In his book The Screwtape Letters C.S. Lewis lifts up another truth when he has Screwtape saying: 'God wants them to learn to walk and if only the will to walk is really there, God is pleased even with the stumbles.'

"Everyone is searching for you," the disciples tell Jesus.  Jesus has been busily healing, teaching, and casting out their demons with an authority that had even the scoffers talking.  Maybe you have been caught up in a time when your full attention was required by all those around you; maybe you know a little of how Jesus felt as he withdrew to pray.  People will seek you out for what you can offer. "Everyone is searching for you," or maybe just "I need you."  Every "care-giver" understands the need to be a "care-keeper" too.  If you have ever taken care of a sick person for a long time, or a loved one in old age, you know the thoughts…"Oh! how my life would be easier without this responsibility."  Jesus is our example in being a blessing for people as He withdraws to draw on the strength of God bringing that strength to share.

Jesus was sought after because he was the fullest expression of God seeking relationship with a broken humanity.  Do you remember the words from God called to the man and woman (Genesis 3:9) "Where are you?"

"Everyone is looking for you," the disciples tell Jesus, and Jesus says, "That's good because I'm looking for them. That's why I've come. Let's go to all the people in these parts with the good news that God is with them and loves them."

At the end of World War II, Robert Woodruff, president of the Coca-Cola Company from 1923 to 1955, had a mission. "In my generation," he declared, "it is my desire that everyone in the world have a taste of Coca-Cola." With a vision and dedication rarely matched in corporate American culture, Woodruff and his colleagues spanned the globe with their soft drink. 

Why is it all right for people to feel that passionate about a soft drink but not about taking Christ to the world? Are there no people who seek meaning and purpose for their lives? Are there no families in crisis that need Christ's love and understanding? Are there no young people at risk because their lives lack a solid spiritual and moral foundation? St. Paul felt a passion. He was on a mission, which was to win as many people as possible to Jesus Christ. 

G. K. Chesterton once mused that Jesus went off by himself in order to laugh. In other words, when he couldn't stand the kind of ridiculous expectations that his friends and followers kept making of him, eventually he went off to laugh just to keep his sanity. Well, maybe. Certainly, everybody seems to want a piece of him in this picture Mark paints. Maybe he went off by himself just to get some peace and quiet for a change. Or, maybe he did laugh. Who could blame him.

Five young college students were spending a Sunday in London, so they went to hear the famed C.H. Spurgeon preach. While waiting for the doors to open, the students were greeted by a man who asked, "Gentlemen, let me show you around. Would you like to see the heating plant of this church?" They were not particularly interested, for it was a hot day in July. But they didn't want to offend the stranger, so they consented. The young men were taken down a stairway, a door was quietly opened, and their guide whispered, "This is our heating plant." Surprised, the students saw 700 people bowed in prayer, seeking a blessing on the service that was soon to begin in the auditorium above. Softly closing the door, the gentleman then introduced himself. It was none other than Charles Spurgeon.

A father took his small son with him to town one day to run some errands. When lunchtime arrived, the two of them went to a familiar diner for a sandwich. The father sat down on one of the stools at the counter and lifted the boy up to the seat beside him. They ordered lunch, and when the waiter brought the food, the father said, "Son, we'll just have a silent prayer."

Dad got through praying first and waited for the boy to finish his prayer, but he just sat with his head bowed for an unusually long time. When he finally looked up, his father asked him, "What in the world were you praying about all that time?"

With the innocence and honesty of a child, he replied, "How do I know? It was a silent prayer."

The great architect Frank Lloyd Wright was fond of an incident that may have seemed insignificant at the time, but had a profound influence on the rest of his life. The winter he was 9, he went walking across a snow-covered field with his reserved, no- nonsense uncle. As the two of them reached the far end of the field, his uncle stopped him. He pointed out his own tracks in the snow, straight and true as an arrow's flight, and then young Frank's tracks meandering all over the field. "Notice how your tracks wander aimlessly from the fence to the cattle to the woods and back again," his uncle said. "And see how my tracks aim directly to my goal. There is an important lesson in that."

Years later the world-famous architect liked to tell how the experience had contributed to his philosophy in life. "I determined right then," he'd say with a twinkle in his eye, "not to miss the things in life, that my uncle had missed."

Frank Lloyd Wright saw in those tracks what his uncle could not: It is easy to let the demands of life keep us from the joys of living.

We all recognize that any goal in life worth achieving demands a great deal of our energy. If you are a doctor you must spend vast hours alone and in residency studying the human body. The life of your patient demands it. If you are a teacher you must live in the library researching and preparing for your lecture. The mind of your student demands it. If you are a carpenter you must patiently measure the building before you drive the first nail. The integrity of the structure depends on it. If you are a mother you must sacrifice your life for another. Your children require it.

We could not live if we did not set goals and work to fulfill them. No sane person would argue otherwise. But here's what young Wright discovered at the tender age of 9, and what some don't learn until 59: The objective in life is not the goal but the journey on the way to the goal. The whole city had gathered around the door, pressing in to see Jesus. The demands on him were already piling up. He cured many, cast out demons, and taught constantly. And his disciples didn't help matters. When he left in the morning early to pray, they went searching for him. And when they found him they said, "What are you doing, everyone is searching for you?"

How do we enjoy the journey when everyone and everything is searching for you, wanting a piece of you, and demanding your time?

1. Hard Work Is Required.
2. Do Not Let Others Define Your Goal.
3. Remember to Pray!

Some people are so superficial when it comes to their understanding of prayer. "Hey, Father," said a man talking to a priest. "You got it all wrong about this God stuff. He doesn't exist. I oughta know."

"Why's that, my son?" asked the priest.

"Well," the man said, "when I was ice-fishing in the Arctic far from the nearest village, a blizzard blew up with wind and blinding snow. I was a goner. So I got down on my knees and prayed real hard, begging God for help."

"And did He help you?" asked the priest.

"Heck no," said the man. "God didn't lift a finger. Some Eskimo appeared out of nowhere and showed me the way."

Prayer is a potent force in the life of the believer. It is so potent that some followers of Christ have devoted their lives to nothing else.

There's an urban legend about the University of Chicago Divinity School. Each year it is said they have what is called "Baptist Day." On this day each one is to bring a lunch to be eaten outdoors in a grassy picnic area. Every "Baptist Day" the school would invite one of the greatest minds to lecture in the theological education center. One year they invited Dr. Paul Tillich. Dr.Tillich spoke for two and one-half hours proving that the resurrection of Jesus was false. He quoted scholar after scholar and book after book. He concluded that since there was no such thing as the historical resurrection the religious tradition of the church was groundless, emotional mumbo-jumbo, because it was based on a relationship with a risen Jesus, who, in fact, never rose from the dead in any literal sense. He then asked if there were any questions.

After about 30 seconds, an old, dark skinned preacher with a head of short-cropped, woolly white hair stood up in the back of the auditorium."Docta' Tillich, I got one question," he said as all eyes turned toward him. He reached into his sack lunch and pulled out an apple and began eating it.

"Docta Tillich.. CRUNCH, MUNCH "My question is a simple question, ...CRUNCH, MUNCH..."Now, I ain't never read them books you read ..CRUNCH, MUNCH..."and I can't recite the Scriptures in the original Greek

...CRUNCH, MUNCH ..." I don't know nothin' about Niebuhr and Heidegger

...CRUNCH, MUNCH...He finished the apple. "All I wanna know is: This apple I just ate, was it bitter or sweet?"

Dr. Tillich paused for a moment and answered in exemplary scholarly fashion: "I cannot possibly answer that question, for I haven't tasted your apple." The white-haired preacher dropped the core of his apple into his crumpled paper bag, looked up at Dr. Tillich and said calmly, "Neither have you tasted my Jesus."

The 1,000 plus in attendance could not contain themselves. The auditorium erupted with applause and cheers. Dr. Tillich thanked his audience and promptly left the platform.

Have you tasted Jesus? Please pass this on Saints! Jesus has risen... and he's coming back one day! Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him.

A MORE CONDENSED GENERIC VERSION GOES LIKE THIS:

Bob Allred tells the story about a country preacher who was listening to a seminary professor cast doubt on the core issues of the faith. When the professor finished his lecture, the elderly pastor got up, took an apple from his lunch bag and started eating it as he said, "Mr. Professor, I haven't read many of them books you quoted." Then he took another bite of the apple.

"Mr. Professor, I don't know much about the great thinkers you mentioned," as he took still another bite of his apple.

"Mr. Professor, I admit I haven't studied the Bible like you have," as he finished his apple and dropped it back in the bag.

"I was just wondering, this apple that I just ate, was it sour or sweet?"

The Professor responded, "How could I know? I haven't tasted your apple."

To which the old preacher replied, "With all due respect, sir, I was just wondering if you had ever had a taste of my Jesus?"

The blind man says "Whether or not the cure was approved by the FDA, I once was blind, but now I see. You all argue and explain all you want, but that's enough for me."

Dawn Hetland didn't move a muscle. The worship service was over. The choir had filed out. The pastor was at the back door greeting the worshippers. The pews were quickly becoming empty. But Dawn did not move. She sat silently, her hands folded, her head bowed in prayer. Bridget Glass was a life-long friend of Dawn Hetland. As she was leaving the sanctuary that Sunday morning she happened to see her friend Dawn with her head bowed low. Bridget thought something must be wrong. She went quickly to Dawn's side, tapped her on the shoulder, and asked if everything was all right. "Oh, yeah, sure," Dawn replied, orienting herself once again to her surroundings. "I was just praying. I've got an important decision to make and I need all the help and guidance I can get." "What decision is that?" Bridget asked. "About my future, Bridget. You know that I've just finished medical school. That's been my goal for any number of years now. So I've finished. So what? What do I do now? I never thought this would all seem so hard and complicated. I've got an offer to join a team of physicians in Tampa, Florida. But I've also been invited to do a residency program in Internal Medicine. I'm really torn between these two offers. All I've ever wanted to do was to be a doctor as a way of living out my Christian faith. Both of these offers open up an opportunity for me to serve God. But which one should I take? What does God want me to do with my life? That's the question I can't answer."

