Fox Hill Lutheran care about them too.  But it sure is hard to share the word when no one in town is home.”

                “Oh, they’re home,” said Pastor Martin, “But going from home to home, from door to door, doesn’t really fit in the new norm that we have to deal with today in our pandemic world. We have to experiment with new and creative ways of sharing the good news.” Al and Jean considered his words and thought he might just be right about that.

                After the Swansons left, the old Pastor thought to himself, “Maybe Lena is right. It’s a different world out there today.  We could all learn a lesson, not from the door-knockers and bell-pushers, but from Jesus, to be missionaries of invitation to those who strayed from the path and assistance to those who have lost loved ones or even their jobs. Why, soon we may not be able to get gas in Fox Hill. Even Bertha is thinking of moving her Bagels and Brews out of town.”

                Vicar Lena was recording worship on Facebook and YouTube. She was hosting council meetings on Zoom. She was offering prayers and counseling people on Messenger. He could never even dream of doing such things. They never taught him that in seminary! And as the Church continues to reach out to people in need in new ways and demonstrate the love of Jesus to its community, it just may spark a revival; so that when doors are fully open again, more and more will come back, and people can gather together again, and the harvest may be plentiful, and the fire of the Holy Spirit may be rekindled and faith may be reignited.

As David cranked up his air conditioner, he yelled across the room to his wife, Judy, “It seems like things might start to heat up around here!”

  And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too. AMEN.

