When America was first colonized, bluebirds were probably as profuse as the American Robin.  But they suffered a major decline between 1920 and the late 70s.  Winter freezes in the South in the 1890s, the late 1940s, and several in the 1950s and 70s left them without protection, food, and liquid water.  Changes in land use, highways, and loss of forest also contributed.  Their habitat was slowly disappearing.  Orchards with carefully pruned trees meant no more cavities in the trunks and branches, their preferred nesting sites.  Pesticides meant fewer insects for them to eat, and many of the bugs that survived were tainted with poison that killed the birds that ate them. Maybe the biggest problem was the introduction of House Sparrows (not true sparrows) and European Starlings.  These birds were aggressive competitors for both food and habitat.  By the 1980s, younger generations of Americans had never even seen a bluebird.
              On March 20, 1978 the North American Bluebird Society was incorporated under the direction of Dr. Lawrence Zeleny.  They flooded the public with information on the demise of practically everyone's favorite bird, and gave out instructions on building bluebird houses and maintaining bluebird trails.  Thanks largely to the efforts of individuals like you and me, the bluebird population is once again rising.
I have three bluebird houses.  I wondered one day what made a bird house a bluebird house and got an education I didn’t expect. 
              Bluebird houses are built in dimensions bluebirds like, shallow depth of 3½ to 5 inches.  I guess they like it cozy.  A good bluebird house has good drainage and cross ventilation.  It also has no perch outside the entrance, which keeps away predators.  A sparrow-proof bluebird house will have a slot entrance instead of a round hole because sparrows do not like slots, while bluebirds don’t mind them. 
              As for the monitoring, songbirds have a notoriously bad sense of smell, so it is perfectly acceptable to open the houses and check the nest and the fledglings every day for parasites or “squatters.”  Monitors can even rebuild the nest if parasites are found without upsetting the bluebird.  They also know the different types of nests and remove the ones that are not bluebird nests.  After a successful clutch has hatched and flown, they remove the old nest and clean it out for the next. 
              Do you think I can’t get any lessons out of this?  Watch me.
              Too many times we get picky about the people we share the gospel with.  I have heard things like, “We need to convert them.  They’d be a good addition to the church,” a thought based upon the lifestyle and income of the family in question rather than their need for the gospel.  We “sparrow-proof” the church by making it unfriendly and unattractive to the people we don’t want to deal with—who wants people with real problems? 
              We aren’t the only ones with that bad attitude.  The Pharisees thought it terrible that Jesus taught "sinners."  At least four times in the book of Luke we see them approaching either him or the disciples asking why he associated with such wicked people, (5:30; 7:39; 15:1,2; 19:7).  They turned their noses up at the very people they should have been trying to save.
              The first Christians were Jewish.  Guess who they did not want the apostles to convert?  Peter had to defend himself after he converted the Gentile Cornelius, Acts 11.  Defend himself, mind you, because he saved souls! 
              Then in James 2 we read of a church that didn’t want poor people among them.  They went out of their way NOT to welcome anyone who was not obviously well-to-do.
              If you have not seen attitudes like these, you are either blessed in the congregation you find yourself a part of, or not very old.  Keith was once chastised for bringing the “wrong class” of people to church.  They came from “the other side of the tracks.”
              The Lord didn’t die just for the bluebirds.  He died for those squawking, brash blue jays too.  He died for those territorial cardinals.  He died for those common, ordinary, dime-a-dozen sparrows.  He even died for those disgusting buzzards.  All those people need salvation too, not just the bluebirds. 
              Jesus told the Pharisees who questioned him three parables.  The last, the lost son, included an older brother who obviously did not want his little brother saved.  Jesus made it plain that the older brother was as much in need of grace as the younger.  It had to be obvious to those Pharisees that his remarks were directed to them.  They are directed to us too, when we try to make his house “for bluebirds only.”
 
For the love of Christ constrains us; because we thus judge, that one died for all, therefore all died;  and he died for all, that they that live should no longer live unto themselves, but unto him who for their sakes died and rose again.  From now on therefore we regard no one according to the flesh… 2 Cor 5:14-16.
 
Dene Ward

You think Black Friday is bad?  I was reading through some historical trivia and found this:  on Saturday, March 18, 1944, guards and floorwalkers at a Chicago department store were trampled by 2500 women storming the store doors for 1500 alarm clocks that had been announced for sale.  Alarm clocks?  In March?  What in the world was that about?  I did a little checking but with my severely limited equipment I was unable to find the exact store and the exact price on those clocks, or what made them so special.  It must have been some sale, though, or some alarm clock.