"And that's what you've been sitting here praying for?" Bridget asked. "Yes," Dawn answered. "I really don't know what to do. So I pray. I don't think I've ever prayed for anything so much in my whole life. But I'm not getting any answers. God seems to be very silent!" "Have you asked for advice from people you trust?" Bridget asked. Dawn nodded her head in assent. "Have you made a list of all the positives and negatives with these two possibilities?" Bridget inquired further. Dawn nodded for a second time. "I don't know what else you can do then," Bridget said in a comforting voice. "You've just got to make a bold decision now and get on with your life." "That's easy for you to say," Dawn shot back. "How can I make a bold decision when I don't even know what to decide. Why can't I see a flash of light in the sky? Why doesn't a still, small voice speak to me?" "Now you're asking too much," Bridget replied. "Only a handful of people living or dead have received such signs from God. I don't know if you were here a couple of weeks ago when Pastor Hagedorn preached about discerning God's will for our lives. Make a list of the positives and negatives, he said. Talk to people you trust. Take the matter to God in prayer. Then decide with boldness which course to take." "But what if I choose the wrong thing?" Dawn wondered aloud. "The status of your life before God does not depend upon making right decisions," Bridget said firmly. "We live our lives under the canopy of God's forgiving love. Our God of grace will walk with you no matter what path you choose. And remember, 'God works all things together for good with those who love God.' Don't worry, Dawn. God will take your decision, whatever it is, and make the best of it.""

A few years ago, a radio station ran a contest. Disc jockeys invited their listeners to tune in their clock radios. "Just for fun," they said, "when you wake up to the sound of FM-106, call and tell us the first words you spoke when you rolled out of bed. If you're the third caller, you'll win $106."

It didn't take long for the contest to grow in enthusiasm. The first morning, a buoyant disc jockey said, "Caller number three, what did you say when you rolled out of bed this morning?" A groggy voice said, "Do I smell coffee burning?" Another day, a sleepy clerical worker said, "Oh no, I'm late for work." Somebody else said her first words were, "Honey, did I put out the dog last night?" A muffled curse was immediately heard in the background, and then a man was heard to say, "No, you didn't." It was a funny contest and drew a considerable audience.

One morning, however, the third caller said something unusual. The station phone rang. "Good morning, this is FM-106. You're on the air. What did you say when you rolled out of bed this morning?"

A voice with a Bronx accent replied, "You want to know my first words in the morning?"

The bubbly DJ said, "Yes, sir! Tell us what you said."

The Bronx voice responded, "Shema, Israel ... Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Then the radio announcer said, "Sorry, wrong number," and cut to a commercial.

Try to remember. What did you say when you rolled out of bed today? Chances are, those words set the tone for the rest of the day. For the pious Jew the first words of each morning are always the same, and they were the words spoken that morning on FM-106. They were first spoken by Moses, who said, "Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Teach them to your children and talk about them when you lie down and when you rise" (Deuteronomy 6:6-7).

In his marvelous book, The Kingdom of God is a Party, Tony Campolo tells a story that illustrates how I believe the church must begin to live out our witness in the new millennium. Campolo was attending a Christian conference in Honolulu, Hawaii. Since there was a six-hour time differential between Honolulu and his hometown in Pennsylvania, on his first night there Campolo experienced some confusion in his sleep pattern. He woke up about 3 o’clock in the morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. So he got up, got dressed, and left the hotel where he was staying, searching for a place to get something to eat. Eventually he found a tiny coffee shop that was open. Here is his description of what happened there:

"The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted a cup of coffee and a donut. As I sat there munching my donut and sipping my coffee at 3:30 in the morning, the door suddenly opened, swung wide, and to my discomfort in marched 8 or 9 provocatively dressed and rather boisterous prostitutes. It was a small place and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was garrulous, loud, and crude. I felt completely out of place. I was just about to make my getaway when I heard the woman next to me say, ‘You know, tomorrow is my birthday. I’m going to be 39.’ Her friend responded in a rather nasty tone, ‘So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? You want me to get a cake, and sing happy birthday to you?’ ‘Come on,’ the woman sitting next to me said, ‘why do you have tobe so mean? I’m just telling you that it’s my birthday. Why do you have to put me down? I don’t want anything from you. I mean, why should I have a birthday party? I’ve never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?’

Campolo says, "When I heard that, I made a decision. I sat and waited until the women left, and then I called over to the fat guy behind the counter and asked him, ‘Do they come in here every night?’ He answered, ‘Yeah.’ ‘The one who was sitting right next to me, does she come in every night?’ ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘that’s Agnes. Yeah, she comes in every night. Why do you want to know?’ ‘Because,’ I replied, ‘I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday. What do you say we do something special for her? What do you think about throwing a birthday party for her right here in the coffee shop?’ A cute kind of smile crept over that fat man’s chubby cheeks. ‘That’s a great idea,’ he said. ‘I like it. That’s great. Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind. I don’t think anybody has ever done anything nice and kind for her.’

‘Well, look,’ I told him, ‘if it’s okay with you, I’ll be back here tomorrow morning at 2:30. I’ll decorate the place. I’ll even get a birthday cake for her,’ ‘No way!’ he replied. ‘The birthday cake, that’s my thing. I’ll bake the birthday cake myself.’

"At two thirty the next morning," Campolo says, "I was back at that coffee shop. I picked up some crepe paper and other decorations at the store, and made a sign of big pieces of cardboard that said ‘Happy Birthday, Agnes!’ I decorated that diner from one end to the other. I had it really looking great. The word must have gotten out on the street, because by 3:15 that morning every prostitute in Honolulu was in that place. There was wall-to-wall prostitutes – and me. At 3:30 on the dot, the door of the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready… When they came in we all jumped up and screamed, ‘Happy Birthday, Agnes!" Then we sang to her. And you know, I’ve never seen a person so flabbergasted, so stunned, so shaken. Her mouth fell open, her knees started to buckle, her friend had to offer her arm to steady her, and I noticed she had started to cry. When the birthday cake with all the candles was carried out, that’s when she lost it. She started sobbing. Harry, the fat guy behind the counter, gruffly mumbled, ‘Blow out the candles, Agnes, blow out the candles.’ Then he handed her a knife and said, ‘Cut the cake, Agnes, cut the cake.’

Agnes looked down at that cake, and without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, ‘Look, Harry, is it okay with you if I, I mean, if I don’t, what I want to ask, is it okay if I keep the cake for a little while? Is it okay if we don’t eat it right away?’ Harry shrugged and answered, ‘Well, sure, Agnes, that’s fine. You want to keep the cake, keep the cake. Take it home if you want to.’ ‘Oh, could I?’ she asked. Looking at me, she said, ‘I just live down the street a couple of doors. I want to take the cake home, okay? I’ll be right back, honest.’ She got off her stool, she picked up that cake, and she carried it out of the diner like it was the Holy Grail. She walked slowly toward the door, and we all just stood there, speechless. When the door closed behind her, there was stunned silence in the place.

Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying, ‘What do you say we pray together?’ Looking back on it now, it seems more than a little strange that a sociologist from eastern PA would be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But I prayed. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed, and that God would be good to her. And when I finished, Harry leaned over, and with a trace of hostility in his voice, he said, ‘Hey, you never told me you were a preacher! What kind of preacher are you anyway? What church do you belong to?’

In one of those moments when just the right words come, I answered him quietly, ‘I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning.’ Harry thought for a minute, and then almost sneered as he answered, ‘No you don’t! There is no church like that. In fact,’ he concluded, ‘if there was, I’d join it.’"

Maybe Harry was right. Maybe there is no church that is open enough to the leading of the Holy Spirit to be that kind of church. But if the church is to continue to provide a witness to the world about the unconditional love of God in the next millennium and beyond, that’s the kind of church we’re going to have to become.

Sam Duncan lay in the semi-darkness of his nursing home room performing the only two activities of which he still considered himself capable: watching and waiting. Although his eyesight was dim, he could still make out the steady brightening of the light of dawn through the window next to his bed. And although his hearing was too far gone to catch the rumble of the medicine cart, as it worked its way up the hall toward his room, he could sense that the time for his morning pills was near. He waited for the nurse to push open the door and greet him and his roommate Arthur, who was still snoring loudly in the bed next to his.

Most of the accepted measures of quality of human existence no longer affected Sam. While time, in terms of years, seemed to slip away unnoticed, the hours of the day crept by in agonizing slowness. Time no longer meant anything to him. Schedules all belonged to the nurses and aides and family members who waited on him. He himself had no claim to time. The staff dieticians and cooks decided what he would eat, and when. The aides assigned to care for him on any given day decided when he would be bathed, dressed, shaved, and even toileted. His family decided what clothes he needed, what treats to bring to him, and when he should go out. The activity director decided when he needed exercise, stimulation and entertainment, and he was delivered into her hands by the aides upon request.

There were few days when Sam could tell you what had occurred the day before, or even the hour before. He had little memory for what he had eaten for dinner Tuesday or breakfast Saturday. He seldom knew the day of the week or the correct month, although seasons were still instinctively evident. The minutia of every day had ceased to have meaning for him even before his nursing home days had begun ten years earlier, and he felt no concern or remorse over loss of interest in such trivia. But if you asked him if he remembered Pearl Harbor, or the day Franklin Roosevelt died, or what he was doing the day JFK was assassinated, he could tell you with detailed clarity what had gone on. He recalled vividly his wedding day, the day he and Martha buried their firstborn infant son, the details of the funeral of his grandson Sam who was killed in Vietnam, and what the weather was like on the day Martha died.

