Easter Devotional 2014

Guilty Until You Prove Yourself…

What?? We know that that is not how the wording goes. What if you were accused of wrongdoing and had to prove yourself innocent? Not the way we know it – that the accuser has to prove that you did it. Could you?

Maybe you’ve seen this engraved on a plaque or etched in a polished rock on someone’s desk:  INTEGRITY is how you act when no one is watching. The fact that you have integrity makes you act in an honest and upright way. It’s not the other way around.

Are you innocent because you haven’t been caught? Are you innocent because no one can prove that you actually did what was said? Of course not. I believe that there is a difference in being innocent and being not guilty. An act planned and executed with malice that goes unchallenged or unpunished does not render a person innocent – simply ‘not caught’. Unfortunately our news and sports stories are filled with those who seemed to be acting on the up and up only to be revealed as having been on a self-serving mission from the beginning. I follow cycling. Without me mentioning any names, you still won’t have trouble coming up with the one who has given this wonderful sport a black eye. The actions of one can taint the whole. If we as Christians SAY we are Christians and set out to do what appears to be the right thing only to be uncovered as acting to serve ourselves – well, we really didn’t have our integrity in check now did we. The actions of one…

Saved is what we are when no one is watching. I don’t know when I was saved; was it on Friday when He hung there alone and said, “It is finished”? What was finished? His mission here on earth? Was death finished? Was my sin finished – forgiven forever? Was it when he lay in the tomb alone? Maybe it goes back before that when, in the garden, with no one watching, he said (paraphrase) “Dad, I really don’t want to do this. But I’ll follow your plan; I’ll not follow mine.” He could easily have run away. Remember no one was awake with him. Once the guards arrived he had to be identified with a kiss. Off into the crowd he could have gone.

I like to read church marquees as I travel. Some are whimsical and fun and make me laugh. Some are judgmental and harsh and make me frown. And then there are some that make me think. Here’s a recent one:
DON’T CONFUSE THEIR ORDER.
SAVED BY GRACE
TO DO GOOD WORKS.

Integrity is what you have when no one sees. Honesty is how it gets presented to the world. Saved is what you are when no one sees. Helping the lowest, the lost, the least is how it gets presented to the world.

My prayer this Easter is that when we are alone we realize and recognize the sacrifice made to set us free and that we go forth into the world doing good things and proclaiming, HE IS RISEN.

Steve Matthews

Devotional 2-17-13

Tempted to Trade

You are driving along in your not so exciting, ho hum, it’ll get me there car. At the stop light a much newer version of modern chariot pulls along side. You know for sure that it will get better mileage than your car currently does, it will accelerate much faster away from the light when it turns green than the ride you now drive, and you know positively that it will have that ‘new car smell’. And in a moment of remembering only the times your car wouldn’t start, that the air conditioning failed to fire on that 90 degree day and the time the anti freeze all leaked out >> you are tempted to trade.

Your house has been a good house. Your children were born here. You have so many memories. You have so m-u-c-h stuff. If only you had another bedroom or a basement or a two-car garage, and suddenly all that fills your mind is that the windows are not double pane and a few of the door knobs are ‘sloppy’, the powder room sink drips, and the furnace may be headed down its last winter road and >> you are tempted to trade.

My birthday was last month. Although I’m now past the half century mark I still remember, with a smile on my face, the cake and ice cream parties from my childhood, the singing over the phone from friends, and as I grew and moved away, the “take it to the bank” assurance that my mom was going to call me…probably at nine minutes until eleven at night (that’s 2251 military time) and recount some of the stories surrounding that January day in 1962. I was always reminded that I was actually due in March (go figure). I was always reminded that because I was born in an Army hospital (now you get the 2251) that no one was allowed in the room with the mother, and I was always reminded that because the rules said that a girl’s name and a boy’s name had to be written down prior to delivery that had I been a girl I would have been Ann Elizabeth. A story that I did not know until I was a middle teen was this: Mom was 28 when I was born. My brother had already been on the scene for two years -- that made Mom a veteran baby deliverer. The young girl (Mom said 18 years old) in the neighboring bed had just delivered her first child and was scared out of her mind. The young girl’s husband had demanded (Mom’s word) DEMANDED that she have a son. As you can imagine from the tone so far – she had a girl. Mom said that the new mother looked at her with tears streaming down her face and said, “You have one boy already don’t you? Do you want to trade?” I am as sure as I live and breathe that Mom never considered the offer. It was, however, used by me every once in a while when I would do something that earned me the mom’s raised eyebrow expression. I would say, “Hey! You had your chance to trade me and didn’t take it.” It would lighten the moment for a moment until the full weight of that statement hit us both and we would reflect and wonder whatever happened to that young family.

