Did You Know: Cars Cost Less than Candy Bars!

One of my favorite “duties” at Bridgewater United Methodist Church, where I am the Associate Pastor for Congregational Care, is having the Children’s Moments during the 11:00 a.m. worship service.

Today I wanted to talk to them a little bit about the meaning of Halloween, and suggest ways for them to make it a fun day.  I also wanted to relate Halloween with All Saints Day.  On top of all that I wanted to put something into their hands that would help them remember what I said, but I did not want that to be candy, since I was sure they would get plenty of candy tonight as they go trick-or-treating.  The solution I came up with was to give each of them a Hotwheels toy car.  Did you know that you can still purchase Hotwheels and Matchbox cars for less than a dollar?  They sell for 99 cents at Walmart.  Think of it…that’s nearly fifty cents less than the average full size candy bar!

So, perhaps you are wondering what toy cars have to do with Halloween.   Well, as I explained to the boys and girls, Halloween is the day before All Saints Day (which is always on November 1^st), and has become a bid deal largely because of generations of superstition.  I explained to them that a superstition is a silly belief that really has no basis in reality, such as “step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” or “break a mirror and have seven years bad luck.”  We had some laughs about those.  I told them that all the evil and bad parts of Halloween come from silly superstitions, and that they needed to just have fun, and not be scared.  As long as they were not tricking anyone they should have a fun time.

Then I talked to them about the importance of All Saints Day.  I explained that saints are the wonderful Christian men and women who were a part of the church before us and have now died and live with Jesus in heaven.  All Saints Day is one day when we remember them and thank God for them.  I told them about my grandparents who lived in Florida when I was little, and how I didn’t know them well because I hardly ever got to see them.  But, they were very special to me because they ate the kind of cereal that had toy cars in the bottom of the box.  Then they would mail to cars to me in Virginia.  I loved those little cars.  They were plastic and the same size as my Matchbox cars. 

Today I gave each of the children a Hotwheels car to honor my grandparents and to help them see that God has blessed us with wonderful families, and God has blessed the church with wonderful saints who, like my grandparents, have set the example of how to live the Christian life.

End-Note: There’s more to the story of my Florida grandparents (a truly great lesson to be learned from them) which I will write about during the Advent season, just before Christmas.

How My Hometown Came to be My Hometown

I grew up in Keezletown, Virginia, in the heart of the beautiful Shenandoah Valley. We moved there from the place of my birth, Cincinnati, Ohio, when I was nearly three years old.

I had two special-needs siblings.  My brother Paul had been born with cerebral palsey and he was being seen regularly by doctors at the Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, and my sister Merle, four years older than Paul, had been born with a hole in her heart and was being treated by doctors at the Medical College of Virginia Hospital in Richmond.  As a result, my parents were making lots of trip from Ohio to the east.  They would usually come through the Shenandoah Valley, or “the Valley” as we refer to it, on U.S. 33 and they always admired its beauty.  Finally, Dad came by himself one time to find a home they could purchase so they would be closer to the hospitals.  They also wanted to be out of the city.

My parents were concerned about my oldest brother Hugh, that he might be starting to hang with the wrong crowd, and the direction his life was taking him.  He was 14 when we moved, and it was really hard for him.  It wasn’t too hard for me, I loved the big yard, the apple orchard, and the various out buildings that made up our little farmette of three and a half acres.

It was also hard on my mom. She had always been a city girl. Now she lived in a small town with one small grocery store/gas station. It was especially hard because the good folk of Keezletown eyed our family with great suspicion.  They couldn’t imagine why these city folks would want to live in their little community.  Even at the little Methodist church people were very slow to warm up to my family, and they didn’t let them get involved in things at first.  This added to the isolation Mom felt, and as a result, she  became very homesick.

I was oblivious to all of this, of course, until something that happened in the third grade.

People from Ohio are “Yankees”

I adored my third grade teacher, and so I choose to believe that she didn’t know how her actions of that fateful day would affect my life.  I was reading something aloud in class and she stopped me and said, “Jimmy, you pronounce your ‘th’ words like someone from Ohio.”  “Oh,” I innocently replied, “that’s because I am from Ohio. I was born there.”

A shudder of realization swept the room, and my fellow student eyed me suspiciously.  I seem to remember some of them even backing their desks slightly away from mine.  At recess that day I learned that I was a “Yankee” and they were “Rebels” and Yankees and Rebels were sworn enemies for all time.