Sam also remembered the friends who had been most dear to him. They had all been gone for many years: Boots Martin, who had served with him in Germany in WW I; Alvy Hankins, who had gone to school with him and farmed outside of town; Dick Travis, who had been his business partner for nearly forty years ... all dead and buried long ago. It hadn't seemed unnatural that he had outlived them all, just part of life. But when he had outlived all of his children, the burden of life had become heavy, cumbersome. And now, at 102, it was nearly unbearable.

Sam had never been a complainer. Life was what it was. He didn't second-guess nature or the Creator. When he and Martha lost that first baby son, they had grieved and comforted one another, and eventually gone on with their lives. And God had blessed them with six healthy children who had survived well into old age. The death and destruction he had seen in the trenches during "the war to end all wars" was etched in his memory for all time, and yet he had survived it, both physically and emotionally. But when his grandson, young Samuel Wilks Duncan III, had been killed in Vietnam at the tender age of nineteen, it had taken much prayer and effort to overcome his sense of anger and grief. And when Martha died in 1989, at the ripe old age of ninety, and his own heart beat on strong and steady, even though he knew it was broken, he had shaken a mental fist at God and demanded to know why. Why must he be left to bear the burdens of life alone? At 93, why couldn't he go home, too?

That had been ten years ago. Ten years of slowly declining health, gradual loss of sight, hearing, movement and body function. Ten years of being taken here and there, regardless of his own wishes, by those whose job it was to provide him with comfort, stimulation, and quality of life. His grandchildren became so busy with their own lives that they seldom visited. And when his last surviving daughter had died of cancer last year at the age of 75, Sam couldn't help but wonder if God was allowing him to be put to the test, as he did Job. He felt very keenly the truth of Jesus' words in the Gospel of John:

... when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.

And so Sam had formed a mental list of Psalms from which to pray in all of his various moods:

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? -- Psalm 13:1-2

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? Oh my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.  -- Psalm 22:1-2

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff -- they comfort me. -- Psalm 23:4

As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. -- Psalm 42:1

Do not cast me off in the time of old age; do not forsake me when my strength is spent. For my enemies speak concerning me, and those who watch for my life consult together. -- Psalm 71:9-10

Sing praises to the Lord, O you his faithful ones, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment; his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. -- Psalm 30:4-5

Joy comes with the morning ... Sam's litany came to an end as the nurse pushed through the door with the medications.

"Good morning, Sam. Wake up, Arthur! It's time for your pills. It's a special day, Sam. Do you remember what day it is?"

"I don't know. Tuesday, maybe?"

"No, Saturday. You're going to have a lot of company today. This is your birthday, Sam. Do you remember how old you are today."

"I guess I'd be about 103."

"That's right. One hundred and three years old. Everyone is coming for your birthday party today. All of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and I've heard you even have a couple of great-great grandsons."

"I think they even named one of them after me."

"Well, April will be in in another hour or so to give you your breakfast and bath. When you're all dressed and ready, we'll take some pictures with all of your friends. Happy Birthday, Sam!"

One hundred and three. As he swallowed his pills, Sam's mind drifted back to the lighthearted days of his youth, when he and his friends used to say things like, "I'll never understand that if I live to be a hundred." Things don't really change, Sam thought. I've lived to be more than a hundred, and there are so many things I still don't understand. "Do not cast me off in the time of old age." "Weeping may linger with the night, but joy comes in the morning." Sam sighed and laid back to watch and wait.

Cleveland Amory tells a story about Judge John Lowell of Boston. One morning the judge was at breakfast, his face hidden behind the morning paper. A frightened maid tiptoed into the room and whispered something to Mrs. Lowell's ear. The lady paled slightly, then squared her shoulders resolutely and said, "John, the cook has burned the oatmeal, and there is no more in the house. I am afraid that this morning, for the first time in seventeen years, you will have to go without your oatmeal."

The judge, without putting down his paper, answered, "It's all right, my dear. Frankly, I never cared much for it anyhow."

If it kept up like this he wasn't going to get anything done all morning. After the telephone calls, that paper-jam in the copier, and now this, he was beginning to feel that it was pointless to try.

She stepped into his office, "Sorry to interrupt you Reverend, I know you are busy, but I need to talk to you!" She went on to tell him about a problem a dear friend of hers was having, and how it would be really "nice" if the pastor could stop by for a visit sometime. Soon. He wanted to say that if people would just stop bothering him long enough to get his work done he would be glad to go out and visit, but he smiled instead and thanked her for stopping. She had gotten his attention. Four other members had stopped by in the last two days worried about the same couple. One of those worriers was even a son of the couple. He believed it was Shem, although he never could tell those three boys apart. And they all said the same thing. They were concerned about them. Well, not both of them exactly, mostly just about the husband.

And that wasn't all. Just yesterday, during his Kiwanis luncheon, the pastor overheard others at the table talking under their breath about how the old man had "gone off the deep end," and that, obviously, "retirement just didn't suit him well."

Apparently all that extra time on his hands had gotten to be more than he could handle. Somebody said it looked like "The old guy's oil didn't even register on the stick anymore!" The pastor couldn't help but chuckle along. It was all so strange.

The couple had made great plans for retirement. They would plant a huge garden, he would tend his roses, and they would take plenty of time for travel. But the only traveling he did was back and forth, to and from the lumberyard. In the backyard, the rose bed and the spot staked out for the garden, was covered over by this big, uh, wooden thing.

By the way, the guy down at the lumberyard felt a bit guilty about selling the old man all that lumber. And the nails. Noah was no carpenter, and bent more than he drove in. But the old man had made it clear that if he couldn't buy his materials there, he'd just get them someplace else, and, after all, business IS business.

But none of this was news to the pastor. He had been aware of what was going on for months. It had all started back that week when Noah told his Sunday school class (which he had taught for 27 years) about the dreams he had been having. Since that morning, a couple of class members had made it their mission to keep the pastor informed as to what was being taught. Each week it had become stranger and stranger, and the pastor had begun to wonder how to talk to the old man about retiring (without hurting his feelings) when one Sunday morning after class he walked right into the pastor's office and resigned. It seemed he just didn't have the time to prepare a lesson each week and still get enough work done on the "project." And, he said without a smile, "I'm almost out of time." It sounded a lot like this retirement was really getting him down.

But about this thing in the backyard. At first the neighbors were intrigued. They all thought it was kind of cute to see the old guy out there climbing around with his hammers and saws, although some mornings he started hammering way too early, and some evenings kept sawing way too late. And it was cute how his wife kept yelling at him about how she knew he was going to fall off the ladder and break every bone in his body.

And it was kind of fun to try and guess just what it was that he was hammering and sawing on. First, it was a deck for the yard, then a greenhouse for the roses, then a garage. By now they were betting on a very BIG greenhouse, but thought there really should be more windows. And no one could understand why he built it to look so dog-gone much like a boat, until someone remembered that his hometown had been over on the river and that it must bring back some pleasant memories for him.

But it was getting way too big. The cuteness was beginning to wear as thin as the sunlight that was getting to the neighbor's flowerbed. It seems that a windowless-greenhouse-shaped-like-a-big-boat casts one whale of a shadow. There definitely was a zoning problem. Those same neighbors had a backyard wedding set for next Monday afternoon for their only daughter, and this pile of wood cast its shadow all over those well-made, and highly-paid plans.

But the straw that broke the camel's back was the camels. And the elephants, and the chickens, and the lizards, and the penguins. Enough, after all, was most likely enough. When they asked about him moving the shadow the old man mumbled between nails "There just isn't time," which left them with no choice.

On Friday afternoon, the papers were filed at the courthouse. They would be served first thing Monday morning. The "Big Boat" as it had come to be called, would be dismantled and carried away in time before the big wedding. So would the old man. This later part was the reluctant decision of the old guy's family who felt that some time in a safe, peaceful setting might help him come to terms with the "stresses of retirement." Monday morning would come as quite a surprise. The family called to ask if the pastor would be there as well, to help them help him understand.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the surprise came one day early. It was midway through the second hymn on Sunday morning. "Crazy Old Noah" was sitting in his usual every-Sunday seat, with his family looking rather embarrassed as everyone smiled at them. The pastor closed his hymnbook and started to reach for his sermon notes. But right at the spot where folks usually sang "Amen," God sang instead. It was a bass note. It kind of rumbled around the sanctuary, and down the street outside the church, bouncing off the bank and the furniture store, just thundering its way to wherever thunder goes. And it started to rain. Now, you need to understand that it NEVER rains around here this time of year. But it was raining. Everyone got up and walked to the doors and windows to watch. The pastor saw old Noah just sit there in his seat. The old fool let out a big sigh, looked up at the preacher and said, "Time's up!"

All that the pastor could think as he looked around was that if this rain kept up like this there probably wasn't going to be any wedding tomorrow afternoon.

Now, every time I wade my way into the pulpit, I look around into the faces. One of these days ...

It may be a crazy, old, bearded man.
It may be a young, baby boomer, career woman.
It may be a middle-aged, slightly paunched, nobody.

But I know it as a certainty. One of these days, right in the middle of my full calendar and my printed order of worship, someone is going to look up at me and sigh, "Time's up!"

In the "Peanuts" comic strip we find Sally waking up in the morning. She jumps out of bed, walks into Charlie Brown’s room, wakes him up and says, "Duck, big brother! Here comes another day!"

Every one of us has experienced similar feelings at one time or another. If we visualize the new day as something to be ducked, we will not be anxious to get out of bed. On the other hand, if the world and life are seen as a great opportunity, then we cannot wait to get back into it each morning. Although all of us have our ups and downs, it is God’s will for our lives that each dawn brings a new beginning, a new joy, as we are blessed with still another opportunity to sample his magnificent creation.

Yet so many people drag through life missing much of what it has to offer. They come across an opportunity for their lives, and they think of all the reasons why it won’t work. It could work for thousands of other people but not for them. These people are worry creators and optimism deflators.

