March 23, 2008

Keep the Faith

Read: John 20

That dark Sunday morning, the women struggled toward the tomb with the spices and ointment they bore only a part of what weighed them down. They bore the grief and pain of having seen their Teacher and Master crucified like a common criminal, then buried in a borrowed tomb. At least they could keep faith with Him by completing the preparations for His burial for which there simply hadn't been time as the Sabbath bore down on them.

Of course, their spices weren't needed - remember, He had already been anointed at Bethany (and at His birth when the Magi brought myrrh!) The women were being faithful in small things - they hadn't abandoned their teacher, even in death. Still, they were missing the big step of faith; He had told them that the Son of Man had to die and rise again on the third day, what were they thinking? Nonetheless, "to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance" (Matthew 25:29), and they received the reward of their faithfulness in greater measure than anyone could ever have hoped or imagined. He was alive! He had risen, a conqueror after all, but not simply over the power of Rome, but as the conqueror of Sin and Death!

Now it is our turn to keep the faith, and to contend for the Faith. Where do we start? How about with the little things? "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when he comes in his glory...." (Luke 9:25 26)

I'd like to close this year's Devotions Book with this verse from the Gospel of John
"Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name." (John 20:30-31)

So go forth Alive, and rejoicing as you reach out to your community and beyond, living the Good News of Jesus Christ! Amen!

Charlie van Becelaere

March 22, 2008

It's All About Who You Know

Read: Matthew 7:21-23, Luke 18:15-17

As have many companies in our area, the company where I work has just gone through a painful round of layoffs. I survived the cuts, but many of my friends did not.

I was talking with one of my friends who's actually looking forward to moving on. He said that he sees it as a kick in the pants from God to go do what he's really supposed to be doing anyway. It's too comfortable to be able to simply keep going to the same place, doing the same things, for the same paycheck. Still, he knows that it's going to be tough out there, and I offered to help with any contacts he might need to make – as they say, it's all about who you know. As he was leaving my office, we said that we'll see each other around, and then Brian said that he knew he would see me in Heaven, anyway, and he's right. Because in that case too, it's all about Who you know:

A man dies. Of course, St. Peter meets him at the Pearly Gates.

St. Peter says, "Here's how it works. You need 100 points to make it into heaven. You tell me all the good things you've done, and I give you a certain number of points for each item, depending on how good it was. When you reach 100 points, you get in."

"Okay," the man says, "I was married to the same woman for 50 years and never cheated on her, even in my heart."

"That's wonderful," says St. Peter, "that's worth three points!"

"Three points?" he says. "Well, I attended church all my life and supported its ministry with my tithe and service."

"Terrific!" says St. Peter. "That's certainly worth a point."

"One point!?!! I started a soup kitchen in my city and worked in a shelter for homeless veterans."

"Fantastic, that's good for two more points," he says.

"Two points!?!!" Exasperated, the man cries, "At this rate it'll just be by the grace of God that I ever get into heaven."

"Bingo, 100 points! Come on in!"

Amen!

Charlie van Becelaere

March 21, 2008

Final Moments

Read: Luke 23:33-46

November was a month with unexpected and unpleasant deaths for us. Two of Gary’s co-workers were gunned down in a parking lot. Sadly it wasn’t over as fast as one would hope. Every so often I think of that horrible moment. I imagine the terror they experienced and feel awful about the way they died. One of our dogs died in November too, so now I have two dogs in heaven. There are days when I think of them and can cry just thinking about how miserable their last day was. It’s easy to focus on the bad parts. It’s sad to lose someone you love, and when their death isn’t painless or easy, it’s hard to ignore the misery that went with it.

Then I remind myself that in the scheme of things the terror or misery that they felt was fleeting. I find myself physically shaking my head to make the upsetting thoughts leave. I force myself to think about what their life is like now. Gary’s co-workers were in love, and they died together. Their terror and pain vanished and now they are happy together for eternity. I imagine one of my dogs swimming any time he wants. I imagine him running without a limp. I imagine the other dog giving him a run for his money chasing the ball. They didn’t know each other in life, but I like to think they’ve found each other and become friends. I know their pain is gone.

That makes me think of Good Friday. I can get very upset by the horrible death Jesus suffered. I can’t help but project my feelings onto his situation. I imagine his pain, his sadness, his fear, his disappointment in those responsible. Each Good Friday I grieve for him. My grief, like his suffering, is fleeting though. Not only did his suffering end, but he rose to glory and great joy to be with his Father. Because of his suffering, we also will rise to glory and great joy to be with our Father.


