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Fear, the impact of a guilty conscious

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
July 11, 2021
Mark 6:14-29

Thoughts at the beginning of worship

Last week we saw how, when famous, it can be humbling to go home where people know you too well. It was no different for Jesus. He visits his hometown and immediately faces opposition. So, he leaves. But he also greatly increases his ministry as he sends out the disciples two by two. 

This week, we’re going to see another impact of Jesus’ message, this time on those in power. This passage follows shortly after Jesus’ telling of the “Parable of the Sower.” That parable is followed by another examples of how the gospel fails to take hold. According to the New Testament scholar, Mary Ann Tolbert, whom I quote in today’s bulletin, our story today falls into the seed that is choked by weeds. Herod is an example of one more concerned with the world that with the gospel.[1]

Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great, rules Galilee. The Herods were ruthless rulers and very corrupt. When this Herod hears about Jesus, his guilty conscious makes him think John the Baptist, whom he had killed, has come back to haunt him. Our text today isn’t even about Jesus. This is the only section in Mark’s gospel that’s not primarily about Jesus.[2]

Read Mark 6:14-29

After the Scripture

A ride on the city bus

from https://www.petersburg.k12.va.us/walnuthill

We moved to Petersburg, Virginia just before I started the first grade. I spent my first three years of school at Walnut Hill Elementary. There were no school buses in the city. You either walked to school, your parents carried you, or if lucky, you got ride the city bus to school. The later was a treat which I only did once. When you’re six years old, it doesn’t take much to be impressed and consider something a treat. Most of the time my parents drove me to school. 

However, one day, early in the school year, I got to ride the bus. I’m not sure why. Maybe my father was out of town and a sibling was sick so mom couldn’t take me. Whatever reason, mom sent me on bus stop with Ellen. 

       Ellen was an older woman, a six grader who lived next door. She seemed to get a kick out of taking me places. When she did, she always introduced me as her boyfriend. This didn’t bother me much because the perks were good. She took me to the pool on hot and humid summer afternoons. 

       On this day, as I was getting on the bus, I realized I had left my fare at home. I had a nickel in my pocket for a carton of milk, that’s how much it cost back in 1963. There was no time to run home, so I pulled it out to give it to the bus driver. Ellen intervened. She told the driver I needed that money for milk. The driver said he’d pay my fare and I could repay him the next time I rode the bus. 

       There was no next time. A week or so later, during the week John F. Kennedy was shot, we moved. Out new home was close enough to the school that I could walk. I never rode the bus again and never repaid the driver. 

My guilty conscious

We lived in Petersburg another two and a half years. The whole time I feared bus drivers. When a bus came down the street, I turned my head so they wouldn’t recognize me. I assumed there was a character sketch of me on a wanted poster in the bus garage. I knew if the driver saw me, he would stop and demand his nickel along with some interest. My conscious was guilt-ridden. 

Although I didn’t want to leave my friends and worried about hurricanes as we moved after the third grade down near coast of North Carolina, I also let out a sigh of relief. If you’re going to be a fugitive, it’s safer to do it in another state where your misdeeds are unknown. 

Herod’s fear

       Certainly, my misdeeds were nowhere near as evil as Herod, but I understand his fear.  Like his father Herod the Great, the one who so feared the birth of a child that he had innocent children killed,[3] Herod Antipas lived a scared life. He feared his evil deeds would catch up with him. So, when word spread about Jesus’ teachings and miracles, Herod thought the worst. “John the Baptist has come back to haunt me.”

       We don’t know all the story about Herod and his wife, Herodias.[4]Mark tells us John challenged the two of them since Herodias had been married to Herod’s brother, Philip. We are left to assume Philip is still alive, making the marriage an adulterous relationship. 

More details into Herod’s life

Josephus, the ancient Jewish historian, provides more insight into what happened. Herod was in Rome and stayed with his brother while there. He became enamored with his brother’s wife. It appears the attraction was mutual. Herod takes his brother’s wife back to Galilee. Complicating matters is that Herod already had a wife, the daughter of Aretas IV. Herod’s father-in-law ruled the providence just north of Herod’s kingdom. Getting wind of what was happening (Herod returning with his brother’s wife), Herod’s legal wife fled to her father’s kingdom. He, in turn, invade Herod’s kingdom and defeated Herod’s army. The Jews saw this as God’s punishment for Herod’s misdeeds. Rome had to intervene and established peace between Herod and his former father-in-law.[5]

Speaking truth to power

Understand this, John the Baptist attack on Herod and his adulterous relationship created a political problem in addition to a moral one. With a jilted ex-wife and her father on his border, willing to support a revolt against Herod, any threat of rebellion was feared. But the Baptist felt it necessary to speak truth to power. To appear strong, Herod has John arrested. The move, he hopes, silences John. 

Strange as it seems, we’re told in these verses that Herod likes John. He considers the Baptist a righteous and holy man. He protects John from the wrath of his wife. Herod’s psychological make-up is complex. On one hand, he knows right from wrong. But on the other, as a man afraid of what might happen to him, his actions are ruthless.

On his birthday, Herod so enjoyed the dance his stepdaughter performed that he promises her anything. She could even have half of his kingdom. The girl, who was probably in her mid-teens, runs to her mom for advice. Her mother doesn’t appear to have a moral bone in her body. Her daughter could be set for life, but instead, she uses this request to rid herself of her critic. 

“Ask for the head of John the Baptist on a platter,” she suggests. They’re at a banquet after all, so a platter goes with the decor. Herod feels he has no options. His promise and his desire to appear strong place him into a position that compromises any moral compass he may have had. 

There ain’t a lot of good news in this passage. It’s a commentary on power. Herod has all the power that could needed. The only way he could have been more powerful was to be Caesar, but that wasn’t in the cards. In his kingdom, he had power over life and death. If he kept peace and collected taxes, Rome stayed off his back. He could do as he pleased. But he still shook in his boots. He was afraid of what his ex-wife and her father might do. He was afraid of John. He was afraid of looking weak.

As we learn in this passage, when Jesus began preaching, Herod takes notice. “Good grief,” he probably said, “John’s back.” Herod is afraid of the dead. This passage reminds us of the power of words and ideas. John’s words and the ideal of a righteous life scared the most powerful man in Galilee. Those who trust in the power of brute force will always, sooner or later, be disappointed and punished.[6]

It also goes without saying that those who speak truth to power may suffer in this life. Their reward may not be in the present. John the Baptist and other such prophets-the Martin Luther Kings, the Bonhoeffers, and the Joan of Arks will be rewarded. But it may not be until the next life. 

Herod knew he had done wrong. The belief that John had returned was the work of a guilty conscious. 

We know Herod finally met Jesus.[7] He just happened to be in Jerusalem for Passover, a few years later, when Jesus is arrested and taken to Pilate. Learning that Jesus was from Galilee, Pilate sends him over to Herod, hoping to get out of the middle of this mess between the Jews. By this point in the story, Herod no longer thinks Jesus is John. He is, however, glad to see Jesus. He’s heard a lot about this man. 

In the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, Herod taunts Jesus to walk across a swimming pool. Jesus refuses to do or say anything, so Herod dresses Jesus up and sends him back to Pilate. Herod could have done the right thing and freed Jesus, but again, he takes the easy way out. Isn’t that just like us? Take the easy way out. But instead of taking the easy road, we should take the righteous road.

Closing

In closing, I want to go back to the story I told you in the beginning. I don’t want you to have a wrong impression of me. It was probably 20 years ago, when I was living in Utah, I wrote a short memoir piece about not paying the bus fare. I showed this to my mom asked if she remembered it. She did. She also remembered giving Ellen the money to give to the driver the next day. For about thirty years, I worried about a debt that had been paid by my mother. I think we are often like that in our relationship with Jesus Christ. Although John didn’t rise from the grave to accuse Herod, Jesus did rise from grave. He died, and rose, and paid our debt. And for that, we should be forever thankful. Amen. 

[1] Mary Ann Tolbert, Sowing the Gospel: Mark’s World in Literary-Historical Perspective (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 158. 

