I have only seen it once and hope to never again.  We were guests of others on Christmas Day and their method of passing out gifts went like this:  One person starting picking up presents, read the name, passed it to its recipient and continued, about one every five seconds.  In five minutes it was over with.  Everyone else was sitting there panting with exertion amid piles of crumpled wrapping paper and snarled up ribbon, and no one knew who got what from whom.  Meanwhile, my poor boys were still opening up what were far fewer, far less expensive presents, and looking up at the folks around them with a look of befuddlement.  "That's not how it's supposed to be," was clearly written on their faces.
              So how was it supposed to be?  We never had much money growing up, but my mother was still careful to teach us the point of gift-giving—it was to do kind things for others, not amass things for oneself.  She taught us to listen to one another all year long, to make note—sometimes literally—of things different ones of us needed or mentioned wanting, usually something that would make life a little easier.  None of us ever wished for the expensive and unattainable.  What was the point?  And then a couple of weeks before Christmas, the four of us went to the Mall, my sister and I with money carefully saved from our allowances and birthday gifts.  We divided up and I went with my father to buy for my mother and my sister, while she went with our mother to buy for me and our father.  Then we met in the middle of the concourse at a predetermined time and switched companions in order to finish our shopping.  We were usually so excited about what we had gotten each other it was difficult to keep the secret.
              Then on Christmas morning each one in turn got to choose a gift to give to another.  We all sat and watched that person open the gift.  The joy, the excitement, the pleasure on the other person's face was as much a part of the gift to us as the gift to the receiver.  We had very few gifts under that tree, but that gift giving process lasted far longer than our neighbors' who were soon out riding new bikes or scooters and hauling out boxes of trash while we were still sitting there enjoying the process of giving as well as receiving.
              I passed that on to my boys.  We were in the same boat as my parents in their early days—not much money and few gifts.  But they have both told me that choosing the gifts and watching their opening was always their favorite part of Christmas.  I still see that in them as mature adults, looking to give, looking to see the needs of others, looking for ways to share what they have.  My mother did that for me and she has now done it for them too.  I think I see it in my grandchildren as well.
              Christmas does not have to be about materialism.  What it does have to be about is this:  It is more blessed to give than to receive, (Acts 20:35).  Don't let your Christmas morning be a feeding frenzy of piranha in the river "Gimme."  Make it a point to take time and savor your gifts to others.  My mother thought that was what it was all about, and that is a gift I truly treasure.
 
Dene Ward

For something that is supposed to be the pre-eminent “Sports Channel,” ESPN leaves me remarkably cold—or actually hot.
              I can count on CBS to replay nearly every play of any significance immediately.  Not just touchdowns either.  They will show the touchdown from several angles, then show the quarterback as he passed, or the line as they opened the holes for the runner, or any other contributing factor.  If there is a penalty, we see it happen.  If there was an excellent block we see the block.  If a defender made an amazing move around a lineman, we see the move.
              ESPN?  I doubt that even half the plays are shown again.  Instead, we get an interview with someone on the sideline who might possibly have something to do with the game, but more likely doesn’t—he just happens to be famous.  Or we get an update from a game we chose not to watch and have to watch a piece of anyway rather than a replay of our chosen game.  Most of the time, we never get the replay, even if it was a 50 yard run to set the team up with first and goal.
              On ESPN the commentators talk about every game except the one we are watching.  In fact, they sometimes talk about a different sport altogether.  We hear about other players, other coaches, and other schools—anything but the game we are watching.  We are told the records of every Heisman hopeful, even if they are not playing in our game.  We know which coach played for which other coaches, even if they are not coaching our team.  And they can’t even do it with good English.
              But sometimes we’re stuck.  It’s the only place we can see our team play—and win, we hope, despite not being able to see the instant replays in a timely fashion and at a meaningful angle.
              I guess a lot of people don’t mind.  They are putting up with the same things at the church they attend.  They say they are Christians but their preachers present sermons about societal ills—the ones deemed politically correct to talk about--about love and acceptance of everything and everyone no matter how many of Christ’s commands they break, and never once mention the name of the Savior they claim to worship—Rotary Club talks, inspirational talks, anything but a sermon.  (See yesterday's post.) They are handed pamphlets that some board somewhere else decided they needed to study rather than the Word of God, and certainly nothing actually relevant to that particular group and its needs.  If they learn anything, it’s about another game altogether, not God’s.
              Maybe these folks don’t know what to look for.  They expect entertainment rather than edification, emotion rather than instruction, famous people and rip-roaring religious fervor, along with a meal or two to keep the belly from growling.  Jesus had some choice things to say about people like that.  Jesus answered them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.  Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you. For on him God the Father has set his seal” John 6:26-27.  It isn’t about the feel-good physical, he told them, it’s about ME!
              On Sunday mornings, I want to hear about my Lord.  I want to study the Word of God and learn more from it than I knew the day before.  On the other hand, I don’t mind a repeat of an old lesson, perhaps from a new angle, and certainly prefer that to an interview on the sideline with someone who is supposed to be “famous” in the religious world.  Big name preachers can sin the same as the rest of us. 
            And you know what?  We CAN turn this channel.  We can look for something else.  You can look for something else.  Give me the simple truth of the gospel and the quiet worship of those people long ago.  Why don’t you come with me so we can find it together?  Nothing else can fill your soul quite the same way.
 