              Isn’t it a shame that the doors of meetinghouses all over this country aren’t stormed in a similar way every Sunday?  Isn’t it heartbreaking that we can hardly get a neighbor to study with us until he experiences some sort of horrible tragedy in his life?  Isn’t it a travesty beyond measure that God can say, “I have something for you that is absolutely free,” and hardly anyone cares? 

              Buy the truth and sell it not, the Proverb writer says in 23:23, adding yea, buy wisdom, instruction, and understanding.  Don’t you wish they were for sale?  What I wouldn’t give for the wisdom to better handle this life, for direct instruction from God when I am floundering about, wondering what to do, and to know the truth about every question I have or am asked. 

              The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it. Matthew 13:44-46.  I have brethren who won’t even give up their time on the weekends much less be willing to sell everything they own for a place in that kingdom.

              We may have a good head for numbers and be able to plan what we think of as a secure future for ourselves, but our definition of security is wrong.  God told his people in Isa 55:2 and 3, Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy? Listen diligently to me, and eat what is good, and delight yourselves in rich food. Incline your ear, and come to me; hear, that your soul may live; and I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my steadfast, sure love for David.  Moses even earlier had said, Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God, Deut 8:3.

              As smart as we think we are, one of these days we will learn unequivocally that we have placed value on the wrong things.  Real faith does not “rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God,” and “surpassing power belongs to God and not to us,” 1 Cor 2:5; 2 Cor 4:7.

              Not so, we say with our deeds, if not our words: “God has no idea how to handle money!”  We may boast of our faith, but our actions often belie it and at the same time accuse God of being a fool.

              For what would you be willing to camp outside all night in the cold in order to buy at first light?  For what would you pound on the doors of the store?  For what would you pay a jacked-up price because you want it so badly, or tear out of another’s hand at the risk of losing your own?  Why are we so enamored of “things” and think so little of the spiritual wealth God offers for free every day?
 
I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Revelation 3:15-19
 
Dene Ward

Too many times we studio teachers teach only the instrument, piano and voice in my case, and neglect the other things that make one a well-rounded musician—history, theory, ear training.  So for my students I made up history notebooks focusing on one particular composer each year containing articles, worksheets, and listening labs.  When the makeup of the studio suddenly increased to 40% voice students, I decided to make a notebook with them in mind, one on opera.  Besides, even piano students needed to know about opera.

              I began with worksheets on the history of opera and types of operas.  Then we moved on to study the stories of 5 different operas, followed by a listening lab on one of the more famous arias from each opera.  I live in a rural county.  The closest thing to opera any of these students had ever seen or heard was their grandparents’ reminiscences of Minnie Pearl and the Grand Ol’ Opry.  The answers I received on many of the listening labs often made me laugh out loud and taught me a lot about perspective.

              “Nessun dorma” from Turandot:  (All the recordings were in the original language of the opera.)  On the question, “Describe the melody,” a 6 year old wrote, “Sounds Italian to me.”  How could I argue with that?
              Another question attempted to point out the emotion in the singers’ voices by asking, “Where in the music do you think he sings, ‘I will win!  I will win!’?”  Though it was in Italian it was obvious; even the 6 year old got it.  But one 10 year old thoroughly misunderstood the question and wrote, “I don’t know, but he was so loud, he MUST have been outside somewhere.”

              “La donna mobile” from Rigoletto:  “What are the main difficulties of this aria?”  A 9 year old answered, “He’s trying to get a woman, but can’t.”

              We could not have left out Carmen, though presenting this less than moral character to children took a bit of discretion.  We listened to the “Habanera,” which is, in reality, a dance.  “Carmen likes to flirt a lot.  How does the fact that she is singing to a dance make it sound ‘flirty?’”  A 9 year answered, “It shows she’s pretty smart if she can sing a dance!”

              Because the majority of my singers were 14-16 year old girls, I chose Charlotte Church’s recording over Maria Callas’s version of Carmen.  Charlotte was only 15 at the time and I felt they could better relate to her.  However, this brought about the question, “How is her ability to sing this character likely to change as she gets older?”  Talk about perspective, a 9 year old boy wrote, “She’ll soon be married and she’d better not be flirting with other men!!!!”  But a 16 year old girl wrote--now remember Charlotte was only 15 on this recording--“It won’t be long till she is so old she won’t even remember how to flirt any more.” 

