Jesus Has Something to Offend Everyone

 One of the things I love about Bible study is the good discussion that a difficult passage produces.

A couple of weeks ago in our YMCA Thursday morning group we were discussing one of the most troubling passages in the Gospels when Jesus calls a lady a dog. Jesus said WHAT? Yep, that's exactly what he called her (Mark 7:27) and to be honest, if I had been the Gospel writer, I think I would have let it slide. Surely, he didn't mean it. It's one thing to have a bad day, but this poor lady came to Jesus pleading for him to heal her daughter and before anyone could say, "Would you please pass the jelly?" Jesus called the poor woman with the sick daughter a dog.

Dr. Clifton Black, one of today's premier New Testament theologians who grew up in nearby Thomasville, says that we spend an awful lot of time trying to get Jesus off the hook on this one. But the truth is, he said what he said and try as we may, we can't erase it.

One insightful member of our study group asked the question, "If Jesus came to one of our churches today, would we be offended? Or would he even want to stay?" Jesus might well be bored to death in some of our churches, but my hunch is he would be kicked out before he got fed up and walked out on his own. You see, Jesus has something to offend everyone.

Liberal churches would be offended because Jesus is a conservative. He spends a lot of time quoting scripture and talking about repentance and the straight and narrow path to salvation. He commissions evangelists to go and preach the gospel and baptize the saved. He talks about being born again and even lectures on the final judgment and insists that those who don't pass the test will be cast into the eternal lake of fire. He blasts those who abuse children, saying it would be better that they be drowned with a millstone around their neck.

Conservative churches would be offended because Jesus is a liberal. His chief cause is the poor, and he believes in taxing the wealthy. He wants everyone to be helped, even those who don't deserve it. He would not exclude anyone, but all would be welcome in Jesus' church: sinners, drug users, prostitutes and illegal immigrants. He certainly wouldn't exclude someone because they are gay or because they were the wrong color. And don't expect Jesus to support the Second Amendment. When the disciples showed up at the Garden of Gethsemane with concealed weapons, he was not very happy with them. And if you try to explain to Jesus that if he won't protect himself he just might get himself killed, I think he would say: "Well?"

And for those of us who like to use the word "moderate," I don't think Jesus was moderate about anything — he might not even give us the time of day.

The thing that we must always remember when we study the Gospels is that the "bad guys" represent exactly who we are today — the religious establishment. We are the Pharisees, the scribes and the religious authorities. We must decide what is more important, keeping the establishment in business or following Jesus — even when he offends us.

Black, in commenting on Jesus' offensive words to the woman, said, "The deeper question with which Mark's readers must come to terms is whether she or he can follow a Christ so offensive as to die by crucifixion."

During this season of Lent, it would do us well to reconsider the true message of the cross in all of its dimensions: offensive, scandalous and penetrating. And then if we are not also abashed, in Black's words, "it is a safe bet that Jesus has been domesticated and his gospel has been neutered."

Whatever Jesus meant when he called the lady a dog can be discussed for a long time, but one thing is crystal clear — when they nailed him to the cross there was no mistaking its meaning. And if we are not offended to the point of falling on our knees and surrendering our lives to him, then we are nothing more than dogs.

A Reason To Smile

To my Dear Bess:

Smile!

That’s what you always told me—smile!  No matter what happened, good or bad, we always need to smile.  I remember one hot summer day, we were in the back yard shucking corn—well; you were doing most of the shucking.  Mother had gone to visit a new baby in town and you told me that people had it all mixed up.  “We should be rejoicing when someone dies,” you said; “because all of their troubles are finally over.  But a baby is born into a world of pain, heartache and problems—that’s when we should weep.”

I didn’t know what you were talking about, Bess.  Not then, anyway.  There were a lot of things I didn’t realize back then. I never thought about the fact that you were black and I was white.  Even though we said you were like a member of our family, I know now that wasn’t true.  You didn’t sit down to eat with us like a family member would.  It never crossed my mind that it wouldn’t have been “proper.”  Even though my parents would never tolerate any racist remarks or jokes, you were still “the help.” 

You never graduated from high school because you left school to work for my grandmother. You couldn’t walk down Main Street.  You couldn’t eat in the same restaurants, drink out of the same water fountain or even ride in the same seats on the bus as white people. I’m sure I would have been welcomed at your church, but there was a man who carried a gun to our church to make sure you knew you were not welcomed there. I remember the well-worn path behind your house that led to the outhouse.  We had two indoor bathrooms at our house before you even had one.