Thought for the day: Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. (Psalm 30:5)

Prayer: Dear God, we are amazed and eternally grateful for the suffering Jesus endured for us. Help us remember that whether our own exit from this life is easy or difficult, we will enter into peace and joy in heaven with you. Amen.


Jacki Rumpp

March 20, 2008

Methodist Central Hall: London, England

Read Luke 10:29-37

I walked into the church, awkward and self-conscious, with a big red duffel bag on my back and a red and grey backpack covering my chest, looking every bit like the typical American-youth-back-packing-across-Europe. Loaded down with everything I might possibly need for a month of travel, I was tired, lonely, homesick, and bored of Catholicism. I was ready for something different, something less severe. I was ready to be uplifted, I was ready to be inspired.

The security guard graciously accepted my bag, and kindly directed me to the coffee room to wait until the service started. Finding a seat in the corner, I attempted to make myself inconspicuous while still taking note of the others gathered there, a difficult task in a room with few other people. Upon hearing of a communion service, I questioned the speaker and was led into a small chapel for the early morning service. Having only received communion once in the past five months, I was looking forward to the opportunity of taking the sacrament that had been otherwise denied to my un-Orthodox beliefs. Approaching the altar for the bread and wine was like coming home, finally something I could understand, an idea I believed in and an act I could participate in without feeling like an intruder. I was unprepared for the sense of relief and thanksgiving that came, and the tears began to flow, stemmed only by a fellow worshiper leaning over and holding my hand, offering me the human element which had been so lackluster in the other churches.

After the service, the same woman caught up with me, introduced herself as Mary, and asked if everything was alright, if she could pray for me. She took my hand and offered a small thanks to God for bringing me to the church that morning, praying that I would be safe and happy. She didn’t know anything about me, not my story, why I was there, where I was going. And she took my hand and prayed for me. As simple as that.

As I left the hall later that afternoon in order to catch a train to the next city on my list, I was overwhelmed by a sense of relief and healing. The service had been beautiful, and just as exciting, it had been in English. The words of the sermon had resounded, pressing humility on all who listened. The music had been uplifting and pure. And the congregation had welcomed me as one of their own, inviting me to worship in the future and gave me names and numbers to contact if ever I was back in the city.

I have never been so touched by the kindness of complete strangers. In a world that seems filled to the brim with devastation, disaster and mistrust, peace and love are sometimes hard to imagine, impossible to achieve. But a gentle hand touched mine and loneliness slipped away. I received a hug and I felt relief. And a prayer was lifted up and I saw hope.

Emily Richardson-Rossbach

March 19, 2008

Pitfalls in Life

Read Psalm 103, Luke 14:1-6

A man fell into a pit and couldn't get himself out...

A subjective person came along and said, "I feel for you down there."

An objective person walked by and said, "It's logical that someone would fall down there."

A Pharisee said, "Only bad people fall into pits."

A mathematician calculated how deep the pit was.

A news reporter wanted the exclusive story on the pit.

An IRS agent asked if he was paying taxes on the pit.

A self-pitying person said, "You haven't seen anything until you've seen my pit."

A fire-and-brimstone preacher said, "You deserve your pit."

A Christian Scientist observed, "The pit is just in your mind."

A psychologist noted, "Your mother and father are to blame for your being in that pit."

A self-esteem therapist said, "Believe in yourself and you can get out of that pit."

An optimist said, "Things could be worse."

A pessimist claimed, "Things will get worse."

Jesus, seeing the man, took him by the hand and lifted him out of the pit.



Thought for the Day:
Be ye fishers of men: You catch 'em; He'll clean 'em.

March 18, 2008

Walking in Heavy Rain

Read: Mark 9:35-37

A few years ago we planned a trip through Elderhostel to Costa Rica. We were told before we left home that we could visit a local small school, and if we chose, we could bring school supplies for the very poor school.

After we arrived in the small town near the Caribbean coast, a hurricane came through, very close to us – monsoon rains for several days.

The trip director told us we didn't have to walk the quarter of a mile to the school, but the children would be very disappointed if we didn't come.

Needless to say, all thirty of us grabbed rain hats and umbrellas and walked through knee-high wet grass fields, and across mud roads to make the trip.

Through their teacher's interpretation, they asked many questions, and we sang our National Anthem for them.

This is a very friendly, but poor country. Most homes have dirt floors and no indoor plumbing.

The reward for us – seeing the smiling faces and hearing “thank you for coming” – was well worth the wet walk.

Sarah and Jack Wooton


Thought for the day: Have faith – remember, it wasn't raining when Noah built the ark!

