Entry 4

One of my parishioners gave me a collection of CD’s called Our Daily Bread. It is a four disc box set of the most beautiful instrumentals of hymns –the hymns that we know and resonate in our hearts. These hymns we learned as a child from hearing them over and over again as our mothers sweetly sang while standing next to us in the pew on Sunday mornings…

The churches one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord;
She is his new creation by water and the Word.
From heaven he came and sought her to be his holy bride;
And with his own blood he bought her, and for her life he died.

When I was a child my mother hummed these hymns around the house as she was working and they became ingrained in my soul. As I grew and became independent these hymns were ever-present with me, where I could easily grasp them in times when I was alone and sought comfort.

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that thou art.
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

I still struggle with Ashley on this issue. He is adamant that “modern” people don’t connect with these “ancient” hymns. I beg to differ. Proof is held is the sweet, sweet hymn from 1860, Jesus Loves Me, which echoed freely through the halls of this tiny “antiquated” church. This week, Vacation Bible School was a pure listening treasure as the smallest child to the oldest adult joined in the familiar chorus and sang out in unison the words they all had committed to memory…

Jesus loves me! This I know, for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to him belong; they are weak, but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so.

Some things never become antiquated, like Jesus Christ, himself. With that thought I leave you as I hum another everlasting favorite of mine…

What a fellowship, what a joy divine, leaning on the everlasting arms;
What a blessedness, what a peace is mine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms;
Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms.

Entry 3

I have just walked in the door after a very long day at the church. It was a good day, but long. Summer is gearing up. The church was buzzing today with preparations for Vacation Bible School. It’s going to have a spy theme.

I am tired tonight. Sitting at my computer now, I express my last thoughts of this day. As I reflect, I feel the stillness in this home. I have lived alone for many years now and in the recent days I have become sadly aware of that fact. Silence screams its presence. I am not meant to be alone. Yet, for whatever reason, too many of us are…oftentimes even those who live with someone else are still alone.

Before I locked up the church tonight I walked through the sanctuary tidying it up and paying my respects. I walked down the center aisle inspecting each row, straightening Bibles and hymnals in the pew racks. In the last aisle to the far corner sat a hymnal on the pew cushion; next to it lay a tissue. It was if I could see the silhouette of a person sitting there, but I couldn’t make it out. I turned sideways and made my way down the aisle to replace the hymnal to its proper place. When I picked it up, two pieces of paper floated to the ground, catching air in opposite directions as they made their way closer to the earth.

I picked them up and read them. I felt as though I had invaded the most personal thoughts of whomever wrote the words. But, I couldn’t help myself because the words painted the story of the silhouette that remained, although the person was no longer there. And the tissue was evidence of how real the story truly was. It was obvious the words and been written with shaking hands and vision blurred with tears…

Have you ever seen me cry?
Have you ever seen my tear which encapsulates, so painfully, the saline of my heart?
Have you ever really looked at me?
Have your ever looked into my soul and seen the empty cavity that

echoes with every word you speak?
Who am I? --to you?
The tears I bleed –are they of your blood too, or is it only mine?

I remember glancing at the tissue sitting on the pew cushion and expecting it to be covered with blood from drying tears. I wondered if these words were written for God. The second piece of paper had been crumpled and flattened back out again, but its words helped me to complete my understanding…

There is a shadow in the darkness
That lies with me in bed.
I recognize its outline
And hear its whispers in my head.

The shadow there beside me
It never moves the way I do,
But I know it feels me breathing
And hears me crying too.

The shadow in the darkness
It’s still moving all the same,
Yet when I reach to wipe my tear
My shadow's hand is no where near.

Years ago my shadow
Used to be a part of me.
But now my shadow’s vision
Sees nothing that I see.

My shadow’s arms no longer
Extends the length of mine.
My shadow never touches me
And hasn’t for sometime.

When I, alone, have dried my tears
And my eyes are clear at last
I jump from bed and start to dance
To give my shadow one last chance.

But as I move with flowing motion
Beckoning my shadow unto me,
I realize with resignation
That my dance has set me free.

As I trace my shadows outline
It doesn’t even move.
But, still I feel it breathing
And I hear it crying too.

The shadow in the darkness
Has grown dim with passing time.
And, as I watch I realize
This shadow’s no longer mine.

I looked around the sanctuary wondering who might have written these…the silhouette no longer visible. Was it a husband or a wife? One thing was clear, whomever is was has a broken heart. No, we are not intended to be alone, especially in marriage.

I wonder how Sylvia’s day was. I think I’ll call her…

Peace, Ben

Entry 2

It’s mid-week. The threat of a storm looms in the air this morning. There is something peaceful about a thunderstorm. Maybe it’s a natural reaction we have to something so large and powerful…it puts us in our place. We’d all do well to learn this lesson a little better.