But in spite of all of your troubles, you still loved me and cared for me like I was your own.  And in many ways, I was.  I loved you and looked up to you.  You had a way of putting everything in the right perspective.  You taught me so much about life, about forgiveness, and about faith. I remember coming down to visit you at your little house.  There were three pictures hanging on the wall:  Jesus, John F. Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.  I didn’t understand why you had those three pictures, but I do now.  Three men who believed in equality.  Three men who gave you hope.   

I remember watching Dr. King speak from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.  I was nine years old and I was watching it with you.  My small heart soared with his eloquent words of justice and equality.  I wanted his dream to become my dream.  I wanted to live in a world where people were judged by the content of their character rather than the color of their skin.  I remember you watching, but not saying much.  Seems like you knew more trouble was to come.

Five years later, I remember very well.  It was April 9, 1968 and we were watching Dr. King’s funeral service.  It was the first time I ever saw you cry and I thought about those three pictures, those three men—symbols of hope—all three dead.  You were wiping your tears with your apron.  There were still dishes to be washed. 

I called you right before you died and remember what you told me?  You told me to smile, because you were going to that glorious place where there would be no trouble, no more killings, and no more pain. I tried to smile, but it was hard to because of the tears.

I’m writing to let you know that, while I know you always smile in heaven, we have a reason to smile here.  Last month our City Council voted to name a major street, Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard.  I’ve been an advocate for the name change, just as I was for the adoption of the MLK holiday in our county a number of years back.  And not just because it was the right thing to do.  It’s because of you Bess.  Because I can still see you wiping away your tears with your apron as they buried Martin Luther King.  I want you to know that Dr. King’s legacy did not die that day—and it never will. I have tried to live my life working for his dream.  When I take a stand for equality and justice that some may not like, I think of you.  And I think I see you smiling. And there are no more dishes to do.

                                                                                                                                                          

Happy New Year From the Hospital

How did you welcome the New Year?  What would you think about spending it in the hospital?  That's where we were when 2013 arrived earlier this week. 

My wife, Joyce, had a knee replacement on New Year's Eve at Wake Forest Baptist--Lexington Medical Center.  Having surgery on a holiday week didn't sound very appealing at first, but the more we thought about it we decided that is was a great time to have surgery.  There were fewer patients in the unit and the care we received was extraordinary. 

As a minister, I visit the hospital frequently and experience healthcare from the pastoral perspective.  For the past six years I have been privileged to serve on the Lexington Hospital Board and have experienced healthcare from the administrative perspective.  But this was different.  My wife was the patient.  This time I was on the other side. 

The quality of Joyce's medical care was excellent.  Dr. Gordon Kammire, one of the best orthopedic surgeons anywhere, performed the surgery.  His warm, personable and engaging manner was refreshing and reassuring.  The Lexington Orthopedic Group is one of the finest in the state.  There is a dedicated wing of the hospital affectionately called "Joint Camp," reserved for their patients.  The first thing they tell you is:  "You are not here because you are sick.  You're just having some body repair."

Patients have their first session at Joint Camp a week before their surgery.  They are told exactly what to expect, what is expected from them, and every question is answered.  C. J. Miller is the head nurse and with her optimism, enthusiasm, and great sense of humor, patients can't help but excel.  All of the nurses, Christine, Janie, Melissa, and Annie, were kind, personable, skilled, and caring.

The morning after surgery Monette Frye, the director of a truly remarkable Physical Therapy department, helped Joyce stand and take her first steps with her new knee.  Her nurturing spirit and heartfelt encouragement were contagious.  We are very blessed to have such competent and compassionate healthcare professionals in our community.

We know that we received the best possible medical treatment, but we received something more--genuine care, sincere kindness, and authentic compassion.  Everyone, from the hospital administration, the doctors, the nurses, the technicians, the therapists, the cafeteria workers and the custodians were friendly, helpful, and concerned about our well being.  Our church family and friends in the community prayed for healing and expressed their concern.  Friends and family expressed their prayerful support on Facebook. Everywhere I went people asked about Joyce. Healing is so much more than a hospital, healing is found in a community.  When a community displays compassion and concern and works to provide optimal medical treatment for all of its citizens, the entire community becomes whole.

We ate black-eyed peas and collard greens in the hospital on New Year's Day, but not because we needed good luck—true healing transcends luck.  We realized that it wasn't that we were in the hospital on January 1 that mattered, but as the New Year dawned we were being healed.  New beginnings start with healing, not just in body, but in spirit, in our families and community. 