March 17, 2008

Prayer

Christ, be with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,

Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,

Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,

Christ where I lie,
Christ where I sit,
Christ where I arise,

Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me,

Salvation is of the Lord,

Salvation is of the Christ,

May your salvation, O Lord, be ever with us.

Amen.


St. Patrick

March 15, 2008

Why do you live There?

Read Psalm 84

Country Roads. I love driving them. We live on a paved road, but when I have time I love to take the back roads home for the last 7 miles or so. How would you like to drive the last 7 miles home without passing another car? It’s not uncommon to pass a herd of deer or other wildlife on the way home. Our nearest neighbor in the back yard is .9 miles away. That would be like living on Maumee and your backyard goes all the way to Mack Ave. We have a bonfire whenever we feel like it. The nearest streetlight is 1.2 miles away.

Our yard features a stocked fishing/swimming pond that covers ¾ acre. The pond alone is bigger than the yard I grew up in. Kids go nuts when they catch a 4 lb bass right here in the back yard. We entertain a lot and in summer and we have the space for baseball, football, badminton, Frisbees, kites, horseshoes, swimming, fishing, cards, fireworks, and any number of things kids dream up all going on at once. Our home is one of those places kids always whine about going to, then the parents can’t get them in the car to leave.

Our home is modest but includes all the modern conveniences and updates we want. Our classic Chris Craft 27’ Commander fishing boat spends her winter in a heated/air-conditioned barn on our property. We can visit and tinker whenever we like. Your barn isn’t heated and air-conditioned? Your boat is on some strangers place? How do you live?

Sometimes Jeri and I sit in the rockers on the back porch and use the .22 cal. rifle to shoot flies off the rocks in the back 40 about 130 yards away.

At Christmas a dozen farmers with their hay wagons loaded with kids go to see Santa on the edge of town. Santa flies in on a candy apple red helicopter, lands in a corn field then rides on an old pickup truck with antlers and a big red nose on the hood so the kids can come see Santa. You don’t get this in the ‘burbs.

It’s not all fun and games though; the local paper crime blotter can be pretty scary. One time the 4H cow got out, wandering and lurking in the shadows in the woods for a week until caught at the Bruno farm howling to the bull in the pen. Then there was the time someone stole a concrete goose statue from someone's front porch. The heinous part of the crime is that the perpetrator also took the Goose’s new holiday outfit and the poinsettia plant next to it. Yup this stuff makes the paper out here. If we do need the cops though they’re only a phone call away, 45 minutes to an hour later they’re here, and ready for anything.

12-year-old boys ride dirt bikes for miles on the back trails between the farms. They don’t ask for bee bee guns. They ask for and get real shotguns; youth hunting day is a rite of passage. The video game people don’t do very well around here. One of the farmers has a heated barn that’s so big the little league uses it as a batting cage in the winter. That can be a lot of fun to watch on a winter’s night.

The old farmer down the road, Big Daddy Tom is a great neighbor. His family’s been farming this area for over a hundred years. Sometimes I spend a day with him to go see the Amish. Amos the Amish makes windows, Jacob the Amish runs the lumber mill, and Elizabeth the Amish makes the cookies. Whatever you need, you can probably get it from the Amish. On the way back Big Daddy Tom knows every watering hole and hidden haunt from the Tip of the Thumb to Toledo. You’d be surprised how many there are and where some of them are. At least one is in an old root cellar that has served libations since prohibition. You can’t pay to get in; you have to bring a good story to tell. Drinks are still a buck. Take it from me, some of the beer lappin’, belly slappin’, broad beam baloombas can tell a pretty tall tale for a dollar drink.

Sometimes I feel inadequate in church because we live so far from Grosse Pointe, although we can make it to Church in 33 minutes. Nothing beats the Pointes in spring and fall and I do miss the area. We have to make a choice though. As the great 20th century philosopher Bob Seger once said, “You just can’t have it all”. We could never afford to have all we want in Grosse Pointe.

We once invited the entire congregation to our home for a picnic and many of you came. It was a lot of fun. We could probably be talked into doing that again.

Having all of you makes the drive to church worth it, and having open space makes the drive home worth it too.

For us, Country Roads isn’t just a song it’s a way of life. We don’t live fancy but we sure live free. No one has ever asked why we live here after having spent an afternoon with us. If you’re reading this I hope we’ll get to see you out here sometime.


Ron & Jeri Draper

March 14, 2008

Why do you come all the way here for church?