[2] Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to St. Mark (Hendrickson Publishers, 1991), 158

[3] See Matthew 2 (especially verses 16-18). 

[4] She was also related to Herod, through her grandfather Herod the Great (see Hooker, 160). In addition to being corrupt, incest wasn’t unusual for the family (Lane, 218, provides a family tree for the Herods). It also should be noted that Herod wasn’t a King (as we’re told in Mark 6:14). He was a tetrarch. While he wanted to be a king and some may have referred to him in such a manner, he never obtained the title from Rome. Mark may even be mocking Herod by using this title (Lane, 211). 

[5] This story is told more fully (but with some differences than scripture) in Josephus, The Antiquities of the Jews XVIII, 3. As for the differences, Josephus was writing long after the events (40 or so years) and has a different point of view. For a detail treatment of the differences between Josephus and Mark, see William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974), 215-220.

[6] Acts 12:20-23.

[7] Luke 23:6-12. 

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Highway 58 and some recent photos

Aaron McAlexander, Greasy Bend: Ode to a Mountain Road (Stonebridge Press, 2016), 224 pages, a few black and white photographs.

Highway 58 cuts across Southern Virginia, from Cumberland Gap (Along the Tennessee/Kentucky border) to the Tidewater. The highway crosses swamps, fields of peanuts and tobacco, old industrial towns like Danville and Martinsville, then climbs the Blue Ridge and the Grayson Highlands before it enters Kentucky. Highway 58 used to be the Main Street in Meadows of Dan, near the Blue Ridge summit, where the author grew up. Just to the east, near “Lover’s Leap,” were several especially dangerous hairpin curves. When the fog rolled in, these curves were even more deadly. Each had a name: Midkiff Curve, Green Martin Curve, Greasy Bend, the Bob Fain Curve, and the Harley Hopkin Curve. McAlexander tells of accidents that occurred along this stretch. Today, there are still curves and steep drop-offs, but the road has been improved and modified so that it’s not as dangerous as before. 

Using this ribbon of highway as a backdrop, McAlexander tells of stories of growing up in the 40s and 50s along Highway 58. Many of these stories are of himself, but there are other legendry stories of outlaws and bootleggers that fill the pages of this book. We learn of country stores, AM radio stations that brought farm reports every morning, raising and inseminating dairy cattle, cutting hay, the secrets of good cornbread, and the reliability of the old Ford 8N tractors. 

Today, many of these stories are only known when they’re on paper, the rest of such stories are as lost as are the towns that Highway 58 now bypass (even Meadows of Dan is bypassed, with the four lane running just north of town). This book is a delight to read. I kept it on my nightstand, reading a story each evening before bed. 

I only have one bone to pick with McAlexander. He cited on the back cover that US 58 at 508 miles in length, is the longest US highway in a single state. Being from North Carolina, I immediately became suspicious. I knew it wasn’t as long as US 64 is between Manteo and Murphy (that’s 545 miles in length). US 64 in North Carolina is the same mileage as US 1 is in Florida, which runs to Key West. I got to thinking about other long roads. US 90, from El Paso to Orange Texas is 774 miles in length. But the longest I found (and I stuck to roads I’ve driven at least a portion of) is US 101, which runs along the Pacific Coast with 801 miles of asphalt in California. 

This is the 3rd book by McAlexander that I’ve read since moving to SW Virginia. I’ve also reviewed Shine on Mayberry Moon and The Last One Leaving Mayberry. Each book is a treat! 

Some photos I’ve recently taken (all within a mile of US 58)

The hayfield outback was cut by a local farmer last week
The “backyard.” You can see my grapes are reaching up toward the wire and behind the barn (and hickory tree) is my garden)
My green cabbage has been eaten up (but it should be okay for sauerkraut). My red cabbage is beautiful!
The squash is good!
In another week or two, I’ll be feasting on tomato sandwiches
I enjoy walking the backroads in the evenings
The sunrises and sunsets are so wonderful (this was a 15 minutes before sunrise)

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Hometown Rejection and Rough Roads

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
July 4, 2021
Mark 6:1-13

The video of the sermon was recorded on Friday at Mayberry Church. Because it was recorded on Friday, it is a bit different that the text below (that had two days more to jell).

Thoughts at the beginning of worship:

It’s a rough road to glory. You could also make such a case for the American Revolution, but we see such in the life of Jesus. Last week, Jesus was riding high. He’d healed a sick woman and raised a young girl back to life. Things looked up for Jesus. His stock rose in the eyes of the people. 

Today we’re going to see what happens when he visits his hometown. There is nothing like going home to be humbled. At home, people know you too well. I have had several opportunities to preach in my home church and it’s humbling to be up front with your six grade Sunday School teacher eyeing you from the front pew. She probably went to her grave thinking I was still up to something. I’m not sure Jesus had the same troubles, but maybe. After all, it didn’t matter if I was guilty or not, she just assumed I was up to something.  

Our text reminds us that things are not always easy and that’s okay. Flannery O’Conner, a southern writer who spent her early years in Savannah, thought it should be normal for Christians to be suffering in some fashion. And if we’re not suffering, she suggested we check and see if we we’re following Christ as closely as we think we are.[1]

Today, our passage has two parts. First, we hear about Jesus returning to his hometown with less than warm welcome he received. He caught grief. Then we get a glimpse of how Jesus’ revolution works. The disciples are sent out, two by two. They travel light. This is no pleasurable stroll in the country. 

Read Mark 6:1-13

After reading the Scripture

Thursday morning, while pondering how to begin today’s sermon, I killed some time thumbing through my Twitter feed and came across this from Eric Clapp:

If your pastor doesn’t quote President Thomas J Whitemore’s words to the Air Force regiment as they prepare to save earth from an alien invasion and herald a global Independence Day, it’s time to find a new church.[2]

If any of you want Clapp’s contact information in your search for a new church, just ask. For I don’t plan to base today’s message on a dystopian action movie. But his tweet allows me to make this point. Different people have different expectations and you’re never going to please everyone. We see that in today’s Scripture.

Preaching on Independence Day

       That said, there are certain days that preaching is harder than others. The fourth of July is one of those hard days. After all, a sermon should be based on Scripture and there is nothing about America, hot dogs or apple pie in the Bible. Nor is there anything about fireworks, except perhaps for those at Sodom and Gomorrah, and we certainly don’t want to go there today.

       I didn’t realize just how difficult preaching today is until I saw the analysis of polls on American Christian identity. I hope it’s wrong, for only a small minority said that their faith was most important to their identity. An overwhelming majority said it was their faith and being American were equally important. And in another small minority, their American identity was most important.[3] Those who think being American is equal or more important than their faith should memorize Exodus 20:3, “You shall have no other gods before me.” 

While we should be proud to be an American, we must always remember that our allegiance first and foremost belongs to God as revealed in Jesus Christ. And we should also understand that in Scripture, independence and freedom has to do with God breaking the chains of sin, not a human political rebellion. 

       This doesn’t mean that celebrating our national independence is wrong. I hope to enjoy fireworks this evening and maybe even eat a hot dog or a slice of watermelon. However, we are called to keep our priorities straight as we saw in the 89th Psalm, a portion of which we used for our Call to Worship. 

This Psalm celebrates God’s covenant with David. The point is made. God always comes first. While our nation revolted against a king, there is a king we better not revolt against, and that’s Jesus Christ.[4]When we accept Jesus as Lord and Savior, our allegiance shifts to him and his kingdom. Of course, we know not everyone buys into Jesus in this manner. It’s always been that way, as we see in today’s Scripture reading. Even in the first century, there were those embarrassed by Jesus. 

Part 1: Hometown jealously

       Let’s look in detail at today’s text. We’re told that after the healings we read about last week, Jesus headed home. Here, Mark doesn’t identify the town as Nazareth, but Mark had already identified Jesus’ hometown as such,[5] so we can safely assume he’s talking about Nazareth. But this isn’t a story about Jesus coming home from his travels, with a bag of dirty laundry as if he’s returning from college. He’s not just returning to hang out with the guys. Jesus returns with disciples. He’s returning with status, for a rabbi who had disciples was considered important. And Jesus has a dozen of them. Furthermore, Jesus’ reputation precedes him. Folks at home have heard about his teachings and healings. 

