The end of a Heroic Era

Yesterday was more than the last Sunday of 2015; it was the end of an era.  A friend of mine entered retirement and left the local pulpit ministry.  Art had served this congregation for almost 30 years.  I’m not sure how old Art is or when he entered the ministry, but his early sermons were written on a scroll with a quill pen.  When you first meet Art, you get the impression that he is a pastor through and through.  That conviction remains, but as you get to know him better you become convinced that he is working on his inner curmudgeon.  And when you get past the gruffness, which is the way he plays, you realize he is a tendered hearted man who loves the Lord, His church, and people.

In addition to being a preacher, he has served in numerous ministry groups and civic organizations beyond the local church.  His faithfulness in his little town is a tribute to his patience, humility, and long-suffering nature.  Art is one of the ministers who has survived a coup by disgruntled church members, and while he was hurt, he never lost his hope. 

Besides all that, Art is a loving husband and proud dad of several kids.  His son wrote a song about a young married couple making their way through life and the minefield of marriage.  In a lot of ways that song could apply to life in ministry.  So, I want to say thank you to Art for your service and example.  And ask you, my readers, to listen to this song, and taking it out of context, try to apply it to the life of ministry. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtTa81LyuQM

Strange Christmas Traditions

We all understand that Jesus was not born on December 25^th.  Most of our celebrations of Christmas are simply traditions that we have acquired and pass down.  Some of our traditions seem to have nothing to do with the worship of Christ at all, but they are for the most part harmless and fun.  I hope you have a joyful Christmas and that your traditions fill your heart, home, and church with the warmth of our Lord’s love.

And the next time you think your Christmas traditions are strange consider these:

Christmas log

The bizarre Catalonian tradition of caga tió (or "defecating log" in English) involves creating a character out of a small log - often complete with a grinning face and hat, and a hold drilled through it – which sits on the dining room table during the fortnight leading up to Christmas. It has to be fed every day with fruit, nuts and sweets, and then – on Christmas Eve – the entire family beats the log with sticks, while singing traditional songs, forcing the log to excrete its treats.

Festive fiend

St Nicholas's evil accomplice in Austrian tradition, Krampus is a demon-like creature that punishes bad children. Men dressed as Krampus roam the streets during the festive period, frightening the little ones.  Nothing tells of the Joy of Christmas like terrorizing children.

Christmas Caracas

In Caracas, the capital of Venezuela, it is customary to travel to early morning church services during the festival period on roller skates – roads are even cleared to provide Christmas worshippers with a safe passage.  You might even get a cast for Christmas.

Wicked Christmas

Norwegians believe that Christmas Eve coincides with the arrival of evil spirits and witches. Logically, therefore, households will hide all their brooms before they go to sleep.  You would hate to have a witch go cruising on your broom.

Goat to it

A tradition popular in Scandinavia is that of the Christmas goat (Julebukk in Norway or Julbock in Sweden). You can find straw goats on or near the Christmas tree or even a gigantic straw goat in the town square.  The custom has origins in the worship of Thor, who rode in a chariot pulled by a pair of goats.

I’d rather have Ham.

Christmas cuisine in Greenland doesn't quite compete with a Christmas Ham. Mattak – raw whale skin with a little blubber – is one festive delicacy, as is kiviak, which is made by wrapping a small arctic bird in seal skin, burying it for several months and eating its decomposed flesh.

Taking the plunge

It's difficult to understand how diving into a freezing body of water on Christmas Day ever caught on, but it has become an annual custom in Britain.  Brave Londoners leap into the Serpentine on Hyde Park or Brighton beach, in Ireland revelers head for the chilly Irish Sea, and in France there's an annual dip in Nice.  Here in Florida swimming on Christmas day might happen if accompanied by warm weather.

The ghost of Christmas past

During "consoda", the traditional Christmas feast in Portugal, families will sometimes set extra places at the dining table for deceased relatives. It is thought that the practice will ensure good fortunes for the household.  

Black Peter

In the Netherlands, Zwarte Piet - or "Black Peter" - is a mischievous assistant to Father Christmas.  He will appear at festive parades and is tasked with amusing children and scattering sweets.  As those who dress up as Zwarte Piet usually cover their face in blacking and wear a curly Afro wig, the tradition has become a controversial one, with some claiming it to be racist.

Night of the Radishes

Every December 23 in the Mexican city of Oaxaca, thousands of residents flock to the main plaza to see an exhibition of sculptures cut from radishes. Themes usually include nativity scenes.  In my opinion, this is a much better use of a radish than doing something disgusting like eating them.

Please drop me a note and let me know about your Christmas traditions, warm, witty or weird. 

In the Cause of Christ

Charlie

The Face in The Picture. Part 3

From Last week…

As long as he thought about football, he didn’t notice the sorrow so much.  So that is what he did now.  Ever since the first day of spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.

Ever since the first day of spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.

With great senior leadership and a very talented team the Warriors rolled into the fall with high expectations; they were not disappointed.  That year most games were over by halftime and Buzz was regularly playing JV and even freshmen to finish games. He was building a dynasty. The Warriors rolled through the regular season and the playoffs without being seriously challenged.