Read 1 Timothy 1:3-7

Jeri and I are asked this frequently, and I suppose it’s a logical question if you only drive a few minutes to get to church, although it’s never even occurred to me. We usually answer the second part with an invitation, bring your family to our home for an afternoon and you’ll understand. The answer to the first is a little harder to pin down.

I don’t remember it but I was baptized on the old altar where the piano now resides in the Great Hall.

I can remember swimming and fishing on the St. Mary’s River at Camp Conley when I was 3. The Frisbies, Pierrons, Heftys, Bantiens, Rev. Nixon, Dr. and Mrs. Schaffer, and others were there. It was 1962. We went there with the Church until I was 6.

I can remember Ginny Downs making nursery school fun. I remember Bert Prisk using a plumber’s torch to melt crayons on sandpaper drawings we made in 5th grade Sunday school, the coolest thing that ever happened in Sunday school, painting with fire.

So many times Perry Thomas tried to get me to straighten up and fly right. God rest his tired soul. I drilled the holes in the granite boulder to mount his bronze statue in the Memorial Garden. It’s still there. Must have done that right.

I helped Scott and Mary Frost organize the first church winter retreat. Mary couldn’t ski so I taught her. I snowplowed backward down the hill with her skis snowplowing between mine while I held her to keep her balance and she had the hang of it in no time. She loved it so much she and Scott moved to Florida, haven’t seen her since.

So many times I remember half the church coming to our house to play cards with my parents all night.

I remember sitting in the balcony of the old sanctuary watching the choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus of Handel’s Messiah. To this day it’s one of my fondest memories. If my life passes in front of my eyes when I die, I’m sure that sight will be in there. Now when I see Jan up there in the choir it’s 1974 again. We sit up front so fewer people suffer when I sing.

Before there was Charlie there was a man we called Doc. He worked tirelessly to make church a place where young people wanted to be. He was an important figure in my teen years. Many years later I found myself 1,200 miles off shore in the Atlantic on a dark moonless night full of stars and no other light. I was delivering a 42’ sailboat to the West Indies. On deck alone on watch with calm seas sailing at 5 knots, I couldn’t resist the temptation to take a dip. At 01:00 or so I tied a line to a deck cleat and jumped in. Holding the rope I towed behind the boat as I’d done hundreds of times near shore in daylight with friends running the boat. This time it was just me and the stars above. Then for some reason, it occurred to me how disappointed Doc would be if I died out here doing this. If I lost the rope, the boat would be miles away in the open ocean before anyone knew I was gone. Paying attention to my gut and Doc, I climbed out to dry off. As I did, the drag on my fishing pole’s reel gave out a grind for only a second. When I reeled in the line my bait was bitten in half. It was a wooden plug the size of a large broom handle. Something hungry with teeth as big as my thumb was in the water right behind me when I was towing myself behind the boat. Why do I drive so far to come to this church? Why was Doc there in the stars that night?

Even so, for several years I was CEO of this church. Yup I was. Christmas Easter Only. In those years I felt inadequate. I spent many lunch breaks eating my lunch in the parking lot. Then after a service I attended that included Charlie and Heidi singing a duet I remarked to Charlie how fortunate this church is to have them. He responded with the most astute observation, he said “This church is fortunate to have you too, Ron, we’d like you to come in more often.” So I did.

This led to me finding some of my most treasured friends, if you’re reading this you’re one of them. Even in the years I was not often in this church, there’s not been a time when this church wasn’t in me. This little church is firmly ensconced in my soul. Now I look forward to my Bob sermons, they’re like the lunch Jeri packs for me, I don’t remember the specific contents of them, I just know that each one keeps me going until the next one is consumed.

I can remember every Pastor since Rev. Nixon. I’ve been raised in, confirmed in, and counseled by this church for as long as I can remember. Over the years I’ve found myself in some compromising positions, and its only the teachings and connection to this church that have led me from the tempter. Over the years two people have died in my arms, and it’s only because of the things I’ve learned in this church that I knew what to do at those times.

From the first time I brought her, the lovely and gracious JeriLynn has commented how friendly and accommodating everyone is.

Even when driving 1 ½ hours through a foot of snow I don’t wonder why we drive so far to come to this church, for me it’s a question of “ Where else would I go?”

And besides I know it makes my mom happy.

Happy Birthday MOM!