I am the bread of life.  Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died.  This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” John 6:48-51.
 
Dene Ward
 

Most of us are familiar with the history of the Pilgrims.  We know they left England looking for both religious and economic freedom.  We also know they arrived at land on November 21, 1620, though they spent most of that winter ferrying back and forth to the ship.  What I did not realize was the date they left England—September 16.  Why on earth would they leave just as fall was about to begin, knowing they would not arrive in time to build warm homes or plant anything?
 
             Turns out they originally left in July, but had to turn back twice.  Their sister ship, the Speedwell, leaked!  Eventually they went on without her.  In addition they were headed for Virginia and were blown off course by stormy seas.  All in all, this led to a disastrous winter, with over half the colonists succumbing. 

             It was the next fall that they celebrated that first Thanksgiving meal with their new Native American friends.  All of us know about the pilgrims, and can even recognize their dress.  I always have the famous Publix Pilgrim salt and pepper shakers on my holiday table with their buckled shoes, and brown clothing.  And that reminds me…

              Thirty years ago I saw a dress in a catalogue that I adored.  My style tends to be plain, tailored, and dark.  I generally like a blousy waistline because it makes me look like I have one, which I haven’t had since I was about two years old.  Every time that catalogue came, I salivated over that dress, a black shirtwaist with long button-cuff sleeves and a broad, white collar embroidered on the edges.  At that time we just couldn’t afford it.  Feeding two teenage boys and paying a mortgage on a state salary and music studio tuitions was almost more than we could handle.

              A couple of years ago I was wandering through a second hand clothing store.  You would be surprised the bargains you can find if you are careful.  I have bought name brands for literally one-tenth their original price, some of them with the original price tags still on them, the extra buttons still sealed in plastic. 

              That day I saw the black arms hanging out from the press of the rack; I saw the white collar.  Could it be?  I checked the neckline for the label and found the old catalogue name.  So I pulled it out and felt a thrill.  This was the dress I had wished for.  Twenty years ago it was a $45 dress.  This store wanted $6.00!  Then came the moment of truth:  I checked the size.  Yes!  Just to make sure, I tried it on, and then quickly shelled out my $6 and change for tax.  It almost made me believe in fate.

              This dress is long sleeved and a fairly heavy knit so it was just after Thanksgiving before I could wear it here in Florida.  I wore it to church that Sunday.  One of the first people I saw, a sweet five year old, came running up and exclaimed, “Mrs. Dene!  You look just like a pilgrim!”  I laughed a little, gave her a hug and thanked her.  Before I was halfway down the hall, another child came running up and said the same thing, word for word. 

              Okay, I thought.  I look like a pilgrim.  Maybe it’s too close to Thanksgiving to wear this.

