Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Beer and Love


By Matt Buehrig

I like beer. I like beer, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. My oldest son recently turned 21, and we also just dropped our 2nd oldest off at college for his freshman year. Beer was one of the many things swirling around my head in regards to both of those events.

I remember back to my own early days at college. I also remember (albeit fuzzy) my own 21st birthday. Beer was not a good thing for me back then. Or perhaps, more appropriately, it was neutral, and my use of it, in excess, was bad. Isn’t that how it is with everything? Avoid excess. Everything in moderation. Those are common words of advice for healthy living, both physically and spiritually. But do we really mean EVERYTHING?

Love. Love to excess. Love God, love His Word, love your family, your friends, even strangers. I can’t find the fault in that statement. Love always and without ceasing. Love when you are happy, and love when you are in pain. That’s right. I didn’t say you had to love the pain, but don’t stop loving just because you are in pain. In parenting this comes up often. Many times my kids will disappoint me, and many times they will need to be disciplined. The best thing I can remember during those times, is to love them. I correct them because of love. I punish because of love. If my temper is still too hot to be able to follow these words, then I need to step back. If I am too angry, or in too much pain, then my words/actions/punishments may be coming from a place of vengeance as opposed to guidance.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

I Hope

I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.
I hope.

Ellis Boy "Red" Redding
 If we spend any time these days keeping up with whats going on in the world, no one would blame us if we had a hard time mustering up any hope.  Racism, religious persecution, terrorism, nuclear war, class and economic inequality, the rise of the 'nones', the continued assault on our religious freedom...just a few of the topics that blend together to paint a picture of doom and gloom in our Post-Christian world of today.

Against this backdrop where do we as believers find hope to carry on?

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

The Gift of Life


by Fred Vilbig

Life is a gift from God. You and I did not cause ourselves to come into existence. At one point we did not exist, and then we did. When we didn’t exist, we couldn’t cause ourselves to come into being, so Someone created us. That was God. Our lives, our very existence is a gift from God.

If you give your child a gift and they willfully destroy it, I think that we would all have to acknowledge that the child is ungrateful. The greater the gift that is destroyed, the greater the disrespect that is shown. There is nothing greater than life. It is the basis, the foundation of all other gifts. If we don’t exist, if we’re not alive, we can’t receive any other gifts. There is no greater gift than life.

That is why assisted suicide is such a great sin. We are taking the greatest gift that God gave us, and we are destroying it. We are throwing it back in His face. We are, in effect, saying no to all of His gifts. We are saying no to Him.

Proponents of assisted suicide will say that it is monstrous to force people to suffer the horrible pain of cancer or some other terrible disease. It is merciful to put an end to their suffering. The Dutch assisted suicide law permits euthanasia only when great suffering is present. But that misses the point of suffering.

Pain and suffering entered the world through sin. They are the consequence of sin.

Jesus came and suffered and died for us to overcome that pain and suffering and death. It is obvious that He did not end pain and suffering since it is still around us. Jesus had to suffer and die, but He overcame suffering through the Resurrection. He told us to follow Him.

As hard as it may be to see this, Love is the point of it all. God is love, and God is our destiny, so love is our destiny. Trusting in God, holding firmly to Him in all of our pain and suffering, even through death, is an act of love. Trusting God even in the midst of terrible suffering is a statement of our love for God, and it makes our love for Him grow.

Assisted suicide is a rejection of God’s will for us, a rejection of God. It is a rejection of that fundamental gift from God: life. And although it may be hard to understand, it is a rejection of the grace of suffering; the blessing of suffering if you will.

Rejecting Gods gifts to us is a terrible thing. In effect, we are rejecting God Himself. Since there is no greater reality outside of God, if we reject God, we end in nothingness. Is that really where we want to end up?

It seems to me that assisted suicide will be the next great battle that we are going to have to face. Assisted suicide is a slippery slope to the mercy killing of the inconvenient, the flawed. Life is the first gift to each of us, the fundamental gift. Condoning assisted suicide, much less participating in it, is a heinous thing. It is fine to manage pain to the greatest extent possible, but doing it by destroying life is not the solution. We need to pass through our pain and suffering, trusting in God the whole way, and find God at the other side. And that is where we will find Heaven.