Ron Draper

March 13, 2008

Growing in our Faith

Read Numbers 6:22-27, 1Corinthians 12:12-13, 26-31

I was at first a bit nervous when asked to reflect upon my faith and how the church has influenced my life. When we first started attending services at GPUMC I was feeling a bit guilty. Being brought up Catholic, I thought my Mother would be rolling in her grave. Then another member approached me during the fellowship hour and said that if it wasn't for the ex-Catholics this church wouldn't be so large. As the weeks passed I felt welcomed and fascinated at how the church family worked. The church was not run by the Pastors but by the people. The Pastors keep us centered and guided but we are in charge of all the wonderful things that are done here.

Over the past five years I have seen an amazing growth in faith in myself and my entire family! Steve, my husband and rock, has read the entire Bible twice! (Including the book of Numbers!) He glows when he talks of the senior high work camp mission trip. My 15 year old son, Mitch, has made some incredible friends and memories with the youth group thanks to Charlie and Heidi. And I continue to hope and pray that Lindsay, 12, will have the same wonderful memories of church as she continues her faith journey. My only memories of church when I was young was a long ride to 1PM mass at St. Mary's church. My Dad dropping us off in front, saying he would be in and he has heard enough sermons in his life. I love listening to our pastors' sermons; they bring the Bible to daily life and I especially love it when my kids comment on the sermon at brunch. Yes they get it!!!!

As I sit behind the altar with the choir each week, I look from my perch at all the wonderful people in our congregation. I know that these people make a big difference in the world. I know that one day very soon my kids will be off at college and I will have more time to be more involved with all the wonderful people and projects at GPUMC.

May the Lord Bless Us and Keep Us.


Gail Makos

March 12, 2008

The Journey to Grosse Pointe United Methodist Church

Read Galatians 6:1-10

My charming bride came home from Church one Sunday and said that Bill had asked her to talk to the congregation about her Church life. She said Bill would like you to say something too. That was the Sunday Bill had announced he had reluctantly accepted the mission position. My reaction that I participate was “no way!” Then I thought about what Bill had said that day in Church….how he had managed to dodge leadership positions, yet he worked in the Memorial Garden, picked up flats of flowers at Eastern Market, sang in the choir and smiled. WOW!! Those are major commitments.

My family lived some distance from Central Methodist Church in Lansing. Buses didn’t run on Sundays. We didn’t have a car. On some Sundays and Easter, my Mom and I would walk the mile to the Nazarene Church service where my Boy Scout Troop met. In High School, I witnessed for God at age 15 at the South Baptist Church. This meant a person didn’t dance, play cards, smoke or drink. You could kiss though. This fit right in with growing up. If you said, “holy cow” at my grandmother’s house, it was to the corner, nose to the cob webs.

I went into the Army at 19 expecting to go to Korea but was sent to France instead. My Mom wrote and told me that I had never been baptized. For some reason, I wanted “immersion”. The base chaplain found a town some 40 miles away that agreed to the baptism. My military life style didn’t change much. I read Bible “words” nightly and practiced what I perceived to be a good Christian. I still could go astray on any given day.

Upon return, Karen and I met at Ferris State College. We were immediately attracted and wed 3 years later. We married in the First Methodist Church in her hometown of Ypsilanti by the Reverend Robert Ward.

We spent the next 3 years in Ludington and attended the Methodist Church, sang in the choir and enjoyed Church family activities. When moving to the Detroit metropolitan area, the St. Clair Shores Methodist Church was recommended. For some reason, Karen and I didn’t feel comfortable nor accepted. We decided to look around. One Sunday, we came here and here became home. Our first Sunday, we were greeted when we came in and greeted when we left by lovely, smiling people, many of whom are still here and still greet. That was 1965.

Interestingly the narrow door and congested hallway we entered that day doesn’t exist anymore. Now there is a large Narthex that gets congested. However, the greeting and smiling faces still exist. I could or should do more for our Church….my home. I have contributed and served. I do think back to the years when the giving envelopes were white, yellow, pink, lavender, green, now blue and realize how fortunate the church is that we don’t have a half empty or full envelope box today. In the early years with a young family, it was difficult to always meet our pledge. We did what we could do at the time.

In closing, I must thank this congregation, Reverend Wright, Jenneth and Nancy Grose for the support you all gave Karen and me after the death of our daughter, Jami. Talk about the strength of God and belonging…this church is the place to be!!!


Maynard A. Leigh

March 11, 2008

Coventry Cathedral

Prayer Panels in the Ruins

In the ruins of the cathedral in Coventry, England – which adjoin the new cathedral, built after the original edifice had been destroyed by German bombs in World War II – are several panels of prayers. Where the altar once stood is a cross made of burnt beams of the old church, with a sign saying “Father, Forgive.” Around the rest of the former sanctuary are panels with the theme, Hallowed be Thy Name, asking God's presence in all our activities.