              In the middle of January I wore it again.  A third sweet child gave me the same compliment.  It was enough to make me wonder, do they teach this phrase in the Bible classes these days?  But I suppose what capped it all was a good friend who came up to me and laughed, saying, “You look like a pilgrim!”

              I donated the dress to another thrift store.  All I could see when I looked in the mirror were the missing white cap, buckled shoes and white stockings.  It certainly isn’t what I thought of when I used to moon over that catalogue.

              I wonder if Abraham and Sarah had in mind the pilgrim life God had planned for them when they answered the call to “Go to a land I will show you.”  That doesn’t necessarily sound like they would always be nomads.  It doesn’t sound like they would never have an earthly home again.  When someone tells me to go, usually they have a specific destination in mind.

              Even if they didn’t understand that in the beginning, they finally did.  By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God, Heb 11:8-10.  Eventually they knew they would never have a home on this earth, that the real one was waiting beyond the border of physical life and death.

              We must eventually, and as soon as possible, learn the same thing.  Our culture is too caught up in the here and now, in instant gratification, in “if it feels good do it.”  We think this is what matters.  That’s why we let it bother us so much when things do not go right.  That’s why we become angry over the inconsequential and throw away the truly valuable, including our hope.  They made me mad and they are going to know it!  They took what’s mine, and I have a right to take it back.  They hurt me and now I am going to hurt them—usually in exactly the same low way they hurt me. 

              If I know what it means to be a pilgrim in this world, none of that matters.  I don’t need to throw a tantrum.  I don’t need to get even.  I don’t need to have more and more and more because everyone else has it.  I don’t even need an easy, carefree life with no trials.  It will never compare to Heaven no matter how wonderful it is, and it certainly isn’t worth giving up Heaven for.

              Maybe I should have kept the “Pilgrim” dress.  Maybe it would have reminded me of things I need to remember, when I need to remember them most.  Maybe you need to wear it, too.
 
These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city, Heb 11:13,15.
 
Dene Ward

As for me, I said in my prosperity, “I shall never be moved.” Psalm 30:6.
 
              Several scholars believe Psalm 30 concerns the time David numbered the people of Israel and God punished them with a pestilence.  Before we get any further, let me caution you to read this in the 1 Chronicles 21 account and not just 2 Samuel 24.  You will get a much better portrait of David in Chronicles, one much more fitting a “man after God’s own heart.”
 
             But no matter when in David’s life this psalm was written, he tells us in verse 6 exactly what caused his problem.  In his prosperity he relied too much on himself.  Oh, he recognizes that his wealth and security came from God, v 7a, but he was so smug about it that God “hid His face.”  It was “my mountain,” not God’s, and if this is the time of the numbering, he was so full of himself that he sent Joab around not to take a full census, but to count “those who can wield a sword.”  He wanted to know how strong he was now that his foes were destroyed and his land was at peace, even though God told the people not to worry about such things, but to trust Him.  Even a man such as Joab knew that this numbering was not a good idea. 

              Here is what we as Americans steadfastly refuse to see, even Christians:  there is no temptation so great as prosperity.  Not just wealth, but security and peace along with it.  The scriptures are full of the warnings, but we heed them not.  What do we all want?  To get ahead.  What do we spend our lives doing?  Making money.  What do we dream about?  Being rich. 

              But hear this:  the New Testament does not speak of wealth in any way but as dangerous to our spiritual health. 

                Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth…For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Matt 6:19,21.

              As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful, Matt 13:22.

              Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God, Matt 19:24.

              And he said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions, Luke 12:15.

              But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs, 1 Tim 6:9,10.

              Why do we insist on standing in the rattlesnake’s nest?  I understand wanting your children to have more and better than you did, but I do not want their souls at risk, and from everything I see and read in the Book that really matters, that is what wealth will do to them.  If David can fall because of it, so can you and so can I and so can they.  Any time you feel secure in your wealth, in your preparations for the future or for “unforeseen circumstances,” be careful.  God may very well send you a reminder that you cannot count on anyone but Him, just as He did to David.  It may be the most painful reminder you ever get.
 