Happy New Year everyone!  My prayer is that 2013 will be a time of good health, happiness, and healing—for all of us and for our community. 

                                                      

AN AMAZING WEEK

  It has been an amazing week.  The week started with Joyce having knee replacement surgery early Monday morning at Lexington Medical Center.  The surgery was very successful and despite the usual predictable pain and challenges following such a surgery, things have gone very well.  We had such a positive experience at the hospital that I devoted my religion article to the experience.  I will post the article on this blog.

   I received a call Monday from the Everhart family informing me that Hazel Everhart died that morning.  I had conducted her husband's funeral (Sam) the day before Thanksgiving.  Now, less than six weeks later, Hazel died.  I talked to the family on New Year's Day and we had Hazel's funeral on Wednesday afternoon.

  Wednesday morning I attended the funeral of our good friend and former next-door neighbor, Evelyn Oates.  Bob and Evelyn are choice people.  We have traveled together, they were faithful to the Bible Studies, they have made a remarkable difference in this community.  The Presbyterian Church was not surprisingly packed to the brim.

  Even though Evelyn was suffering from many different health issues, she refused to give in.  I don't think Evelyn and Bob had missed a single Bible Study Field Trip.  The last time I saw Evelyn she wanted to make sure their names were on the list for this year's trip to Richmond.  I told Evelyn they were always number one on the list.  Evelyn was number one in many different categories.

  Early in the week we learned that George Wynn was having major surgery on Friday.  George and Jeri Wynn have become very special friends.  They traveled to the British Isles with us this past summer.  We noted on the trip that George was having difficulty walking.  He started seeing specialists after our return and learned in October that he had a tumor in his aorta.  The doctors felt that this contributed to numerous health problems that George was experiencing.  The tumor had to come out.   It would be major surgery and very risky.  There would be a chance George would not survive the surgery itself.  There was a chance he would be paralyzed.  They scheduled the surgery for the Monday after Thanksgiving.

  The night before Thanksgiving George started to experience serious problems.  He was rushed to Baptist Hospital on Thanksgiving morning and it was discovered that he had a blood clot in his spine.  Neurosurgeons started operating late afternoon and finished around 8:00 pm.  The first few days after surgery were very difficult.  George did not have the use of his legs.  Those were dark days.

  Slowly George started to recover but he still did not have the use of his legs.  He was moved to the Sticht Rehabilitation Center where he worked diligently with great determination to regain the use of his legs.  George was making great progress.  He was showing tremendous improvement in his leg functions.  But there was one dark shadow that would not go away.  He still needed the surgery to remove the tumor from his aorta.  The doctors told him he could not live without it.

  The big question was when.  Does he continue rehab in hopes that a stronger body gives him a better chance?  Or does waiting allow the tumor to grow and do more damage.  All of this was weighed with the understanding that the emergency Thanksgiving surgery was making the tumor removal even more risky.  George decided he didn't need to wait any longer.  It was time for the big surgery.  It would be on Friday, January 4.

   George and Jeri started making plans.  They redid their will.  George was having heart to heart talks with friends and family.  He planned his funeral.  The doctors were also getting ready.  They ordered a CT scan to determine if the tumor had grown.  All was ready for the major surgery to begin.

  Joyce was discharged from the hospital Thursday around noon.  We drove to Abbott's Creek Rehabilitation Center and admitted Joyce for her therapy.   It took most of the afternoon.  When she was finally settled she said, "I want you to go to Winston to check on George."

  George was alone in his room.  We had a good visit.  George told me that he had a sense of peace about the surgery.  Jeri came in and we talked more about the plans for Friday.  George told me some of the plans for his funeral even though I insisted that I had reached my quota and a funeral was not an option.  Then we prayed.  I prayed that God would bring George through the surgery, that he would experience healing, and that God would grant his surgeon wisdom.  I had barely concluded the prayer when the surgeon walked in the room and said, "We have a change of plans."

  The surgeon explained that while he was evaluating the CT scan in preparation for the surgery, he was shocked to see that it had decreased in size "significantly."  This tells us two things he said:  1) the tumor, if it is a tumor, is benign.  And 2) it may not even be a tumor; it might be a blood clot.

  We were all stunned by the news.  The surgeon said he wanted George to have another scan in two months and see what has happened.  There is a good possibility that George may never have to have this surgery.