May God have mercy on us all.

Monday, August 7, 2017

A Tale of Three Mothers

A Guest Post by Judy Wind

The first story of motherhood is that of St. Anne, the mother of Mary. Not much is known of St. Anne or Mary’s childhood. St. Anne was married to Joachim and their marriage produced Mary who would one day be the virgin mother of Jesus. St. Anne is the grandmother of Jesus -the matriarch of the Holy Family. She is the patron saint of grandmothers, women in labor, unmarried women, and she’s the patron of the city of Chinandega, Nicaragua. Only knowing this small amount of information about St. Anne, I have created an entire “back story” for her. None of which is rooted in church doctrine. I think about what her life was like as the grandmother of Jesus. I have decided that she was a cuddler and a snuggler and that she gently pinched Jesus’ nose to make him laugh. I have imagined her to have had a temper and to have stomped her foot in exasperation when the situation called for it. I believe she was frugal, resourceful, and disciplined. I think of St. Anne when I feel like an old mom. I think of St. Anne when I feel the weight of my family on my shoulders and ask her to pray with me for Heavenly guidance and the wisdom to lead my family. I feel united with her as a mom. I hope to remain united with her as a grandmother one day. I think she “gets” me.

My second story of motherhood is that of Carina, a mom who lives in the village of La Chuscada – just outside of Chinandega, Nicaragua. Carina has a husband and two children – Edwardo and Dolce. Her daily schedule includes waking up when the sun starts to rise and the roosters begin crowing. She prepares rice and beans for breakfast, but if milk is available, she will make rice with milk and save the beans for another meal. Breakfast preparation and life has become so much easier in the last two years since, after much physical labor and financial savings, her village established an irrigation system to bring fresh water to the town. After breakfast, she helps the children off to school and her husband off to work in the fields. Then she begins her daily chores of hand washing the family’s clothes and hanging them on the line to dry. She sweeps the floor of their home and the outdoor space surrounding it. Both of these spaces have dirt floors and are swept daily. These chores are very challenging during the rainy season as Carina’s home is made of cinderblocks and open air spaces. She has no windows. One room is fully enclosed and the other room has three walls with the room facing the outside. After chores, she makes her way around the village to check on the elderly and returns home to make fried plantains for lunch for her and the children. Her husband has taken the breakfast leftovers out to the fields for his lunch. If the morning runs smoothly, she will take a little time for herself and watch a soap opera on a small television that has a dial knob and antennas. Then there is preparing rice and beans for dinner. Occasionally she will add chicken to the dinner. They have a family meal together. Carina washes dishes and everyone heads off to bed a couple of hours after sunset. Sunset is a little after 6 PM. She has survived earthquakes, flooding from hurricanes, volcanic eruptions, and draught….And she smiles.

The third mother is me, Judy Wind – Midwestern American suburban mom of two daughters. I am also a wife and educator. My daily schedule begins with moaning the moment the alarm goes off in the morning. My husband brings coffee to my bedside to help me move from my bed to the hot shower. Breakfast is “every man for himself” - whatever you want – cereal, Ego Waffles from the freezer, a freshly blended smoothie - just put your dishes in the dishwasher. Lunch prep is completed by the person in the family who is running ahead of schedule – which means lunch is never prepared. That doesn’t really matter; we can each buy something to eat at some point during the day.
I get in the car and head to work in my Ford Explorer, which not only has heated seats, but also air-conditioned seats. At work, I answer emails, answer phone calls, facilitate meetings, occasionally say something smart and meaningful, advise people, and then they generally follow my advice. I come home and go for a run in the neighborhood because I have not had any physical activity and I have so much stress to get out of my system. I have a well-balanced healthy dinner with a glass of pricey red wine, watch TV, and go to bed. When I crawl in bed, I kiss my husband “good night” and I say, “I love my bed. I love my bed. I love my bed.”

With such diversity among this group of mothers, how could our lives possibly intersect?