One of the scriptures for this time period in Lent is the Luke 4 passage about Jesus being tempted in the wilderness. The devil comes to Jesus following a 40 day fast, “If you’re God, turn this stone to bread.” He takes Jesus to a high place, “Worship me, and I will give you all of this.” One last attempt: he takes Jesus to the peak of the temple so that Jesus may throw himself down. To strengthen his case he quotes scripture, He will command his angels concerning you and to protect you.

Here’s a temptation possibility that scares me. What if the devil had taken Jesus by the shoulders, holding him upright in his weakened state and said, “Look, man. You know where you are going. I know where you are going. Are you really going to die for this Steve guy? Do you not see how many times he will disappoint you? Are you really willing to give your life? Let’s trade him in. I’ll make the bread and get you some water. You give that Steve fella to me, and we’ll call it a day. You go on your way and live, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Every day I am grateful for my wonderful, loving parents. Grateful to Mom that Rob didn’t end up with a sister. And I am fall on my knees, press my face to the ground grateful that I don’t get traded in every time I fail to start or overheat or make Him wish that I did something or had something that I don’t. The sacrifice was beyond price, and I pray this Easter season that I/we will recognize the ‘should have been’ that we really deserve and know, as we live and breathe, that it will never happen that way.

Jesus loves me. This I know…

Steve Matthews

Devotional 4-5-12

Hang On…or Not

Our oldest son Grant was born in early June. A couple of cool things come along with a birthday slotted here on the calendar. As elementary, middle and high school progressed, school was often released for the summer just before his birthday, just after his birthday and on one particular year actually on his birthday – not even a pony from Mom and Dad could have topped that. We as a family would also take our vacation near this time. The year Grant turned thirteen we happened to be at Myrtle Beach. As we stood in the surf and got cooled by the rushing water, a boat sped by between us and the horizon. Trailing behind the boat was a parachute attached to the boat by a rope…parasailing. I looked at Grant and said, “Would you be afraid to do that?” His reply, “Oh no Dad! That would be AWESOME.” Uh oh. Time to put up or shut up.

Using the conveniently placed phone number on the parachute, Kim and I made the arrangements, and on the way to dinner that night let Grant in on news that he was going to parasail for his birthday. Remember, he’s thirteen. You don’t suppose they are going to let him go up alone, do you? Fast forward; he and I are out on the speed boat ready to launch. As they strap us in, they choose that moment to reveal a few key pieces of safety information about what to do if the boat sinks and we are still attached to it, and what to do if the rope becomes disengaged from the boat. (Maybe sharing all that BEFORE we got to the boat would result in too many canceled excursions.) We stayed the course and soon were hovering at 500 feet in the air surveying all around us. We were sitting side-by-side, much as kids sit in swings on a playground. Our feet were dangling and our hands were at ear level, holding on for dear life. All of the sudden Grant says, almost alarmed, “DAD! We should have brought a camera.” As I looked over at him, examining my white knuckles and his white knuckles, I fixed my gaze on his face I said, “You know, Bear, I saw those water proof cameras when we checked in – I just don’t know which hand we would use to take the picture.” Neither one of us would have been willing to let go. No aerial shots to remember our trip.

What things in our lives are we holding to so tightly that we are unwilling to let go? Afraid to let go.
I like to ride my bicycle. I’m 6’4” and ride a bike conspicuously label XL. I make a pretty good target for a cross wind, a pot hole or a rock in the road looking to knock a rider from his perch. As a result, I keep both hands (sometimes white knuckled) firmly on the handlebars. Things need to happen during a ride. Things that require ‘a hand’. Waving at an oncoming cyclist. Hand signals that tell others in the group behind you that there is debris in the road. And the all important drink of water. Trust me when I say NONE of this can happen unless you are willing to let go.