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost – July 7, 2013

July 23 - The Good News at 4 from Good Sam

Deuteronomy 30: 9-14 Colossians 1: 1-14

Luke 10: 25-37
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And Jesus said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, my hometown, out there at the gateway to Central Wisconsin.  Just when you might have thought there would be no more news from Fox Hill, there are still stories to be told about my peaceful little village.
But Vicar Lena, the student intern called to assist Pastor David Martin as he prepared for retirement, felt the need to get away from it all; and by that, I think she meant everything going on in our country and in our world: the CPVID-19 pandemic, violence in the cities, financial burdens in her own family.  So she had requested permission of the council of the Fox Hill Lutheran Church to attend a three day, silent retreat in Milwaukee.  Kenneth Keil, who had replaced his father, Dudley Keil, as council president after his dad passed, having served in that capacity for over 50 years – all throughout the tenure of the retiring pastor, David Martin (there were no term limit at Fox Hill Lutheran Church) – Ken had questioned why the vicar would have to leave Fox Hill and travel to the crowded city for a quiet retreat.  But Ken wasn’t as stubborn as his sainted father, who opposed female clergy and vowed that the only way there would be a woman in the pulpit of Fox Hill Lutheran Church was over his dead body.  And that’s what it took for Vicar Lena to be called to serve there.  So her request was granted.
The retreat lasted late into Saturday evening, later than Vicar Lena expected and it was dark by the time the closing service ended; probably because, with no one speaking, it was hard to tell when the worship was actually over.
Now, whenever Vicar Lena drove in a major metropolitan area, she would deliberately avoid the inner city sections of town.  She never thought of herself as a racist – she grew up in New Jersey, dontcha know.  But she was careful and she was practical.  When you live in a quiet town of Northern European Lutherans and Southern European Catholics, black people (and any other different color other than caucasian) were considered suspect.
But the fastest way to the interstate that would take her north, back to home, was straight through the heart of the most dangerous part of the city.  It was late.  She was in a hurry.  She hadn’t yet written a sermon for the next morning’s worship.  Lutheran pragmatism won out over prejudicial fear.  She would just lock all the doors, roll up the windows, and pray that nothing goes wrong.
Then the car began to swerve and bounce.  It wasn’t a pot hole on the poorly maintained streets; she had a flat tire.  What was she going to do now?  About to curse God under her breath for not answering her prayer, she noticed in the rearview mirror that the driver of the car behind her was the Bishop of the Upper Peninsula Synod, who also had attended the retreat.
Not wanting to block traffic, she pulled off onto a side street.  Feeling great relief, she jumped out of her car in time to see the Bishop drive straight on through, pointing at his wrist watch and shaking his head.  “I suppose he does have farther to travel,” thought Vicar Lena.
She hopped back in her car and locked the doors.  There would be no more help from fellow clergy.  No one would be able to see her now.  She returned to her prayers, praying for God’s protection and deliverance.
Further down the street, red lights were flashing.  As they approached closer, she could hear the siren of a police car.  “Thank you, God!” she exclaimed.  But there must have been a situation far worse than hers way beyond, and the police car screamed right past her.  “May God bless and protect our dedicated public servants,” she whispered, “now more than ever.”
Tears welled up in the Vicar’s eyes; tears of frustration, tears of fear, tears of regret.  “I could sit here and cry,” she thought, “or I can assess my situation and do something about it.”  Her father, a Jersey mechanic, would not let young Lena drive a car until she was able to change a tire.  So she knew how to, she had just never had to do it.  She steeled herself to change the tire on her own, quickly and efficiently, with the hope of avoiding any trouble.  One, two, three steps, just like her father taught her, and she would be back on the road to home.
She popped open the trunk and got out of the car.  There was the spare tire donut.  The jack and crow bar were lodged underneath it.  Why did she park under a blown out street lamp?  It looked like it had been shot out, of course.  Changing a tire in the dark of night would add to the challenge.  She braced the jack under the left, front tire well, inserted the crow bar and began pumping.  It was just like blowing up a kiddie pool, as the car began to rise.
The thought of blowing up only increased her fear.
The hub cap came off without any trouble and she set to work on removing the lug nuts.  Four came off, after great effort on her part, but the fifth was locked.  Who locks lug nuts?  Not anybody in Fox Hill!  Why, she even leaves her keys in the car at night.  At least now, nobody would be able to steal her flat tire.
Throwing the crow bar down in disgust, she hit the hub cap, scattering the lug nuts she had safely placed there (as her father has taught her).  “Oh, frick!” she yelled.  But that wasn’t really the word she used.  She turned to see the legs of a tall, stocky black man hovering over her.  She fell backwards against the car as he took one step closer.  “What’s a nice, white girl like you doing in a neighborhood like this?” he snarled; at least, that’s what it sounded like to her.
“Oh, God, please don’t hurt me!” she pleaded, “I had a flat tire and I just want to fix it and be on my way.”  “I ain’t God,” he said, “and I ain’t here to hurt you.  I’m here to help you.  I was driving in front of you when I saw your car swerve and you pulled into this side street.  It really isn’t safe here at night.  So, I came back around to give you a hand.”
“O, my God, thank you so much,” she cried with relief.  “Again, I’m not God,” he said.  “It just looked like you could use a Good Samaritan.  Now, I see you need a lug nut key.”
“I never knew there was such a thing,” she confessed.  Checking the glove compartment, nothing was found.  “I could call AAA.”
“Naw, they won’t come into this neighborhood at night.  You’ll have to wait until morning.”
“But what can I do?  I have to work in the morning.”
“What is it you do?” he asked.
“I’m the student pastor of the Lutheran Church in Fox Hill.”  She noticed a change in his expression.  A snide look crossed his face, or was it a smile? 
“You’re a long way from our home, Vicar Lena.”
“Our home, and how do you know my name?”
“I live just down the block from you.  We’re actually neighbors.  Stanley Murphy’s the name.  Pleased to make your acquaintance.”  A black man she had never seen or met before is her neighbor?  In Fox Hill?  Who would have thunk it?  “Leave your car here.  At least nobody will steal your tire.”  He laughed, but she didn’t.  “I’ll take you home.  Then I’ll come to your church service in the morning and we’ll drive back down here and take care of all this.”
The lawyer, seeking to exonerate himself when he heard Jesus say that loving one’s neighbor as one’s self was a sign of righteousness, asked, “And just who is my neighbor?”
Now Vicar Lena had her sermon for Sunday’s worship.  During the silent retreat she had been reading this quote from Dr. David Lose, the former president of the seminary in Philadelphia, out there in Pennsylvania, and she wanted to use it in her sermon: (This) is not simply a lesson (to be learned); it is also a promise.  God comes where we least expect God to be because God comes for all.  The self-justifying lawyer and the outcast Samaritan; the refugees and (the politicians); those in need, those who help them, and those who turn away.  No one is beyond the pale of God’s mercy, grace, and redemption.  And if we’re not sure, keep in mind that Jesus…set his face to go to Jerusalem, and there he will not only suffer and die on the cross to show us just how far God will go to demonstrate God’s love, but also forgive those who crucify him.  No one is beyond the reach of God’s love.  No one.  And so Jesus brings (us) home by choosing the most unlikely of characters to serve as the instrument of God’s mercy and grace and exemplify Christ-like behavior.  That’s what God does: God chooses people no one expects and does amazing things through them.  Even a Samaritan… Even me.  Even you.
Stanley actually did attend worship at Fox Hill Lutheran last Sunday.  Maybe he was the messenger of God, sent to answer the prayers of Vicar Lena.  He told Vicar Lena that he really could identify with her sermon and he would come back there again. The people of Fox Hill Lutheran had accepted a female student pastor. She prayed they would welcome back a black soul, one that really mattered to her. She would have a conversation about that with Ken Keil. She expected him, as council president, to set the example for everybody else. And because Stanley Murphy actually lived next door to the Keils. I guess you never know who your neighbors are, or who your neighbor might be!
And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too. AMEN.

July 16 - The Good News at Noon from Good Samaritan

Isaiah 55: 10-13
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall be to the LORD for a memorial, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

Matthew 13: 1-9
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: "Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!"

A Fox Hill Parable

So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown. It’s summertime in Wisconsin where God enacts one of the most unfair stories of nature.  It is the time of purgatory, even the Northern European Lutherans will agree with the Southern European Catholics on that one.  Summer is the time when you must atone for your sin of lying in the wintertime, like when a youngster complains about the cold and the snow and you launch into tall tales about walking home from school in blizzards, uphill, both ways, in bare feet; or about ice fishing in your shorts; or saying ‘Why I remember when it was so cold that your words froze in mid-air as soon as you spoke them and how much chatter and confusion there was in mid-May when they all thawed out.’

Yes, sir, those are stories that need repentance and God makes you pay for it with hazy, hot and humid, central Wisconsin summers.