The Devil has a merry time in Hell rejoicing that these negative, self-distrusting thinkers are literally stewing in their own juices. Satan wants them to forget that God created them in his own image. He wants Jesus’ promise of an abundant, worthwhile life to seem little more than a sanctimonious saying.

But the Bible says, "With God all things are possible." Satan detests that God is suggesting to you that you can become a somebody in a world of too many nobodies, a success in a crowd of failures. He does not want you to live up to your God-given potential; instead he wants you to be down on yourself, to hate to get out of bed in the morning.

Tomorrow morning, when the alarm rings, be the person God says you can be. Proclaim with the psalmist, "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it." Next upon your lips should be the verse, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Then jump out of bed and meet the day head-on, walking with the Lord and finding pleasure, possibility, and fulfillment in each step.

A business executive became depressed. Things were not going well at work, and he was bringing his problems home with him every night. Every evening he would eat his dinner in silence, shutting out his wife and five-year-old daughter. Then he would go into the den and read the paper using the newspaper to wall his family out of his life.

After several nights of this, one evening his daughter took her little hand and pushed the newspaper down. She then jumped into her father's lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him strongly. The father said abruptly, "Honey, you are hugging me to death!" "No, Daddy," the little girl said, "I'm hugging you to life!"

This was the greatness of Jesus. He took people where they were and hugged them to life. That is precisely what we see Jesus doing here in this dramatic passage in Mark 5. He is loving needy and hurting people, hugging them to life. This passage is a fascinating one because here we have a story within a story, or two healing stories rolled into one and the people involved could not be more different.

On the one hand, the family of Jairus represented the "upper crust" of society. Jairus was the ruler of the synagogue. He was a man of substance, rich and powerful and religiously prominent. In the synagogue, he called the shots. He decided who would preach, what scripture would be read, and what hymns would be sung. He represented the Elite of Society, especially the religious world, but this day Jairus was troubled. His 12-year-old daughter was dying.

On the other hand, the hemorrhaging woman in the crowd was a social outcast. She was considered unclean as one who was under the judgment of God and therefore not allowed to set foot in the synagogue. In this magnificent passage, these two vastly different people, the down and out hemorrhaging woman and the upper-crust daughter of Jairus, are loved into life by our Lord.

Now, of course, there are many beautiful lessons here in Mark 5 in these two dramatic stories of healing, and we could go off now in any number of directions. But for the moment, let's look closely together at the power of love and the amazing, incredible things love can accomplish when it is given and when it is received.

1. Love Has the Power to Heal.
2. Love Has the Power to Reconcile.
3. Love Has the Power to Redeem.

One of the best newspaper cartoons of all time is Calvin and Hobbes. One day Calvin and Hobbes come marching into the living room early one morning. His mother is seated there in her favorite chair. She is sipping her morning coffee. She looks up at young Calvin. She is amused and amazed at how he is dressed. Calvin's head is encased in a large space helmet. A cape is draped around his neck, across his shoulders, down his back and is dragging on the floor. One hand is holding a flashlight and the other a baseball bat.

"What's up today?" asks his mom.

"Nothing, so far," answers Calvin.

"So far?" she questions.

"Well, you never know," Calvin says, "Something could happen today." Then Calvin marches off, "And if anything does, by golly, I'm going to be ready for it!"

Calvin's mom looks out at the reading audience and she says, "I need a suit like that!"

That's the way many of us feel as we see the news and deal with life. Sometimes this world seems quite violent and people seem to be at each other's throats. A suit like that would help, so we can say with Calvin, "Whatever may come my way, I'm going to be ready for it! Bring it on!"

Well, I don't have a suit like Calvin's to give you this morning, but I do have word for this morning: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

There is a defining phrase in that statement. One that tells us what kind of peace it is that Christ gives us. Listen to it again and see if you can pick it out: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." The defining phrase is: "Not as the world gives." Do you see how that defines God's peace? The world promises peace through the rule of law. Law and order is the only way for a society and a people to experience peace and law and order must be kept by the aggressive use of force. That's the only way that the world can bring about peace.

But here is how Jesus will give you peace. If you obey his word He and the Father will come to you and make a home with you. Right in your heart. Not by force but by choice. They will abide in your heart bringing peace. The world's peace is peace through strength. The Lord's peace is peace through surrender.

We have all been asked by our children: if you could have any wish what would it be? I think the most common answer given is world peace. Peace is important. Jesus makes a point to tell his disciples that he going to leave them with peace. Peace is part a vital part of our faith. Let's look a little closer at what Jesus means by peace:

1. First, there is the Peace the World Gives
2. Second, there is the Peace the Lord Gives
3. Third, there is the Obedience We Give

In his award winning book, The Education of Little Tree, writer Forest Carter writes of life with his Cherokee grandparents.  He tells of sitting with his grandfather watching the morning sun rise over a mountain one winter morning.

"... we watched the mountain while we ate.  The sun hit the top like an explosion, sending showers of glitter and sparkle into the air.  The sparkling of the icy trees hurt the eyes to look, and it moved down the mountain like a wave as the sun backed the night shadow down and down.  A crow scout sent three hard calls through the air, warning we were there.

And now the mountain popped and gave breathing sighs that sent little puffs of steam into the air. She pinged and murmured as the sun released the trees from their death armor of ice.

Grandpa watched, same as me, and listened as the sounds grew with the morning wind that set up a low whistle in the trees.  'She's coming alive,' he said soft and low, without taking his eyes from the mountain.

'Yes sir,' I said, 'she's coming alive.'  And I knew right then that me and Grandpa had us an understanding that most folks didn't know."

Little Tree learned from his Grandpa how to read the signs of nature.  Reading signs, not the printed ones we see on our streets and highways, but the signs of nature and life and living is an art that takes time, practice and patience.  The reward is what Little Tree called, "...an understanding that most folks don't know."

In our gospel reading this morning, Jesus talks about "signs of the times" and particularly the signs of his coming.  In effect, he says to us, "Pay attention to signs of the times and be prepared for my coming."

Many, many years ago a man moved into a small town. His little house was near the railroad tracks. Every morning he noticed an elderly lady walking along the tracks picking up something and putting it into a bag. The man got curious. He went to a small grocery store nearby and asked the owner about this lady. "Oh, that's the widow Jacobs," said the grocer. "Every day she comes half way across town to pick up the coal that is spilled on the tracks when the early morning train runs through town."

"But there hasn't been a steam locomotive using coal on these tracks for years," replied the new resident.

"That's right," said the store owner. "When the steam train stopped running, old Mr. Simpson who runs the hardware store was concerned that the Widow Jacobs would no longer have coal to heat and cook with. He knew she was too proud to take charity, so he decided to get up early every morning, take a bag of coal and drop it along the tracks. The Widow Jacobs still thinks the steam train runs by here every morning. I think Old Mr. Simpson has been doing that for about 5 years now."

A few lumps of coal dropped along a railroad track each day. It's not much to do, but it's some-thing. I believe God calls each of us to do something to make life better for someone else. That's what this text is saying to us, isn't it?

A mother took her three little daughters to a mall to do some Christmas shopping. While they were there the three little girls had an opportunity to sit in Santa Claus' lap and tell him their wishes for Christmas. When they had finished, Santa Claus asked them, "Will you do something for me on Christmas morning?" 

And they said, "Yes!"And Santa Claus said, "I want you to sing ‘Happy Birthday' on Christmas morning?" The little girls were surprised by this question and said they didn't know of anyone having a birthday on Christmas.  Their mother, who was standing by and listening to the conversation, said, "Come on, now, who's birthday is it on Christmas?"

One of the little girls suddenly remembered and exclaimed, "It's Jesus' birthday!"

Santa Claus said, "That's right, so you be sure to sing Jesus 'Happy Birthday' on Christmas Day." And then he gave them each a kiss. A few days later the two youngest of these same little girls went to another mall and had a chance once more to sit in Santa Claus' lap. When they returned home their eldest sister asked, "Was it the real Santa Claus?" Again, their mother overheard this question, and asked, "How do you know if it's the real Santa Claus?"

And the little girl said, "The real Santa Claus tells you to sing ‘Happy Birthday' to Jesus and gives you a kiss."

Jim Smith went to church on Sunday morning. He heard the organist miss a note during the prelude, and he winced. He saw a teenager talking when everybody was supposed to be bowed in silent prayer. He felt like the usher was watching to see what he put in the offering plate and it made him boil.

He caught the preacher making a slip of the tongue five times in the sermon by actual count. As he slipped out through the side door during the closing hymn, he muttered to himself, "Never again, what a bunch of clods and hypocrites!"

Ron Jones went to church one Sunday morning. He heard the organist play an arrangement of "A Mighty Fortress" and he thrilled at the majesty of it. He heard a young girl take a moment in the service to speak her simple moving message of the difference her faith makes in her life. He was glad to see that this church was sharing in a special offering for the hungry children of Nigeria. He especially appreciated the sermon that Sunday—it answered a question that had bothered him for a long time. He thought as he walked out the doors of the church, "How can a man come here and not feel the presence of God?"

Both men went to the same church, on the same Sunday morning. Each found what he was looking for. What do we look for on Sunday morning?

The greatest thing about Christmas morning is the surprises. When else in life do you get to pile 10, 20, 30, 40 sometimes 50 surprises all together and sit for an hour enjoying each of them? One after another, surprise after surprise. Christmas Morning is wonderful in that way. I can remember still today the way I felt as a child, the amazement, the astonishment of Christmas morning.

Chuck Swindoll writes, "surprises come in many forms and guises: some good, some borderline amazing, some awful, some tragic, some hilarious. But there's one thing we can usually say surprises aren't boring." Surprises are woven through the very fabric of all our lives. They await each one of us at unexpected and unpredictable junctures.