The disciples sometimes had trouble letting go. Letting go of their past in favor of a ‘Jesus future’. Then letting go of their idea of that ‘Jesus future’ for what Jesus really meant. On the Mount of Transfiguration it must have been beautiful. So wonderful that the three disciples wanted to stay. “Yo Boss. This is pretty cool. Let’s pitch some tents and just chill here.” Let’s not let go of this and move to the next thing. Peter hung on while facing off with Jesus about his death. He didn’t want to let go of the earthly Jesus in order to take hold of the heavenly Jesus. Judas hung onto a Jesus riding a war horse leading a powerful army. Jesus hung on – right up to the moment he let go of his life for us.

To what do we cling, white knuckled, unable to see beyond our grasp? A grudge, a memory, an idea. With both hands so tightly clinched we make it impossible to receive; a picture, a drink of water, a new idea, forgiveness.

(as seen on bumper stickers and plaques) LET GO and LET GOD.

Steve Matthews

Devotional 3-16-12

Do the Math

“How often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” I can identify with Peter. A question equals a loophole. And a loophole is there to jump or crawl through to get away from something you don’t want to do. A question, a loophole means that the direction to be followed is not abundantly clear – subject to interpretation. And won’t we (I know I will) usually interpret in our favor?

Several years ago one of our sons, along with a little neighborhood friend, decided that they would like to express their literary and artistic genius. The medium – cans of spray paint. The canvas – the budding foundation blocks of a half million dollar house. When the doorbell rang and I opened the front door I knew in an instant that something very much not good had just found its way to my threshold. If there is one thing I have learned to recognize it’s the MOM FACE that, without words, screams > somebody is in trouble. The owner of that face was the friend’s mother. She began to tell me what our little Picassos had done. I stood there (hopefully my mouth wasn’t really hanging open) in dismay. It so happened that that son was home. I said “Let’s go.” We loaded into the car and went to survey the masterpiece. Still in a state of shock, I stood there on the high ground looking down into a future basement at all of the ‘lovely’ words and pictures. This can’t be. But it was.

The only question that came to mind at that exact moment was “What were you thinking?” Dumb question! Even if I had gotten an answer beyond upturned palms, shrugged shoulders and “I dunno”, it would not have made the marks and the actions behind the marks disappear. This was all on a Friday evening. Following a l-o-n-g evening of how wrong that was lectures – I’m sure the other household got much of the same, the parental plan was to have the two boys spend the weekend scrubbing the blocks. Bright and early Saturday morning, wire brushes, graffiti remover, buckets and low self esteem in hand, the boys began their chore. All day they scoured the walls. They broke just long enough for a delivered bag lunch and then nose to the grind stone. As evening approached the moment we had dreaded and yet hoped for, happened. The ‘future’ home owner arrived. As we all stood on the elevated guard tower perch peering down into the ‘what will become a basement’ we watched the boys work. We explained to the owner what had happened and what we were doing to make it right. He expressed his displeasure at the painting but merged right into his appreciation for us, the parents, not letting this slide and for teaching the children that what they had done had consequences. He ended our conversation with the comforting words, “These walls will never be seen again.” He said out loud what we had hoped would/could be a positive outcome. The outsides would get weather proofing and dirt filled in around them. The inside walls would be finished in what was planned for the space, paint, paneling, etc. “It’s over.” And he left. Dark was now upon us and we each took our weary anti-painters home >> but not before sharing the basics of our conversation with the owner. Our plan to extend the paint removal to Sunday was now abandoned.

Fast forward: The phone rings one evening. The voice on the other end belongs to the MOM FACE. Ut-oh I thought. She said, “He (meaning the homeowner) wants paid for the paint damage.” My reply, “But it has been over a year. Surely that house has been built by now and besides he said the walls would be covered.” [skipping the details of several phone conversations – a meeting was setup, at the new house, with both sets of parents and the homeowner] The actual elapsed time was over fourteen months and yes, he had gone back on his word. He was demanding compensation. There was no reasoning. There was no negotiation. There was no explanation of the turnaround. We acknowledged what the boys had done and reminded him that we were prepared to repair all damage, including scrubbing for the rest of that weekend but that he had said not to. The conversation that unfolded was one sided and cruel. It went like this; you will pay (amount given) by this time (date given) or I will begin filing criminal charges against >>> are you ready for this>>> your sons. Clearly they are minors and the action would have been against the adults but the intention was to smear the kids through the system if the demand was not met. If we thought that getting the idea of defacing someone else’s property was difficult to get seated, try explaining to two young boys how an adult, you know those grownups we teach them to trust, can go back on what they said. If the fight had been adult to adult then maybe a battle would have ensued. But with the target being the children, we did what any parent would do to protect their child… we fell on the grenade.