Myrtle and Rose are the names of Pastor David and Judy Martin’s twin granddaughters, children of their son, David Jr., who left Fox Hill to go to college in Eau Claire and never returned.   He got a corporate job in Milwaukee, got married, and had the twins.  What brought them back to Fox Hill was the death this past week of Dudley Keil, longtime president of Fox Hill Savings and Loan (motto: “The more you save, the more we’ll loan.”) and longtime president of Fox Hill Lutheran Church.  (motto: “We’ve never done it that way before.”)

The pastor and council president had this kind of love/hate relationship.  Dudley Keil objected to almost everything Pastor Martin suggested, yet encouraged him to stay in Fox Hill for all these 35 years and even into semi-retirement because the pastor was so easy for him to control.

Young David had always been aware of and embarrassed by Mr. Keil’s manipulation of his father.  So after young David’s confirmation, he never set foot in that church again, causing his father to fear for his eternal soul.  Yet, here was David, Jr., returned home for Dudley Keil’s funeral.

On a hot and sticky Friday night, the twins were having a hard time falling asleep.  “Grandpapastor (that’s what they called their grandfather), Grandpapastor, tell us a story.”  Now, ask all the parishoners at Fox Hill Lutheran and they’ll tell you that Pastor Martin isn’t well known for his storytelling, and quality sermons were not high on the reasons for Dudley Keil wanting to keep Pastor David around.  He wasn’t at all talented in making up stories (always seemed like lying to him) nor did he know any good ones, except for Bible stories, doncha know.

Entering the guest room, he saw the twins sitting on their beds with their hands behind their ears.  “Briar and Thorn (he liked to jokingly call them that instead of Myrtle and Rose and it always made them giggle), what are you doing?”  Myrtle answered, “Daddy says, ‘if you want to really listen to something, you have to prepare your ears to hear.  That’s what they do in Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan!” he thought, “I know that’s the companion church for the Greater Milwaukee Synod, but what does their father know about Afghanistan?”  Rose then added, “Daddy learned that when he went on a mission trip to our companion synod. Then when your ears are prepared, you open your hands out to receive the word.”  Myrtle and Rose looked like two angels at prayer.  Pastor Martin couldn’t believe his son had taught them this.  So, for two angels in posture for receiving his word, he began to tell the parable of the sower.

“A sower went out to sow and as he did some seed fell on the path where the birds ate it up.  Some fell on rocky ground and quickly grew, but they had no depth and soon withered and died.  Some fell among the briers and thorns (and he gave Myrtle and Rose a little tickle – that’s why he had picked this story), and the weeds grew up with them and choked them out.  But some seed fell on good soil and yielded a rich harvest.  Let those who have ears listen.”  His two angels were in rapt attention.  In 35 years of preaching, no one had ever listened to him as well, in fact Dudley Keil almost always fell asleep during Pastor Martin’s sermons.

“Do you know what the seed is?”  he asked his grandchildren.  He remembered when he was that young thinking it was a baby.  “When Daddy tells us this story he says it stands for God’s Word,” answered Rose.  “Well, yes, that’s right!” said their grandpapastor.  Their father tells them this story?!

“Tell us another story, Grandpapastor!  Tell us the one about the boy who runs away from home and his father hugs him when he comes back home.  That’s Daddy’s favorite!”

“Well, how about that!  His son’s favorite story to tell his granddaughters is the Parable of the Prodigal Son, don’tcha know.  Maybe he had held onto his faith after all these years.  And he’s even continuing the telling of the Gospel story with his own children.”  Pastor Martin told the story and Myrtle and Rose soon fell fast asleep.

Pastor Martin thought about the calling hours he had attended for Dudley Keil.  The line for the viewing at Morton’s Mortuary Parlors led out the front door of the funeral home, down Oak Street and out Second Street, almost back out to Main.  It seemed that Dudley’s funeral had encouraged a lot of Fox Hill prodigal sons and daughters to return home.  Pastor Martin only hoped and prayed that all the exiles’ returns would be as revealing and welcoming to their parents as his son’s had been to him. That’s when he decided he would preach on the parable of the Prodigal Son for Dudley’s funeral service; for one of God’s own prodigals, Dudley Keil, was returning home to the welcome and loving embrace of his heavenly father.

Next to Morton’s Mortuary Parlors on Oak Street is Tiny’s Ice Cream Parlor and next to Tiny’s is Velma’s Beauty Parlor.  Oak Street was the busiest street in town yesterday.

All the sturdy women of Fox Hill had appointments at Velma’s Beauty Parlor in preparation for the funeral.  They figured if Mort was going to make Dudley look his best in death, they would let Velma give her best on them in life.  There they talked about the hot weather, the grieving Keils and stories of Dudley:  the money he had loaned to one family to give them a start on their home, and the family he had foreclosed on; the strong leadership he had given to Fox Hill Lutheran all these years, and his tendency to micro-manage the pastor and council.  With every new female canvass, came another story: good or bad, praising or condemning.

It was the always precocious children of Fox Hill who flocked to Tiny’s ice cream parlor.  They talked about the hot weather (seems everyone does), the Badgers baseball team, wishing they could swim in Lake Madsen but couldn’t because of some big funeral later that day.  Pastor Martin treated Myrtle and Rose to a raspberry snow cone and even had one himself.  They chatted on and on about all the fun they had last week at Vacation Bible School playing “Wheel of Faith” with Old Testament Bible stories.  Myrtle had edged out Derek Lundgren with the phrase ‘Samson and Delilah’.  They were telling their grandpapastor stories about that generation of the Martin family he didn’t know about at all.