              Was this notebook successful?  When I took up the final exams I wondered.  The first question was “Define opera.”  An 11 year old wrote, “A type of music for men and women where you sing real LOUD.”

              But I also had them write, both at the beginning of the study and at the end, what they honestly thought about opera.  One 14 year old was very tactful at the beginning of the year when she wrote, “I think people who can sing it are very talented.”  But at the end of the year she wrote, “If this is opera, I really like it.  And I learned not to ever say I don’t like something when I don’t really know anything about it.”

              I wonder how many people approach the Bible that way?  They believe it to be a book of myths, a storybook, only a suggestion for how to live, anything but the Word of God when they have absolutely no personal knowledge on the subject.  They have never considered the evidence; they have never made comparisons to other ancient writings that are far less convincing.  We have only 643 copies of Homer’s Iliad but over 5700 copies of the scriptures, and no one ever questions the completeness and accuracy of that Greek epic.  We believe George Washington existed and became our first president.  Why?  Because of eyewitness accounts, the same type of accounts available in historical documents about Jesus.  Even people who accept Jesus as the Son of God, question the validity of the New Testament because it was a translation, yet Jesus himself quoted a translation of the Old Testament, one about as far removed from him in time as the New Testament is from us, and all this barely skims the surface of internal and external evidences validating the Bible.

              My students learned a valuable lesson the year we studied opera:  don’t judge until you check it out yourself.  If you are wondering about the Bible, about Jesus, and even about the existence of a Creator, the only logical and fair thing is for you to do that too.
 
For the word of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us who are saved it is the power of God. For it is written, I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, And the discernment of the discerning will I bring to nought. Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer of this world? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For seeing that in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom knew not God, it was God's good pleasure through the foolishness of the preaching to save them that believe. 1 Corinthians 1:18-21
 
Dene Ward

Coenraad Van Houten may be responsible for more brownies in this country than anyone else.  Born on March 15, 1801 in Amsterdam, he invented the process of "dutching" cocoa.  I had heard of “Dutch cocoa” for a long time, assuming it was a special kind made in the Netherlands.  I finally discovered that “dutch” has nothing to do with its origin.  “Dutching” is a process which removes some of the acid from the cocoa, supposedly enhancing its browning ability and making the chocolate flavor more pronounced.  I found some a few years ago and proceeded to make all my usual chocolate recipes, expecting them to be transformed into something even more wonderful than before.  I was disappointed.  Everything turned nearly black, looking and tasting exactly like Oreos.  Aha!  At least I had discovered that Nabisco uses dutched cocoa to give those iconic cookies their signature flavor and color.

              I am afraid that, at least in this area, I remain plebeian and unrefined.  I do not want my Mississippi Mud Cake, my Texas Sheet Cake, my Wellesley Fudge Cake, nor even my plain old fudge brownies to taste like Oreos.  And the frosting on a chocolate cake should never be darker than the cake—it is just not right somehow.

              I find that is the way I feel about a lot of things.  Dumplings should be flat, not puffy, waterlogged biscuits; cookies should be chewy or crisp, never cakey; and tea should be sweet, not bitter, while coffee should be black, not sweet. 

              And in the spiritual arena, Bible classes should be classes.  I need to attend with a mindset to learn, not to show off how much I already know.  Would we ever allow our children to teach their own classes from their desks?  Yet for some reason we think that those old “read a verse and comment” classes are great.  The more people talk, the better the class, some say, when often the opposite is true.  When one verse is divorced from its context, all sorts of strange concepts arise.  The more people talk, the more confused the babes in Christ may become.  And really, shouldn’t what the teacher has spent hours preparing be far better than anything any of us can come up with off the cuff?  Discussion is one thing; allowing the students to teach the class is quite another.

              The word “class” necessarily involves hearing something new, or at least challenging.  It may mean I have to think deeper thoughts than usual, that I may actually need to go home and study on my own to fully appreciate what I have been told.  Yikes!  I might actually need to put in a little more effort than sitting on a pew for an hour.

              In the same vein, sermons should be sermons, not Rotary Club talks.  Once again that involves the idea of being challenged to be a better person, to change some area of my life, even, perhaps, to admit wrong at least to myself and God.  Can’t have that, can we?  Why, someone might be offended.  If no one ever goes away offended (in our use of the term, not the Bible’s), I think it is a safe bet that a real sermon has never been preached.  “Thou art the man,” is difficult to say without someone knowing he is being confronted.