I don’t believe that God orchestrates calamity in order to test us. I do believe that we are beings with free will and when calamity strikes, we can see God in the solution and healing. The amount of money being demanded by the homeowner would have been a reasonable remedy to pressure wash or sandblast or paint the walls at the time (14 months earlier) of the damage. It was now clearly an amount pulled out of his… well, thin air. It was not supported by a labor rate or a materials list. You’ve stuck with me this long now comes the funny part. Our family’s portion was seven hundred and seventy dollars. 7-7-0.

An amount of money just a smidge over a thousand dollars was not the make or break point on a half million dollar house. A game was being played and our children were the pawns. The amount of anger and even hatred I felt was consuming. The thing is, I cannot think of that event and not also think of the actual amount > 770. How many times do I forgive? I don’t have a lot of experience with dishonor and treachery. I was raised in a loving home, had a brother who was my best childhood friend and have worked in environments free of the shenanigans and back stabbing that go on in many work places. I believe that this is the most helpless I have ever felt. 770. I stay focused on 770. Not the money but the forgiveness.

There may have been simultaneous applause and groans when Eugene Peterson published The Message. It was refreshing in its translation yet in chopped to many of the verses we had learned as children. Maybe the next translation will go one step further. “How often should I forgive?” “You know, they stripped me and beat me and crucified me and killed me, you can’t count that high. Just keep forgiving.”

Steve Matthews

Devotional 4-16-11

Atomic Batteries to Power
Turbines to Speed

As a boy of the 60’s we loved to hear those words. That meant that Batman and Robin were on their way to Wham, Pow, Zonk some bad guys. We are Easter people and we are about to enter “our time”. Once during a discussion about the star in the east, the magi and the virgin birth, I heard a minister say, “Come to Christmas by way of Easter. If you believe that Jesus came, died and rose AND He did it all for you, then Christmas is easy.” We are Easter people. As this beautiful season unfolds we are reminded of life anew. By the flowers and trees greening around us. By the warm sun on our faces. By the breeze in our hair not forming icicles in its wake. We are also charged up and with utility belts firmly buckled on are ready to go Wham, Pow, Zonk some sin. We will see people at Easter who haven’t been to church for a while. We will want them to know all that they have missed. We will want to immediately immerse them into our world – our church. I know I will. Early vacationers to the eastern shoreline learn as they emerge from a dark, cold winter and run scantily clad, into the surf, unaware of what awaits - they get scorched by the sun. As our friends return to church, perhaps following a long, dark period and run to the Son for warmth, let’s not scorch them with a chronology of exactly how long it has been since we saw them last or a needs list -- you need to come to our Sunday School class, you need to come to early church, you need to join this committee, you need… (Possibly the single best word to distance me from as task).

When Jesus traveled, he walked. No 24-valve, dual overhead cam, high horsepower chariot. Hurry was not on the agenda. “Jesus, come quick. There’s this dead guy.” Still no hurry. “Jesus, come quick. There’s this guy’s daughter -- she’s sick.” So much not in a hurry we get the story headlined in our Bibles – ‘The miracle on the way to a miracle.’ When He spoke, he didn’t use a hi-amp microphone. He spoke softly. He talked the talk and walked the walk, showing us how to live by his actions. And when the road was ended, He showed us, slowly and quietly, how much we are loved -- “It is finished.”

When we see our friends, let them see and hear the Son through us.