Later that day, it seemed the whole town turned out for Dudley’s funeral at Morton’s Mortuary Parlors.  Person after person got up to tell a story about Dudley, bittersweet and poignant, about how, despite his stern exterior, Dudley Keil had been a model and example of faith for them.

Pastor Martin preached on the return of the Prodigal Son to his loving father.  It was perhaps the best sermon he ever preached.  Dudley would have been surprised.  Even he couldn’t have found anything wrong with it.  He might not have fallen asleep during it, although he certainly wasn’t awake right now. Or maybe he was rolling over in his casket. He might even have wanted to keep Pastor Martin around just a little bit longer.

Yes, every parlor on Oak Street was busy yesterday.  “Parlor,” that’s a curious word,” thought Pastor Martin.  A funeral parlor, an ice cream parlor, a beauty parlor.  He looked up the word in his dictionary and found that it was actually a contraction of the Latin word ‘parabolare’, meaning to speak as in a parable.  A parlor is a place where stories are told, like in church or in the grandchildren’s bedroom.  How interesting!

That evening in the parlor of the former Lutheran parsonage, Pastor Martin cuddled Myrtle and Rose with one on each side of him in the love seat; as his son walked into the room.

“I’m surprised, and pleased, how involved you are in the church and how well you’re raising your daughters in the faith,” said Pastor Martin to his son.

“It was never God I was angry at,” said young David, “It was all the people in church – all the hypocrites.  But as I grew older, I realized that God gives the greatest story ever told to the worst storytellers and yet the good news goes on.  The seed is scattered by all kinds of sowers on all kinds of ground.  Sometimes it dies, but when it grows and blossoms and reaps a hundredfold harvest, it can be beautiful.

I’ve learned a lot from you, Dad.  You’ve been telling the old, old story for over 35 years now.  It’s not been wasted.  Isn’t Isaiah 55 your favorite Old Testament passage?  God’s Word shall not return empty, but it shall accomplish its divine purpose.  That’s God’s promise. It’s not been in vain.  Look beside you at your twin reflections – that’s not a Briar and a Thorn; that’s a Myrtle and a Rose.”

And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too.

Rev. James H. Slater
Emanuel Lutheran Church – Stuyvesant Falls
St. Luke’s Lutheran Church – Valatie
July 14, 2002
FAITHFEST 2002

JULY 9 - The Good News at Noon from Good Samaritan

Zechariah 9: 9-12 Romans 7: 15-25 Matthew 11: 16-19, 25-30

Zechariah 9: 9-12
9Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
 Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he,
 humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
 10He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem;
 and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations;
 his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.
 11As for you also, because of the blood of my covenant with you,
  I will set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.
 12Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope;
  today I declare that I will restore to you double.

Matthew 11: 28-30
28“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
Grace, mercy and peace be unto you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  AMEN.

IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL

So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown.  Summer has set in here in central Wisconsin.  At the end of June, beginning of July, our little village becomes deserted as locals flee to their camps on the lake.  A few tourists stop by and spend a night at Motel One (because it’s the only one in town).  But they’re usually on their way to more important places, heading from Milwaukee to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan; or Easterners on their way to visit the Circus World Museum in Baraboo or the Wisconsin Dells, or the Badlands in the Dakotas or the world’s largest ball of twine.

A visitor in Fox Hill is the result of either:
a. the return of exiles – that is – when the grandchildren of our Fox Hill folk force their own children into nostalgia trips – to recreate the experiences of long ago youth.  But it’s always a disappointment – the town looks more decrepit than they remembered it, the lake looks smaller and full of weeds, the root beer stand and the ice cream parlor disappeared a long time ago.
Yet, something about Fox Hill lures them back.  It’s still home.  It’s still Mom and apple pie.  It’s still fireworks on the 4th of July. It’s the place where life began, where values began, where faith began.  And they want their children to enjoy those same comforting feelings.  Then they return to the rat race of the suburban dales (Oakdale, Riverdale, Bloomingdale, Chippendale) having been touched by a blessed peace which passes human understanding, ja, you betcha.

Or
b. visitors in Fox Hill are there as a result of a wrong turn looking for gas off the highway at Art’s Sinclair station with the big dinosaur on the sign or, more likely, because of road construction.  There are after all only two seasons in Wisconsin:  winter, which can last from October through April, and road construction for the rest of the time.  Every summer drivers on the interstate highway are met with information signs (Road Construction ahead) followed later, after the Fox Hill detour, by protest signs (End Road Work!)
 
As the campfire song goes. . . .
            “. . . when it’s hog-calling time in Nebraska, then it’s road construction time in Wisconsin”  (You don’t know that one?  Well it’s very popular in my hometown.)

But yesterday there were different visitors in town.  Three white, 16-passenger vans pulled into the parking lot of the Communal Brethren Church.  On sides of each was painted “Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelistic Ministries,” from Albany, Georgia.  Seeking out a foreign mission field to practice the craft of evangelistic door-knocking, the Communal Brethren had invited them to Fox Hill, densely populated with ritualistic Southern European Catholics and pietistic Northern European Lutherans.