We often would play Civil War on the school playground, with us school kids, the “Southerners,” always winning against the unseen and invisible Northern Enemy.  But from that fateful day onward they had a visible Yankee, and the North routinely lost the Civil War on the school playground.  How could I help but lose, being so greatly out-numbered?

It was a bit confusing to me, however, because they were all crazy about baseball, and their favorite team was the New York Yankees.  It was bad for me to actually be a Yankee, but they had no hesitation to root for “the Yankees” during the baseball season.  The only baseball team I ever heard about at home was the wonderful Reds of Cincinnati, and so I stupidly suggested to my schoolmates that the Reds were as good as the Yankees, which did not endear me to them either.

People often say, “Oh kids will be kids, I’m sure they got over it and forgot you were a Yankee.”  You would like to think so, but the following year the Fourth Grade Class took a trip to Williamsburg and Jamestown, and I bought a Rebel hat at the gift shop in Jamestown, hoping desperately to fit in better.  I tried to wear it home on the bus, but my classmates became so enraged that I, a Yankee, would try to disguise myself as a Rebel that they took my hat from me, and I never saw it again!

My Adopted Hometown Finally Adopted Me

Of course, over time my family gradually gained acceptance.  My mother became a Sunday school teacher, and my Dad was on the church board, and took turns holding various offices in the church. However, when my parents opened a boarding and day school for the severely physically handicapped adults of the area rumors began circulating that this non-profit organization was a sham, and that we were raising funds to build a bigger house for ourselves.

My parents never would talk much about how hurtful that was.  Instead, they set out to win the hearts of the people in Keezletown.  First of all they named it Community of Hope, and then they recruited people of the town to work there.   It was the best thing they could have done, because the people who worked there became eyewitnesses to the good that was being done, and could see how the monies were being spent.  Over time the rumors died out, and Keezletonians came to accept Community of Hope as a part of the town.

I persevered as well, and to this day I am close friends with many of my old elementary school friends.  I came to love that little town, as did my Mom.  The folks there came to love us as well, though they never forgot that we were Yankees.  Or so I thought.

In 2004 when I was about to retire from full-time pastoral ministry the Keezletown Postmaster attended my retirement worship service at Fishersville Church.  She was in her early 80’s and had been the Postmaster there for more than 40 years, and in fact, the Post Office was located in the front room of her house!  When testimonials were called for she stood and said that she was proud of me and my success as a pastor, especially since I was the only one in my family who had been born in Keezletown.

Wow!  Now that’s acceptance, when they think you were born there and that you are one of them!

I bear no ill will or bad memories of those childhood days.  I learned many things through living that out, things that I have used throughout my life.  Seeing how my parents handled the rejection and suspicion was a great lesson as well.  They simply chose to return not in-kind, but rather to love the people until at last they loved them back.

Now, for me, Keezletown is my home town, not Cincinnati.  And I thank God that I grew up there.

 

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed. ~ Psalm 139:15-16

HOW TO GET IN GOD'S WAY (And Lose a Church Member)

Whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. “When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. - Matthew 6:5-8 NRSV
 Wait for the Lord, and keep to his way...  - Psalm 37:34a NIV

What is it that compels us to feel we must answer our own prayers, or drives us to not wait upon the Lord, but just barge ahead and do it ourselves?  So often when we do that we end up getting in God's way, and we cheat ourselves out of the discovery that God had indeed heard our prayer, and was about to answer it - according to God's will, not ours.  The worse case scenario is that in foolishly rushing ahead of God we ay inadvertently (or even worse, intentionally) hurt others.

Such is the case in this true story.  [NOTE: I have changed some details to hide the "who," the "where" and the "when."]  Nearly four decades ago in a rural community "Jed*" owned a small gas station/grocery store just down the road from a little Methodist Church.  Anyone anywhere could be guilty, even today, of rush to judgment, and getting in God's way.

Many of the members of the church were his regular customers, and they often invited him to church activities, but he never came; that is, until he came to their revival (to this day he cannot tell why he went).  At the revival, much to his surprise, and to the surprise of the church members, he accepted Christ as his personal savior, and he began to attend church there. Soon he was attending the only adult Sunday school class; and, in the tradition of too many churches then and now, it wasn't long before he was taking a turn teaching the class.

Once he started teaching the class he was forced to get serious about getting into the Word of God. He started studying for the lesson on Sunday afternoon, and by Saturday he had it pretty well figured out.  What he lacked in skill and knowledge he made up for in enthusiasm.  There is nothing more compelling and exciting than the lessons of one who is learning and discovering the age old Bible stories for the first time.  That pure, child-like joy he manifested as he came to understand the Bible soon resulted in his becoming the only teacher of the class.