  All Jeri could say was, "Wow!". When the surgeon left she looked at me and said, "I think we just witnessed a miracle."

  George said, "I think we should pray again" and we did--a prayer of thanksgiving.

  What an amazing week!

A VETERAN'S DAY STORY

      Earl Parker was in love with Viola Shrader, one of the prettiest and most popular girls in town.  He was a country boy who grew up on a beef farm in the rolling hills of Virginia.  He loved baseball and hunting, but he loved Viola more.  They married in 1940.  Times were hard, money was tight and Earl wanted to provide for his new wife so he joined the National Guard for “a dollar a day.”

 

       The world as Earl and Viola knew it changed forever on when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 propelling the United States into the Second World War. Suddenly the National Guard training became much more serious and intense.  Earl was rarely able to return home and see his beloved Viola.  As Adolf Hitler continued his relentless assault across Europe, Earl and his company learned that they were going overseas.  Viola had something very important that she needed to tell her husband and she wanted to do it in person.  She made a desperate, ill-advised trip to New York to try to see him before they were shipped to England.  But she couldn’t get close to him.  The camp was sealed; she couldn’t even leave a message telling him that she was expecting their first child.

     Earl didn’t learn that he would be a father until he arrived in Britain. Convinced that the baby would be a boy, he and Viola agreed via letters to name him Danny.  When he received the letter informing him that his baby had been born, Viola shared that the baby’s name was indeed Danny.  That was the name of his baby daughter. 

     Earl was anxious for the war to be over so he could go home and see his little girl.  In December of 1943 he wrote his baby a letter:  “Dear Danny, Maybe Santa Claus will bring you lots of things if you are a good little girl.  I sure hope I will be there next Christmas.  I don’t suppose you will know your Daddy when he comes home.  I don’t believe it will take us long to get acquainted.  Don’t tell Mother that I said this, but I love her a lot and think she is real sweet.  I wish I could be there with you and Mother tonight.  With all my love, Daddy.”

    Earl wrote home at least once a week, but as June 1944 approached the letters became infrequent and eventually stopped.  Everyone knew that the inevitable invasion was imminent.  Earl would be among the first men to hit the beach at Normandy.  He knew there would be massive casualties.  Some were even referring to his company as the “Suicide Wave.”  On June 4 the soldiers boarded the British troopship the Empire Javelin.  As it crossed the choppy English Channel in the middle of the night Earl stood at the railing with some of his hometown friends.  “It was a solemn thing,” a friend recalled.  “We sat around and talked about what we would do when we got back home.”  Suddenly, Earl pulled out a picture of his sixteen-month-old daughter, Danny and said:  “If I could just see her once, I wouldn’t mind dying.” 

     Earl’s friend cried almost sixty years later as he recalled the story. 

    Danny went overseas in 1997 and visited the beaches of Normandy.  She carried her father’s dog tags, his purple heart, and the letter he wrote to her in December of 1943.  She couldn’t visit his grave because they never found his body, but she stood before a wall in the Garden of Missing and among the 1,557 names she found the name of her daddy, Earl Parker. 

     Tomorrow is Veteran’s Day.  We will honor all the brave men and women who have served our nation with valor and courage.  And we will remember men like Earl Parker who never had the privilege of holding his baby girl named Danny.  Because of men like Earl Parker, we continue to be free. 

                                                                       

(Earl Parker was one of “The Bedford Boys” as chronicled by Alex Kershaw, 2003)

    

In The Eyes of A Child

 

                                                                                                           

                 I see it in the eyes of a child:  excitement, wonder, innocence, hope, and joy.  On Christmas Eve as the children gather during our Candlelight Service, I see the lights of our Chrismon Tree reflected in their shining eyes that are brimming with wonder and expectation.  The love, trust, and innocence are so real that you can feel it.

        This week I will see the excitement and sheer joy sparkling in the eyes of children as they walk through the front gate of the Davidson County Agricultural Fair.  They will point to the Ferris Wheel and then the Merry Go Round as the magical neon lights of the Midway are reflected in their eyes that are wide open with bubbling enthusiasm.  The children will be so excited they won’t know where to start as moms and dads anxiously try to keep them in tow. 

        I see wonder and happiness reflected in the eyes of my grandchildren as simple things, such as enjoying ice cream or catching lightening bugs, become an amazing revelation as if they are experiencing the world for the very first time.  At nighttime they cuddle up and squeal with delight with eyes all aglow as I promise them a bedtime story, a “One Day Story” they call it, because I always begin with the words, “One day.”   Then a little arm falls around my neck and I hear the words “I love you G-Daddy” as sleepy eyes reflect perfect peace and trust and all is right with their little world. 