Steve Matthews

Devotional 3-10-11

Flying Backwards

I talk to my dad just about every night. The conversations are not complicated and most often revolve around daily activities. His three “usual” questions are: Where did you go today? Where are you going tomorrow? Did you sell anything? One evening in late 2010 our conversation landed on travel – namely air travel. He asked the question, “Have you ever flown backwards?” I was sure I heard the question correctly, yet could not get it to compute. “Well,” I said, “I have returned by air when I had traveled somewhere by air in the first place.” “No, have you ever FLOWN BACKWARDS?” He began to tell a story that took place when I was elementary school age and he was stationed with the US Army in Korea. He boarded a de Havilland Otter aircraft, and, although not a pilot himself, was slotted into the co-pilot’s seat. The plane taxied, and took off from its runway just south of the DMZ. As they began to climb to a height above the mountains, they encountered strong winds. Winds so strong that even under the trained hand of the pilot urging the throttle ‘full speed ahead,’ the plane was unable to overpower the headwind confronting them. Rather than make a drastic correction, such as pitching forward or rolling the wings one way or the other to get away (both actions could have had terrible results), he simply backed off of the power a little bit, let the strong wind guide them backwards until a lower altitude could be secured and an alternate route chosen.

I wonder if Jesus ever felt like he was flying backwards. His disciples handpicked; his mission clear. They witness healing and miracles. They are closer than any. So strong is their faith. One on them can even walk on water. Walk on water – now that’s something. But doubt creeps in and sinking begins. Understanding seems so deep, and yet it goes from “I’ll never leave you Lord” to “I never heard of the guy.” Against the strong wind He let them fly. He never made a drastic correction, and we know from written account that they, after flying backwards, found their route and went on to proclaim the greatness of God.

I wonder if Jesus feels like he is flying backwards on a 21st century planet earth. In a 21st century Huntington, WV, I know that I fly headlong into forces that I alone cannot control. But I try. My corrections find me tumbled in heap. In today’s technology-filled world where you have to download a 100 page instruction manual in order to make the clock not blink 12:00, could there be any easier instruction; love God, love your neighbor? Well, I love God - from my lips to His ears -- but do I feed, provide drink, invite in, clothe, comfort or visit someone in need? Nah! Not like He is talking about. And that neighbor thing, how many houses away can I count before I reach someone who isn’t actually my neighbor? One comes to mind who has me flying into a gale force wind. Look out Steve, a tip of the wing and you are in for it.

I am grateful everyday that He is slow to anger and quick to forgive. He lets me (us) fly and soar and always offers to be the pilot for the journey. But when we take the controls and encounter an obstacle that we simply can’t get around, over or through, He holds us, lets us move back to where we should be and goes with us along the new path.

Gracious and loving God. Thank you for loving us – no matter what. Thank you for your patience when we think we have control. Grant us wisdom that will allow you to direct our route. Amen

Steve Matthews

Devotional 3-28-10

Gracious and loving God,

It’s the weekend, and wow, are we tired. We plop in our easy chairs as we turn our faces towards the fridge and the next basketball upset. You have had a hard week and you drop to your knees and pray as you turn your face towards Jerusalem. In the garden you asked the Father, “Let this cup pass from me,” but in the end said, “Not my will but Yours.” His will was that we should see grace beyond comprehension. And you entered the city. May we this week not take the bypass around the city and end up at Easter Sunday, but follow in the wake of the lowly donkey -- the lowly donkey that was called into service because the Lord needed it. May we be so needed by you. As we follow, we hear the cheers HOSANNA, HOSANNA, crucify him, crucify him, HOSANNA, crucify… This is going to be a tough week for you. It will get darkest just before the light.
“It’s Friday but Sunday’s comin.”
“We know the rest of the story.”
“We are Easter people.”
All true, but let us not get there so fast. Let us walk the road with you and know and understand that your sacrifice was great and your gift immeasurable.
We pray these things in your name. Amen

Steve Matthews

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Devotional 3-24-10

…in the breaking of the bread

Then their eyes were opened and they recognized Him … He had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. That is near the end of the 24th chapter of Luke. The story is from a subsection in the chapter entitled the Walk to Emmaus. The story begins with two travelers; we assume they are not disciples based on the fact that upon their eventual return to Jerusalem they meet up with ‘the eleven’. The travelers are headed to Emmaus. Jesus suddenly joins them but they do not recognize him. He asks what they are discussing as they walk. They respond by asking him if he is the only one who doesn’t know about the things that have happened in the past three days. I find the irony quite delicious considering the actions of the chief priests and rulers, the betrayal by Judas, the scattering of the disciples from the garden and, last but not least, Peter’s denial. He is indeed the only one who DOES know what has happened in the past three days. It’s not until they have persuaded Jesus to stay and share a meal that they are given the opportunity to know who he is.