I like the story about a professor who sat at his desk one evening working on the next day's lectures. His housekeeper had laid that days mail and papers at his desk and he began to shuffle through them discarding most to the wastebasket. He then noticed a magazine, which was not even addressed to him but delivered to his office by mistake. It fell open to an article titled "The Needs of the Congo Mission".

Casually he began to read when he was suddenly consumed by these words: "The need is great here. We have no one to work the northern province of Gabon in the central Congo. And it is my prayer as I write this article that God will lay His hand on one - one on whom, already, the Master's eyes have been cast - that he or she shall be called to this place to help us." Professor Albert Schweitzer closed the magazine and wrote in his diary: "My search is over." He gave himself to the Congo.

That little article, hidden in a periodical intended for someone else, was placed by accident in Schweitzer's mailbox. By chance he noticed the title. It leaped out at him. Chance? Nope. It was one of God's surprises.

This morning we focus on one of the greatest surprises that ever there was, the surprise that took place when an angel by the name of Gabriel appeared to a young teenager by the name of Mary. Gabriel piled one surprise upon another. Mary and Joseph's Christmas tree had more astonishing surprises than any couple on earth had ever experienced.  Gabriel surprised Mary with the following…

1.  "The Lord is with you, do not be afraid."
2.  "You will conceive in your womb, and bear a son."
3.  "He will be called the Son of God."

At a dinner party, a woman said to Lord Northcliffe, "It is really quite surprising Thackeray awoke one morning and found himself famous!" Lord Northcliffe answered, "When that morning dawned, Thackeray had been writing eight hours a day for fifteen years. No, Madam, the man who wakes up and finds himself famous hasn't been asleep."

There was a little girl named Lucinda who couldn't wait for Christmas to come. She was so excited about Christmas that she was about to burst! Lucinda loved everything about Christmas. She loved singing Christmas carols, she loved decorating the tree and sending Christmas cards, she loved shopping and wrapping the presents. But, most of all, she loved unwrapping presents on Christmas morning. She couldn't wait to see what she was going to get.

And one year she didn't wait! She sneaked into the closet where her mom and dad had hidden her presents and she peeked. She unwrapped the presents just enough to see what she was going to get. At first she was very excited, because she liked the presents and she couldn't wait to play with them. But later, she began to feel sad. All of the excitement of waiting was gone. Now she didn't have anything to look forward to on Christmas morning.

That night, at the Christmas Eve service, the little girl listened as the Christmas story was read from the Bible. She knew the story well, and she especially liked the part where the angel told the shepherds about the birth of the baby Jesus. How excited they must have been as they made their way to Bethlehem. Their people had been waiting a long, long time for the Messiah to come. Even though it had taken many years, they had never given up hope. And how special it must have been to see the baby Jesus in the manger, even though the angel told them exactly what they were going to see.

"Maybe that's how it will be for me when I open my presents," the little girl thought, and she began to get excited about Christmas morning all over again. And when Lucinda opened her presents the next morning, what do you suppose happened? She was surprised! She didn't get any of the presents she had peeked at! Her sister got all of those. She had peeked at the wrong presents! What a relief it was, and what a valuable lesson she had learned. She would never, ever even try to peek at her presents again! She would wait patiently, and with great excitement, for Christmas to come. She would wait as long as it took.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt got tired of smiling that big smile and saying the usual things at all those White House receptions. So, one evening he decided to find out whether anybody was paying attention to what he was saying. As each person came up to him with extended hand, he flashed that big smile and said, "I murdered my grandmother this morning." People would automatically respond with comments such as "How lovely!" or "Just continue with your great work!" Nobody listened to what he was saying, except one foreign diplomat. When the president said, "I murdered my grandmother this morning," the diplomat responded softly, ''I'm sure she had it coming to her."

Note: It is uncertain whether this story is true or if it was invented to illustrate a point, like the story of George Washington and the cherry tree told by Parson Weems.

The story is told of a Franciscan monk in Australia was assigned to be the guide and "gofer" to Mother Teresa when she visited New South Wales. Thrilled and excited at the prospect of being so close to this great woman, he dreamed of how much he would learn from her and what they would talk about. But during her visit, he became frustrated. Although he was constantly near her, the friar never had the opportunity to say one word to Mother Teresa. There were always other people for her to meet.

Finally, her tour was over, and she was due to fly to New Guinea. In desperation, the Franciscan friar spoke to Mother Teresa: If I pay my own fare to New Guinea, can I sit next to you on the plane so I can talk to you and learn from you? Mother Teresa looked at him. You have enough money to pay airfare to New Guinea? she asked.

Yes, he replied eagerly. “Then give that money to the poor,” she said. “You'll learn more from that than anything I can tell you.” Mother Teresa understood that Jesus’ ministry was to the poor and she made it hers as well. She knew that they more than anyone else needed good news.

On a Saturday morning, in Nazareth, the town gathered in the synagogue to listen to Jesus read and teach. It was no big surprise. He was well known in the area; it was his hometown. He was raised there. They wanted to learn from him. So when he read from the Isaiah scroll, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the good news to the poor” everyone understood these words to be the words of Isaiah. It is how that prophet from long ago defined his ministry.

When Jesus finished that reading he handed the scroll to the attendant and sat down. In that day you sat in the Moses Seat to teach to the people. Today preachers stand in a pulpit. So all eyes were on Jesus, waiting for him to begin his teaching. What would he say about this great prophet Isaiah? Would he emphasis the bad news? Israel had sinned and would be taken into captivity by the Babylonians. Or would he emphasis the good news? One day God would restore his people and bring them back from captivity. It was Israel’s ancient history but it still spoke volumes.

Now here’s the wonderful twist, the thing that catches everyone off guard that Saturday morning in Nazareth. Jesus does neither. He doesn’t emphasize those things past. He focuses on the present. He doesn’t lift up Isaiah as the great role model; Jesus lifts up himself. This is the pertinent point. It’s what upsets everybody at the synagogue. It’s why everybody was furious with him and drove him out of town. They were going to kill him. He dared to say that these great words of Isaiah were really about himself. “Today,” he said, “this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Why does Jesus describe himself as the new Isaiah? How is it that he is the fulfillment of Isaiah’s words? Let’s take a look at…

1. The captivity and restoration of Israel under Isaiah’s ministry.
2. The captivity of mankind under Jesus’ ministry.
3. The restoration of mankind under Jesus’ ministry.

The biography, Norma, is the story of well-known singer for Lawrence Welk, Norma Zimmer. One of the more poignant aspects of her story is that of her teen years. Her parents were a source of great pain to her because of their drinking. Though these years were difficult for her, she began to find an escape into a better world through singing. As a senior in high school, Norma was invited to become a featured church soloist by Carl A. Pitzer of the University Christian Church in Seattle. When her parents heard she was to sing a solo in church they both insisted they wanted to hear her, though they did not normally attend. She tells the story of that morning:

"I was excited and elated at the prospect of singing again. The choir processed down the middle aisle, and as we walked, I stole glances at the congregation, trying to find my parents.... I couldn’t spot Mom and Dad.

"Then in horror I saw them—weaving down the aisle in a state of disheveled intoxication. They were late. Few empty seats were left. My parents stumbled over the feet of other people to reach a place in the middle of the row. The whole congregation stared. I don't know how I ever got through that morning. The invocation, the congregational hymn, the prayer, the offering—and then I stood up to sing. ‘How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings.’ The song seemed interminable. I tried to think only of the words and kept my eyes from turning to the row where my parents sat.

"I took my seat, my heart pounding, my cheeks burning. Dr. Hastings started to preach. At first, I hardly heard him. Then his words reached me, ‘God is our refuge and strength, a tested help in time of trouble.’

"My own trouble seemed to bear down on me with tremendous weight that morning. I felt I had more than my share of grief, and I knew I needed help. I realized how desperate life in our family was without God, and that day I recommitted my life to Him. As Dr. Hastings preached that morning, Jesus came into my life nor only as Savior but for daily strength and direction."

When Theodore Roosevelt was an Assembly man in the legislature of the state of New York, events developed in his personal life that would wound him deeply. On February 13, Roosevelt, seated on the floor of the Assembly, received a telegram informing him that his wife Alice had given birth to a baby girl late the night before. He received the congratulations of his colleagues but decided to finish work on legislative matters before leaving for home to be with his family.

Several hours later he received another telegram telling him that his wife was very ill and so too his mother. He immediately left for the train station. The train seemed to move very slowly down the Hudson Valley. Normally, the trip took five hours but during this journey it would be longer due to the heavy fog. All Roosevelt could do was to read the two telegrams over and over again. When he finally did arrive at the station, it was difficult to find his home because of the fog.

When he did find his home, he found that Alice, ill with Bright's disease, was semi-comatose and near death. Alice barely recognized him as he sat with her in his arms. Not only was his wife near death, but also his mother Mittie was dying with typhoid fever on the floor below. Theodore Roosevelt was informed that if he wanted to see his mother for the last time he had better do that now.

Finally, at three in the morning, Mittie died and Theodore went back upstairs to be with Alice. As morning came, the fog became even worse and then by mid-morning there was rain, which was eventually followed by a brief appearance of the sun. When the morning passed over into the afternoon, Alice died. It was February 14, 1884, and Roosevelt wrote in his diary: "The light was gone out of my life." Two days after Alice's death, he wrote in his diary: "For joy or sorrow, my life has now been lived out."

Imagine, Theodore Roosevelt believed that his life was virtually over. He saw very little reason to go on with life. Yet this is the same man who would go on to be the President of the United States. As President, he would develop our national park system, develop laws against abusive child labor and laws to regulate the nation's food supply, develop the Panama Canal, and will always be remembered for the immortal words "speak softly and carry a big stick." Obviously, his life was not over when his mother and wife died. Even at the marriage feast in Cana in Galilee, Jesus proved that God can do far more than we can ever anticipate. When we think that all hope is lost, God is still in the miracle business.