              So stop expecting Oreos where there should be none.  They are fine in their place, usually with a glass of milk at the kitchen table, but don’t put them on the menu at a four star restaurant.   

              We should feel that way whenever anyone tries to insult our intelligence with Bible classes that are not classes and sermons that are not sermons.  We should want the pure, unadulterated word of God “in season and out of season,” which translates, “whether we want to hear it or not,” whether it is easy or not, and we should want to go deeper and deeper, applying it in our lives, finally transforming us into what God would have us be. 
 
And they read in the book, in the law of God, distinctly; and they gave the sense, so that they understood the reading.  And all the people went their way to eat and to drink, and to send portions and to make great mirth, because they had understood the words that were declared unto them, Neh 8:8,12.
 
Dene Ward

I can remember my mother bringing the laundry in from the clothesline and filling up a long-necked green bottle with a top that looked a little like the pour spout of the sprinkling can she used on her flowers.  She carefully sprinkled water over the clothes she had already spent several hours washing and drying, turning them over to get both sides, and then stuffed them in a large zippered plastic bag.  Not a Ziploc, but something the size of a kitchen garbage sack with a real clothing zipper on it.  Then she put the bag in the refrigerator.  A few days later, she opened her ironing board, preheated her electric iron and spent several more hours ironing those clothes.  Every week.  Me?  I spend a couple hours every 2 months and that only because my boys and my husband love cotton shirts.  Lucky for me they only had a few of them, and now I am down to just a husband.

              I looked up the invention of permanent press fabric and must have found half a dozen dates.  Chemical companies, fabric companies, and clothing manufacturers all seem to claim a share of the glory all the way back to the 1930s.  Then in 1956 there was a patent that simply claims to be the invention of permanent press.  The problem was the way it was produced.  The resin on the cloth made the cloth stiff, uncomfortable to wear, and easily split when it was sewn.  Koret of California finally received a patent on March 14, 1961, for an improved method of manufacturing press-free crease-retained garments made with smooth, comfortable fabric that held up.  I barely remember the first time my mother bought my father a permanent press dress shirt so that date is just about right.  And all that brought something to mind.

                Maybe this is one of those urban legends that everyone has heard from someone.  I am really not certain, but Keith’s mother once told us about a young woman who began attending services with them back in the 1950s with her three young children, the oldest about 6.  She arrived just on time and left quickly.  But unlike many of those types, she was always there, her children knew the basic Bible stories, and she herself was attentive to both class and sermon.  In fact her keeping to herself seemed to be more a product of embarrassment than anything else.

              My mother-in-law, astute observer that she was, had noticed something.  The children were always neat, clean, and combed except for one thing—their clothes were always wrinkled.  This was back before the day of permanent press and polyester.  There is nothing quite as wrinkled as old-fashioned cotton—except maybe wrinkled linen—which was way beyond this woman’s means.

              I forget now how she managed to ask.  Maybe it was the offer of an iron, which I know she was generous enough to do.  Knowing my mother-in-law though, she probably just came out and asked.  However she did it, she got an answer.

              The woman’s husband was not a Christian.  He not only refused to attend services with her, he refused to get up and help her get the children ready.  So every week after their Saturday evening bath, she dressed them for church and then put them to bed.  The next morning it was easier to get the three tykes up and fed and herself dressed for church.

              After all these years, I’ve heard nearly every excuse in the world for missing Bible classes or the morning services altogether.  This young woman could have easily pulled two or three off the list and used them.  So why didn’t she?  I can think of three good reasons.

              First, she loved the Lord.  Nothing and no one was going to come between her and her Savior.  She knew the perils of allowing excuses to keep her away from the spiritual nutrition her soul needed, and she was not so arrogant as to think she could feed herself with no help at all.  “I can have a relationship with God without the church,” I have heard more times than I can count.  She knew better.

              And because she had her first priority correct, the others fell right in line.  She loved her children, but more than that she loved her children’s souls.  She had to combat not only the usual onslaught of the world, but the huge impact of a father’s bad example.  She was still in her early 20s so she had probably married quite young, too young to really understand the challenges of this “mixed” marriage, maybe even so naïve that she thought “love would conquer all” and he would change easily.  Now she knew better, but she was more than ever determined to save her children.

              And despite it all, she loved her husband and his soul too.  She knew that any little chink in her armor would allow him the rationale he needed to remain apathetic to her faith.  She understood Peter’s command in 1 Pet 3:1,2,  Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives, when they see your respectful and pure conduct.  The more he resisted, the stronger she needed to be, and if taking her children to church in wrinkled clothes did the trick, then that’s what she would do.