Jed taught the class for several weeks, and as he studied and prepared the lessons, God would speak to his heart and convict him of attitudes and behaviors. He was repenting and turning from something nearly every week, and he wondered if God would ever be done with him. He was also an increasingly compassionate man, and his concern for the poor and hurting was growing and becoming contagious.

Meanwhile, a woman in his class (one of its former teachers) was becoming increasingly agitated because he still sold cigarettes and beer at his station.  She began to work in the background to get others in the class upset about this.  Of course, neither she nor anyone else in the class ever mentioned these concerns to him, even though they all bought their gasoline and some of their daily groceries from him.  Some of them were praying for God to touch his heart and help him see the error of his ways.

While this concern was growing God was reaching out to him through his daily Bible readings and prayer times. He began to be concerned that selling cigarettes and beer was a poor witness for Jesus. Finally one week, when the beer truck driver came he had him remove all the beer. "You'll never stay in business without beer," he threatened; but, it proved to not be true.

The cigarette man said much the same thing, but Jed insisted that he remove the cigarettes from his store anyway. To this day he does not sell either (or lottery tickets!), and he is still in business.

He was humbly excited about this decision, and ashamed that he had taken so long to catch on.  He was looking forward to church the next Sunday and to telling the class what God had done.  He never got the chance.  When he stood to teach that Sunday, before he could share anything about what he had done that week, the woman who was so angry with him stood and publicly denounced him for calling himself a "Christian" while still selling cigarettes and beer.

He was shocked and hurt, but he said nothing. He simply closed the lesson book, picked up his Bible and left the church. He drove a dozen miles or so to the closest small town and found a church of a different denomination.  He never went back, and it was many days before the other members of the class actually looked around his station and saw that he no longer sold beer and cigarettes.  To this day he is a very active member of the church in town.

They told the woman in Sunday school about his changes, but her heart had grown hard, and she refused to believe them.  They never did invite her to be their teacher again, and sadly she became more and more embittered over the years.  Not trusting that God would hear and answer a prayer for his heart to change, she chose "play god" and cost that small church a very valuable member and teacher.

Do not judge, and you will not be judged.  Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.  Forgive, and you will be forgiven.  - Luke 6:37 NIV 

Inside OASIS (Recent Photographs)

The OASIS Gallery is located at 103 South Main Street, Harrisonburg, Virginia.

This is a cooperative gallery of more than thirty artist and artisans showcasing the best of local and regional arts and crafts in a convenient downtown location. Next time you are downtown for shopping or dining be sure to stop by OASIS and see my work and all the other wonderful things there.  These photos are to whet your appetite for all that OASIS has to offer.

For Homecoming JMU challenged the downtown businesses to come up with the best JMU-related window, and OASIS won the contest with this window:

And here is the award:

Unintended Detour

Some years ago I attended the funeral of a friend.  During the service his pastor quoted from portions of a long poem he said has been my friend's favorite.  There was a line from that poem that has stuck with me ever since: "I have determined that when I find myself on a detour I will enjoy the view."  That was exactly how my friend had lived his life.  Despite his serious illness and many hospital stays over the years, he was always ready with a smile, a positive word, and a good attitude. 

During my years as a volunteer chaplain at Augusta Health I have quoted that line over and over.  I realized that it must have been during his own times in the hospital - his own detours - that it meant the most to my friend.  It always seemed to be meaningful when I shared it with patients. I have also mentioned it in other contexts to people seeking my pastoral care and insights.  My friend died in his 60's due to his illness, but his faith and view of life live on as I share his story and that quote.

And so I found myself on a little unintended detour yesterday.  I had gone to Waynesboro to pick up some supplies and decided that since I needed to go to Verona also, I would use Route 254 instead of US 250.  However, when I got to the intersection of Poplar and Broad instead of turning onto Poplar I drove on to the Willow Oak Shopping Center, as I usually would.  As I entered the parking lot I couldn't believe that I had driven there without even realizing it.  Isn't it kind of scary that we can drive on "auto-pilot"? 

There I was, on an unintended detour.  There was nothing to "see" besides pavement and store fronts.  I knew that there was a back entrance to the center that would take me over to Poplar and I exited that way.  As I got near to Poplar I could see this stunning tree a block or so beyond.  We weren't having a very colorful fall this year, perhaps due to the drought, or to the fact that we had not yet had a heavy freeze.  I wanted to see a tree that was bursting with color, so I drove beyond Poplar and found the tree on Ohio Avenue.  I was glad that I had my camera in the car.  That is the tree that is pictured above.