       Of course, to the hometown folk, this raises questions. What’s up with Jesus? How did he become so popular? Who gave him such wisdom? After all, think about this from their point of view. The last time they saw him, Jesus had calloused hands from sawing wood. Now those same hands are healing the sick. We can see jealous brewing, can’t we? This is a local boy who’s done good.

Instead of celebrating Jesus’ homecoming, the people of the town make fun of him. We see this when they refer to Jesus as the son of Mary… without a mention of Joseph. Is this because word got around that Joseph wasn’t Jesus’ real father? Or, is this a way to put down Jesus? Leaving out his father and only mentioning his mom and siblings was a put down. They want to make Jesus look bad. Normally a man is referred to as “son of,” but not here. The hometown crowd tries to discredit Jesus.[6]

       Jesus, catches wind of their thinking and responds, saying prophets aren’t honored in their hometown. Surprisingly, we’re told Jesus could do no great deeds there, but that he did heal a few sick people. But there was no big miracle. Some of the folks may have expect a grand miracle but did not believe. From what is said here, it appears that without belief, there will be no miracle.  We’re told their disbelief surprises even Jesus. 

Part 2: Sending out the 12

       So, Jesus leaves his hometown and continues teaching. But now, he expands his ministry by sending out the disciples two by two. 

       The Gospel of Mark begins on a high note. Jesus comes on the scene proclaiming the good news of God and saying, “the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near, repent and believe the good news.”[7] With such a beginning, we expect great things to follow. But when Jesus reveals his strategy for bringing about his message, for creating his church, he looks to twelve ordinary men. These disciples are as flawed as any of us. We observe their failures repeatedly in the gospels, yet they’re the ones God chose to lay the foundation for his kingdom. 

       Perhaps a parallel could be drawn from the founding of Jesus’ movement with the founding of our country.[8] We have not always lived up to the ideals of Declaration of Independence, and the idea that all people are created equal remains as a goal to which we’re still striving to reach. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a noble goal. In 1776, it meant the farmer and the miller were just as endowed as the professor and preacher.[9] In the first century, Jesus’ embrace of ordinary folks meant that fisherman and tax collectors were equal and both capable of being at the forefront of a movement that claimed his name.   

       This unassuming group was sent out almost bare handed. They took a walking stick and wore sandals. They also wore the clothes on their back, but nothing more. No clean clothes to wear after a dusty day on the trail. No wrap to sleep in at night. Nor did they have a hidden stash of money in their belts. And they took no food. These guys aren’t equipped for a campaign. Yet, that’s their assignment. They pick up the teaching and the work of Jesus and to multiple it, six-fold. They learned how to depend on the generosity of those they met on the road and to trust God. 

Summary

    So, what should we learn from out text for today? There are at least two things we should take away from this text. First, we shouldn’t be jealous of the accomplishments of others, especially when God is the source of their power. Unlike the folks of Nazareth, we should rejoice when we see God’s work being done. 

Secondly, we need to realize we’re the heirs of the disciples. We’re the next generation, and like all generations before us, we have a responsibility to take Jesus’ message to the world. And to do that, we don’t need anything fancy. We depend on God, and we tell people what we know is true. And if we can do that, with the blessing of the Holy Spirit, the church will continue. For ultimately, it doesn’t depend on us, but on God. 

Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever.[10] Amen. 

[1] From a tweet by Jessica Hooter Wilson (@Hooter) on Thursday

[2] @eric-clapp.  See https://twitter.com/eric_clapp/status/1410213618721951744

[3] For summary see: https://twitter.com/joshswu/status/1411110436498509829/photo/1  Poll done by Joshua Wu, PhD. He used this data for his summary: https://www.voterstudygroup.org/publication/nationscape-data-set. Wu is a Christian and says this: “I’m thankful for the liberties/privileges of being an American, but unquestionably value my faith more than my nationality.”

[4] Of course, we always revolt against Jesus our King—it’s called sin. 

[5] See Mark 1:9.

[6] Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (London: A. C. Black, 1990), 154. 

[7] Mark 1:14-15. 

[8] For this idea, I am drawing on a sermon on this text by William H. Willimon, “The Founding of the Church.”  See https://asermonforeverysunday.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/Will-Willimon-6th-Sunday-after-Pentecost-7-4-2021.pdf  

[9] Of course, it left out African slaves and Native Americans. 

[10] 1 Timothy 1:17

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Another Bakery Story: The Perils of Working on the Christian Sabbath

I have already told you about becoming the oven operator about a year after starting in the bakery. It was a good move. The position was at the top of the hourly pay scale, and I had almost a quarter of the plant to  myself. I monitored the proof box, oven, depanner, and cooler. The oven, cooler and proofer were each the size of a house, the oven could hold nearly 1500 loaves while the proofer and cooler could hold over 4000 loaves at one time. This whole complex was automatic with lots of lights and bells to indicate something was wrong. I mostly walked around, making sure the electric eyes were working, checking the temperature in the various zones of the oven, the humidity in the proof box, and the temperature of the bread coming out of the cooler. If everything ran well, it was the best job in the plant. I could keep an eye on things while I reviewed formulas for chemistry or dates and names for a history class. But when things didn’t go well, it was a headache.

Thunderstorm havoc


One Sunday afternoon (we baked on Sunday for Monday sales), a thunderstorm seemed to sit on top of the plant. The lightning popped close, and each strike caused us to momentarily lose power. Since electricity ignited the oven burners, any loss of power automatically shut the gas off. When that happened, I went to work. The oven had around 50 burners. A manual knob had to be turned off for each burner. Then the dampers were opened so the oven could be purged with air. Then you could relight the oven safely. This was a safety feature to reduce the risk of explosion. Once the gas was back on, I’d light the burners, close the dampers, and continue. 

Having this happen once wasn’t a problem. Working fast, I could shut the oven down and re-ignited in about five minutes. Even having to go through the cycle twice in a row wasn’t too bad as I could slow the oven down and allow bread to bake longer to compensate for the loss of heat. But this day, we had several storms and they seemed to sit on top of us. I’d barely get the oven back baking before we’d lost power for a few seconds. Then I’d have to start over. 

Soon, the temperature in the oven was down 50, then 100, then 150 degrees. With an internal temperature of barely 200 degrees, there was no way I could slow the speed down enough to bake the bread. Slowing it too much caused the dough in the proofer to rise too high. Half baked bread had to be tossed. The mechanic on duty finally called his supervisor, the plant engineer, who told him how to rewire the panel, jumping over the safety switch. He did this and I was finally able to keep the oven going long enough to get the heat back up. However, the thought of a bypassed safety was scary. I’d heard of ovens that had exploded. But we had to do something had to be done if we were going to get back into production.

Crippling the most bread in the plant’s history

We lost a couple thousand loaves of bread with the thunderstorms, but it wasn’t anything compared to an incident that also occurred on a Sunday afternoon a few years later. At this point in my bakery career, I was a new supervisor. Things had been humming along as we were making the pound and a half squared off white bread, the type that has no taste but was so popular back in the late 70s and early 80s. We’d often make 45,000 loaves of this bread a day. John, my oven operator called over the intercom this Sunday Afternoon to say that something was wrong. The dough rose nicely in the proof book. But when the pans came onto the conveyor between the proofer and the oven, where lids were placed on the pans, the dough suddenly dropped. Yep, we had a problem.

The white spongy squared-off bread wasn’t mixed in a traditional manner. A machine called a dough-maker created this bread. This machine mixed the dough at high pressure and speed in just a few minutes. Traditional mixers had cooling jackets and the dough mixed slowly at cool temperatures). This machine not only mixed, but also cut the dough into shapes and dropped it into pans. It was fed automatically with flour, corn syrup, shortening and a brew that smelled like bad beer. The brew contained a bit of flour, the fermented yeast, salt and all kinds of additives and each batch. Large stainless-steel tanks mixed the brew. Each tank made enough to make approximately 3000 loaves of bread. That meant if we had a bad brew, I had at least 3000 loaves of bad bread in the proof box, about forty minutes of production. It was a frightening thought. I went back to the mixing area and with my mixing operator we checked everything repeatedly. I had him checking and recording the dough’s ph. and temperature continuously. We checked the temperature of the brews. Everything seemed fine. I assumed something had been left out of the brew.