              This young woman shows us all that excuses can be overcome by pure will.  Certainly we are not talking about the truly old, ill, and otherwise unable to go out either regularly or on occasion when there is truly a “bad day.”  We are talking about people who allow a little, or even a lot of trouble to become too much trouble to serve God.  I know many who work around the hurdles and snags that Satan throws in our paths.  It costs them time, money, and a whole lot of extra energy, but they have their priorities straight.  They know who comes first, and they understand that our modern “sacrifices” are an insult to the word. 

              If finding excuses comes easily for me, maybe I need to consider throwing out my permanent press and wearing some wrinkled clothes.
 
And when one of them that sat at meat with him heard these things, he said unto him, Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God. But he said unto him, A certain man made a great supper; and he bade many: and he sent forth his servant at supper time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready. And they all with one consent began to make excuse…And the servant came, and told his lord these things. Then the master of the house being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor and maimed and blind and lame.  And the servant said, Lord, what thou didst command is done, and yet there is room.  And the lord said unto the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and constrain them to come in, that my house may be filled.  For I say unto you, that none of those men that were bidden shall taste of my supper.  Luke 14:15-24.
 
Dene Ward
 

Out here in the country, just about every man has a pickup truck.  Most of them are several years old, caked in mud, a little rusty, and dented here and there.  That’s because those trucks are used. 

              We have one too.  It’s twenty years old, usually wears a coat of dust, and sports a bed with scrapes, dings, and lines of orange rust.  It has hauled wood for our heat and leaves and pine straw for mulch.  It has carried loads of dirt to landscape the natural rises and dips of our property.  It has toted lawn mowers and tillers to the shop for repair.  It has gone on several dozen camping trips, filled to the brim of its topper with tents, sleeping bags, coolers, suitcases, firewood, and food.

              Whenever we go to town, it always amuses me to see a man in a tie get out of a pickup truck, especially if that truck is clean, polished, and less than two years old.  I asked such a man once why he needed his pickup.  “To drive,” he said.  What?  Isn’t that what far more economical cars are for?  He actually took better care of his truck than his car, polishing it to a high enough sheen to blind the driver in the next lane, and vacuuming it almost daily.  Obviously, his pickup was for show.  “A man ought to have a truck after all.”  Why?  Because it makes him a man?

              Before you shake your head, consider that this happens with many more things than pickup trucks.  Why do you have the type of car you do?  Not a car, but that particular one.  I know some people who think the brand is the important part, that somehow it says something special about them.  Why do you live where you do in the type of house that you have?  Is it a big house because you have a big family, because you use it to house brethren passing through who need help, because you show hospitality on a regular basis?  Or is it because someone of your status ought to have a house that size in that neighborhood?

              I suppose the saddest thing I have seen is women who have children because “that’s what women do.”  Their careers or busy schedules or social standing is far more important than the child, who is raised by someone else entirely, with mommy making “quality time” whenever she can spare a moment or two.

              The Israelites of the Old Testament had similar problems.  They wanted a king “like the countries round about them.”  Somehow they thought it made them a legitimate nation.  Do we do similar things in the church?

              Why do we have a preacher?  I have heard people say we need one to look valid to the denominations around us.  Why do we have a building?  “Because that would make us a real church.”  Neither of those things is wrong to have, but our attitudes show us to be less than spiritual, not to mention less than knowledgeable, when we say such things. 

              Why do you have elders?  “Because a church this size ought to.”  That may very well be, but you don’t fix the problem of a church that hasn’t grown enough spiritually to have qualified men by choosing men who are anything but just so you can say you have elders.

              A lot of us are just silly boys who think that having a pickup truck makes them real men.  Let’s get to the root of the problem.  What makes you a Christian, what makes a church faithful, is a whole lot like what makes you a man, and outward tokens have nothing to do with it.
 
"As for you, son of man, your people who talk together about you by the walls and at the doors of the houses, say to one another, each to his brother, 'Come, and hear what the word is that comes from the LORD.' And they come to you as people come, and they sit before you as my people, and they hear what you say but they will not do it; for with lustful talk in their mouths they act; their heart is set on their gain. And behold, you are to them like one who sings lustful songs with a beautiful voice and plays well on an instrument, for they hear what you say, but they will not do it. When this comes--and come it will!--then they will know that a prophet has been among them." Ezekiel 33:30-33
 
Dene Ward

We first met Ermon Owens and his family over 30 years ago, when our boys were still in grade school.  His family became some of our dearest friends.  They ate at our table many times and our children played together and grew up together.  Keith and Ermon cut wood together.  They raised pigs together.  They sat together and talked Bible for hours.  In fact, you couldn't sit with Ermon for long without talking about spiritual things.