​​Do not toil to acquire wealth; be discerning enough to desist. When your eyes light on it, it is gone, for suddenly it sprouts wings, flying like an eagle toward heaven, Prov 23:4,5.
 
Dene Ward

Americans used to admire “the strong, silent type”—not someone who was uncommunicative, but someone who endured the hardships of life without complaint, a man who always kept a sane head on his shoulders when things got rough.  I don’t know what has happened, but nowadays strength seems to be measured by how loudly a man can rant and rave about his lot in life and anyone he can blame for it.
 
           Our culture has made whining a world class skill.  No, we do not call it whining, but that’s what it is.  We whine about our jobs, about our neighbors, about our families, about our health, about the government—they give all our hard-earned money to other people, but let them cut one of our entitlement programs and we whine even louder about that.  We whine about rising costs, about having to wait in line, about our lifestyles, about the driver in the car in front of us.  We whine about the church, about the singing, about the length of sermons, about the preacher, about the elders, and about how hot or cold the building always is.  Sometimes I feel like getting out Nathan’s violin and accompanying the dirge.  At least it would be easier on the ears—and I don’t even know how to play!

            Look at Numbers 11, the classic example of complaining in the Old Testament.  Every place it says weep, weeping, or wept, substitute whine, whining, or whined.  That is probably a perfect word for what was going on.  Look at Moses’ reaction in v 15.  Please allow me to paraphrase: “If this is the way it’s going to be, then do me a favor, Lord, and kill me.  I can’t take it any more.”  Why anyone would think that whining is a measure of strength is beyond me. 

            Whining impugns God’s goodness.  Think of all the things God does for us and gives to us, and still we whine.  Blessed is the man whom you choose and cause to approach unto you, that he may dwell in your courts.   How can we complain when we have that blessing?  We shall be satisfied with the goodness of your house, your holy Temple, Psa 65:4.  Because your lovingkindness is better than life, I will praise you.  So I will bless you while I live; I will lift up my hands in your name.  My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise you with joyful lips, Psa 63:3-5.  A far cry from whining, isn’t it?
            I may think that I am above the effects of my culture, that I am not influenced by the rampant materialism that often motivates this whining.  All I need to do is make a list of things I consider “necessities” to find out otherwise.  All I need to do is keep track of all the times I complain during the day to become thoroughly ashamed.  God destroyed those who whined against Moses.  Why will he accept my murmuring?  The poorest among us is wealthier than 90% of the rest of the world.  Imagine that.  And far beyond that, life is good, if for no other reason than I have a Savior.  In fact, do I need any other reason?
 
But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, blessed are you; and fear not their fear, neither be troubled, but sanctify in your hearts Christ as Lord…1 Peter 3:14,15
Neither murmur as some of them murmured and perished by the Destroyer, 1 Cor 10:10
 
Dene Ward

One time when we kept our grandsons, twenty-month-old Judah usually climbed into my lap every evening as we sat at the table for a final cup of coffee.  It took me a minute the first time his little hand reached out in the air, but finally I realized he was trying to catch the steam wafting over my mug, and was completely mystified when it disappeared between his chubby little fingers.

              A lot of people spend their lives trying to catch the steam, vapors that seem solid but disintegrate in their grasping hands.  They do it in all sorts of ways, and all of them are useless. 

              Do they really think they can stop time?  Over 11,000,000 surgical and nonsurgical cosmetic procedures were performed in this country in 2013, and we aren’t talking medically necessary procedures.  The top five were liposuctions, breast augmentations, eyelid surgeries, tummy tucks, and nose surgeries.*

              Then there are the folks chasing wealth and security.  Didn’t the recent Great Recession, as it is now called, teach them anything?  Others are striving to make a name for themselves.  These are usually the same folks who tell Christians how pathetic we are to believe that some Higher Power would ever notice we even exist on this puny blue dot in the universe.  Yet there they all go looking for fame, fortune, notoriety, beauty, or even their version of eternal life.  All of it is nothing more than a dream.  It will disappear, if not in a natural disaster or an economic meltdown, then the day they die—and they will die no matter how hard they try not to.  They are the ones grasping at dreams which are only a vapor that disappears in a flash.