As this “fallen bread” started to come out of the oven, I had to pull some employees from the wrapping department to dump the pans of bread because it was too small for the depanner to pull out of the pan. Soon, back beside the cooler, there was a large pile of hot bread on the floor. Our production goal was to keep cripples under half a percent a day. There was no way I’d make my goal for the day, I probably wouldn’t make my goal for the week and maybe not for the year. When it got time for the next batch to start coming out of the proofer, I was hopefully that the problem would be over. It wasn’t; the bread continued to fall. I then had my mixing operator to shut down, dump the brews and to start over with fresh ingredients. I watched carefully. I made sure everything was measured just right. It put a large gap in production, but we had to find the problem. By this point, we already had a few thousand loaves of bread on the floor, and with another 6000 in the system, I was about to panic. 

I called the plant manager, who called the general manager and the maintenance supervisor, and they all came in. Soon, even the owners were on site. It was a mystery and even with all the top brass, no one knew what the problem might be. Making things even more mysterious, the roll line wasn’t having a problem, it was just the bread. I watched with anticipation as this new batch, made with new brew, made it way through the proofer. The bread rose nicely, but so had the early bread. I was there, along with the plant manager and general manager, when that dough came out of the proof box. But again, once it got between the proofer and oven, it fell. 

At this point, the plant manager suggested even more drastic actions. We stopped production and got all new ingredients from a different shipment. This meant that we had to send people to a warehouse to get ingredients that came from different shipments. We also changed the silo we were drawing the flour from just in case something was wrong with the flour.

While we were scurrying around trying to pinpoint the problem, a crisis was building back behind the cooler. Crippled bread piled up. Generally, we packed crippled bread in 55-gallon barrels. The barrels brought in a couple bucks when we sold then to small time hog farmers for feed. The farmers brought back the empty barrels for refilling. Another way to get rid of crippled bread was to bag it without slicing and selling it to a seafood place that made crab cakes. We called the crab company, and they took a thousand loaves. We called our hog farmers and told them that if they could bring trucks, we’d give them all they could carry. We had to get the bread out of the plant. Having that much warm bread sitting around unwrapped could develop into a mold breeding ground. So as the farmers arrived, an employee would use a scoop on a forklift to fill up the back of his truck with bread. We still wasn’t able to rid ourselves of all the crippled bread. The rest was hauled to the landfill the next day.

When the dough once again started to come out of the proofer, everyone lined up by the conveyor to watch it come out of the proofer. When the bread didn’t fall, I let out a deep breath. Finally, we had bread we could sell. However, we still had no idea what caused our problem. We had thrown away nearly 24,000 loaves of bread and had wasted almost a whole shift. Since we were only running two shifts, everyone that day worked a lot of overtime. We even called the next shift in early so that no one had to work 16 hours.

It took a few days to pinpoint the problem. Our answer came from a chemistry lab where we sent samples of the bread and our ingredients. We discovered the enriched salt we used had three times more iron than it should. Enrichment is added back to the dough to replace the good vitamins that are loss as the wheat is milled and bleached into flour. At times, we would dissolve pills and add them to the brew to make up for this enrichment, but since most bakeries use one percent salt to the amount of flour, lots of salt companies started adding enrichment to their product. This was to be more convenient, and I suppose it was, until it wasn.t. The excess iron made the heavily machined bread weak and caused it to fall when it left the moist warm air of the proof box. We got rid of that salt and the supplier had to reimburse us for our losses. Thankfully, I didn’t lose my job. However, I became known as the supervisor who threw away more bread than anyone else in the history of the bakery.

There were perils for working on Sunday.

Other Bakery Stories

Coming of Age in a Bakery: Linda and the Summer of ’76

A College Boy in the Bakery

Harvey and Ernest

Frank and Roosevelt

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Who receives the credit for these two healings?

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
June 27, 2021
Mark 5:21-43

Thoughts at the Beginning of Worship

Let’s me share with you a quote I came across this week from Doris Haddock. She went by the name Granny D. In 2000, at the age of 90, she walked across America. It took her a year as she made her way from Los Angeles to Washington, DC. Let her be a reminder that age is no excuse for inactivity. Anyway, here’s what she wrote: 

Most people are worth knowing if you will take time to understand them. Unfamiliarity with other people, ignorance of other people, is what makes war possible and violence possible, and it drives all the social divisions in a school or in a town, nation, or world. When you understand people well enough, you can’t help but love them, even if you hate them too. If you think those are incompatible emotions, I remind you to think about your relationship with almost any close family member. Understanding people is indeed loving them.[1]

In our text for today, we’re going to see Jesus’ compassionate side. When word spread around that he was able to bring about healing, people lined up to meet him. But even when busy, Jesus takes time to be with people. While he brings healing, he encourages people to have faith and to care for others. We’re called to the same ministry. Our passage is from Mark 5, verses 21-43. 

READ Mark 5:21-43

After the Scripture reading:

Have you ever had a dream in which there was something in which you needed to do, something you were committed to do, but obstacles kept getting in your way? You feel caught in a Kafkaesque story, unable to escape and unable to do what needs to be done?

Or maybe you have had such happen to you in real life. You agree to meet a friend at a specific time and set out with plenty of time to spare. Along the way, problems appear: an accident, a traffic jam, you get lost, or come upon someone in need and stop to help. 

Delayed by Sheep

I know I mentioned in one my newsletters an experience I had in Idaho. This was when I was in seminary and running a camp out there. Scheduled to speak at First Presbyterian in Twin Falls, I had a 90-mile journey from the camp I was directing in the Sawtooth Mountains. I allowed an extra hour but did not realize that this was the morning they brought all the sheep through the town of Ketchum, taking them to their summer pasture in the mountains. 

I was blocked by 100s of thousands of sheep. In those pre-cell phone days, I was frantic. When I finally got through the beasts, I drove at a high speed through the lava flows. I arrived, before I was up to speak, but 10 minutes after the service began.  

Whether in dreams or in real life, I’m sure most of us have had similar situations in our lives. We feel strongly about doing one thing and something intervenes. And I think Jesus knew this kind of feeling as we see in our reading this morning. 

Sandwich stories

Mark is famous for his “sandwich” stories.[2] Such stories involve Jesus talking about something and interrupted. The plot seems to move away from where it was heading. This allows time for things to happen as tension builds. Today’s story is an example. 

Jairus and daughter

Jairus, a father, who appears to be a rabbi in a synagogue, appeals to Jesus to help his daughter. Jesus goes with Jairus to take care of the sick girl. 

But there’s a crowd. A first century traffic jam. They must push themselves through the masses as they try to make it to Jairus house before it’s too late. Or maybe the masses are following Jesus, wanting to see a miracle. But the crowd is holding up Jairus and Jesus. Can’t they see the two have important work to do? Of course, this was in the days before flashing lights and sirens could clear a path. 

Intervention: a woman’s sickness

Our story shifts as Mark tells us about a woman who had been suffering with a bleeding issue for 12 years, the same number of years that Jairus has celebrated and felt blessed by his daughter. For this sick woman, the years were hard. She poured her resources into getting well, and now was penniless and hopeless. 

Differences in how they approach Jesus

Notice that Jairus, who had resources, approaches Jesus straight on. He knows his position in society. This woman approaches Jesus from behind. Without any hope left in the medical community, her only chance is for Jesus to heal her. If she could touch his clothes.[3]

There is a bit of superstition in her wish, as if the power is in Jesus’ clothes.[4] That’s not where there is power, the power is in Jesus, as God. 

This unnamed woman pushes through the crowd and reaches out and touches the hem of Jesus’ garment. The picture that we have is of a thick crowd, which begs the question of how Jesus even knew that a particular woman had touched him. The disciples want to know, but Jesus knew as he felt his healing power enter the woman.