        But sadly for many children right here in Davidson County, all is not right with their world and it too is reflected in their eyes.  I see fear in the eyes of a child whose life is full of turmoil, threats, and violence and who never hears the words, “I love you.”  I see despair in the eyes of a child who is hungry and knows there is nothing in the house to eat.  I see anger in the eyes of a child who has every good thing taken away and distrust in the eyes of a child who has been hurt and betrayed by adults.  Nothing is more painful than to look into the eyes of a child and see hurt, sadness, and despair.

        That is precisely why members of the Lexington Kiwanis Club will take leave from their “day jobs” this week and go to work at the fair.  Doctors, lawyers, accountants, realtors, farmers, pharmacists, administrators, bankers, dentists, policemen, funeral directors, educators, and even a preacher will park cars, sell tickets, give directions, manage crowds, and welcome everyone to the Davidson County Agricultural Fair.  It will be a big and exciting week full of good food, thrilling rides, farm animals, blue ribbons, beauty contests, foot-stomping music, and just plain fun.  But all of that is secondary to the reason why the members of the Kiwanis Club run the fair. 

        You see, all of the money that is raised by your admission to the fair goes to operate and maintain a summer camp, Kamp Kiwanis, where we welcome children whose eyes are often full of hurt and fear.  Each summer around 180 children who are selected by the Department of Social Services will spend a week at our camp where they will be loved, encouraged, and affirmed.  We provide good food, a safe, nurturing environment, and a fun-filled week of camp activities.  As the week progresses, we begin to see a change, a change that is reflected in their eyes.  Fear gives way to trust, suspicion to acceptance, and anger gives way to love.  And at the end of the week, eyes that have finally reflected happiness and joy are full of tears as the children don’t want to say good-bye. 

        I’m one of those guys who will be working at the fair this week.  There are many other things I could be doing, but if I ever question why I am there, I simply remember what I have seen.  Come and join us at the fair.  It begins Monday afternoon and continues all week through Saturday.  You will have fun but you will also be making a difference in the life of a child.  I know you will because I have seen it in their eyes. 

                                                                       

 

 

                                                                       

       

         

 

             

 

FIFTY YEARS LATER--A LESSON LEARNED

            I was eight years old when my daddy loaded us into the old Plymouth station wagon and told us we were going to see a movie.  “This is an important movie,” he said:  “a movie that will teach you about one of the most important days in history and will help you to understand how thankful we should be for our freedom.”  

            We went to the Bowline Drive-In Theater and my daddy rolled down the driver’s window and affixed the heavy metal speaker so we could all hear.  We wanted popcorn and drinks, which he provided, and then told us to be quiet and watch the movie, which we did not.  My mother soon released us and we spent the warm evening playing on the playground in front of the big screen, oblivious to the carnage and destruction depicted above us as John Wayne and Richard Burton starred in “The Longest Day.”   We left the movie that night knowing that daddy was not happy with us, for we never realized that the reason we could laugh and play on the playground in front of the big screen was because so many brave men fought and died on the longest day, June 6, 1944.          

            There were parts of the movie that I remembered.  My brother and I used to play soldier when we went to the beach, pretending we were those soldiers in the movie exiting from the landing craft as we stormed the beach and fought through the mighty waves.  It was great fun, but I didn’t have a clue what it was all about.   I later studied about the Second World War in school, but it was always at the end of the school year and we had to rush through it.  In college I studied Western Civilization, but the focus was on the political, socio-economic, and philosophical causes and effects of the war.  I still had not learned the lesson that daddy tried to teach me a half-century ago. 

            It is hard to overstate the significance of D-Day.  It was not only the turning point of the Second World War, but many historians argue that the Allied Victory saved Western Europe not only from Nazi domination, but also from eventually being conquered from an equally barbaric Soviet Union.  As General Eisenhower said, “We cannot afford to fail.”  

            A 5,000 vessel armada, the largest the world had ever seen, transported over 160,000 men and 30,000 vehicles across the English Channel.  Over 13,000 men parachuted in from over 800 planes.  By the end of the longest day, almost 150,000 Allied soldiers were on French soil.  It was the beginning of the end for Hitler and the Nazis.  But knowing that is not the lesson my daddy wanted me to learn that night at the Bowline Drive-In so many years ago.