              Our dream isn’t a dream at all.  It is a hope, which in the Biblical sense means it is all but realized.  Sin and death have been conquered by a force we can only try to comprehend, by a love we can never repay, and by a will we can but do our best to imitate.  Yet there it is, not a wisp of white floating over a warm porcelain mug, but a solid foundation upon which we base our faith.  Heb 6:19 calls it “an anchor.”  Have you ever seen a real anchor?  If there is anything the opposite of a wisp of steam, that’s it—solid and strong, able to hold us steady in the worst winds of life.  Tell me how a pert nose and a full bank account can do that!

              The world thinks it knows what is real while we sit like a toddler grasping at steam.  When eternity comes, they will finally see that they are wrong.  Spiritual things are the only things that last, the only real things at all.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal, 2 Cor 4:6-8.

*Information from the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery

Dene Ward

We started out in a ten by fifty trailer we bought from another Florida College Bible student couple.  They had moved on to his first full time work.  The next year we did the same and passed the trailer on to yet another.

              That first move put us in a little shoebox of a house that the small Midwestern church supplied for us.  It was far superior to the trailer, even though it only had one bathroom and the third "bedroom" wouldn't even hold a double bed.  The huge pantry more than made up for those small inconveniences, especially since there were only the two of us anyway.

              Another move, another church, and we actually bought the only truly nice house we have ever lived in—a three bedroom, bath and a half, family room with fireplace, brick home on a half-acre lot full of climbing roses, irises, azaleas and dogwoods.  But it wasn't to last.

              Three years later we were on to another church.  This one owned a brand new 24 x 60 doublewide with a large built-on utility room.  It was plenty roomy, if flimsy, with thin walls, leaky pipes, and a low ceiling that made it so hot in the summer you wanted to just crawl through it, especially in the narrow kitchen.

              The next house I have written about before, just a few weeks ago, in fact (see 8/29/2019 in the archives).  That one may be the most memorable for the freezing temperatures—inside, not outside--and the faulty wiring that gradually ate up our appliances.

              But for the past almost thirty-eight years we have been in this house—another double wide, not as large as the previous one, but much better built, and carefully tended and mended by us.  We never really thought we would still be here, but God has a way of making plans that are different from yours.  Another thing I always thought was that someday I would have the nice home my mother and sister eventually had, and that it seems most of my friends did too—and the Lord laughed once again.  But let me tell you what I have learned about that.

              This little 1300 sq ft box was good enough to keep me and my family warm and dry, at least when there wasn't an active leak.  It was good enough to raise my boys in, and they were never too ashamed to bring their friends, even after one of the bathtubs developed a crack in the bottom and you had to straddle it while you showered so you wouldn't fall through to the ground underneath.  (Yes, we finally got it fixed.)

              It was large enough to take in several weary travelers whose car gave up the ghost in the wee hours one morning.  It was good enough to hold more than a few Bible studies in.  It was good enough to show hospitality to probably a hundred or more brothers and sisters, neighbors, family, coworkers, and friends over the years.  It was good enough to host a shower or two, a church small group meeting, singings, and several other meetings of various stripes.  It has been plenty good enough to counsel struggling souls many times.  It has even been good enough to share with complete strangers who needed a hot meal and a place to stay.

              None of my guests ever complained about the small accommodations, sometimes not even a room to themselves but an air mattress on the living room floor or a pillow and blanket on the sofa, and a shower as small as an old-fashioned phone booth—one Superman could not have even turned around in, much less changed clothes.  None of them complained about the meals—and they weren't all great, let me tell you, especially in the early days.  None of them acted like they were anything but satisfied with what we had to share. 
 
             So remember this:  It does not matter how little you have to offer.  It does not matter how small, how plain, how uncomfortable your house is.  We once ate a meal at the home of a church widow whose kitchen was so small that by the time we put the extensions in the table, we had to take turns going around it to our seats, and if anyone needed to get out, everyone had to stand up and move out first.  That sweet lady was not a bit embarrassed because she was so thrilled that someone would actually take her up on her offer of hospitality.  Maybe that has always been in the back of mind as I considered my duty as a hospitable hostess.  Sometimes we have to do some skillful maneuvering around my table too!