The day of the state championship, December 5^th, was a perfect day for football, clear skies, crisp air and an anticipation of a great game. With a conviction born of hard work and flawless execution the team was peaking at just the right moment, physically they were fresh and psychologically they were focused.   Many of the seniors would be playing on Saturday next fall so everyone was predicting a record crowd for the game. Buzz dressed out as many boys as the rule book allowed, hoping to let every kid play in the state title game.

Only one question troubled Buzz. Where was Christa? In four months the only contact was a postcard with a midtown Atlanta postmark that simply said, “I’m fine.”  Buzz resolutely pushed that question from his mind. He would deal with it later; he was determined to be in this moment for his boys, school, and community.

The perfect season had a perfect ending. The crowd of fans, scouts, and curiosity seekers watched one of the best teams in high school football history perform perfectly. The lopsided 31-0 victory was the result of Buzz’s restraint and not the level of competition.

After the trophy presentation, Buzz gathered his team in the field house.  Once the initial celebration and rowdiness had settled down he gathered the team in a semi circle and told them, “There are no rearview mirrors on a football helmet.” Then he paused, “But sometimes, it is okay to stop and look back and enjoy the view.” With that, he turned the boys loose.

Later that night, while the victory celebration continued down in the city square, Buzz sat in the seat Sandy always sat in, the stadium dark and silent.  Buzz sat alone, having the odd feeling of being a stranger in his own program and his own town.  Professionally, he had reached all of his goals, but he felt utterly alone.  For the first time since she left, Buzz gave himself over completely to thinking about Christa and the heart that was already broken and shattered.  Buzz sat in the dark and cried; it was the way he cried when Sandy died.  When he was done, he got up and went home-crying can accomplish only so much.  He went to Christa’s room and began searching.  When he found the boxes of his trading cards, he went to the kitchen table, made strong coffee, and started to work.

By noon the next day, he was walking in midtown Atlanta. With a backpack full of trading cards, thumbtacks, tape and staplers, he was leaving his picture in every sleazy bar, dive hotel, strip club and bulletin board he could find. Painful as it was to consider, Buzz knew that the big city had a way with young girls.  When he taped his last picture to a bus stop wall Buzz returned to his truck and then to Greenwood.

In the ‘50s, the Regent was a magnificent hotel, but now, like most of its patrons, it was a shadow of its former self.  It was the cheapest hotel in the worst section of Atlanta.   The Regent Lounge, located in the basement, was usually the end of the line for exotic dancers, but tonight was amateur night at the Regent Lounge and Christa needed money.

Christa was a shell of her former self.  She was thin, unkempt, and pale. She went up to the desk clerk. “I need a room.”

Without looking up, the clerk asked, “For an hour or the night.”

“How much for a week?”

“$150.00”

Christa calculated quickly and sighed. “I’ll take one night.”

As the clerk turned to get a key, Christa looked around. She glanced at the bulletin board with all its ads for massages and call out service. But something in the back of her brain fired a spark of recognition, the corner of something jumped out at her.  She stepped over and pulled down a flyer for a roommate. Looking at her was her dad’s face on a trading card, stapled a half dozen times, the trading card for Coach Buzz Sawyer smiled at her.

“Where did this come from?” She almost shouted. Heads turned. The clerk startled.

“What?”

“This picture.  This card.  Where did it come from?”

“I dunno.  It’s been there a couple weeks.  $25.00 lady.”

Christa didn’t hear him. She was shaking all over and trembling so badly she could hardly grab the card to pull it down.

“Hey, lady. The room is $25.00!”

Against her wishes, tears filled her eyes and spilled over to her cheeks. She wiped her face with her sleeve and turned the card over.

“Hey, you want the room or not?”

In the space for an autograph, she read, “No matter what you have done or become, I love you.  Come home.”

“Hey, lady, I’m waiting.”

Everyone in the little town of Greenwood knew it was going to be a tough Christmas for “Buzz” Sawyer.  He decorated a little more than usual, hung a few extra lights, had attended a few social events, but it was still very dark.  Even the Christmas Eve service didn’t brighten Buzz’s spirits.  As he drove home, he made his plans to be at the office early so he wouldn’t have to see families together on Christmas morning.

Buzz pulled into the driveway and sat for a moment looking at the nativity scene under the spotlight. He was flooded with emotions, of thoughts of Sandy and Christa, of the happiness of past Christmases and the loneliness of this moment. Looking at the nativity as he came up the sidewalk, he didn’t notice the Christmas envelope in the door until he reached for the doorknob.

He took the envelope, planning to open it another day. But it wasn’t sealed, it was already open. Inside, instead of a greeting card, there was a picture-not a picture-but his own face on a trading card.

Before he could process what this could mean, Christa spoke.

“Daddy, I’m home. Is that okay?”

“Honey, as far as I’m concerned there are no rearview mirrors on my heart.”

She fell into his arms. He hugged her and felt her shudder with great sobs. And through the mist that filled his eyes, it seemed that everything, even the nativity scene, was brighter.