Lots of wonderful things are happening at First Covenant Chapel this week. At the top of the list is the spring in Miss Mary’s step. She has recovered so well from her broken hip, thank you, Lord. When I am in my eighties I hope to be so blessed. I am not one to listen to gossip…but, rumors are going around that Miss Mary is so sprite due to the fact that she is in love. Of course Julia Matthews started that rumor. However, my mother always said, “When rumors spread, there is truth somewhere.” She is right.

I caught a glimpse of the news yesterday and it appears that a mother is facing a prison sentence for trying to get her child enrolled in a different school district. I didn’t hear all the details, but I can only imagine. Prison time seems pretty harsh for trying to enroll your child in a different school district, but I suspect the tail started wagging the dog and it became an issue of identity theft. The bottom line is she lied. Business executive are going to prison for fraud…bottom line is they lied. Sylvia keeps me up-to-date on the real life soap opera going on at Salem Regional Medical Center. It appears there are a lot of relationships among the staff and a lot of affairs which in turn makes for a lot of heartache and broken friendships…especially when you find out that your fellow nurse, best friend, and confident is the one sleeping with your husband, who is also a doctor at the hospital…as was the case with one of Sylvia’s scrub nurses. Bottom line…just about everybody was lying in the situation. I would say this all makes a pretty strong case for the ninth commandment.

We’re all guilty. Truth be told, when I shake hands with Dr. Richard Davies, the new chief of staff over at Salem Regional Medical Center, and tell him it’s a pleasure to see him again….I’m lying. Honestly, I really wish he would fall off the face of the earth. And, if he tries to make one more move on Sylvia he is going to catch my fist across his jaw. Oh, please forgive me Lord for such thoughts. But, I guess I’m really lying to Sylvia too when I appear indifferent about my feelings for her. Truthfully, every other thought I have is about her…..

Entry 1

I rose early this morning to drive into Salem. Although the promise of summer is in the air, many of my parishioners are still fighting the winter crud –particularly the elderly ones. I also hope to see Sylvia.

Driving from Wakefield to Salem slightly after dawn is spectacular, especially on clear mornings. Salem is east of Wakefield and as the sun crests over the horizon it appears as a fiery big orange ball that commands attention and dominates existence. I am awestruck by this sight. Not that I haven’t seen it before, but today it stirs different thoughts. I am still desperately grieving over the many deaths this last year, in just my church alone –not to mention elsewhere. It brings me face to face with a God that didn’t intervene. At least not on these occasions, or did He? I don’t know. And everyone looks to me for the answers. Ministers are supposed to know all there is about what God is thinking and doing –another fallacy from a world under great misapprehension. Forgive me Lord for my cynicism.


The beauty of the sun, as it becomes the morning dawn in and of itself, leaves me thinking of how beautiful this world really is? I smile as I reminisce about my trip to Europe after I graduated from college. Some of the places and scenes were so breathtaking. I will never forget the feeling I had when flying over the French Alps. In the expanse of white capped mountains I lost myself. The beauty in this world seems endless, but this morning as I travel the highway into town the vision before me has left me wondering, as beautiful as it is On This Side of Heaven, what must there be in eternity? I found myself smiling…until the blare of a car horn behind me. My thoughts were abruptly shaken back into the part of this world that is not so beautiful –including those people who have no ability to see beyond themselves. The sun became a menace as its color changed to an overbearing brightness which glare blinded every driver on the road. Collectively, we were now a community of people driving by faith, except for the few who feel they own the road –and they cannot see the danger they presented to everyone else –just like Bob Buck. “The Reverend Bob Buck” as he so proudly called himself. Another example of where God didn’t intervene.

First Covenant Chapel is a fine church with fine people. Reverend Bob Buck used them and hurt them. I still wonder what it is that makes a minister turn so far away from his calling. What is it that allows him (or her) to lie and deceive, and all “in the name of God”? As I drove along into the blinding glare I had a vision. St. Peter was standing at the pearly gates. Buck was there and they were chatting. I heard Buck talking –making his case that he had indeed led many people to the Kingdom of God. And then I heard St. Peter say, “Yes, but ten times that number turned away from God because of you.” Lord, should I ever begin to lose sight of my calling, please remove me from the ministry. Buck has left wounds so deep that tears can puddle in them. Now, I am left to clean up the mess. Maybe God did intervene.

Yours, Ben.

Greetings

Greetings from First Covenant Chapel. Here I will post thoughts and inspiration from inside the tiny white clapboard church in the country. I welcome your thoughts. God Bless each of you and remember...."God is in the church, but the church is not God!" --Rev. Ben Montague