              At one of those dinner visits, Keith talked to him about becoming an elder.  True to his humble nature he seemed a bit aghast.  "Me?" he asked and was instantly assured that not only was he qualified, he had a talent for watching over people.  With just a little more persuasion from others, he finally accepted that heavy responsibility and flourished at it.

              Ermon had a way about him.  He made it his business to find out about people and their problems.  He knew who needed a kind word or a pat on the back, and he gave them freely, searching out needy souls as he wended his way through the crowd on Sunday mornings, or as he made visits during the week.  Yet he could answer a fool according to his folly with a few words that left that man speechless and ashamed—but seldom angry.  Ermon knew that waiting "for a better time" could be the advice of the devil because you never know what opportunity could be your last to try to save an erring brother or sister.  Last week Ermon taught us that lesson himself with his sudden, tragic passing

              Maybe it was that broad smiling face or the twinkle in his eye, but Ermon had a special way with children.  Many of us found out after his death that he had been a tutor and mentor to elementary school students.  We shouldn't have been surprised.  In our family alone he showed up at recitals, school musicals, ball games, and graduations.  He bought my Lucas some cleats when he was on the high school baseball team.  We hadn't even known he needed them, assuming the school provided such things, but not so in the smallest county in Florida.  He often sat in my classes to watch me teach the children, an elder watching over the new lambs in the flock to make sure they were being fed properly.  That was Ermon.  Always on duty, always watching out for others.

              Ermon was one of the finest men I have ever known.  He was the big brother I never had, even if I did have a couple of years on him.  When we lost Ermon, we lost much more than a simple man—we lost a hero.

              Ermon's children played with mine, went to Bible class with mine, and they often spent time in one another's company outside of church time, though they lived in different counties a good twenty miles apart.  Ermon's son Leron stood up with my Nathan when he married and because of the closeness we had shared for so long, we had Ermon and Brenda seated in the family section that night.  It seemed fitting.

              One evening, a dozen or more years before that, the Owens had come over for yet another dinner.  When it was time for them to leave, our boys were not ready to say good-bye to their young friends.  "Can't they spend the night?" Lucas implored. 

              "But they have school tomorrow," Ermon reminded him.  At this point I need to tell you, if you don't already know, that Ermon and Brenda are African-Americans.

              "They can come to school with us," Lucas immediately replied.  "We'll tell them they are our cousins," and then stood there waiting for his "obvious" solution to be accepted.

              Ermon's eyes widened.  "I don't think they would believe you," he finally managed.

              "But why?"  Lucas asked in all innocence. 

              None of us answered, and finally Lucas, who was about 12 at the time, figured it out.  "Oh," he said, shoulders drooping in disappointment.

              At that point Keith spoke up.  "Well Ermon, we are brothers aren't we?  And that makes our kids cousins, I think."

              Ermon cocked his head as he considered the thought.  "I guess so," he finally allowed with a smile and a chuckle, "but they still can't stay, Lucas.  Maybe another night."

              And there were many more nights. 

           Ermon came to lunch about a month before his passing.  It was the usual—talk about spiritual things for a good two hours.  When he left, he said, "This has been good," and he wasn't talking about the food.   Yes it had been good, and one day we will get together again, but if I had known the hug I gave him that day would be the last, I would have never let go.

             One of Ermon's favorite things to say was, "I know where I'm going, and I'm ready to go.  Are you?"  I promise you, he's saving you a seat in his Father's house, waiting with that beautiful smile and that precious twinkle in his eye.
 
For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me! (Job 19:25-27)
 
Dene Ward

New Mexico State University had scheduled its first graduation ceremony ever for March 10, 1893.  That morning the ceremony was canceled.  The university’s first graduate, the only one scheduled to graduate that year, Sam Steele, was robbed and killed the night before.  No one graduated, so no one came.  Reading that brought back a flood of memories.  

             Many years ago we were on vacation and had carefully looked up a local congregation so we could attend a mid-week Bible study with our brothers and sisters in that town.  We left our camp site in plenty of time.  We arrived to an empty parking lot at 7:15 pm on a Wednesday evening.  The sign in the yard said, “Wednesday Bible Study, 7:30 PM.”  We waited until 8:00, then finally gave up and went back to the campground—no one ever came.