            Four weeks ago I stood on the top of the Normandy cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach and the English Channel.  It was so very quiet and peaceful.  I tried to imagine the horror and terror of that day when so many young boys died.   Many were just teenagers.  They had never been in real combat before that day.  Most didn’t have a chance.  The Nazis gunned them down like sitting ducks at the fair.  More American soldiers died on D-Day than in the entire war in Iraq.  As war correspondent Ernie Pyle wrote after the battle, “It was a pure miracle that we ever took the beach at all.”

            The American Cemetery sits high above Omaha Beach, one of the most beautiful cemeteries you will ever see.  It is immaculate in its appearance.  Its beauty and serenity belies the gruesome carnage that it silently holds.  There are 9,387 actual graves and a “Wall of the Missing” containing 1,557 names.  These men did not return home.  They never had a family.  They never had the privilege of enjoying the freedom they died to preserve. 

            Walking through the cemetery is a powerful, emotional experience.  As I stood looking at the graves I suddenly remembered my daddy taking us to that movie back in 1962.  He was doing something that none of the men lying in the cemetery were able to do. That was when I finally realized what my daddy was trying to teach me 50 years ago. 

                                                                                   

SATURDAY IN LONDON

        Saturday, July 7 was a great day to be in London, England!  Well, it did rain, but hey—we were in London!   We expected rain!   We even had an umbrella in our hotel room and walking around London with a black umbrella is very British indeed!

        I had a long list of places I wanted to see in London, but needed much more time.  Saturday morning we walked to the nearby Underground station and took the Tube to The Tower of London.  I had studied the Tube map very closely and determined that we could take the Central line to Bank where we could transfer to the Circle or District line that would take us to the Tower.  However, I did not anticipate that the transfer was not as simple as changing subway lines in New York or the Metro in DC.  There was a series of tunnels and stairs that seemed to take forever before we got to the other line.  But we persevered with strained knees and shaky legs and soon were waiting for the rain to stop so we could enter the legendary Tower of London.

          We were greeted by the fascinating “Beefeaters” the Yeoman Warders who guard the Tower and actually live there.  We saw the Bloody Tower, the Traitor’s Gate, and the Tower Green where Henry VIII had two of his wives executed.  Sir Walter Raleigh died at the Tower and the last prisoner to be held there was the infamous Nazi Rudolf Hess.   But by far the highlight of a visit to the Tower of London is the Crown Jewels.  In preparation for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the Jewel House had received a marvelous upgrade and the presentation on the jewels is excellent.  The Crown Jewels are simply magnificent and it is well worth a visit to the Tower if only to see them. 

        Following our time at the Tower of London we decided to go to the British Museum.  After stopping for Fish and Chips (not quite as good as the first day’s) we made our way to the greatest (and oldest) museum in the world.  On the way we passed the first YMCA (yes, the Y was born in London) and I took a picture for Gene Klump.

        Each time I have visited the Parthenon in Athens I have heard about the British Museum, but not in positive terms.  The original Parthenon sculptures are not in Athens, but in London, much to the dismay of the Greeks.  When you visit the Parthenon you will hear an impassioned argument on why the sculptures should be returned.  The Brits on the other hand, feel that they rescued the sculptures from destruction and saved them for future generations.  They have printed brochures at the British Museum stating their side of the story. 

        At last I was able to actually see the original sculptures and it was a thrilling moment.  We could have spent all day in the museum, but only hit the highlights.  My “must see” list included the Rosette Stone, and we were able to see it as well.  A serendipitous treasure was the many artifacts from the Ancient Near East.  We saw treasures from ancient Nineveh, the Assyrians and the Babylonians.  I felt like I was in an Old Testament class!  It was exciting. 

        We could have stayed longer, but we needed to get back to our hotel because we had tickets to the theatre! 

        Joyce and I love Broadway and I had always wanted to see a show in London in the West End.  We ordered tickets to see War Horse in the New London Theatre on Drury Lane.  Some of our group took a taxi while many of us opted for the Tube again.  The theatre is very small, like many on Broadway, and we had great seats (even though some of our group ended up in the balcony).  The show is very moving and the horses are actually puppets that are manipulated by humans.  It was breathtaking. 

        It was raining after the show and trying to get a taxi in the rain was a challenge, but I found running down the middle of the street helps.  We took the Tube back after securing a taxi for some of our group and ran into a multitude of young people leaving a concert in Hyde Park.  But we were finally back at the hotel where we spent our final night in London before leaving on Sunday for Southampton.  We would be leaving from the same port the Titanic sailed from a century ago.  But there were no reported icebergs!  Not in July!    My next blog will be on one of the most moving places we visited, Normandy. 