My dad enjoys meal time with family and friends; holidays, birthdays, special occasions and the like. When the event is closing in he will say, “Are we going to be able to break bread together…?” Now, he isn’t asking if we are going to have communion together, he is talking about dinner. But in that dinner time we do commune. We sit and talk, we listen, we share, we laugh, we care, we offer advice, we take advice, we recognize, a little bit more clearly, the person at the table.

I, along with several friends, just returned from a three day journey, interestingly enough called The Walk to Emmaus. During those three days we enjoyed many meals including communion. Throughout the Walk, each step was an introduction to someone new. As we would break bread together we would recognize each other a little more clearly. Due to the spiritual construction of the weekend ,we did indeed recognize Christ more clearly and to perhaps a small degree, we got a clearer picture of ourselves.

My prayer this Holy season is that eyes will recognize, our hearts will be opened and our hands and feet will be those of our risen Christ.

Steve Matthews

Devotional 2-28-10

Almost
It’s been just a little over two years since our dear friend Jim Ray passed away. We see signs of Jim’s presence all over town and especially within the walls of Johnson Memorial. I dare say not a Sunday goes by that we don’t say to ourselves, or perhaps out loud to someone else, “I remember when Jim did this” or, “I remember when Jim was a part of this.” Jim made a lasting impression – whether he knew it or not.

I had the privilege of being part of the Ashland Area Emmaus Community with Jim. A word that comes up a lot during Emmaus events is agapé. We recognize that as one of the Greek words for love. Jim would occasionally slip up and say the word as ‘Agrippa’ when he meant agapé. We (the other JM members of the AAEC) would giggle and keep on going. He may have never realized what he had said or recognized Agrippa as being King, the last of the Herods. Hardly interchangeable with love. Frederick Buechner in his book, Beyond Words, tells a brief story of Paul’s self defense argument while on trial in front of Agrippa. Paul, never at a loss for words, puts forth a strong case. When finished, Acts 26:28 records Agrippa’s comment; “Almost thou persuadest me to become a Christian.” (KJV) Almost!!

Jim was active all around the city of Huntington. He worked with the food and clothing pantry, helped at the Mission, took meals to friends and church members that could not get out and would carry after church luncheon leftovers to the staff and drivers at the TTA. He had gum for the kids and a smile for everyone. I wonder how many people he won to Christ through his words and actions and how many he felt “almost” came to Christ. Acts doesn’t give us Paul Harvey’s the Rest of the Story, so we don’t know for sure that Agrippa did not turn towards Jesus at some point. I had the honor to attend Jim’s funeral. I heard people that I did not know – and did not know Jim knew – speak from the heart about how Jim had touched their lives. No doubt the Almost column was not as long as Jim thought and the Persuadest column greater than he could have imagined.

As we go about our days we will have our ‘almost’ moments. God will take our almosts and make grace. Let’s remember Jim, tell his story, do his work and have faith.

Steve Matthews

Devotional 4-7-09

I like to walk. The older I get the more I NEED to walk but, nonetheless, I like it. I strap on the iPod, turn it up LOUD and off I go. Weather permitting, outside is best. Ritter Park is ideal. My neighborhood, not so much. The exercise is enhanced by the 5 iron I have to carry to keep the non-leashed dogs out of my ‘personal space’.

The weather is not always a cooperative friend, and outside does not always work. For those times I use a treadmill. Now a treadmill, while it may look dwarfed inside of Sears or Dick’s – is NOT small. Finding a place for one is sort of like trying to stash away an extra twin bed or a refrigerator lying on its side. Ours is nestled against an outside wall in the family room. As I walk my field of vision is this; to the left, the 12 inch edge of a five shelf book case. The angle is too severe to read even a single title. The wood grain makes a nice pattern and well, ho hum, six seconds into an average 3600 second walk, and it’s time to move on. To the right is the TV. It too, in my opinion, is at too severe an angle to be much good. Plus the volume, to be at a level good for me, would vacate everyone else from the room. Straight ahead is the door to the room. With it closed, appearing at just about my eye level, the wood grain makes a pattern that I think resembles a butterfly. I find it pretty cool. The concentric circles that radiate from it maker a larger butterfly, then a pair of eyes and finally a pair of eyes in a mask. (Trust me – if you saw it you would agree.) The butterfly stuff is cool, the eyes kind of spooky and the whole thing – not enough to keep my attention for an hour.