Uncle Hilbert used to stand at the front door of the church every Sunday morning and greet everyone as they came into worship. He always had a big smile on his face as he called all of us by name, and he had a special handshake for us kids. It was a rare day when he wasn't there, and when he was absent church wasn't the same. You had the feeling that something essential was missing.

I don't know why we called him uncle. He was nobody's uncle as far as I know. He had a couple of married sisters who lived in the city, but neither of them had any kids. The little kids called him Hilly, but to everyone else he was Uncle Hilbert or just plain Uncle. "Good morning, Uncle," Mr. Tolbert would say when Hilbert stopped in at the grocery store each morning after walking with us kids to school. He had regular rounds that he made every day. He would meet us at the corner at 7:30 a.m., walk with us as far as the playground; then he would stop at the store, visit with Mr. Tolbert for a while, buy some candy or a pop; then he would head over to the feed mill to watch them grind corn and oats. Sometimes one of the men would let him ride along on the truck while he made a delivery to one of the farms outside of town. Just before noon, about the time the curd was beginning to set, you would find Hilbert over at the cheese factory. They always gave him a white hat and let him watch as they cut up the curd. When they were done, Mr. Sweeney would give him a bag full to take home to his mother so they could have fresh curd for lunch.

In the afternoons Hilbert would get out his bike. For some reason his mother wouldn't let him ride it in the mornings. It was a beautiful red and white Schwinn with headlights, reflectors, rear view mirror, side baskets, an oompah horn, a license plate that said Packer Backer, and long bushy squirrel tails dangling from each handlebar. It was the envy of every kid in town. Hilbert used to let us ride it sometimes on the way home from school, until his mother found out, and then that was the end of that.

Hilbert claimed to be more than 50 years old. None of us kids believed he could possibly be that old until one Saturday morning, when his mother was gone, he invited some of us up to his room in the second story of their house and let us watch while he shaved. He also showed us his collections of old comic books and baseball cards. He had hundreds and hundreds of them, many of them over 20 years old. We decided that maybe he was as old as he said he was. I think it was around that time that I asked my dad why Hilbert had never grown up and he said something about some people being born that way.

That was also about the time that we got a new preacher, the one my folks never liked. His sermons were way too long and from the tone of them you would have thought we were the most wicked congregation God had anywhere in the world. The new preacher didn't want Hilbert to stand by the door and greet people on Sunday mornings. He always sent him on some kind of errand about the time people started to arrive, just to get him out of the way. This was the same preacher who refused to let Hilbert take communion. He said he didn't understand what it meant and it would be a sacrilege for any one to approach the altar under those circumstances. It must have been a long three years for Hilbert, until that preacher finally left and we got one who wasn't quite so particular.

It was about a year after that when Hilbert's mother died and he came to live with us on the farm. We put him up in the spare room, where the hired man stayed when we had one. We kids thought it was great fun to have him around all of the time. He went berry picking with us, and fishing and swimming in the creek. He also liked to help us with our chores, and we were glad to let him. We had to watch him though. One time he hopped on the tractor, started it up, put it in gear, and was headed straight for the barn before Dad saw him and somehow managed to climb on from the back and get it stopped before it crashed into the barn. I'll never forget how mad he was. He yelled at Hilbert for quite a while, and when he was done with him he yelled at us for allowing it to happen. That was the last straw. Dad said it was too dangerous for Hilbert to stay on the farm. He said he was going to make arrangements for him to live somewhere else.

They had a big community meeting at the church on a Thursday night to decide what to do with Uncle Hilbert. Hilbert was there, too. He sat in the back pew with us kids. He didn't greet people at the door when they came in that night, and he didn't smile much, either, as he usually did. We could tell that he was upset. He just sat in the pew and pretended to read one of his comic books.

The general consensus was that Hilbert should be sent to the county farm. Since he had little money, no relatives and no friends who were willing to take him in, it seemed the only logical thing to do. Someone said that Hilbert would be happy there once he got used to it, said they had crafts that he could do and there was bingo on Fridays. Surely he would enjoy that. Why, he would probably be a lot better off there than he could ever be in town where there was nothing for someone like him to do.

It seemed to be all settled when Mrs. Drury stood up and said in a loud, emphatic voice, "I will not let you send Hilbert away!" Mrs. Drury was the widow of the blacksmith, a quiet little woman who rarely said anything to anyone. She was the last person anyone would have expected to speak out at a public meeting. The church became very quiet. Everyone waited to hear what she was going to say.

"When I was sick last year," she went on to say, "Hilbert came to see me every day. He fed the dog for me and watered my plants. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't been there. I'm not faulting the rest of you. I'm sure you would have come if I had asked you. The point is, Hilbert was there. No siree, I won't stand by and allow you to put him away. He will come and live with me."

Hilbert lived with Mrs. Drury until he died, about 10 years later. It all seems like such a long time ago now. But I still see Uncle Hilbert's smiling face when I walk in the door of the church on Sunday mornings, and in the quiet time before the service, as I prepare myself for worship, I thank God for all that he gave us.

Author's Note: In loving memory of my uncle, Max Long, my aunt, Mary Long, and our neighbor, Donald Moore. They are the Uncle Hilberts for whose lives I still give thanks.

On Easter morning, before the sunrise service in Carolina Beach, I was standing next to my friend Steve Hall, the minister at St. Paul's Methodist. And the sun hadn't quite peeked out above the horizon, but there was a spectacular red glow all along the skyline, reflecting on the ocean. And I was just about to say, "Steve, I can't figure out why I'm not out here every morning," but he had started to speak first, and he said, "Why am I not out here every morning?"

John, the most sacramental of the four evangelists, puts this scene with the risen Jesus on the beach; and Jesus has built a little campfire, and he asks the disciples returning from their morning trawl to bring some fish to add to the ones he's already got on the grill, along with bread that he has provided.

But Luke has it happening in the house in Jerusalem where the disciples are gathered, and it is evening.

In both cases, Christ's presence is as real as it gets, and he is so alive that, like you and me and every human being in the world, he needs something to eat.

As you and I, members of the body of Christ, try to minister to the world around us, may we remember the real, tangible, physical needs of this world that God loved so much that God gave his only Son.

We are not ghosts. We can do things, build things, make things, share things.  And occasionally, when we have done our daily work for the physical well-being of this absolutely real world, we will have the privilege of sitting at table together, in the presence of the one who opens our eyes, and makes our breaking bread together a sacrament.

I heard recently about a man who prided himself on being exceedingly punctual. He followed a very precise routine every morning. His alarm went off at 6:30. He rose briskly, shaved, showered, ate his breakfast, brushed his teeth, picked up his briefcase, got into his car, drove to the nearby ferry landing, parked his car, rode the ferry across to the downtown business area, got off the ferry, walked smartly to his building, marched to the elevator, rode to the seventeenth floor, hung up his coat, opened his briefcase, spread his papers out on his desk, and sat down in his chair at precisely 8:00. Not8:01, not even 7:59. Always at 8:00 A.M. He followed this same routine without variation for eight years.

Until one morning his alarm did not go off and he slept fifteen minutes late. When he did awake, he was panic-stricken. He rushed through his shower, nicked himself when he shaved, gulped down his breakfast, only halfway brushed his teeth, grabbed up his briefcase, jumped into his car, sped to the ferry landing, jumped out of his car, and looked for the ferry. There it was, out in the water a few feet from the dock. He said to himself, “I think I can make it," and he ran down the dock toward the ferry at full speed. Reaching the edge of the pier he gave an enormous leap out over the water and miraculously landed with a loud thud on the deck of the ferry.

The captain rushed down to make sure he was all right and said, "Man, that was a tremendous leap, but if you would have just waited another minute, we would have reached the dock, and you could have walked on."

An old man, walking the beach at dawn, noticed a young man ahead of him picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. Catching up with the youth, he asked what he was doing. The answer was that the stranded starfish would die if left in the morning sun. "But the beach goes on for miles and miles, and there are millions of starfish," countered the man. "How can your effort make any difference?" The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and then threw it to safety in the waves. "It makes a difference to this one," he said.

Bruce and Darlene Marie Wilkinson in their book The Dream Giver for Parents tell about a teenager who noticed that his father worried himself nearly to death, trying unsuccessfully to be everywhere and do everything to protect his child from life's difficulties. This young man wrote his father the following note:

"I am sure you remember, Dad, how you used to tell me stories when I was young and was afraid or insecure. Well, I have noticed that you are often worried about what might become of me when you're not there to help. Now I want to remind you of one of the stories we read together when I was little.

It's the story of the rooster who got up before dawn every day to sit on the roof of the farmhouse and crow so that the sun would rise. Because that's what he really believed: that it was his responsibility to make the sun come up. He was always afraid that if he didn't crow, everything would go wrong. He kept worrying: What would happen if I fell ill, or even died?  How would the crops grow, and the children wake up in time for school, and the frost melt, and the flowers blossom if I weren't there to make the sun rise? The world would become cold and dark; all the grass and the trees would die and the people too eventually.

Then one evening, Rooster attended a party and overslept the next morning. The other animals realized that he was not there to make the sun come up and were just about to panic when they saw a glimmer of light on the horizon . . . It was the sun rising without Rooster! Rooster was miserable when he found out that he had nothing to do with the sun's rising every morning. And embarrassed!

But he was also extremely relieved. What a weight off my shoulders, he thought, that I don't have to make the sun come up! Every morning, there it is. There must be Someone Else taking care of all this.

Dad, you light up my life, but it really isn't your responsibility to "make the sun rise for me." I know that you know Someone Else is taking care of me.

That was a lesson that Mary and Joseph had to learn. And it's a lesson I hope you and I have learned as well. God will take care of those we love and God will take care of us. Mary and Joseph went on with their lives following Christmas, and so shall we. They faced life's many challenges, but they did it with love and with faith in God. It was not easy, but they knew God was with them, just as God is with us. It's good to know. Indeed, it's the best Good News in the world.