The motto of Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelical Ministries was “the harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”  So they sought Christians in need of conversion upon whom they could practice their final exams in courses like Apocalyptic Theology, Armageddon Eschatology, and Cultural Exorcism.  Students were particularly fond of the Church in Society class: “In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash.”

Now, Friday is Pastor Martin’s day off, his day to sleep in late and get yard work done; his day to spend with wife Judy, his Sabbath.  This was especially true in the summertime, only to be interrupted by the occasional wedding rehearsal at Fox Hill Lutheran Church.  So he was quite upset when the doorbell rang at 8 am.  He jumped out of bed, threw on his robe and slippers and opened the door.

There stood two young men in white shirts and ties, black pants and crew cuts.  He noticed that they were not wearing coronavirus masks, but they did seem dangerous. And it didn’t escape his awareness that one of them had moved his foot into the door jam.  One of them began, “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.”  The other continued, “Good Morning, Sir, we’re from the Billy Ray Jones School of Evangelistic Ministries in Albany, Georgia, and we’d like to talk to you about the state of your soul.

“Well, I don’t. . .” Pastor Martin began to protest. 

He was interrupted, “If you don’t mind my saying so, you ought to, sir.  It is a dangerous time in which we live today.  Do you read the paper or listen to the news?”

“Well, yes, I. . . .”

“Then you are aware of the evil surrounding us in the world.  The devil is all around, seeking to devour us, don’t you agree?”

“Well, sure . . . .”

“Of course, you’re sure.  We live in constant fear of the corona virus, national riots and foreign terrorist attacks.  There are evil empires threatening to destroy and discredit our American values.  Sin abounds, sir, even in sleepy villages like Fox Hill, even on this 4th of July weekend.”

“Have I bee sleeping too long?” thought Pastor Martin.  “Have I not been vigilant against evil?  How did he know I was still in bed?”  He looked down at his Peter Rabbit slippers and their eyes winked a silent reply.

“These are the end times, the Day of Judgment is at hand.  Where will you spend eternity, in heaven with the elect or in torment with the godless of the world?  Your soul hinges on the balance between good and evil and for so many like yourself, the evil is winning.  Now is the time to repent and save your soul.”

Pastor Martin was beginning to wake up.  His Gospel theology began to click.  He thought of St. Paul, the apostle, not the city.  “May I never boast of anything except the cross of Jesus; for works of flesh are nothing, but a new creation is everything.”  In a flash, Pastor Martin examined his soul.

“Thank you for your concern,” he said, “but I am a baptized child of God.  I know that Jesus died for me.  It is well with my soul.”

“But…” the two protested.

“Go in peace” the good pastor said.  They stepped back, unsure of what to say and he shut the door.

 “A little weak on justification by grace through faith,” he thought as he considered another course they might want to take and started humming, “When peace like a river attendeth my soul,” with its popular refrain, “It Is Well, it is well, with My Soul.”

As soon as David and Judy had finished a cup of A&P 8 o’clock Lutheran coffee, the phone rang.  It was the family of Marjean Anderson.  They had gathered around her bedside at her home.  The end was near.  They wanted Pastor Martin to come over and say a few words.  There would be no peace for him on his day off.  Pastor Martin dressed quickly and drove to the Andersons.  After comforting family and hoping that Marjean knew he was there, and that God was there with her, he offered a prayer, led the gathered family in the 23rd Psalm, said the Lord’s Prayer together and gave a final benediction:
The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you.
The Lord look with favor upon you And give you peace.

“And give you peace.”  That was his calling, that was his mission, that was his purpose – to proclaim peace.  Not to save souls; that was God’s job.  His was to share God’s peace.
Fox Hill was hopping Friday night for the 4th of July fireworks; held this year on the 3rd because they were hoping less than 50 people would attend for social distancing.  But gathered at the lakeshore was a rather large crowd of all the camp families, the local townsfolk, their exiled children returned for the holiday weekend, a few tourists surprised to have fireworks that night, and three van loads of evangelistic missionaries.

David and Judy didn’t join the crowds.  It seemed too dangerous with all those people. They were content to watch the rockets’ red glare from the side-by-side rocking chairs on their porch.  In between the oohs and the aahs, they talked.  Pastor Martin wondered out loud, “I’m not sure what kind of evangelist I am.  I admire the fervor of those missionary youngsters.  I just think they focus more on the works of the flesh rather than life in the Spirit.”

“And I’m not sure what kind of patriot I am.  I am grateful for constitutional strength and the military might to back up the freedoms of our country, but I’m embarrassed when we misuse both of them.  I appreciate our democratic government but worry when so many people can’t afford health care.  I love fireworks, but hate the warfare they represent.”

Judy added, “Remember when Jesus’ disciples, James and John, wanted to bid fire come down and destroy the villages of the Samaritans and Jesus rebuked them?  That kind of thing is not what Jesus wants.”

“This I know for sure,” Pastor Martin reflected,” I am called and sent out to be an apostle.  When Jesus sent out the seventy they had only one word to proclaim – PEACE.  That’s all I can do – be God’s missionary of Love, Hope and Peace.

Then Judy and David provided a musical background to the Fox Hill fireworks display, and I’ll join them, and you’re invited to join me:

When peace like a river attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well.  It is well with my soul.

And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too.