To remedy this narrow field of view, I close my eyes. Ah, the age of discovery. I have discovered that I cannot walk, unaided, with my eyes closed. I walk along, arms swinging and in a matter of left – right - left, I am off balance nearly ready to stumble to the ground. The treadmill is far too willing to help me with this. It knows only forward. The speed is set and despite the capitalized bold letters on its sleek plastic case; DIGITAL CONTROL INTERFACE, GIGO applies > garbage in garbage out. Without having been told any different, when I find myself wobbling, it goes right on and would think nothing of it to throw me into the floor (and on anything that happened to be between me and the floor; the coffee table, the easy chair, the dog). But wait, another discovery. If I can touch the edge of the hand rail on the treadmill I can walk, literally the entire time, with my eyes shut. It does not have to be a white-knuckled grip as if I were on a moving train or rolling bus, just the slightest touch, and I seem to have my bearings, and all is well. Such it is with my life. I take off at break neck speed, thinking I have everything under control, only to find out that I have begun my journey with my eyes closed. Children to raise, people to meet, a career to maintain. All with my eyes closed. Left – right - left and I am again off balance and ready to fall.

It is easy to lose sight of God when your eyes are not open. Seeing God, finding God, for me, does not have to be a vise grip on the altar rail. It can be the slightest “touch”; seeing the love in my family’s faces, the support of Koinonia, the fellowship in Andrew’s Brothers, a message received during worship, gut wrenching laughter during a meal shared with friends. As recorded in the Gospels, the believer said “if I can but touch the hem of his garment, I will be healed.” God is never further away than my arm is long. If I reach He is there. I am steadied, I am righted, I am balanced, I am healed.

Steve Matthews

Mission Prayer Focus and response:
April 7: Volunteers in Mission, Summersville; Tom Clark, Director
They offer everyone a chance to participate in a hands on mission experience in many places around the world.
Today we pray for Volunteers in Mission. This is one of the tangible ways we are in mission around the world. Give $1.00 for every person in your household who has been on a mission trip.

Devotional 3-5-09

Like many people I dream at night while I sleep. My dreams, while in direct conflict with some studies, are in color. My dreams are not by any means prophetic or of startling revelation. Unless I have had way too much caffeine right before bed, they are not usually psychedelic or fit for the Twilight Zone. I will admit to having the occasional “showing up for class in my underwear” dream. Probably the caffeine. I did dream one night that my grandfather was alive. We were sitting at his kitchen table talking. This moment was not a flashback or memory. It was in real time, and it was as real to me as a puff of wind in my face or a hot cup of coffee in my hand. I was some 10 plus years older than when he passed away.

Questionnaires float around asking what is your favorite color, favorite food, favorite whatever? What is your favorite movie? Mine, hands down is Raiders of the Lost Ark. Not because up to that point it was the best movie I had ever seen nor even to this day, the best. It remains my favorite because for 115 minutes I battled bad guys, blew up a plane, swam in the ocean to board a submarine, and, in general, saved the world from being overtaken by the nasties. By the time Harrison Ford trotted down the marble steps in Washington, fired a parting shot about bureaucrats, and we saw ‘the crate’ safely tucked into its innocuous slot, I fell back into by seat, exhaled at last, and was exhausted. I remember, with great clarity, how I felt. I don’t remember what my grandfather and I talked about at the table – but I remember how I felt. It must be in the category with pure joy. He was gone and now he was back.