              Another time, another place, we walked into the building at 6:45.  We knew someone would be there this time—there were cars in the lot already.  Yes, they were there, and the Bible class was winding down, even though the sign outside said, “Tuesday evening Bible study, 7:00 PM.”  At 7 on the dot the final amen was said.  “We meet at 6 in the summer,” we were told.  We sure wished the sign had said so.

              Yet another time, and another place, we arrived on Sunday morning at 9:15 AM.  The sign outside said, “Bible classes, 9:30 AM,” but there wasn’t another car in sight.  Finally about 9:28 one car drove up and parked.  The family took their time getting out and walking inside.  We followed, and watched as the man, who was the teacher that morning, began setting up.  At 9:35 another family arrived and sat with us.  At 9:40 two more walked in.  At 9:45 another man walked through the auditorium, waving and calling out to the teacher in front of us, who had not yet started his class.  A couple of minutes later we started, and what was billed as a 45 minute study became 25 minutes, less another five or so for opening remarks and prayer.  A twenty minute Bible study.  Obviously, they didn’t get too far in their Bibles, and we wondered why we had gone to so much trouble to be there on time.

              I cannot help but wonder how many other visitors give up and leave places like this.  Do we think we have no obligation at all to them?  Paul talks about the effect our assemblies have on the unbelievers who have come in 1 Cor 14:23-25.  He obviously expected visitors.  It isn’t some sort of OCD to want things done “decently and in order.”  When I invite someone, I expect there to be someone besides me to greet them and interact with them.  So does God.

              We can piously, and a little self-righteously, tsk-tsk the ones who want things to end on time.  Don’t be so quick to judge bad motives for that.  Do you know the first question anyone I have ever invited asks?  “What time will it be over?”  They aren’t Christians yet.  They have a life to live, and probably other commitments that day.  If I can’t tell them they will be out of there by a certain time, they might not come at all.  Especially in our culture, time and schedule are normal considerations if you want to make your services visitor-friendly.  Eventually they will reach the point that time doesn’t matter to them—but not if we never make it possible for them to attend in the first place with inconsistent scheduling and a supercilious refusal to consider their needs.

              I could go on.  What about leaving them easy, un-embarrassing places to sit, especially if they arrive a little late?  What about parking places?

              Paul says that our consideration for outsiders will convict their hearts and prove that God is really among us.  What do we prove when our selfish or lackadaisical attitudes keep anyone from even coming in the first place?
 
By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be my disciples. John 15:8
 
Dene Ward

Things change so rapidly these days it seems impossible to keep up.  I had carefully collected a library of classical music LPs for my students to listen to.  By the time my studio was large enough, with students advanced enough to get much use out of them, I was collecting cassettes.  Before long I had to switch to CDs.  At least I don’t have a collection of 8 tracks collecting dust as well.  Somehow I missed that phase.
              The same thing is happening in the church, and I don’t mean changing doctrine to suit the situation, I mean changing the means by which we teach that unchangeable Word, and the ways we edify one another while still clinging to the constraints of obedient faith.
              Gone are the charts drawn on white bed sheets and the overhead projectors flashing carefully covered up lists, revealed one line at a time when the speaker moves the sheet of paper he laid on top.  Now we use power point and remotes.  Even at the age of three my grandson Silas knew to pick up something rectangular and point it at his make-believe screen when he pretended to preach like Daddy.
              We must beg people to use the carefully selected library of books we have in the back hall—they are happier with the internet and Bible study programs, not to mention Kindle and Nook.  Even the riffling of Bibles during the sermon has decreased—many now have all 66 books on something the size of a wallet.  You are more likely to hear beeps or electronic “plops” than the quiet shuffling of pages.
              Now the preacher doesn’t just have to raise his voice when an infant begins to cry; he has to raise it when someone forgets to turn off his cell phone.  Now the song leader must wrestle with an audience who not only wants to sing at their own pace regardless of his direction, but with the ones who cannot for the life of them understand or “feel” syncopation.  Fanny Crosby would never have set words to a syncopated tune.
              But some things will always be the same.
              Children whose parents tell them to “Listen!” will still come up with ways to keep their wandering minds on the sermons, counting how many times the preacher says certain words or writing down every passage he uses, and in that play will begin to memorize scriptures that stay with them for a lifetime.
              Someone will still sniffle a bit during the Lord’s Supper, and someone else will momentarily hold up the collection while he tries to persuade his two year old to put the coins in the plate, and the children will learn what is done and why.
              A deacon will stand in back and count while another one makes last minute notes for the closing announcements, those precious words that help us “weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice.”
              Serious men, in khakis and open neck shirts instead of suits and ties, will still listen carefully to the preacher while their wives juggle their own listening with trying to decide if a requested potty trip is really necessary or just a ploy to get out of this boring seat for a few minutes.
              People will still ask for prayers when life deals them a harsh blow, and brothers and sisters will gather round with hugs and tears, and offers of help.
              Excited new converts will still sit closer to the front than old ones, listening with rapt attention, diligently taking notes to study at home, and thinking up questions that will keep the elders busy for weeks.
              Young parents will be suddenly motivated to attend regularly for the first time in their lives by the responsibility of the small souls God has placed in their hands.
              Widows will contentedly sit, patiently waiting for the time when they can meet their mates “at the gate,” as my mother asked my daddy to do just moments before his passing.
              Older couples will do as I do, looking around at all the new but still seeing the old in spite of the new, comforting themselves that God’s way still works, even in this perplexing age of technology and unparalleled advancement.
              As long as there are people to hear it and hearts to believe it, planting the seed will make Christians spring up out of any plot of good soil.  It has worked for nearly two thousand years now and we, in spite of the wow-factor of our inventions, will never outdo the results God can get with one Book.  If you ever forget that, then look around some Sunday morning, not for the differences, but for the things that never change, and that never will as long as faith exists on the earth.
 