May the peace of God which passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus unto life everlasting.  AMEN.

Rev. James H. Slater
July 4, 2004

July 2 - The Good News from Fox Hill

                                            MUSTARD SEED FAITH
Ezekiel 17: 22-24 -- The sign of the cedar, planted on the mountain of Israel
2 Corinthians 5: 6-17 -- In Christ, a new creation
Mark 4: 30-32 -- The parable of the mustard seed 
  Ezekiel 17: 22-24 
  Thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will take a sprig from the lofty top of a cedar; I will set it out. I will break off a tender one from the topmost of its young twigs; I myself will plant it on a high and lofty mountain. On the mountain height of Israel I will plant it, in order that it may produce boughs and bear fruit, and become a noble cedar. Under it every kind of bird will live; in the shade of its branches will nest winged creatures of every kind. All the trees of the field shall know that I am the LORD. I bring low the high tree, I make high the low tree; I dry up the green tree and make the dry tree flourish. I the LORD have spoken; I will accomplish it.

 Mark 4: 30-32
Jesus also said, "With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade."
             
 So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown. The only sound breaking the silence of that sleepy village on this past Tuesday afternoon was the roar of Pastor David Martin’s chain saw, then the celebrated shout of “Timber!”  Then the whump of a tree as it crashes to the ground and the subsequent cry of “Uf dah!” from the rather inexperienced lumberjacks.
                Ever since his semi-retirement as the pastor of Fox Hill Lutheran Church, David Martin has been looking for projects around his lake cottage to keep himself busy.  Right along the lakeshore was a fairly tall tree that had died several years ago.  He had wanted to cut it down while the wood was still good and before it got all rotten and fell down on its own.
                So he called his brother, Rupert, to come to Lake Madsen from Green Bay and give him a hand.  With joking parishioners making comments like, “I sure hope he has more skill with that chain saw than he did delivering sermons,” he realized he could use a little assistance.  David would operate the chain saw and Rupert would be the brains of the project.  Not wanting the tree to fall back into the lake, Rupert attached a rope to the upper part of the tree to guide it more toward the cottage so the guys could then work on it across the back lawn, sawing the tree into sections.  David had eyeballed the height of the tree and estimated that if Rupert pulled the falling tree just a little to the left, it would land just short of the back deck of the cottage.  The plan would have worked perfectly if it weren’t for a significant miscalculation of the height of the tree.
                There were actually two shouts of “Oh no!”  Now, “Oh no” is the PG-rated translation of the Norwegian phrase, “Uf dah!”  The first shout came when both men realized at about the same time, right after impact, that the top of the tree was crashing down on the Martin’s back deck.  The second “Oh no!” came from Rupert when he saw the base of the tree kick back from its stump and catch his brother, David, still holding the chain saw, square on his chest. 
When the tree hit him hard, David felt like his life flashed before his eyes. He had always been diminutive in stature, the smallest kid in the class, the last one chosen for sports teams. He had a girl friend in primary school who always called him “Half pint.” But he always felt that God had a special plan, a special purpose, for his life. Even at an early age, he had sensed a calling from God to be a Pastor. He dreamed, as a youngster, of being a professional baseball player for the Milwaukee Braves in the summer and a minister in the winter. When he tried out for the middle school baseball team, he was astounded at how much larger and stronger all the other boys were. They towered above him like mighty sequoia trees, making him feel like shrubbery. That half of the dream was dead, but for this half pint, the dream was still half full. The call to be a pastor was still alive and it would be protected and encouraged by his family, his pastor and home congregation in Green Bay, and even his friends who thought him unique.
Now he had indeed become a pastor and served for over 40 years. He had never become a bishop, although one year he did come in second place at a synod assembly. But he had been blessed with the last 31 years being a big fish in a small pond, or a big tree in a little forest, at Fox Hill Lutheran Church. He had a purpose. He had fulfilled God’s plan. His little life had value and meaning. He could depart in peace.
Thankfully, the chain saw went flying as did David who was propelled rear end first into the lake. Knowing that he had a safe water landing, David realized that the worst case scenario was now the smashing of all of his wife, Judy’s, potted plants on the deck railing.  Most of the pots and the plants in them had been crushed and destroyed.  But one – a particularly hardy geranium – has not only survived the whipping leaves and branches of the fallen tree; but its knobby, ragged stems had protected what was discovered to be a bird’s nest inside the pot.  And inside the nest was one undisturbed egg.
                What sounded like the great and final apocalypse to Judy had awakened her from her afternoon nap.  She slid open the deck door at the same time as her soggy husband climbed up the deck stairs from the yard.  There they both found Rupert tenderly holding the bird’s nest in his hands.  Now David and Judy had spent many hours feeding and watching the birds, don’tcha know, and had become fairly adept at recognizing and identifying all the different birds and their eggs.  Any anger Judy might have had due to the repeated ineptitude of her husband was quickly dispelled by the awareness that this survivor was the egg of the very rare schroon bird – a cross between a screech owl and a loon.  Defying the threat of extinction, this little geranium had protected this tiniest of eggs from the fall of a mighty cedar tree.  Well, the story grows better every time it’s told, don’tcha know.
                “It’s a miracle!’ said the pastor.  “No,” he added, “more than a miracle.  It’s a metaphor of faith and life.”
                “What’ch you talking about, Willis?” joked his brother.
                “Sure,” the pastor went on.  “It’s just like the parable of Jesus when he compared the kingdom of God to a mustard bush.  Judy, she is like God.”
                “Oh my,” said his blushing wife.
                “See, she planted a tiny seed and tended to the soil and the water so that the geranium would grow strong and healthy.  Rupert, you and I are like sin and pride, the work of the devil.”
                “Wait, what?” Rupert asked.
                “Sure, we were so impressed by the great size of this cedar of Lebanon and thought that we could reap huge benefits from its great store of wood.”
                “Well, that might be what you were thinking,” he retorted.
                “Yes, and look what happened.  Our actions caused destruction and injury, not just to the mighty cedar, but to me and my deck and Judy’s plants.  But God had provided a simple, small geranium plant to protect one of God’s valuable creatures.  Two of God’s valuable creatures: that egg and me!”
                “You don’t have to tell me, brother Dave.  I thought you could have been killed by that tree or drowned in the lake.”
                When I heard about this incident from my folks back home, I thought, “that old preacher is still pretty sharp, don’tcha know.”  How often is God’s mercy and grace shown not in the grand and impressive, not in the biggest and most beautiful, not in the high and mighty; but in the small and lowly who simply do what they were meant to do.  Jesus knew that massive cedar trees didn’t grow in Israel.  Lebanon was envied for have such a rich supply of strong wood.
                And mustard bushes weren’t even allowed to grow inside the cities because they were like a weed growing in the barren desert.  Their wood was good for nothing, certainly not for building.  But they produced a staple spice which makes any bratwurst taste better, if you ask me.  And they provided shade and shelter for the birds of the air.  And, in this case, a hope for the future of the schroons.  And Jesus wanted every person, every single creature, to know that each is loved and important in the eyes of God.
                Judy cleaned off the deck and bought new potted plants to decorate the repaired deck railings.  Rupert and David sawed up the tree in the back yard for firewood for the campfire pit down by the lake.  And the Wisconsin Wildlife Preservation Society took care of the schroon egg and gave it proper incubation for a healthy hatching.  And now people in town laugh to themselves when they think of Pastor Martin attempting to cut down a tree.  But now they know that indeed he does have more skill at delivering a sermon than he has operating a chain saw. That’s because preaching is what he, in his own small way, was always meant to do because that’s his mustard seed of faith.
                 And that’s the Good News from Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too.  AMEN.