              All you really need is a place full of love, a spirit of generosity, and a warm welcome.  Whatever you have is enough to fulfill the command to serve others.  Don't excuse yourself because you think you don't have what it takes in physical comfort and wealth.  And don't judge others so shallowly either.  I bet they would be thrilled to take you up on your offer.
 
Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. (Heb 13:1-2).
 
Dene Ward

Let me tell you a sad story.

            A long time ago, Keith had one of those “try-out” visits that churches offer preachers.  I’ve often wondered whether these things would go better if the church considered itself being “tried out” that weekend as well, but that’s another blog for another time.

            We had lunch and spent the afternoon with a couple who would probably have been considered “pillars” of the church, primarily because they were better educated, had more money, and could quote more scriptures. 

            The church sat smack dab in the middle of farm country amid acres of melons, corn, peas, and tobacco.  Most of the members lived in old frame farmhouses and had dropped out of or barely completed high school.  A remark was made about the church members that gave me pause, but I was very young, wrestling with a two year old and an infant so I didn’t trust myself to have good judgment on the matter or even to have heard it well enough to comment on, so I let it pass.

            I shouldn’t have.  We hadn’t been there six months before the same woman told me I needed to meet the “cream of the crop” in the county.  She proceeded to take me to a gathering of what she considered such women.  Having grown up with parents who told me that the best people in the world were those who sat on the pew next to you on Sunday mornings, I was shocked to see who this Christian considered “elite.” 

            As we ate our finger sandwiches and mingled, I discovered that they all had money, judging from their dress and jewelry, and later the vehicles they left in.  Most were professionals or married to one.  Some of the others were farmers all right, but not hardscrabble farmers or sharecroppers.  These farmers owned large farms or ranches, big business enterprises, or had inherited both the farms and the money from generations past.  And notice this—she and I were the only Christians there.

            Now consider David’s statement in Psalm 16:3.  As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones, in whom is all my delight.  David took delight in the saints in Israel, their social class notwithstanding. 

            Where do I find “social class” in that verse?  The word translated “excellent” in the psalm is translated “nobles” in 2 Chron 23:20 (KJV), and they are grouped with high ranking military officers and governors.  In Judges 5:15 it is translated “lordly.”  Jer 25:34 calls them “principals of the flock” and Psalm 136:18 says they are “famous.”  Just to make sure you know who we are talking about, Nehemiah complains in 3:5 that those “nobles” were too good to work like the common folk.  Now do you know who we’re talking about? 

            Our culture idolizes the cult of the rich and famous—how they dress, how they talk, how they live.  We call them “America’s royalty.”  We do the same when we show partiality in the church based upon wealth, popularity, education, and social status.  It is a tacit admission that we consider ourselves better than our brothers and sisters who do not have such “assets.”  It is the opposite of “each counting the other better than himself,” Phil 2:3.

            David says the true “nobles,” the “excellent ones,” are the people who fear God, who live the life they preach, with justice, fairness, kindness, goodness, and grace.  These people “delight” him.  Now ask yourself:  who do I spend most of my time with, especially in the church?  Are we as wise as David?

            One of the common questions in an interview is, “Who would you like to have dinner with?”  Journalists choose that question because the answer tells a whole lot more about that person than they seem to realize.  The person you want to eat with is the one you want to develop a relationship with, the one who interests you, the one you might even model your life after.  The answer to that question shows who you consider the aristocracy in your world.

            Who is on your list?
           
For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness. Ps 84:10
 
 
Dene Ward

I have never been a shoe person.  The last pair of dress shoes I had were classic black pumps—they were the only pair of dress shoes I needed because they went with everything.  I wore them until the heels were wrapped in black electrical tape to hide the nicks and scrapes, and the soles had worn through, showing the white plastic bottoms, about ten years I’d guess.  Then I went shoe shopping. 