"O my God," I say, "take me not away in the midst of my days-- you whose years endure throughout all generations!" Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will change them like a robe, and they will pass away, but you are the same, and your years have no end. The children of your servants shall dwell secure; their offspring shall be established before you. Psalms 102:24-28
 
Dene Ward

I have heard it two ways, seen it written three ways, but in every case it was ascribed to Mark Twain as, if not the actual person involved, the one who relayed the story.  A neighbor came asking to borrow an axe.  Twain—or an acquaintance of his—said he couldn't loan it because he was having soup for supper (or needed a shave).  When asked what that had to do with an axe the reply came back, "Nothing.  But any excuse will do when you don't want to do something."

              Having recently had to deal with a person who always has an excuse for not doing something she had an obligation to do, this little story really hit home.  I have just about stopped asking or suggesting anything of this person now.  It's obvious she is having soup for supper, or perhaps needs a shave.  Why should I allow myself to become frustrated over someone who just doesn't care? 

            Jesus made the same point with his parable about the great feast (Luke 14:15-24), and in a similar parable about the wedding feast (Matt 22:1-10).  All those he had invited had an excuse, and all about as silly as needing an axe to eat soup with.  So the host took back his invitation and offered it to those who would take him up on it, those who obviously felt it was worth the trouble and disruption of their evening schedule.  They would certainly receive far more in return.
 
             We usually apply this to the salvation Jesus is offering, which is a valid and perhaps even primary application.  But let me offer you a few more.

              Has anyone ever asked you to go visiting with them?  Maybe the person is new to the congregation, maybe he is simply new to recognizing his obligations as a brother in the Lord.  Having you along would help with his nervousness, aid him in keeping a conversation going, and it would also create a new bond between you.  Did you manage to find an excuse not to go?

              Has anyone ever offered to study with you, perhaps an older brother well-versed in the Scripture who is anxious now to pass on what he has learned in all his hard work through the years, especially the process of learning on one's own?  How many excuses did you come up with before he gave up on you?

              Has a sister invited you to the Ladies' Bible Class, assuring you it is a learning opportunity, not a gabfest?  How many things did you find that absolutely had to be done during that one hour of the week rather than any other?

              Has your family been invited into the home of another, not only as simple hospitality, but also as a way to develop a closer relationship?  Did your always busy schedule make it impossible to "pencil them in?"

              See what I mean?  We are oh so good with the excuses.  And let me tell you, the more of them you make, the more obvious it is why you are making them.  If for some reason you simply cannot do something, just say so.  If you just don't want to, say so.  Are you worried about hurting feelings?  Trust me, people are not as naïve as you seem to believe.  They know what's going on.  I have far more respect for honesty than excuse after excuse after excuse. 

              If I can see through them, so can God.  It isn't even a super-power, people.  And just like I have given up on that one I have had to listen to, God will give up on excuse-makers too.  Just what do we think that parable was all about anyway?
 
Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding feast is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore to the main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find.’ (Matt 22:8-9)
 
Dene Ward