EXCITING LONDON!

        I’ve had a special interest in watching the Olympic games from London because we were fortunate enough to visit London a couple of weeks before the games began.   I went to London on a mission trip in 1970, but didn’t get to see a lot of the city.  It was Joyce’s first trip to London and we were very excited about the opportunity.

        We had a non-stop flight from Raleigh to London’s Heathrow airport.  It was the first time I had ever traveled overseas on a non-stop flight and it was great not having to worry about making connections and bags that didn’t make it, etc.  We departed from the new Terminal C at RDU and the check-in and security were as easy as I have ever experienced.  Our flight departed right on time and after a short night, we started to descend over cloudy Great Britain. 

        Our first glimpse of London was from 10,000 feet up.  We broke through the clouds and there it was—a massive city!  London has a population of over 7 million, making it the most populous city in the European Union.  There was the River Thames meandering through the city.  We could spot Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, and the huge Ferris Wheel known as the London Eye. 

        We landed at Heathrow and after standing in line almost an hour to clear Passport Control, we claimed our bags and exited customs.   A gentleman was waiting for us and after a stop at the ATM to get some Pounds, we followed him to a comfortable van for the ride into the city.

        Everywhere you looked you saw signs of the Olympics.  There were banners and traffic boards informing motorists of designated “Olympic Lanes” that would soon be in force.  Our driver took us through Hyde Park to our hotel, The Grosvenor House, located adjacent to Hyde Park on Park Lane in London’s Mayfair section.  It was a GREAT location.  We could walk to Buckingham Palace, which we did, and could access the Underground through two nearby stations. 

        It was around 10:00 a.m. by the time we arrived at the hotel and, much to our delight, found out that our rooms were ready!   I used to never take a nap after an overseas flight.  My theory was that you should push yourself and stay up all day, then go to bed early and certainly sleep well.  Now that I am older, I am willing to take a nap if possible.  Joyce and I slept for a couple of hours, and then took a shower and we were refreshed and ready for the day! 

        We joined Doug and Alice Pearson who had been on the flight with us and walked a couple of blocks to a little pub the driver had recommended where we enjoyed our first meal of Fish and Chips!   They were excellent.

        Our first challenge was to master the “Tube” or the Underground, London’s extensive subway system.  In most big cities you can get around very efficiently using public transportation, but every subway system is different.  The Underground is the oldest subway system in the world.  We had done our homework and decided the most efficient way to pay for the Tube was by purchasing an “Oyster” card.  We paid 5 pounds (that was refundable when we left) for the card and then added value to it depending on our needs.  The station we entered did not have a ticket window open, so the helpful agent allowed us to take the Tube to the next station where he said we could purchase our cards.  This took a few minutes but soon with Oyster cards in hand we were ready to see the town!  

        We had pre-purchased a London Pass, which I would recommend if you visit London, that gives you access to all the major sites.  After traveling on the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square, we picked up our passes and traveled to the Tower Bridge where we jumped on a ferry.  We thought this would give us a good overview of the city, and it did.   We rode up the Thames to the Westminster Millennium Pier next to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament.  My plan was to walk back to the hotel by way of Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace, but the long day was finally catching up with everyone, so we took the Tube back.  I thought about going to explore Hyde Park, but fatigue won out and we went to bed early sleeping 12 hours!   But early the next morning, we were really ready to go!

        We were refreshed after a good night’s rest and waited in the hotel lobby for the members of our group who were arriving that morning.  Jim and Beverly Black came in first.  They were tired, but said they were ready to go!  Then Ashley and Gay Whitfield, Joe and Gail Biesecker, and Kay Hardin and Melba Bridges arrived. 

        “Is everyone ready to walk!”  

It was a pleasant morning, a light London rain was falling as we made our way through Hyde Park, down Constitution Hill and on to Buckingham Palace.  We were able to watch the Changing of the Guard and then we strolled through St. James Park on the way to Westminster Abbey. 

Westminster Abbey is, in a word, fabulous.  From the moment you walk through the door, history unfolds before you.  Every British Monarch since William the Conqueror has been crowned here.  The funeral for Princess Di was held here and most recently, the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. 

After being inspired by the grandeur of Westminster, we walked across the street to the Methodist House where we had lunch.  London is also home to John Wesley, founder of Methodism.  We had a nice lunch and the funny thing was it was like eating in a Methodist Fellowship Hall! 