The Gospel according to Mark, commonly accepted to be the earliest of the synoptics, relates that Jesus began his Galilean ministry by 1. making an announcement, 2. extending an invitation, and 3. issuing a command. It would be pressing the matter entirely too far to even remotely suggest that the sequence of events was intentional, yet there is a certain familiarity about the sequence itself. As a matter of fact, the three ingredients, broadly categorized above, probably bear a striking resemblance to the sermon you will likely hear in your particular church on any given Sunday: a. the announcement of a Gospel truth; b. the exhortation, with some degree of urgency, to accomplish something in the name of Christ, and c. the invitation to respond. Intentional or not, Jesus began his ministry with a format exceptionally accommodating to Gospel preachers. However, let us take up the sequence as described by Mark.

1. The announcement. The arrest of John the baptizer apparently served as the catalyst for Jesus to reveal the messianic secret. For thirty years, he had maintained a low profile, preparing himself, shaping his perspectives, waiting - waiting for the proper time to thrust himself prominently into the midst of human affairs. At last, the moment had arrived: "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel" (1:15). Daring words! He had made bold as a young man sometime earlier in his hometown synagogue to proclaim that the Scriptures had been fulfilled at his reading. The Nazarenes responded by chasing him from the community. He knew full well that there would be a more general uprising against him now by both civil and religious authorities. But there was no choice. The groundwork had been laid, preparations had been completed, John was in prison, and the alarm must continue to be sounded: "The kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel."

2. The invitation. He would need help. Passing along the Sea of Galilee he saw two brothers, Simon and Andrew. Without the slightest qualification, he said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fishers of men." Take notice that no questions were asked, no excuses offered, no "process planning" nor introspective "objective-setting" dialogue transpired. Mark says, "And immediately they left their nets and followed him." Going a little farther, two other brothers, James and John heard a similar, abrupt invitation to respond in like manner. How do you account for the fact that these four individuals, secure in employment, having obligations and immediate responsibilities, walked away from it all to follow one who had come upon them from behind, no questions asked? Perhaps a part of the answer is found in 1:22 where Jesus is referred to as one who spoke with "authority," and not as the scribes. This particular reflection upon the scribes, implying a certain insipidness, interests us. They possessed authority by virtue of their position. Why did they not speak with authority? Conjecture is risky business, but we have a notion that their recitations were mechanical, unfeeling, and sing-song. Devotion may have been reduced to formalized vocation, and the sharp edge of adeptness dulled by neglect. Figureheads occupy space but command little respect, whether they be scribes, ministers, bishops, church-school teachers, or members of a church staff. One must be more than simply a "figure-head." Perhaps we should each take counsel with ourselves regarding the phrase, "for he taught as one having authority, not as the scribes."

3. The command. Jesus rebuked an unclean spirit and commanded it to come out of a man in the synagogue, "and the unclean spirit ... came out of him" (1:26). Let us note the response: "They were all amazed and said ‘With authority he commands even the unclean spirits’ " (1:27).

Jesus began his public ministry with an announcement, an invitation, and a command, but most of all with authority.

The Chairman and CEO of Home Depot is reported to have said the following:

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up: It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning, the lion wakes up: It knows it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn't matter whether you are a lion or a gazelle: When the sun comes up, you'd better be running.

When your feet hit the floor running in the morning what motivates you? Fear or a sense of mission?

He was born in Columbus, Ohio, 1890, the third of eight children. At eleven he quit school to help with the family expenses, and got his first full-time job at $3.50 per week. At fifteen he got interested in automobiles and went to work in a garage at $4.50 a week. He knew he would never get anywhere without more schooling, so he subscribed to a correspondence home study course on automobiles. Night after night, following long days at the garage, he worked at the kitchen table by the light of the kerosene lamp. His next step was already planned in his mind--a job with Frayer-Miller Automobile Company of Columbus.

One day when he felt ready, he walked into the plant. Lee Frayer was bent over the hood of a car. The boy waited. Finally, Frayer noticed him. "Well," he said, "what do you want?"

"I just thought I'd tell you I'm coming to work here tomorrow morning," the boy replied.

"Oh! Who hired you?"

"Nobody yet, but I'll be on the job in the morning. If I'm not worth anything, you can fire me."

Early the next morning the young man returned to the garage. Frayer was not yet there. Noticing that the floor was thick with metal shavings and accumulated dirt and grease, the boy got a broom and shovel and set to work cleaning the place.

The rest of the boy's future was predictable. He went on to a national reputation as a racing car driver and automotive expert. In World War I he was America's leading flying ace. Later he founded Eastern Airlines. His name Eddie Rickenbacker.

There is something that happened to me (True story!) a few years ago that brought home the real need of the church:

I was getting dressed one Sunday morning to speak at old First Church a high-steeple church with a rich history. The radio was on. The early morning service from a fast growing Pentecostal church was being broadcast. I knew the pastor. He is not a great preacher, a little too emotional for my liking. But he knows how to reach people no one else can reach.

As I straightened my tie, I heard him say, "Before we begin this morning, I want to say a couple of things to you. First of all, I want to say that there is far too much moving around in the service while I am preaching. It's distracting." I thought that was a rather amusing thing for him to say on radio. Then he added, "And another thing. I would appreciate it if you would wait till after the service is over to go out to the restroom."

I thought to myself, "Is he really saying this on radio?" Then, to make matters worse, he added, "I have to wait till the service is over to go to the restroom and so can you!" I let out a hearty laugh. That's not the sort of thing most of us would broadcast as part of a worship service.

Smugly, I finished tying my tie and laughed inwardly about this unsophisticated messenger of the Gospel.

Then the voice of God spoke to my heart. "King," God said, "the reason that pastor has to tell his people how to behave in church is that a year ago many of them were not in a church. Some of them were having serious problems with alcohol and drugs. Some of them were going through painful divorces. A few were even in jail. That's why they don't know how to act in church. They haven't been in church very long."

Then God said, "Don't worry, King, you won't have that difficulty at old First Church."

And I thought to myself, "God help us, we won't. Everybody at old First church will know how to behave in church." And I couldn't help thinking that might be the most tragic thing that can be said about any congregation.

E. Stanley Jones once told a story about a custom of the people on the Island of Formosa hundreds of years ago to offer human sacrifices. A kindly emperor, however, by the name of Goho, changed all that. According to his law, only animals, not humans, were to be sacrificed. But there was a terrible drought and the crops failed altogether. Once again the people clamored for a human sacrifice. “Very well,” said Goho, “tomorrow morning at dawn go into the forest and find your victim for sacrifice. He will be tied to a tree and wearing a red robe. Strike him for he is your sacrifice.”

Early in the morning the men rose with their clubs and found things to be just as Goho said. There was the sacrifice tied to a tree and wearing a red robe. They rushed forward and slew him. When they pulled the robe and uncovered the face, they were horrified to see it was Goho, their own beloved emperor. By his death, Goho was able to do what his law could never do; change the hearts and minds of his people forever. Never again were human sacrifices offered. And on Formosa, the red robe became a symbol of a changed life. Men discarded their dingy robes and put on red ones as if to say, “I am Goho’s person.” They became known as persons of the robe.

That’s who we are friends. Persons of the robe.

In John Updike's A Month of Sundays there is a story that illustrates the absurdity of the the resurrection and maybe the story is more about beleif in it is a bit absurd: Clint Tidwell is the pastor of a church in a small Southern town, and one of his blessings and one of his curses is that the 80-year-old owner and still-active editor of the local newspaper is a member of his congregation. The blessing part is that this old journalist believes Tidwell to be one of the finest preachers around, and, wishing the whole town to benefit from this homiletical wisdom, he publishes a summary of Tidwell's Sunday sermon every Monday morning in the paper. The curse part is that this newspaperman, though well meaning, is a bit on the dotty and eccentric side, and Tidwell is often astonished to read the synopses of his sermons. The man owns the newspaper; nobody dares edit his columns, and the difference between what Tidwell thought he said and what the editor actually heard is often a source of profound amazement and embarrassment to Tidwell.

Tidwell's deepest amazement and embarrassment, however, came not when the newspaper editor misunderstood the Sunday sermon but, to the contrary, when he understood it all too sharply and clearly. It was early on the Monday morning after Easter, and Tidwell, in his bathrobe and slippers, was padding out the carport door to retrieve the Monday newspaper. The paper was lying at the end of the driveway, and, as Tidwell approached, he could see that the morning headline was in "second coming" sized type. What could it be? he wondered. Had war broken out somewhere? Had the local bank failed over the weekend? Had a cure for cancer been discovered? As he drew close enough to focus on the headline, he was startled to read the words, "Tidwell Claims Jesus Christ Rose From The Dead."

A red flush crept up Tidwell's neck. Yes, of course, he had claimed in yesterday's sermon that Christ rose from the dead, but golly, was that headline news? What would the neighbors think? I mean, you're supposed to say that on Easter, aren't you, that Christ rose from the dead, but that's not like saying that some person who died last week had risen from the grave, is it? Suddenly, as he looked at the screaming headline, what had been a routine Easter sermon had Tidwell feeling rather foolish.

Indeed, it is foolish the foolishness of the gospel. Those who gather on this Easter Day to sing and say that "Jesus Christ is Risen Today" do so not because we have proved anything philosophically, discerned some mystical key to the Scripture, or found some unassailable piece of historical evidence. We believe in the resurrection because the beloved disciple, the forerunner of all Easter faith, believed and passed the word along all the way into the present, prompting frail folks, like Tidwell and like us, to say what we believe: "I believe in Jesus Christ, born of the virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, crucified, dead and buried. He descended into hell -- and dare we believe it? Dare we wager everything on it? -- rose again on the third day."