June 25 – Good News from Fox Hill

DIVERTED ATTENTION

1 Kings 19: 15-16,19-21                         Galatians 5: 1, 13-25                        

Luke 9: 51-62

        When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, "Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?" But Jesus turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." To another he said, "Follow me." But he said, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." Jesus said to him, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."

So, it is true that faith really matters here in Fox Hill, Wisconsin, my hometown.  That’s not to say that there hasn’t been much going on, there sure enough has.  But conversation has definitely been muted because people’s minds seem otherwise occupied; COVID-19 cases, stage 3 of businesses reopening, Black Lives Matter rallies, and violence in the streets.  Not necessarily here in Fox Hill, but it’s been a quiet week because it has been quite a week.

        There were a few chuckles when drivers passing through town noticed the signboard out in front of Our Lady of Desperate Hope Catholic Church.  Father Gary had come across these words on a picture link on his MyFace page and thought it would lighten things up in town if he put them on the church sign: “Honk if you love Jesus…Text while you’re driving if you want to meet him.”  But hardly anybody even noticed it.

        At Dan’s Diner, with the sign out front, “Breakfast, and Lunch and Dine Here,” a few of the bachelor farmers, when they gathered for a Leinenkugel beer, the beer with the name on it you can’t pronounce, were giving Olli Lunenberg a rough time because they had all noticed a wide gap of nothing planted in his corn field.  Rather than keeping precise, parallel rows, the corn plantings veered off at an angle.  “What, did the sun get in your eyes?”  “Maybe you’ve been planting after midnight?”  “Did that Burpee Seed hat fall down over your pinhead?” 

        No farmer worth his salt does such a wasting of field land like that!  Olli, trying to explain his obvious planting mistake, told the story of how he had seen a rare schroon bird land in his field, and it took him a while to identify it and then some more time to admire it.  Now, the Schroon is a cross between a screech owl and a loon, identifiable mostly by its annoyingly loud “CAW!” at 5 o’clock in the morning. And by the time he focused again on the planting, he’d realized he had steered off course.  Well, by now the corn is quite a bit higher than knee high by the fourth of July, so nobody can notice it anymore.  So, it was only a one-drink topic of conversation before they all returned to their inborn silent and stoic nature.

        Becky Martin, the youngest daughter of Judy and David Martin, he being the semi-retired pastor of the Fox Hill Lutheran Church, wasn’t talking to anybody because the whole world hated her and she hated the whole world.  And you know how that goes with teenaged daughters, whether justified or not, parents are always on the top of that list.  She had been angry that her Dad was lessening his role at the Lutheran Church pulpit during her senior year of High School.  He had passed the mantle, so to speak, like Elijah to Elisha, to a young, female student intern from New Jersey.  The new Vicar Lena would only be part time.  That was all the Lutheran Church could afford now, and that would take some getting used to.  The Martins had promised that they would stay in Fox Hill until Becky graduated, and probably longer than that. But that didn’t seem to satisfy their daughter.