I lived with my grandparents for about three years -- my final year at Marshall and then for a couple more as I was getting started. It was added security and peace of mind for them and a welcome break from rent for me. It also gave me a chance to know them better. My grandfather, his name was George, was more patriarchal than ‘cuddly’. A bread winner rather than a changer of diapers. He saw the invention of the airplane, lived through World Wars I and II, Korea and Vietnam. Survived the Great Depression and watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon. He used to sit on a small wooden box in the yard and dig dandelions with a flat blade screwdriver (He probably knew there was a spray to accomplish the same goal, but this was his time with nature.). When outdoors he always had on a hat. He wore a wrist watch but no rings – he told me stories of mishaps involving rings at INCO. The habit must have stuck. He shopped for groceries EVERY day. Every day but Sunday. On Sunday he rested. We were not allowed to cut the grass, wash the windows or paint a screen door. He was a hunter. Using the meat and the hide – never taking a trophy. And just before the decline in health that would lead to his death, he was working on his tenth time, cover to cover, through the Bible. His Bible was a small leather bound KJV. My dad gave me the tattered remains. I have them in a Zip Lock bag to keep the pages and the binding together. My grandfather was well versed in scripture. On the night he passed away I spent a considerable amount of time stooped by his chair. Our hands were locked – his left, my right, my left, his right. This was mainly to keep him from pulling at the tubes and wires. As we paused there he would recite Bible verses. He knew many more than me. We, he, seemed to zero in on the 23rd Psalm. Over and over again we would say it, The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want… he leads me beside the still waters. Before the night was to end, he would dwell in a different place. In the hospital room that night, my grandmother (his wife of 63 years), my mom, Kim (my soon to be wife), various medical personnel and me. His systems were shutting down and the science associated with an earthly existence told us that it was only a matter of time – a very short time. He breathed his last and all at once there seemed to be a void in the world, a hole in space that I wasn’t sure would not swallow me. “Wait, I have more questions. Don’t go”. At 87 years old he died the March before Kim and I were married in July. On that July day I got to be both groom and usher as I escorted my grandmother to her place in the church. I missed her husband terribly. Suffice it to say, the joy that filled me at finding him alive and sitting at the kitchen table was overwhelming.
In this world where some say you can’t have up without a down, a left without a right, top without a bottom or good without bad, let it also be noted that the dark cloud that covered me when I awoke to discover that it was only a dream, was of bone crushing weight. I never felt as though anything were left undone between us. He being alive was an opportunity for me, as an older adult, to learn.

This is Easter, the very core of our faith. The one who died is alive. We can dream with our eyes wide open and know that whether waking or sleeping, He will be there. He will walk with us and talk with us and sit at our kitchen tables. We will learn from Him about love and caring. He will teach us how to behave towards our brothers and sisters. May we always remember fondly the lessons and blessings of those that have gone before. And may we always keep our eyes focused and have the direction of our path laid before us as we follow the Son.

From the lectionary readings;
Psalm 22:29-30: 29 To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him. 30 Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord.

Steve Matthews

March 5: Hate to clean? Donate a nickel for each box or bottle of dish detergent in your house

Devotional 2-29-08

Where Everybody Knows Your Name
We all have a name. Some of us like our names while others wonder what our parents were thinking. Having been born in an Army hospital, my name, my boy name and my girl name, were put on paper – signed, sealed and delivered, before I was born. Our name is our ID and whether we like the name or not, we do like to be called by it. I am around people throughout the day that call me (and everyone else) bubba, pal, buddy, champ, sport, old man, young man, dude and so on and on and on. They call people anything except their name.

When I first came to JM in 1985 Emerson Wood was pastor, and it didn’t take me long to recognize a special gift he possessed. He remembered everyone’s name AND he called them by it. It is fun to watch the look on someone’s face when, unexpectedly, they hear their own name.

Church is a wonderful place to know people and to be known by people. How many people do you think knew Jim Ray by name? Jim Ray, he makes the coffee; Jim Ray, he’s here during Wednesday night book study; Jim Ray, he works during Common Grounds; Jim Ray, he gives the kids gum, he volunteers at the VA – at the food pantry – at the clothing pantry – he takes meals to the bus drivers – he helps others who are sick. That Jim Ray has such a servant’s heart. You know who else knew Jim by name? His heavenly Father. He knew Jim here on earth, and I believe that when Jim stepped through the gates of God’s house it sounded like an episode of Cheers; “Hey Jim,” “Yo Jimmy,” “Jim, how’s it goin’?” I think the residents were waiting on Jim. His servant life on earth was the stuff of legend. I love the words from Mike Bowen’s devotional, the living of his life would have authored an epistle that would have rivaled anything Paul ever put together. They knew Jim’s name and welcomed him with open arms.

Our heavenly father knows our names too. Matthew and Luke tell that … even the hairs on our heads are numbered. Don’t you think a God that knows how many hairs you have would care enough to know your name? Of course he does. Our relationship with God is so very special. We know His name, and He knows ours. Sing it with me – you want to go where everybody knows your name.

Steve Matthews