              I have never seen so many ugly excuses for shoes in my life.  It seems today’s women want to walk on either ten penny nails or bricks.  The first are uncomfortable and the second are hideous.  Give me a toe that is at least a little rounded, a lower heel, and no pain.  I finally found a pair on a clearance rack for $19.99 that was perfect.  I was beginning to think I was going to have to find a blacksmith.

              And about those ten penny nails—after learning why men like women in stiletto heels, I am surprised that today’s modern, “liberated”, woman would wear anything that makes a man objectify her in the worst way.  Fashion designers obviously have no respect for the women they dress.

              Funny that shoes in the Bible can be matters of respect, too.  Take your sandals off your feet for the place on which you are standing is holy ground, God told both Moses (Ex 3:5) and Joshua (Josh 5:15).  Even today I am told that Muslims and several other Eastern religions take off their shoes as a sign that they are laying aside the pollution of the world to enter into a holy place.

              Are they really?  What about the olive oil stain on their sleeves from lunch?  What about the cigarette smoke soaked into the folds of their robes from an earlier encounter?  What about the everyday miasma we carry around with us from our environment, both in the home and out in the streets?  Of course they are still stained with their everyday lives.  Taking off the shoes is just a symbol of respect.  Does that make it wrong?

              In the West, we have a different symbol.  Men take off their hats.  They do it when they enter a room, when they greet someone, when the flag passes by, and during an outdoor prayer (it’s supposed to already be off indoors). According to the Dictionary of Phrase and Fable by E. Cobham Brewer, the custom began when men took off their helmets to show they did not consider the person they were meeting a danger.  Thus it became a symbol of trust, and one can understand how not removing the hat could be considered an insult.  It still is.

              A certain generation likes to say that symbols do not count, that the only thing that really counts is the heart.  While it is true that the heart is the crux of the matter, I think I can show you that God still expects a few symbols from us too.

              But when the king came in to look at the guests, he saw there a man who had no wedding garment. And he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?’ And he was speechless, Matt 22:11,12.  I won’t go into the parable, just notice this:  Jesus did not say the custom was wrong.  Instead, he knew everyone would understand the parable because in that society it was a sign of disrespect to show up at a wedding in something other than “a wedding garment.”  The garment was a symbol of respect for the occasion in that culture.

              God has always expected His people to know the difference between, in the wording of Scripture, the holy and the profane.  “Profane” does not mean crude and vulgar—it means having to do with common, ordinary life.

              The Levites were warned, you shall not profane the holy things of the people of Israel, lest you die, Num 18:32.  Now that sounds serious.

              Ezekiel said of the priests in the restored Temple, They shall teach my people the difference between the holy and the common, and show them how to distinguish between the unclean and the clean, 44:23.  He also warned, This gate shall remain shut; it shall not be opened, and no one shall enter by it, for the LORD, the God of Israel, has entered by it. Therefore it shall remain shut, 44:2.  As a symbol of respect for God, the door he entered was to remain shut and no one else could use it.

              And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was above all the people, and as he opened it all the people stood, Neh 8:5.  They showed respect for the Word of God by standing when it was read.

              Clearly, God expects some sort of symbolic respect for sacred things.  What does that mean for us today?  I am not sure.  Maybe it hasn’t been specified because God knew that this new covenant would be open not just to one group, but to all peoples.  What is respectful in one culture, may not be in another.  (Try belching out loud at a dinner party here in America.)

              In our congregation, we stand for the scripture reading.  Does that mean that everyone there has that much respect for the Word of God?  No.  For some it is just an outward sign.  They aren’t paying a bit of attention, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a sign of respect for the rest of us. 

              Take a few minutes today and think of the sacred things in your life.  Maybe that is a first step—our culture has become so “casual” that some people couldn’t even come up with a list of things that deserve that kind of respect.  We should be better than that.  These things do not have to be tangible like your Bible, though that might be a good one to add to the list—your Bible and how you treat it.  Do you just toss it around like a library book?

              As to the intangible, your marriage might be a good thing to show respect for in a visible way.  When our boys were little, they knew better than to ever sit between us at church.  That was just our little thing—it showed them that we were always one and they could never come between us.  I am sure you could think of another way to show respect to that God-ordained institution, one that means something to you too.