The Jews had a tradition that stated that angels gave the law to Moses. Moses, in turn, passed it onto Joshua; Joshua passed it onto the elders; the elders passed it onto the prophets; and the prophets passed it onto those who led the synagogue, i.e., the Pharisees and the scribes. So, because the law originated with Moses, the position of being a teacher of God's law became known as Moses's eat. In fact in the synagogue, there was a raised platform at the front. On that platform was a special seat, reserved for the most respected teacher in the synagogue. Today, we speak in universities of the chair of philosophy or the chair of history. The chair is reserved for the most esteemed person in any given subject. Well, Moses' seat was, in essence, the chair of philosophy in ancient Israel. So Jesus is attacking the highest symbol of religious authority. Well, that's what the Pharisees and scribes claimed. He actually wasn't attacking the chair; rather, he was attacking those who occupied the chair. He was saying they were unworthy of the chair.

Numbers. Our lives are filled with numbers. Each year we file our income taxes. Now that's an exercise in numbers to end all numbers games. Pages upon pages of numbers. And when it is finally prepared, we send it off to the Internal Revenue Service with our Social Security number on it. And the IRS takes all those numbers and puts them into a computer, along with the numbers of thousands and thousands of other people. And to them, we become a number.

The government knows us by our tax number. The state knows us by our driver's license number. The bank knows us by our account number. And when we retire, we'll be known by our Social Security number. And it goes on and on. In fact, sometimes I wonder if anybody knows us at all without a number!

And that's why this morning's Gospel reading is so significant, because it tells us that God knows us. He knows us intimately, in fact, better than we know ourselves. And that's important to remember. In spite of the fact that the image of sheep and shepherd is foreign to our experience, the words of the Gospel this morning hearken for us a truth that our human hearts long to hear. The Old Testament writer put it even more clearly when he wrote, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." Jesus says it this morning, "My sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow me, and I give them eternal life."

Most of our witnessing is likely to happen in passing moments of conversation--those occasions when we show, in relatively minor ways, who we are and to whom we belong. I think of a suburban woman who was playing tennis with her good but quite secular friends. In a conversation break between sets she began referring to something she had read that morning. It would have been easy to say, "I read something this morning ." Instead, with no attempt at piosity, she simply introduced one word: "In my devotional reading this morning." It was not a major soul-winning engagement. It was, however, a true sowing of seed. By a word, she had opened the door for some further conversation.

Perhaps our greatest problem in becoming Christ's fishermen is that we are not enough in earnest to grasp the opportunities that come to us; or we are so possessed of the idea that we must say something dramatic and far reaching that we fail to say the small, immediate and potentially significant thing. To put it in the language of our lesson for the day, most of us really don't act as if we even have a call to "fish." We're out in the waters of human need every day, but we don't seem to know it.

The issue is not that we should become more aggressive about sharing our faith. It is that we should be more sensitive to the needs of the world around us, and more sensitive to the subtle prodding of the Holy Spirit. The two sensitivities are wonderfully intertwined. To be sensitive to the Holy Spirit must mean that we will be more sensitive to people and their pain; to be more sensitive to people ought to make us more open to God and his purposes.

A friend of mine tells a story about a man who borrowed a book from an acquaintance. As he read through it, he was intrigued to find parts of the book underlined with the letters YBH written in the margin. When he returned the book to the owner, he asked what the YBH meant. The owner replied that the underlined paragraphs were sections of the book that he basically agreed with. They gave him hints on how to improve himself and pointed out truths that he wished to incorporate into his life. However, the letters YBH stood for "Yes, but how?"

And that's the question for us this morning: "Yes, but how?" "I ought to know how to take better care of myself, but how?" "I know I ought to spend more time in scripture reading and prayer, but how?" "I know I ought to be more sensitive to others, more loving of my spouse, more understanding of the weaknesses of others, but how?" These are all good qualities and we know that, but how can we acquire them? As Christian people we know the kind of life we ought to live, and most of us have the best of intentions to do so, but how? We are afraid because we know where the road paved with only good intentions leads!

This morning we hear Jesus' parable of the fig tree, telling us to repent and bear good fruit. We know what the Christian life requires of us and yet, if we are honest with ourselves, we also know how far short we fall. So the question that confronts us this morning is: "Yes, but how?"

Dr. W. A Criswell, Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas Texas, said on one occasion on an airplane flight he found himself seated beside a well known theologian. He desperately wanted to start a conversation and they got to talking. The man told Dr. Criswell about how he had recently lost a little boy through death. Dr. Criswell listened as he told his story: He said he had come home from school with a fever and we thought it was just one of those childhood things, but it was a very virulent form of meningitis. The doctor said we cannot save your little boy. He'll die.

And so this seminary professor, loving his son as he did, sat by the bed side to watch this death vigil. It was the middle of the day and the little boy whose strength was going from him and whose vision and brain was getting clouded said, "Daddy, it's getting dark isn't it?" The professor said to his son, "Yes son it is getting dark, very dark." Of course it was very dark for him. He said, "Daddy, I guess it's time for me to go to sleep isn't it?"

He said, "Yes, son, it's time for you to go to sleep."

The professor said the little fellow had a way of fixing his pillow just so, and putting his head on his hands when he slept and he fixed his pillow like that and laid his head on his hands and said, "Good night Daddy. I will see you in the morning." He then closed his eyes in death and stepped over into heaven.

Dr. Criswell said the professor didn't say anymore after that. He just looked out the window of that airplane for a long time. Then he turned back and he looked at Dr Criswell with the scalding tears coming down his cheeks and he said, "Dr. Criswell, I can hardly wait till the morning."

The morning is coming. And we will see our loved ones. That's what Jesus is saying, "The gates of hell, the gates of DEATH, shall not prevail against the church!"

Sometimes, thinking of heaven, we sing, "When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there." A more immediate consideration is: where will I be when the roll is called down here? And the roll, in fact, is being called down here - every Sunday morning. Other times, perhaps, also - but certainly every Sunday.

There is an appointed time for the assembly of God's people. This time was hallowed and set apart by the resurrection of Jesus - on Sunday morning. This time has been confirmed in history, as the disciples of Christ have for almost 2,000 years gathered together in a unique kind of communion with the risen and living Christ - on Sunday morning.

No, the roll is not called with a sound of trumpets or any audible bombardment of the human ear. But make no mistake about it: the roll is being called. And I suspect we'll all be in better position to answer at last when the roll is called up yonder, if occasionally, at least, we are in position to answer when the roll is called down here.

I'm happy you are here to answer roll call today!

The kingdom of heaven is like a professor who had many papers to grade. She asked her teaching assistants to start helping her early in the morning, and agreed to take them all out to dinner when the grading was finished. About mid-morning she realized she would need more help, so when she saw other graduate students standing in the hallway doing nothing, she asked them to help her, and agreed to reward them appropriately. Again at noon she found other graduate students eating lunch, and got them to help her, and again at mid-afternoon. About 5 p.m. she found still others and asked, "Why are you standing around doing nothing? Come and help me grade my papers. "When they were finished grading, the professor took them all to a restaurant. When she paid for the dinners of those who had started work at 5 o'clock, those who started early in the morning expected to receive more. But when she only paid for their dinner too, they began to grumble, "These others who only worked one hour got just as much as we did, who slaved all day over those papers." But the professor answered, "I am not being unfair to you. You got what we agreed upon. I want to give the students who only graded one hour as much as I gave you. Don't I have that right? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

So the last will be first and the first will be last. (Matthew 20:1-16)

Back during World War II, four young American soldiers who had been on the front lines of battle for some time, were sent back away from the fighting to a small French village for a little R & R. When they arrived safely in the village, they suddenly realized that it was Christmas Eve. They began to discuss how they would like to spend Christmas. One of the soldiers said, "You know, as we were coming into town earlier today, I noticed an orphanage on the outskirts of the village. Why don't we go there in the morning and take some Christmas joy to those children?" The others liked the idea and the more they talked about it, the more excited they became. So they went out and bought all kinds of toys and candy and clothing, food and books and games, and early the next morning, they showed up at the front door of the orphanage with wonderful Christmas presents for all the children.

The orphanage director was pleased and all the children were delighted as they opened their gifts. All the children that is, except for one little girl who stood quietly off to the side.She appeared to be 5 or 6 years old and her face looked so very sad. One of the American soldiers noticed that she was not participating, and he asked the orphanage director about the little girl. "O, bless her heart," said the director, "We just got her last week. Both of her parents were killed in a car wreck. There was no one to take her in, so we brought her here."

The soldier went over to the little girl and gently he said to her, "It is Christmas morning and we have wonderful Christmas presents here: toys, clothes, candy, food, books, puzzles. Which would you like? What do you want most for Christmas?" And the little girl said, "I want somebody to hold me."

Maybe that is the best Christmas gift of all… someone to hold us. As somebody once put it, "Rich is not what you have. It's who you have beside you." Well, this sacred season comes along once each year to remind us that "Love Came Down at Christmas," that God is even now reaching out to us with open arms, and that He wants us to accept His love and to pass it on to others.

In northern Chile, between the Andes Mountains and the Pacific Ocean, lies a narrow strip of land where the sun shines every day! Clouds gather so seldom over the valley that one can say, "It almost never rains here!" Morning after morning the sun rises brilliantly over the tall mountains to the east. Each noon it shines brightly overhead, and every evening it brings a picturesque sunset. Although storms are often seen rising high in the mountains, and heavy fog banks stretch their gray curtains far over the sea, Old Sol continues to shed his warming rays upon this "favored" and protected strip of territory. One might imagine this area to be an earthly paradise, but is far from that! It is a sterile and desolate wilderness! There are no streams of water, and nothing grows there.

We often long for total sunshine and continuous joy in life, and we desire to avoid the heartaches that bring tears to our eyes. Like that sunny, infertile part of Chile, however, life without clouds and even an occasional downpour would not be productive or challenging. Though showers do come, they will also end, and the sun will shine again. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5).