Hallowed be Thy Name

In Industry		God be in my hands and in my making.
In the Arts		God be in my senses and in my creating.
In the Home		God be in my heart and in my loving.
In Commerce		God be at my desk and in my trading.
In Suffering		God be in my pain and in my enduring.
In Government		God be in my plans and in my deciding.
In Education		God be in my mind and in my growing.
In Recreation		God be in my limbs and in my leisure.

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of Hosts Heaven and Earth are full of Thy glory

March 10, 2008

If a church is measured by prayers and kindness, then this house of God is, indeed, a cathedral.

Read 1 John 4:7-13

Our family has lived in a state of anxiety and concern since my husband, Bill, was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. It was exactly one yea ago this month that happened, and our church has been my harbor, a safe haven.

Everyone is such a comfort to me.... A hug, a special smile, phone calls, cinnamon applesauce and peanut brittle, soup, a complete dinner for two, cards, prayers and messages left on our machine. All of these have made us feel loved and important. "How's Bill doing today?" When asked this question, many times you hear from me more than you need to know, but it feels like family, and I tend to vent my frustrations and hopes onto your shoulders.

I wish there were something to give to all of you in return to show our appreciation.

Bill and I thank you for all that you've shared with us. We feel very special, and we send our love back to you.

Jean and Bill Buhler


"We are most like our Lord when our thoughts for ourselves are lost in our thoughts for others. There is no greater love than that." (from John 15:13)

March 8, 2008

A Mother's Challenge

Read Matthew 25:35 and 28:19-20

My daughter bought me a quote-of-the-day calendar about motherhood. Although I found all the quotes to be insightful and interesting, I was particularly inspired by the quotation from Rose Kennedy, about her role as a mother:

“Whenever I held my newborn baby in my arms, I used to think that what I said and did to him could have an influence not only on him but on all whom he met, not only for a day or a month or a year, but for all eternity—a very challenging and exciting thought for a mother.”

While thinking about what she said, I realized that she was also describing our roles as Christian disciples. We are called upon to spread the good news of Jesus Christ in our interactions with others. What we say or do can have a profound influence on someone’s life, and that person, in turn, can affect the lives of others in a very positive way. We should all be excited by the challenge!!

Matthew 25:35


Jan Versical

March 7, 2008

Pathways

Read Psalm 119:1-3, 105

I've traveled many pathways in
The years I've spent on Earth;
Some paths have led to heartache, but
More paths have led to mirth.

Some paths were far too steep to climb.
Yet with my silent prayer,
God sent an added touch of strength
And faith to get me there.

I've flown across Pacific seas
To fair Hawaiian isles,
Then found their beauty equaled by
My children's precious smiles.

I've wandered through ripe fields of wheat
That equaled treasured gold;
I've climbed to glaciered mountain peaks,
So splendid to behold.

I've gone through valleys of despair
In shadows dark and deep,
Yet God reached down to comfort me
Whenever I would weep.

I've strolled beside a beach where whales
Cavorted happily,
Inspiring, poetry in praise
Of God's great majesty!

Yes, I have traveled far and known
Both pain and happiness,
Yet found, as I look back on life,
A fact I must confess:

No matter where the paths have led,
The best one I have trod
Was when, as just a little child...
I chose the path of God!

Berniece Hearsch (Karen Bromley's friend from Bad Axe)

March 6, 2008

Follow Your Nose

Read: Isaiah 55: 8 - 11

A couple months after our much-loved dog, Tucker, died at age 14, we decided we needed another companion. We acquired a very energetic hunting dog, a Hungarian pointer named Toby. Toby is Tucker’s antithesis – full of energy, and goofy, but a bit of a wimp. Also, for the sake of our sanity, he needs to be walked everyday.

Toby’s walking habits are erratic to say the least. I hate to make him heel all the time, so usually give him the run of the leash. His nose is constantly to the ground as he runs back and forth across the sidewalk - to trees, telephone poles, mailboxes – a whirlwind of motion.

I thought he was just a crazy dog, until a few weeks ago when we walked after a fresh snowfall. What I noticed was that Toby was following the tracks of animals clearly visible in the new snow. He did have a purpose – his nose was telling him what path to follow; by using only my eyes, I had assumed that there was no intent to his behavior.

Likewise, in our Christian journey, we may not always follow a straight path. With our limited vision, we cannot presume to know the direction God has designed for us.

We must trust in His infinite knowledge, and use all our senses to discover the path He has chosen for us.


Sue DeWitt

March 5, 2008

Where have they gone?