We can imagine what Jairus must have been thinking as this interruption delays Jesus. 

When the woman healed identifies herself; Jesus displays kindness and maintain her dignity. He doesn’t say, “I made you well.” Had he done that, which would have been within his right, it would have focused her healing on him. Instead, this is about her needs. Jesus credits her own faith for bringing her healing. 

Back to the original problem

Now, after the delay, we’re back to our original issue, Jairus’ daughter. But before they resume their trip, they’re met by those from Jairus’ home who tell him that she died. Jairus’ heart must have dropped as they tell him not to bother Jesus anymore. But Jesus encourages Jairus to continue to believe as he gathers his inner circle—Peter, James, and John. They head to Jairus’ house. 

Different settings

The unknown and penniless woman is healed in public. Jairus’ daughter is dealt with in a more private setting, just a few disciples and family members.

The commotion at Jairus’ house

When they arrive at the house, they see the ladies’ guild has swung into action. Casseroles are coming in as they cry and make a fuss over the girl and her grieving mother. Some of those who gather may have been paid mourners. They go wherever there is a death. They’re making a commotion but are they really grieving. For when Jesus says she’s only sleeping, they stop wailing and start laughing.[5]

Mark’s humor

I hope you catch the subtle humor here. Mark’s story is funny. All these grieving women, including the professional grievers, are unable to wake up the girl. And then Jesus comes in. I image him gently taking her hand and quietly, as the commotion continues outdoors, telling her in a soft voice to get up. She does. Jesus’ voice is heard over against the ruckus going on around the girl.

Then Jesus asks that they keep this resurrection quiet, but that they do need to get the girl something to eat. Jesus takes care of her needs. We’re not told what happens, but I bet the father jumps into action. He might have even dug out desert for her to eat in celebration.

Jesus doesn’t claim credit

These two stories mingle together. A woman regains her health, and a daughter is restored to her father. Good work, Jesus. But Jesus doesn’t claim credits. He credits their faith. Not only do they experience grace, but they also maintain their dignity. That’s the way it is with Jesus. And we should follow suit. After all, when we don’t care who gets the credit, great things can happen.

If Jesus intervenes in our lives, and as God he is free to intervene and reward, we should be grateful. And until then, we should have faith in the one who has power to heal, power even over creation. Amen. 

[1]Granny D., Walking Across America in my Ninetieth Year.  Quote from:  https://www.plough.com/en/subscriptions/daily-dig/odd/june/daily-dig-for-june-20   

[2] Two other examples: Mark 3:21-35 and 11:12-25. See Morna D. Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (London: A&C Black, 1991), 147. 

[3] See https://pres-outlook.org/2021/06/5th-sunday-after-pentecost-july-27-2021/

[4] William L. Lane, The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1974) 192-193.

[5] Lane, 196-197.

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Mark Brown: Another Williston Memory

I still have Mark’s photo and my “Sugar Bear Ecology Club” card.

The Christmas break from school was just beginning. My church youth group celebrated with a progressive dinner. We travelled around to different homes, one for appetizers, another for a salad, another for the main dish, then the last home for dessert. If we were adults, there might have been a stop for drinks, but being a 10th grader, I knew little of such a world. 

We were at the manse, where the preacher and his family lived, for dinner. In the kitchen, the television aired the local news. Although we could hear it, we pay no attention, as Mrs. Jennings, the pastor’s wife prepared the main dish. Suddenly she came into the room. She was quite upset and shaking as she asked if any of us knew a Mark Brown, a student at Hoggard High School, where most of us attended. Everyone turned to me as she told us he’d been killed that afternoon. While Mark and I no longer shared classes and had gone in different directions at Hoggard, everyone knew we had hung out a lot at Williston, the year before.

Mark reminded me of John Lennon with his long stringy brown hair. He wore tinted wire glasses and often an army fatigue jacket upon which he’d drawn pictures in ink. He looked like a hippie. Mark was a year older than me, having lost a year in elementary school. A car had hit him one day, leaving him with weeks in the hospital and even more time in recovery. By the time he returned to school, he was so far behind that he had to repeat the grade. 

Although Mark was old enough to drive, I don’t remember Mark doing so. Instead, he rode his ten-speed everywhere. Once he received a warning ticket on his bike. If I recall, he was riding on Arlie Road. With no other cars in sight, Mark wove in and out of the dotted center lane. A police officer, sitting in a parked car in a driveway, observed this. He pulled Mark, in his bike, over and issued the ticket. Mark didn’t make a big deal out of it, but it was funny to hear him tell the story.

Mark was quiet and mostly a loner. We’d become good friends the year before at Williston’s Ninth Grade Center. Every day before school, Mark could be found at the top of the north stairwell. He would squat between the two bars of the railing, his feet on the bottom bar and his thighs pressed up against the top. He’d then lean forward and hug his knees, perched over the stairs like a gargoyle. Sometimes he’d read; mostly he’d stare. He was often alone. The north stairwell, along with the adjacent boy’s bathroom and breezeway was the domain of those of us who had attended Roland Grice the year before. Although Mark had recently moved to Wilmington from up north (New Jersey, I think) and never really ran around with the pack, his presence in the stairwell provided me the opportunity to get to know him.

Mark’s philosophy was to bother no one. If someone taunted him, he’d ignore them and walk away. He was the gentlest guy I knew, and I respected him for it. At a time when everyone was running around in gangs and the school and city were in turmoil, Mark refused to join in. Instead, he began his own little counter-cultural gang, inviting folks to join his Sugar Bear Ecology Club. Those accepting his offer received membership cards harvested from cereal boxes. We had to pledge to the “Clean Code.”

–Clean up our world
–Liter hurts everyone
–Each member must do his share
–Animals are our friends
–Nature belongs to all of us

(©1971 by General Foods Corp)

As far as I know, there were only three members of the club: Mark, a guy named Joe, and me.

Later in our ninth-grade year, after watching a man climb and hang in slings on the flagpole while painting it, Mark had an idea. His lunch was 4th period, the same time I was in Ms. Gooden’s class. He told me to keep an eye on the flag that day when he was at lunch. I did. Looking out the window wasn’t anything unusual for me, although probably less so in Ms. Gooden’s class as I, along with most of the other boys in the class, had a crush on her. Our class was on the second floor, over the offices with the flagpole right out in front.

Sure enough, Mark climbed the pole that day. On the top, he was eye level with me. He held onto the top like a monkey and swung around the pole, the flag flapping around him. Students flocked to the windows and to the front of the school to witness the spectacle. Mr. Howie and Mr. Barrett, the principal and one of the assistants, ran to the scene. They demanded him to come down immediately.  I thought for sure he’d be suspended, but they let him off with a stern warning. At a time of turmoil, climbing a flagpole seemed to be a relatively minor offense.

My dad took me to Mark’s funeral. It was a day or two before Christmas 1972 and held at the Catholic Church on Wrightsville Beach. It was stormy and the tide high. When we crossed the causeway, the waves lapped at the few boats still in the water that late in December. This was my first time in a Catholic Church. Much of what happened seemed strange, except for the crying. Everyone cried. Even my father, who’d only met Mark once or maybe twice, seemed visibly moved.

Mark’s death didn’t seem fair. Mark had been riding on the back of his brother’s motorcycle. Someone ran a red light at the intersection of Oleander Drive and Independence Boulevard, hitting the bike. His brother was able to hold onto the bike and ride it down. Mark was thrown off the back and across two lanes of traffic. He’d beat death once before, but not this time.

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A Proper Goodbye

Sermon recorded at Mayberry on Friday, June 19, 2021

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
June 20, 2021
Hebrews 13:18-25

I am sorry for the format issues in the bottom half of the sermon. I’m not sure what happened, and I have to now get ready to head to church! At least you can still read the text.