We then went to the Churchill War Rooms, the cramped subterranean rooms where Churchill directed the British war effort.  The Map Room was especially inspiring and we saw the telephone that was a direct line to President Roosevelt in Washington. 

        If we had walked a few yards beyond the Churchill War Rooms we would have seen the outdoor volleyball court that has been featured during these early days of the Olympic Games. 

We walked down to the Houses of Parliament where we had a great view of Big Ben.    Our London Pass included an admission to Kew Gardens, which is outside of London but accessible by the Underground, so we jumped on the Tube to see the lovely gardens.  However, once we arrived we learned the gardens were closing early due to a concert.  We pleaded our case to no avail, so we enjoyed a stroll around the little town, then headed back into London where we had a nice dinner at the hotel with the Pearsons and the Whitfields.  Jack and Joan Briggs and Joe and Libby Sink also came in to eat.  Our group was gathering and we had another full day in London to anticipate!   I will report on our Saturday in London in the next blog. 

VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL

                It’s not summer without Vacation Bible School!   Like catching lightening bugs, freezing homemade ice cream, watching baseball, eating watermelon and swimming on hot, humid days, Vacation Bible School is synonymous with the summer experience.  While many churches have already had VBS for the summer, our church begins Bible School on Monday morning, July 23.

            I love Vacation Bible School.  With the exception of a couple of years in college, I have been involved in Bible School for over half a century!   When I was a kid Bible School was the highlight of the summer.  We kicked off Bible School the Friday before opening day with a big parade down Main Street.  I remember one year getting to ride on the fire truck.  Life couldn’t get any better.  It was in Bible School that I learned to recite the books of the Bible, all 39 in the Old Testament and 27 in the New Testament—in order.  (We did not learn about the Apocrypha!)   I memorized Bible verses and we focused on a different Bible story every day.  We didn’t just sing “The B-I-B-L-E, Now That’s the Book for Me,” but for two weeks we lived it. 

            Without a doubt the biggest thrill of Bible School was carrying the flag.  Each morning Bible School started with an “Opening Ceremony,” in the church sanctuary.   Boys carried the American and Christian Flags while a girl was relegated to carrying the Bible.   Every boy wanted to carry the American Flag, but at least carrying the Christian Flag was better than carrying the Bible—a girl thing.   Yes, we were unashamedly sexist!   But it seems we had an inverted understanding of what was most important.  After all, it was Vacation Bible School, not Vacation American Flag School.  

            Carrying the Bible should have been the greatest honor followed by the Christian Flag (I mean, we are a Christian church, right?) and then the American Flag, but little children didn’t understand it that way and sadly, many adults don’t either.  I guess adults are too old for Bible School, but we are never too old to study the Bible.  And judging from studies I have seen, adults need a refresher course. 

            Sixty percent of Americans cannot name five of the Ten Commandments, 50% can only name one of the four Gospels and 50% of high school seniors think Sodom and Gomorrah were married.  Americans may revere the Bible, but most never read it.  When I started preaching 40 years ago, I assumed most everyone understood Biblical references in my sermon.  If I mentioned “The Good Samaritan” or “The Prodigal Son” I assumed most everyone knew what I was talking about.  Not anymore. 

            Dr. Stephen Prothero, chairman of the religion department at Boston University, says that our ignorance of not only our own faith, but other world religions, is dangerous.  His book, Religious Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know — and Doesn't, argues that everyone needs to grasp Bible basics, as well as the core beliefs, stories, symbols and heroes of other faiths.  “More and more of our national and international questions are religiously infected,” he says.

             The Apostle Paul wrote that he was a child, he thought like a child, but when he became a man he put away childish things.  When I was a child, I attended Vacation Bible School in the summer, but now that I am a man, I am involved in Bible Study all year long.  I teach several Bible studies including an ecumenical Bible Study every fall and spring on Monday nights and Tuesday mornings.  There are dozens of good Bible studies that meet in homes, churches, and businesses.   You can also download a good Bible App for your phone.  Most have systematic plans to help you read the Bible and you can arrange to have a Bible verse emailed to you on a daily basis.   The Bible is more accessible today than ever before.  

            We will have both boys and girls to carry the flags in VBS and also the Bible.  While I have fond memories of carrying the flags as a boy, I wish I been privileged to carry the Bible.  I didn’t get to, but I hope I will carry the Bible with me for the rest of my life.