Read Hebrews 11

Wouldn’t it be nice to have the giants of history still here? People you would like to sit down with like George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Abe Lincoln and more recently Walt Disney, Alfred Sloan and Pope John 23rd. You could even include some who are giants only to yourself like for me, Chet Atkins, Waylon Jennings or Johnny Cash.

These are “celebrity” or “famous” persons. Think about those who were closer to us whom we don’t have around now. Some have moved away – others have died. Don’t you wish you had asked family members all kinds of questions about things that have come up. Shirley never asked my mother how to make pie crust or gravy, but Charlie and Jacki know. We have a lot of old pictures, but we don’t know who the people are. Some families video tape older members of their family and have excellent histories.

Look around and realize now is the time to appreciate and/or get to know the giants of your life. Start with your family, your Church family, your co-workers and perhaps some persons you have always wanted to meet. It could be like the song about guitar picker Clayton Delaney “I remember the year that Clayton Delaney Died”. At the end there’s a line “Maybe the good Lord likes a little picking too”. Who knows when any of us will be called for what ever talent we have.


Jack Van Becelaere

March 4, 2008

My Journey of Faith

Read 1 Samuel 16:6-7, Acts 15:12-17

I am honored to be asked to write about what my faith and this congregation in particular mean to me since there is no doubt that both have played a huge part in who I am today.

From the outset I need to say that I am not a person who has unshakable, unquestioning faith. Rev. Giguere once said that one should always be open to questions to grow in faith. Well, I certainly have no problem with that. In fact, there have been times in my life when I have openly rejected the church and all that it stood for.

Furthermore, I have always tried to understand the beliefs of other religions. A Jewish proverb says that he who knows only his own religion knows no religion. In this search I have always been struck by the commonalities between other faiths and Christianity.

For example, last summer I attended a Sikh temple with one of my students. After the service, the priest asked me what I thought of his sermon, which was about the road to a closer relationship with God. He said that God is not so interested in the acts of a person. That is, God does not have a clipboard keeping track of those acts. Rather what is important is your fundamental attitude toward God and others. In response to the priest's question, I said that his sermon sounded very Christian; probably not exactly the right response, considering that I was a guest in his congregation. But I was grateful for and challenged by his message nonetheless.

In summary, I view faith as a journey. When you stop for too long on this journey, that is, when you stop questioning, you will never grow in your faith.

I have had a priceless opportunity to raise our children in this church and have been thankful for the nurture of this congregation. The church has been there for all of us for the rough as well as the joyful times in our lives.

I thank God daily for this congregation and its mission.

Gratefully,
Vivian Anderson

March 3, 2008

Casting Bread

Read Romans 12:1-21

Sometimes bread makes me cry . . .

One of the marks of being “married to the ministry” is that people outside our church doors talk to me about religion and what they want it to mean. They talk about faith and their problems with it. They tell me stories of leaving the church as young adults, stories of feeling abandoned, stories of being lost. They ask me what I think about organized religion, television evangelists, salvation for sinners. And, inevitably, they ask me, “Just what do you get out of going to church?”

I want to tell them it all started when I was a child; I went to church to feel the warmth and the responsiveness of the people I loved. Going to church was never an issue in my family; we went to church because everybody went to church. It was a small town, and that’s what people did on Sunday mornings. I sometimes went with my grandma and my Aunt Aurelie to sit in their glass-fronted-sanctuary in a nestled-in-the-woods United Methodist church. My grandma kept candy in her purse, buried under Kleenex and her glasses. I chewed the candy and always wondered how much longer the prayer or the sermon would last. My aunt would lean over from her aisle seat and whisper, “There’s a cardinal in the tree,” or would point to rabbits hiding under shrubs. Grandmothers love us unconditionally of course – mine still does – and Aunt Aurelie made me feel that I could do anything, that I was supremely special just for existing. I felt especially golden sitting between them in church, even as an adult.

My aunt was one of those people who turned ordinary occurrences into great moments of entertainment. I always knew we were on some kind of excursion to make memories anytime I was with her. She used to walk me to the corner store for bread. We walked to the river; we sat on the dock with our feet dangling over the water. We threw day-old bread to the river ducks under hot summer sun. I remember how the ducks would crowd in a circle and quack contentedly as they ate. They moved as a frenzied group and quacked louder as they half swam, half flew to the next bite of bread. Sometimes I fed them the crust and kept the middle section of the bread for myself, liking the way I could pinch it into a cube in my hand before throwing it in my mouth.

Just what do I get out of going to church?