Setting the stage: At the opening of Worship

In a tweet this week, Pastor Timothy Keller wrote, “The gospel is neither religion nor irreligion, but something else entirely – a third way of relating to God through grace.”[1] I like that. It sounds a lot like what we have heard repeatedly as we have worked through the Book of Hebrews. The message of Hebrews was directed to a people who long to have rules to follow. They prefer the structure of their old faith rather than the graceful freedom offered in Jesus Christ. 

Today, we’re at the end of Hebrews. There are just a few items to clean up, some business to take care of before the author puts away his pen. Like us, he wants to make a good impression. Like us, he wants to say what’s important as he says goodbye. 

Saying what’s important, especially when saying goodbye, is a good message for Father’s Day. 

Read Hebrews 13:18-25

After the reading of Scripture:

We’re at the end. Not of history, at least I don’t think, but at the end of our work through Hebrews. We started this journey in January and since then, except for a break around Easter, have be enmeshed in this book. Are you ready for a new topic? I am. After all, this is my 21st sermon on the book. Today, we’re looking at endings. How do we say goodbye? 

Preparation for a trip

I think it was a Far Side comic. An ambulance delivers to the emergency room a patient from an accident. The doctor does a quick check, and then looks up to the nurses while shaking his head. “Dirty underwear, dirty socks, he’s hopeless. Who’s next?” The title below the drawing said something like, “Every Mother’s Nightmares? 

Was your mother that way? Did she make you wear clean clothes when traveling? Not only did mine do that, we had to leave a clean room behind. As bad as an accident might be, it would be horrible for someone else to have to clean up your mess. 

Thinking first about others

While there is humor in such situations, in the defense of mom’s everywhere (on this Father’s Day), such ideas are rooted in thinking about other people. That’s to be celebrated. It’s not a bad thing to leave a good impression, whatever it is we’re doing. 

Letters and Texts

Back in the day when people wrote letters by hand, which were sent through the Postal Service with an envelope and stamp and all, there was a particular form to follow. Most often, you ended the letter upbeat, hopeful, or at least invoking a blessing on the reader. 

Today, with character limits on text, few people even bother placing their name at the end. This creates a problem if the receiver of that text doesn’t have your name in their address book. If you receive such text, you only have a phone number to go by. You must either figure out who sent it (and what they’re talking about) or, at the risk of offended the sender, ask, “Who’s this?” 

I long for the good old days when we signed letters “sincerely,” and then included our name. It seems the courteous thing for us to do. Leave a good impression. After all, we have no control of the future. Instead of letting things hang, we should say our goodbyes in a way that if anything happened to us, we wouldn’t regret it. 

So, we kiss our loved ones when they, or we, set off on a trip. We tell family members we love them. We tell our friends how much we appreciate them. Proper goodbyes express our care. It’s the right thing to do. 

An American Requiem

An American Requiem: God, My Father, and the War that Came Between Us is a wonderful family memoir by James Carroll. The book also warns us on how not to say goodbye. I first read this book twenty years ago and sadly lent it out and couldn’t find it this week, but I remember much of the story. 
 
Carroll’s father planned on becoming a Catholic priest, but instead married and became involved in the early days of the FBI. He rose in the organization. He became J. Edgar Hoover’s right-hand man. When the Air Force was created after World War Two, he was chosen to head security. He went directly from being a civilian to receiving the stars of a general. Carroll grew up in Germany and Washington, DC, in a privileged household. Because of his father’s connections, he met Elvis Presley in Germany and dated one of Lyndon Johnson’s daughters. 
 
Assuming his father’s dream, Carroll enters the priesthood. This was the mid-60s, the era of Civil Rights and Vietnam. His father, at this point in his career, ran the bombing of North Vietnam. While in seminary, Carroll came under the influence of the Berrigan brothers, remember them? One of the two preached his ordination sermon. 
 
You can image how proud his dad was that his son was going to be a priest. After all, he’d felt the call but failed to follow it. His father invited all his friends. Sitting in the congregation that day were lots of generals and admirals. In addition, there were politicians, from the highest levels of government. And, in the pulpit, was an anti-war priest, who didn’t hold back words. His ordination was a disaster. For years afterwards, Carroll never talked to his dad. 
 
Then his father started to lose grip on things. It got so bad he was quietly retired from the Air Force. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. In his father’s remaining years, Carroll, left the priesthood, married, and had children. He tried to reach out to his dad. He realized he’d made a mistake, that he didn’t really understand his father, and that he embarrassed him. Sadly, his father no longer remembered or cared about what had happened. As his brain faded, there was no way to bring about reconciliation.
 
One reviewer of this book referred to it as Carroll’s benediction on his dad’s life. What he couldn’t do in person, he put on paper. 

 

Good endings are important

While it is not always possible, there’s something nice about good endings. And that’s what happens at the end of Hebrews. While I have insisted Hebrews is more like a sermon than a letter, the ending of the book takes on a letter format. The author, like someone writing a letter, wants to end on a positive note. He attempts to capture the hope of their relationship in Christ, and to close with one final summary of the gospel.

 

Our Hebrew Text

He starts by pleading for them to also help him and his community. Throughout this letter, he’s encouraged his readers and listeners to remain faithful. Now he enlists their help. We need the prayers and support of others. I need you to pray for me. We all need others to pray for us. Whatever you take from this sermon, remember to pray for me and for one another. It’s part of our commitment to one another as Christians. 
Next, he expresses the desire to visit his friends. He doesn’t make a promise that he will visit but expresses the hope it might work out. “God willing, I’m coming,” is another way of saying what he means. He knows he doesn’t control the future. 
From what we see, the author has a close relationship with this community. They know each other well. 
Then he offers a benediction which highlights what’s been said in this letter. He invokes the name of the God of peace who brought Jesus back from the death. Jesus, our shepherd, by whose blood we have an eternal convent and who offers us new life. Then there’s our part of this summary, living in God’s will, through Jesus Christ. 
This wonderful benediction captures so much of our Christian faith. Even if circumstances conspired against our author, so he died without visiting the recipients of his letter, he said what needed saying. He ends with a few more niceties. He gives them so news about Timothy. He says hi from those who are around him as he writes. That’s about it. As I’ve said, we have come to the end. 

Conclusion: 

How should we graciously say goodbye to those we love and for whom we care? We have an example here, at the end of Hebrews. If your dad is alive, be sure to tell him you love and appreciate him today. If there has been some strain on the relationship, try to work out. If you have children of your own, the same thing goes. 
In all our dealings with others: encourage graciously and with love. Amen. 

Happy Father’s Day! My dad fishing off Cape Lookout. December 2020

[1] https://twitter.com/timkellernyc/status/1405471032622845957?s=20

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Recent readings

 

Four book reviews: The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses, That Time of the Year: A Minnesota Life, and It Can’t Happen Here.

Richard Flanagan, The Narrow Road to the Deep North.

(2013, Audible, 2014), 14 hours 59 minutes

What a complex book. At times I loved it and other times I wondered what I was doing immersing myself within these words. The Narrow Road to the Deep North, a title taken from Basho, a famous Japanese haiku poet from the 17th Century, centers on the life of Dorrigo Evans. An Australian physician and surgeon, Evans reads the great literature of the world and serves in the Army. Captured on Java by the Japanese early in the Second World War, he and his fellow prisoners are sent to Western Thailand to build a railroad to Burma. While the story of the war unifies the novel, this is not just a book about war. Dorrigo carries with him a dark secret, but one of hope. Just prior to the war, he had an affair with Amy, his uncle’s young wife. Her memory haunts him in the jungles of Thailand and even after the war as he continues his career in medicine and begins his own family. 

Evans is a complicated character who is thrown into a horrible situation. As the highest-ranking officer among the POWs, he must make decisions to meet the Japanese quota of daily workers along his section of the railroad. These are life and death decisions, but he has no control. All the men are starving and disease prone. At one point, he must pick men for a march into the jungle to another camp. He makes the decision by picking out those with the best shoes. He fights with the Japanese for better food and medical supplies and rest for his men. He establishes a rough surgical hospital. He is tormented when he cannot save a man’s life because he lacks medicines and equipment. Yet, he is loved by the POWs and performs remarkably well despite the situation.