              Try to think of at least a few others.  Then think of ways to show that those things are sacred to you, not just some sort of mundane piece of life.  You might be surprised at how that one little sign of respect affects your whole attitude.
 
Her priests have done violence to my law and have profaned my holy things. They have made no distinction between the holy and the common, neither have they taught the difference between the unclean and the clean…so that I am profaned among them, Ezek 22:26.
 
Dene Ward

The Second Continental Congress met in May of 1775.  One of the many things that group accomplished was the forerunner of our current postal system.  It seemed obvious to everyone that there needed to be a reliable line of communication between the Congress and the armies.  Thus Benjamin Franklin was named the Postmaster General on July 25, 1775.  Since he was still serving at the Declaration of Independence in July 1776, he is considered the first Postmaster General of the United States of America.  The postal system may have changed some since his day, but we have come to take it for granted as we complain mightily about everything from costs to service.  But that system has meant a lot to me through the years.

           When we first moved over a thousand miles from my hometown, I eagerly awaited the mailman every day.  As the time approached, I learned to listen from any part of the house for that “Ca-chunk” when he lifted the metal lid on the black box hanging by the door and dropped it in.  Oh, what a lovely sound!
 
            My sister often wrote long letters and I returned the favor, letters we added onto for days like a diary before we sent them off.  My parents wrote, Keith’s parents wrote, both my grandmothers wrote, and a couple of friends as well.  It was a rare week I did not receive two or three letters.  This generation with their emails, cell phones, and instant messaging has no idea what they are missing, the joy a simple “clunk” can bring when you hear it.

              I was far from home, in a place so different I couldn’t always find what I needed at the grocery store.  Not only were the brands different—and to a cook from the Deep South, brands are important—but the food itself was odd.  It was forty years ago and the Food Network did not yet exist.  Food was far more regional. 

             The first time I asked for “turnips,” I was shown a bin of purple topped white roots.  In the South, “turnips” were the greens.  I asked for black-eye pea and cantaloupe seeds for my garden, and no one knew what they were.  I asked for summer squash and was handed a zucchini.  When I asked for dried black turtle beans—a staple in Tampa—they looked at me like I was surely making that one up.

             So a letter was special, a taste of home in what was almost “a foreign land,” especially to a young, unsophisticated Southern girl who had never seen snow, didn’t know the difference between a spring coat and a winter coat, and had never stepped out on an icy back step and slid all the way across it, clutching at a bag of garbage like it was a life line and praying the icy patch ended before the edge of the stoop.

            Maybe that’s how the Judahite exiles first felt when they got Jeremiah’s letter, but the feeling did not last.  They did not want to hear his message.  They were sure the tide would turn, that any day now God would rescue Jerusalem and send Nebuchadnezzar packing.  But that’s not what Jeremiah said.

            The letter…said: “Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare… For thus says the LORD: When seventy years are completed for Babylon, I will visit you, and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. Jer 29:3-8, 10.

           You are going to be here seventy years, they were told.  Settle down and live your lives.  It took a lot to get these people turned around.  Ezekiel worked at it for years.  They may have been the best of what was left, but they were still unfaithful idolaters who needed to repent in order to become the righteous remnant.

            Which makes it even more remarkable that they had to be told to go about their lives, and especially to “seek the welfare of the city,” the capital of a pagan empire.  To them that was giving up on the city of God, the Promised Land, the house of God, the covenant, and even God Himself.  And it took years for Ezekiel to undo that mindset and make them fit to return in God’s time, not theirs.

           But us?  We have to be reminded that we don’t belong here.  We are exiles in a world of sin.  Yes, you have to live here, Paul says, but don’t live like the world does.  This is not your home.  Peter adds, Beloved, I beseech you as sojourners and pilgrims… 1Pet 2:11.  Too many times we act like this is the place we are headed for instead of merely passing through.

           How many times have I heard Bible classes pat themselves on the back:  “We would never be like those faithless people.”  But occasionally even they outdo us.
 
These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth. Heb 11:13
 
Dene Ward