I want to tell the people who ask about the connection I feel between being that loved little girl when I was with my aunt and being a loved adult when I walk through the sanctuary doors of a church. I want to tell them that sometimes when I take communion, the smell of the bread makes me cry. It reminds me of the ducks and those summer days with my aunt, the times of being small and safe and untouched by the storms of life. I am standing in church holding bread in my hands; I am sitting at the river’s edge with my head on my aunt’s shoulder; I am throwing bread on the water. I am feeling that inexpressible gift of knowing God’s Son, and that gives rise to this belief: there are times when eating bread is the only thing that matters because it means you’re safe. I want to tell them that even if there never was an Auntie in your life, there can always be a God, and he is found in every church where someone believes and waits and prepares a table for you.

I want to tell them that what I get out of going to church sometimes defies explanation. I am often without the right words when I try to talk about God, when I think about his gifts to me, when I hold that small bit of bread in my hands as communion begins. I think in some ways it comes down to this: that belonging to a church is receiving a gift every week of knowing that one person can make a difference; it is the gift of knowing that what you give comes back to you; it is the gift of understanding that even as a grownup, when you feel small and unsafe and ravaged by the storms of life, there is a God who gives you other people’s stories to teach you the best things he can. He throws the stories right in front of your face. He pulls at your sleeve with his great big hands and points his finger toward the guy in the pew behind you at church or nods his head toward the woman three feet to your left. God elbows you in the side like an annoying older brother and pulls your hair long enough that you finally twist your head to look in his direction and you see so many people who have overcome tremendous heartache or have survived seemingly insurmountable odds that you can’t help but try to put your life back together. Look around you, God says. You can do this. Life is still about living and they’ve already given you plans.

Just what do I get out of going to church?

I want to tell the people who ask that we throw bread to the world . . . and we wait . . and someday it will make a difference. I want to tell them you are always left with the hope that moments will continue to arrive where the people you love are free and running with their arms open wide . . . you are always waiting for that spirit of people being children again . . . you are willing that spirit to land in your lap to reward you; you are receiving the world and accepting a wonderful gift each time you open your heart to the warmth of God. You offer yourself; you cast your bread and your time and your talent on the water never knowing . . . and one day it comes back to you, and the world is a better place.

Just what do I get out of going to church?

I want to tell them everything I can . . . and that’s the answer.

Everything I can.

Jenneth Wright

March 1, 2008

Tang Gah!

Read James 1:17, Luke 12:22-34

“Hi Honey, Come In, Come In, Sit honey sit, you my son. You hungry? No? You just had lunch? Good, I make you some grape leap, meat pie, piece o rice or two. Fresh kibbie, eat honey eat. Ows you mudda? Ows you fadda? Good? Tang Gah! honey Tang Gah!.”
And so it’s gone for nearly 40 years when I see my friend “Bodian” at his mom’s house.

So many times I’ve heard people say “Thank God” for one thing or another, but I’ve never heard anyone say it, and mean it, like my friend’s mom.
You see, she was born and lived in the mountains of Lebanon. As a young girl her family made arrangements to send her to America so she would have a chance at a better life. In her early teens, she said goodbye to her parents, and all she knew, to land in a giant foreign place where she didn’t speak a word of the language. It would be a lifetime until she saw her mother again. She learned the language, made her way to Michigan, married Lou, a man of similar background, and together they built a family and raised them here in Grosse Pointe.

When she was a girl, when people were hungry they put some seeds in the dirt and waited a few months for some food to pop up. In the meantime they were hungry.
If they wanted water, they waited for rain, or took a hike to scoop some from the well or a stream and hoped it didn’t make anyone sick. If it made someone sick, it was a few days hard travel to a doctor. Imagine the trip to the doctor could be as deadly as the thing that made you want a doctor in the first place.

More than once, I woke up in Bon Secours hospital to see Madium pulling the curtain away and announcing to the world, “You my Son! I take care of you now! I make you kibbie, eat honey eat!” She worked as a nurse’s aid in that hospital for over 40 years. If you needed a nurse, you couldn’t do better than Madium.

The point is, the things most of us take for granted, she looks at as Gifts from God. She knows what it is to be without the basic necessities of life and how precious food, water, shelter, and health are. Where she comes from these four things are Everything.

In a moment, you’ll be done reading this, and maybe you’ll forget it just as fast. Or maybe, the next time you see your doctor, or turn up your thermostat on a cold winter night, or see aisle after aisle of food in a grocery store, or tap a glass of water from your faucet, you’ll think of my friend’s mom and say, “Tang Gah honey Tang Gah!!”

Ron Draper