        So Pastor and Judy just let her be.  She would stay out late at night and come home with the smell of alcohol on her breath; things that were not typical for Becky.  So they hoped it would just pass.  Becky’s dream was to be the valedictorian of the class of 2020 at Fox Hill High School and pursue her goal of becoming a veterinarian at Appleton College.  But she was also the second base player on the High School softball team and the Fox Hill Lady Walleyes were expected to go all the way to the Wisconsin state championship.  That meant extra practices and an extended season and less time to pay attention to her studies. And then the coronavirus put an end to all her hopes and dreams. She just gave up. And her final semester report card, based on online Zoom classrooms, announced the feared results: all Cs with but one B in chemistry.

        Two boys passed her in grade point average.  And then came the rejection letter from Appleton College.  She’d have to go to the State University at Eau Claire instead and get her act back together.  But when you’ve got no one to blame but yourself, you wind up blaming everybody.

        It’s hard to think when your head is spinning, and Pastor Martin realized how true that was for himself.  It wasn’t only his concern for Becky.  As he slowed down at the church, programs that were coming to an end even before the summer because of all the mandated quarantines seemed more like they were dying than taking a break.  The Sunday School, once the pride of Fox Hill Lutheran had diminished to a remnant handful.  The church council had a hard time just getting a quorum for regular monthly meetings on Zoom.  Church finances were in such a dangerous state that they could only help him with a part time person.  Offerings were way short of expenses and way behind last year.  On top of it all, Pastor Martin, while waiting for the new vicar to get to know people, was conducting at least one funeral every week.  What was going on?

        He wondered if that was why Jesus had said to the wanna-be disciple, “Let the dead bury their own dead.”?  The man had wanted to follow Jesus, but he had a few distractions he first had to attend to.  Pastor Martin always thought the words of Jesus to be rather harsh, but perhaps the point was that it was meant to be a gift of freedom from social expectations and responsibilities.  Then another had said to Jesus, “I will follow you, right after I say goodbye to my family.”  Could Jesus really mean it when he said that if you want to proclaim the Kingdom of God that has to be your one and only priority?  Not home, not family, not even death.  Not too much to do, not sports, not even schroon birds?  Even the coronavirus was teaching us that lesson. Jesus had said, “Anybody who puts a hand to the plow and looks back will wind up with a tough row to hoe.”  Well, he meant something like that.

        He realized that Becky wasn’t the only one.  We’re all so distracted, our attention so diverted, that we have lost touch with our priorities.  As true as that is for so many things in our lives, it’s true for our faith as well.  If we let the busyness and all the concerns of life distract us from living out our faith, we may just meet our Maker before we ever have the chance to serve our Maker, as Father Gary’s sign indicated.

        But Pastor Martin knew it was true for him too.  How much time and energy had he spent on distractions that drained his energy and attention?  It was time to refocus.  Not to relax in semi-retirement, but find a sense of refirement.  It was still time to proclaim the kingdom, not complain about the problems.

        When he prayed for the faithful people in the little church he had served as Pastor all these years, he marveled at how truly dedicated and devoted they really were.  When he thought about Becky, he beamed with a father’s glow with how proud he really was of her, in class and in sports.  At the High School graduation ceremonies on Friday night out on the football field with everybody practicing social distancing, Pastor Martin listened to the speeches of the salutatorian and valedictorian, but he realized that Becky’s life was a speech better than any words could express.  He looked out over the entire class of 2020 and, yes indeed, they were all exceptional.

        By golly, he was going to tell them – the congregation he had loved, and his daughter whom he loved – about how proud he really was of them.  Enough of all this bad news, enough of all these distractions.  It’s time to share some good news, time to get back to what is really important.  Isn’t that, after all, what Jesus came to tell us and the reason why he gave his life for us on the cross, and what our faith is all about?  And if we would all start to talk about these things, maybe it wouldn’t be so quiet after all in dear old Fox Hill.

        Olli put his hand on the screen door of Dan’s Diner, uncertain about going in again.  But there was a Leinenkugal Shandy with his name on it calling for him.  Sure enough, as soon as he entered there was a chorus of bird calls and caws.  Olli yelled, “Uf dah, put a lid on it, why doncha!”  You could hear a pin drop in that bar.

It was Lars Lundgren who broke the silence, “What have we done to you, Olli?  Take a chill pill. We’ve only been joking with you.  Hey, we’ve all done it; there’s not one man here who can plant a straight row, doncha know.”  The new waitress came over and gave him a beer, “Here, take this one, Olli, it’s on me.” 

“Who are you and when did Dan and Evelyn start hiring a waitress?” he asked.

“I’m Vicar Lena from New Jersey, the new part time helper at the Lutheran Church,” she answered.  Yes, it’s going to be very difficult adjustment for the Lutherans in Fox Hill!

“Thanks,” said Olli, “I appreciate it.  Let’s pray for some rain or else that corn won’t grow at all this summer.”

Just then, two cars driving through town honked their horns.  That was Good News; they were honking because they love Jesus. And the chatter of faithful souls returned to Fox Hill, where faith really matters for every single man, woman, and child; oh, and the married ones too. Amen.