His personal life before and after the war was a mess and continues this way after the war. While he marries and provides well for his family, he is distant. He feels inadequate and guilty. He drowns his pain in numerous affairs. But, when his family is threatened by a fire in the bush, he arises to the occasion. His wife and children are amazed at this. For the first time, the children see his compassion, as well as the risks he takes to save his family. 

The story isn’t just about Dorrigo. We are given mini biographies of others who were at the POW camps. Some died there and their ghost remain with Dorrigo and his fellow survivors. Others live on, but their lives have all be affected by the terrible treatment they received as POWs. We also learn about some of the camps guards and Japanese officials during the war and afterwards. 

One of the cruelest guards is a Korean, the “Goanna.” Extremely brutal and sadistic in his treatment of prisoners, he is hanged for war crimes. Yet, I felt sorry for him. He was not Japanese. He joined the Japanese army (Japan had annexed Korea in the early 20th Century) for the money. But Koreans were always seen as second-class citizens and instead of being in the real army, they were assigned duty as guards and such. His sister, lured also by money and the promise to help wounded soldiers, became a “Comfort Woman,” essentially a prostitute for the Japanese army. He bore the burden of learning what she had become. He also felt he was just doing his duty for a promise of 50 yen a month (A yen must have been worth a lot more back then!).  

Major Nakamura was the camp’s commander. He returns to Japan and hides his identity at first. He finds a job working with the Japanese blood bank. Years later, Nakamura has a conversation with a Japanese doctor who tells of the medical experiences he conducted on American POWs. The doctor confides that they did their duty and are safe as the allied armies want to put the war behind them. The doctor suggests that only the foolish and those from Korea and Taiwan were punished for war crimes. 

Flanagan shows the complexity of individuals, who can be compassionate and cruel, capable of appreciation of beauty and able to create what is ugly. Evans shows great compassion and leadership during the war and not so much before or afterwards. For Nakamura, it’s the opposite. He’s savage in the war and mellows afterwards. Not only do we see this through the characters but also through literature (both Western and Japanese). I am going to think about this book for some time to come!

I recommend this book with a warning. The descriptions of the POW experience are very realistic. Parts of the book read like a horror tale. Furthermore, at times, when discussing Evan’s relationships with women, I found myself thinking I could use a little description. Some of these parts seem like I was reading an “adult” romance novel. But when blended, this book left me pondering the human condition.

I listened to the unabridged version of this book on Audible.  I have been on the Burma-Thai railroad and to a few of the many huge cemeteries from those who died there: British, Australian, New Zealanders, Dutch, and Indian. These plots remain a sobering place. 

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses

 (2003, Audible release 2018). Read by the author.  7 hours 46 minutes

I found this a delightful book that opened windows of understandings for often overlooked plants. Mosses are some of the simplest plants but are also very complex and important for the wellbeing of our planet. Drawing from her experience as a scientist, who studies moss, as well as her Native American heritage, Kimmerer weaves stories of her family and heritage into the larger story of moss. I enjoyed listening to her lyrical style of composition and since listening to this book, I have been looking at moss everywhere, on shady ground, rocks, on trees, and on rotting wood. I need to purchase and reread this book in print to capture all the names of the types of moss. The book is essentially a natural history of moss. In telling the story of moss, the plant becomes a metaphor for our lives.

“But the world is still unpredictable and still we survive by the grace of chance and the strength of our choices.” (at the end of chapter 12). 

Garrison Keillor, That Time of the Year: A Minnesota Life

 (New York: Arcade Publishing, 2020), 360 pages including a few photos. 

I received this book as a Christmas present and thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Having listened to Keillor and the Prairie Home Companion since the 80s, much of the book felt like I was visiting old friends whom I’d met over the radio. This book gives us insight into Keillor’s life and the decisions that led him into radio and to becoming a well-known author. Throughout the book, one has the feeling that Keillor feels blessed with the ability to have done what he did through a radio show. He is gracious in giving thanks to those who have helped him along the way, from teachers and aunts, parents and friends, and to those in the business. He also writes graciously about those who performed on the show and the friends he made along the way. I was shocked to learn he had become friends of Michigan’s author, Jim Harrison. Harrison, best known from his novella that became the movie Legends of the Fall, listened to Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion and the two began a correspondence. Keillor ends the book with a beautiful “sermon” on Psalm 100, which he summarizes as “In other words, lighten up. It isn’t about you. Improve the Hour.” 

I am sure there are parts of the book in which Keillor avoided topics and left things out (this is a memoir and not a autobiography, after all). However, he acknowledges the pain he caused to this first wife and the situation which led to him being removed from Public Radio during the rise of the “Me, Too” movement. With the latter, Keillor avoids making his accuser out to be evil, while maintaining his general innocence. He agreed that some of what he said to the woman may have been taken the wrong way but insists there was never anything to their email exchanges that rose to the level of the complaints. His bitterness is at how quickly Minnesota Public Radio decided that he was expendable. 

A few quotes: 

“Satire is perishable like lettuce.” 

“I wanted to have a long retirement and disappear into the sunset and outlive everyone qualified to give my eulogy.” 

Sinclair Lewis, It Can’t Happen Here

 (1935, Audible 2016), 14 hours 28 minutes. 

I read this book in college or just afterwards, but decided to listen to it again (which I mostly did while driving or walking). The book begins at a civic function in a small town in Vermont in the run up to the 1936 election. While the book moves from character to character, the unifying stream is about a Vermont newspaper editor, Doremus Jessup. Written before the election of 1936, the book creates an alternative to history. FDR doesn’t even win his party’s nomination in 1936. Instead, a rogue candidate, Buzz Windrip, rises to power on the promise of giving everyone $6000 a year. He also has an army of supporters who, soon after taking over as President, goes into action. Quickly, the country descends into fascism.  Jessup, who had always played it safe as a newspaper editor, writes an editorial that gets him into trouble. He becomes politically involved with an underground movement. Arrested, Jessup finds himself in a concentration camp. After his escape, he makes his way to Canada to join exiled Americans working for an overthrow of the government. 

Surprisingly, although of a serious yet fictional subject matter, there is a lot of humor in this book. These words drip with satire. 

This book was written during the era of Huey Long and at the time of the rise of fascism in Europe. While dated, there is much to ponder. Demagogues are dangerous. This would be a good book for America to reread. 

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Hebrews 13:7-17: Leadership

Jeff Garrison
Bluemont and Mayberry Churches
June 13, 2021
Hebrews 13:7-14

Recorded at Bluemont Church on Friday, June 11, 2021

Thoughts at the Beginning of Worship

In preparation for today’s worship, I found myself rereading portions of Joseph Small’s wonderful book, Flawed Church, Faithful God. I like the title, for it accurately describes our situation. Toward the end of the book, he addresses the situation many churches find themselves in today: 

Churches in America today are anxious, not hopeful. The prospect of institutional decline leads to a frantic succession of vision statements, strategic plans, measurable objectives, and the displacement of outputs by outcomes, all dependent on the latest management trends. Hope in God’s way is replaced by reliance on the latest fads in management techniques accompanied by official expressions of optimism that sound eerily like whistles in the dark.[1]

While I agree with much of what Small says, I also think there has always been an anxious thread within the church. But such fears have more to do with our focus on what we are doing or can do and not enough focus on what God has done and is doing through Jesus Christ. We’re called to depend on the grace of Jesus Christ and him alone. And we need leaders who bring a message of grace to us, not ones who place more burden on our lives. 

Read Hebrews 13:7-17

After the Reading of Scripture:

We’re almost at the end of Hebrews. God willing, we’ll complete our journey through this book next Sunday. Our section today appears to focus on leadership. Our reading was bookended, in verses 7 and 17, with words concerning those in leadership over us. But there is so much more in this middle part of the 13th chapter. As we seen throughout this book, the author again circles around and brings back up topics he’s already covered. 