I hope you have a blessed and bright Christmas

Charlie

Face in the Picture Part #2

From last week:

The excitement of football can mask a lot of pain. So Buzz and Christa hid their pain in a run to the state title game. With 38 seconds left, the Warriors missed a state title by less than a foot when a gust of wind blew the field goal wide.

That year for Christmas, Buzz received a Christmas card from his team. It simply said, “Next year, we promise.” Buzz sat in a darkened living room and read the card.  In spite of the sympathy and the good wishes of his team and friends, his world was dim.  There was a foreboding that seemed to be lurking in the darkness of his soul, and it wasn’t just the crushing loss of his wife.  He looked at the darkened nativity and thought, “Maybe next year.  Maybe next year the pain and loneliness would subside.  Maybe next year.”

During the spring Christa started playing softball.  She had her dad’s competitive nature and her mom’s cat-like reactions.  In softball she began to come into her own.  Once season was over and through the summer and even in the fall she trained tirelessly.  There were two results, she was becoming a great athlete in her own right and she became extremely close to her softball coach.  

That year, as men accustomed to winning often do, Buzz compartmentalized his life.  The pain and worrisome feelings were in one box, football in another.  On the first day of spring practice he gave his “there are no review mirrors on a football helmet” speech.  Determined that the past, not even his own, would not cripple the present, he focused on discipline, hard work, and flawless execution.   And it paid off, the team delivered on their Christmas card promise winning a state title with a 14-1 record.

But Christmas that year was the worst yet. Christa had wanted to go with her softball coach’s family skiing over Christmas.  Buzz declined the invitation on Christa’s behalf saying that Christa needed to be home.  She was home, but only in the technical sense of the word.  Christmas day she didn’t come out of her room until almost noon and took her gifts when her dad wasn’t watching and disappeared.  It seemed the only thing darker and colder than the nativity set was Christa herself. Once upon a time she could open up and be friendly and charming to everyone, but even that was changing.  She was still courteous, except to her dad, but others noticed she was becoming more sullen. Both Christa and Buzz were heartbroken about the distance that was growing between them.

Both buzz and Christa were glad when Christmas break was over and they could return to the routine of school and work.  Buzz was about to embark on a year that he would wish he could erase from the record books.  Winning a state title with a senior heavy team means that defending that title is going to be difficult.  But Buzz had never had problems with his players like he did that year.  Beginning with spring practice to the last game of the season, they were his team of underachievers.

He confided to a friend, “I think I have lost it. I can’t reach my players.  Dadgum, I can’t even reach my own daughter.”  In some ways Buzz felt like giving up.  He felt like Christa had final drifted beyond his reach; the gloom that settled over their home was pulling his life out.  His thoughts would drift back to when Sandy was still alive and everything was good.  Melancholy would descend and Buzz would look at the review mirror of his past and give up on today. 

So when Christa asked or announced her plans for Christmas, rather than fight, he allowed Christa to go with her softball coach and family on a Christmas ski trip. By 10 am Christmas day, Buzz had put away the nativity scene and its light, thrown out the Christmas cards and put Christa’s gift on her bed to await her return. Buzz had never been so alone before; so, by noon, he was in his office planning the fall campaign. As he made notes on the yellow legal pad he read again the sign over his desk, “There are no rearview mirrors on a football helmet.” Besides football, what did he have?

Christa played lights out ball that spring, winning a place on the all-state team and getting the attention of some college scouts.

During Christa’s senior year of high school all that she and her dad shared was a last name and an address; it was as if there was a cold war being fought.  Buzz had successfully put the pain of his relationship with Christa in a box that did not adversely effect his coaching.  That fall the Warriors went to state, but were beaten soundly for the state championship.

Christa and Buzz made a pretense of a family Christmas that year, even making plans to join friends for supper.  But, by 11 that morning, the pretense was gone. A spat about nothing and Christa was off to friends and Buzz was back at his office wondering what idiot came up with, “There are no rearview mirrors on a football helmet.”

Christa had the kind of senior season that brought in the scholarship offers, even a couple for larger universities. Buzz hoped and prayed for reconciliation with Christa.  But it never happened. Graduation came and went and still the distance was there. If she was at home that summer, she was in her room packing, but mostly she was at work or with friends.

On Friday, a week before the first game, Buzz came in from practice to find Christa sitting on the trunk of her car. It was packed to the gills. He got out of the truck and walked over.

Christa started. “Here!” She handed him her house, truck, and office keys. “I’m going.”

“Which scholarship did you accept?”

“I’m not going to college. I’m not playing sports. I’m not being anyone’s daughter. I’m 18. It is my time to be me,” she exploded.

“How will I get in touch with you?”

“You won’t. If I want to talk, I’ll get a hold of you.”

“Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Atlanta, maybe Charlotte, and I’m going to be me.”

With that, she got in her car and drove off.  Buzz walked into the house, to Christa’s room, put her stuff on her desk, lay down on her bed and experienced a new level of isolation and sorrow.

Buzz briefly contemplated going after her. But knew her well enough to know that would never work. She was gone and nothing on earth could make her come back.

As long as he thought about football, he didn’t notice the sorrow so much.  So that is what he did now.  Ever since the first day of spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.

To be continued….