Earthly leaders are important. They’re identified here as those who told us about Jesus. Leaders have the awesome responsibility to care for the souls the believers under their watch. It’s a humbling position and my prayer often, when writing sermons, when I am going into a meeting, or a visit is that God will be glorified and that what I say and do will not build me up but help build Christ’s kingdom on earth. Being a leader in the church is humbling. You must be grounded in the Word and in prayer and know your own limitations and shortcomings. None of us are perfect, including myself. 

Jesus is our Ultimate Leader

The preacher of this letter to the Hebrews, after first encouraging his listeners to remember their leaders and learn from them by imitating their faith, turns to our ultimate leader, Jesus Christ. John’s gospel speaks of Christ as the good shepherd.[2] Hebrews devotes much of this letter to showing Jesus’ superiority to everyone and everything else. Earthly leaders will fail. Only Jesus is faithful day in and day out. He is the same, we’re told, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. 

While we’re to be concerned and responsible to our leaders, the preacher who lifts Christ up every chance he has, encourages his listeners to remain faithful to the Savior. Undoubtedly, there were some leaders at the time this letter was written, who preached some weird ideas of their own. God’s grace is the foundation of our salvation, we’re told, not obeying a bunch of rules and regulations concerning food and sacrifices. Verse 10 contains a terrible truth. Those who teach otherwise are not invited into the real altar, or we might say the perfect sanctuary where the perfect sacrifice, Jesus Christ, was made.[3]

Leaving the Old Behind

The author seems intent on us understanding that we’re leaving behind the old. Like Jesus, we’re to leave the city, which represents the old ways. Jesus suffered and died outside the city, and we are to be willing to join him and endure abuse, too. We know that the present is temporary. This world will pass away. We’re to wait and hope for this new city. While we wait with hope, we continue to praise God. For we know that God working things out.  

While we have a perfect sacrifice in Jesus Christ, we’re to sacrifice ourselves for the good of others. The preacher continues, remining us to do good and to share what we have with those who are in need. 

Role of the Church and Its Leaders

Our hope is in Jesus Christ, but this does not mean that the church is not important, nor does it mean that there is nothing more for us to do. Through the church, we learn of God’s grace through Jesus Christ. And through our lives and sacrifices, others may come to know the good news of Jesus as they see us life in a graceful manner. 

This passage concludes with a second reminder of the role of Christian leadership. The author informs his readers that leaders are also held accountable. Then he concludes with a hope they can do their work with joy and not sighing. If they can do their work with joy, it will be better for everyone. Hebrews is aware that not all the work of leadership is easy or joyful. Sometimes leaders must make tough decisions or give counsel that others may find offensive. But it’s part of the job.

A Story about Learning Leadership

As a new pastor, I remember early on being visited by a guy whose wife and children attended my church. I hadn’t even had the chance to meet them when he stopped by this afternoon. This was before my first Sunday, and this visit made me question just what I was getting myself into. 

This man had concerns. His wife was leaving him. He wanted me to tell her, offering scripture for me to quote, that she was to obey and submit to him. While he had a few selected verses to back up his ideas, he seemed to miss the point of scripture. This became apparent as I asked him a few questions. 

Gradually, in our conversation, it came out that he felt it was his right to come home after a hard day’s work and drink a six-pack and smoke a few joints. He admitted to doing this every evening. He even admitted that when she confronted him with his behavior, he sometimes became violent. Without even hearing her side of the story, I was glad she was making a break. As their children aged—they were at this time an infant and a toddler—I knew this situation would not get any better.  “I think I’m on her side,” I told him. 

“You’re not going to help me,” he asked? He then questioned my faith and my commitment to scripture. 

I told him that I would help him if he was first willing to work on his own issues. Furthermore, I told him, I certainly wasn’t going to suggest his wife and their kids remain in such a setting until he got his act together. He didn’t want to hear that. He cussed me and left. 

Leadership is Tough

Leaders, responsible for the souls of others, often find themselves in a difficult situation. We are not here to agree and to support whatever people think is right. Being faithful to the gospel means there are times we must challenge people in order that they might do what is right for them, for their families, and for God. Not everybody wants to hear that. 

Leaders Need Your Help

Speaking on the behalf of leaders (and in the Presbyterian system, we have shared leadership between clergy and Elders), we do the best we can. But we need your help and your prayers, and I think that’s the message of this passage. None of us, except Jesus, are perfect. Yet God works through us. For that, we can be thankful and humble. Leaders are important, but our hope is not in ourselves, in our leaders and institutions. Our hope is in Jesus Christ, and him alone. Amen. 

As leaders, we never know what’s around the next bend

[1] Joseph D. Small, Flawed Church, Faithful God: A Reformed Ecclesiology for the Real World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2018), 187.

[2] John 10:1-18.

[3] See https://fromarockyhillside.com/2021/03/hebrews-10-sacrifice/

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Williston’s 1971 Snowfall

I have been reviewing some old writings about my days at Williston 9th Grade Center. Click here to read an earlier story about Ms. Gooden.
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I always dreaded going back to school after a long break, but the morning of January 2, 1972 was the worst. Heading to the bus stop, I shuffled my feet like a man going to the gallows. A pall had hung over the entire break. I boarded bus #23 and sat silently in the back as we traveled up South College Road to Roland Grice. Everyone got off. The seventh and eighth graders headed out to play while those of us who were ninth graders climbed into another bus for the shuttle downtown to Williston. This was the first year of cross-town (actually cross-county) busing, which for me meant that the first hour and a half of each school day was devoted to riding in or waiting on buses. The same was true for the afternoon, another hour and a half of waiting and riding. This was the price we paid to be a part of a court-ordered social experience. On January 2nd, the ride took even longer.

I don’t remember who made the first dare. Right before the fourth period bell, standing in the back of Ms. Gooden’s room, Abraham, Mike and I dared and doubled-dared each other to toss out the window some of the old outdated books stored in the shelves along the back wall. As it was with the first bite into Eve’s apple, after the first book flew out the window, the rest became easier. We each tossed a couple out into the bushes below by the time the bell rang. Ms. Gooden came in from the hall and began to teach. It was the last day of school before the Christmas break.

Our indiscretions should have ended then. But it didn’t. As fate would have it, Ms. Gooden left the room for a few minutes during the class. We came up with another dare. In the back of the room was a filing cabinet where the former teacher, now an assistant principal, had stored years of test papers. I don’t remember which one of us was the natural litterer, but soon a file folder of papers sailed across the front yard. Someone joked about snow. We all got into the act. Wilmington hadn’t had a white Christmas in a hundred years and we were out to change that. A brief snow flurry ensued, blanketing Williston’s front lawn. The flurries died down as soon as we heard Ms. Gooden’s high-heels clicking down the hall. We jumped in our seats, covered our smirks with our hands, and tried to act like nothing had happened. A few moments later, the principal, Mr. Howie, stormed into the room. He didn’t bother to knock or ask permission. I’d never seen a black man so red.

“Who threw those papers out the windows?” he shouted.

Our smirks retreated in the face of his anger. The three of us, an unholy trinity, sat there praying that no one would rat us out.

“You’d better have their names in my office by the end of the period,” he warned his young teacher before stomping out the door.

Ms. Gooden walked back to our corner, her heels clicking with each step. Then she just stood there. There’s nothing worst than having a gorgeous woman look at you with big, sad, disappointed eyes. We immediately forgot that she was on the other side, a teacher, and confessed to our misdemeanors. After class we headed to lunch while Ms. Gooden went down to the principal’s office.

Our final two classes of the day were dreadfully long. The three of us walked around, looking rejected, kind of like the Pakistani soldiers who’d just been defeated in by the Indians in what is now Bangladesh. We kept waiting for that dreaded speaker above the chalkboard to call out our names and tell us to report to the office. Our prayers must have been effective or, more likely, Mr. Howie and company were looking forward to their holiday every bit as much as us. The summons never came.

Having safely made it through the last day of school, I assumed our actions would catch up with us the first day back after the holidays. I headed back to school, fully expecting to be sent back home, suspended for at least a week. But to my surprise, nothing more was said about the strange snowfall that December day. I often wondered what kind of conversation had gone on between Ms. Gooden and Mr. Howie, but I never inquired. It was best to let that sleeping dog lie.