 

To get to Route 254 from Poplar I had to turn onto Ivy Street.  Almost immediately I came face to face with the most stunning red tree.  Red is especially rare this year, and most trees with red leaves lose them almost as soon as they appear.  After photographing the tree I continued on Ivy and was amazed to see another tree in full glory on the other side of the street a couple of blocks down.  Wow!  It was huge and bathed in splendid bright orange leaves.

I was really excited now.  I traveled on to Verona fully expecting to stop many times to photograph more bright trees.  However, from Waynesboro to Verona and on back to my home in Staunton I never saw another tree that was covered with brightly colored leaves.  It was while I was reflecting on that amazing reality that it dawned on me:  I had experienced life that day in a way that would have greatly pleased my old friend.  I had found myself on a detour and I had "enjoyed" the view. 

Admittedly, if I had been pressed for time yesterday the enjoyment of the view or even the detour itself would likely not have been a happy occasion.  I hope that I will learn from this, and try not to be in so much of a hurry that I miss the detours and the views that God has laid out to bless and encourage me.

One of my favorite Bible passages is Romans 8:28, "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose."  Now, if I could just remember to embrace that in all my journeys and travels.

Blessings, Jim

One Painting Leads to Another (x 5)

In September of 2009 I began a ten month stint as the Interim Pastor of Wellspring United Methodist Church in Williamsburg, VA.  When I came on board Charge Conference (the annual business meeting of the church) was just around the corner, so I created a painting for use in the logo of the conference.  I titled it “Tree of Grace” for I felt that it illustrated the wonderful inclusive nature of Wellspring Church that is its heart and heritage. 

A church member purchased it later that fall, just ahead of another member who had hoped to be able to purchase it.  So, I painted another version of it for her, and I titled it “Tree of Grace 2.” 

Before my time there was completed another member expressed an interest in having some paintings done that would be similar to the two “Tree of Grace” paintings, only as four paintings, each showing the tree in a different season.  After I moved back to Staunton in September 2010, I had to spend my first few months in the studio creating new works for the local galleries.  Finally, this month, I had enough time to create the requested works. 

Individually they are titled “Spring,” “Summer,” “Autumn” and “Winter,” but as a group they are titled “Grace Tree: Four Seasons.”

How I Came to Once be Called "Burd"

When I was a senior at Montevideo High School (now a middle school) in 1966 I gained the nickname of "Bird" because I showed up at the WHBG Dance Party (in the gym of the Keezletown Elementary School) with a buzz cut, and my best friend, Steve, when he finally recognized me said, "Jimmy, you look just like a bird." 

You see, I had sported a so-called burr haircut for nearly all of my life until I turned thirteen and finally put my foot down and insisted that I be allowed to grow my hair longer (it was the time of the Beatles, for crying out loud).  Both my mom and Elton, the lady who regularly cut my hair, didn't think I could ever train my hair to lay properly because I had a double crown in back and a semi-cowlick in the front. But I just had to grow longer hair, and try to be cool.  So Mom worked tirelessly on it, combing, brushing and training it. By the time I was Junior I had a nice head of hair, and a very stylish sweep of bangs across my forehead (inspired by JFK, of course).

Considering how diligently I had worked at convincing my folks to allow me to grow longer hair, and how hard I worked at training it to lie flat, it is truly amazing that I willingly had it all cut off.  Even now I am not entirely sure why I did it.  No one sported buzz cuts in those days, which makes my doing that even the more surprising.  How it came about was like this: I was walking along Court Square in Harrisonburg one quiet Saturday morning and stopped to watch the barbers in a basement shop cut hair.  I saw a fellow in the chair get all of his hair cut off, and I became fascinated with wondering how that would feel.  I walked on down the street, then suddenly turned and went down to the barber shop.  When my turn came to get in the chair the barber asked me how I wanted it cut.  I still remember my answer, "Take it all off."  "All?" he asked.  "Yes," I said, "Just like that last fellow."

"He got his cut because he is leaving for bootcamp and he wanted me to do it, not the Army.  Are you on your way to bootcamp?"

"Nope," was all I said.  And then I felt the clippers go to work.  As I sat there I saw huge chunks of my beautiful hair fall all around me.  When I looked at myself in the mirror I immediately wanted to turn back the clock and not get it done.  But, that was not possible, and I steeled myself for the days and weeks ahead.

My folks were very unhappy with my new haircut.  And by the time of the dance that night I was not sure I wanted to go.  But, I was supposed to meet Steve and our friends Betsy and Louise there, so I knew I had to go.  I entered as quietly as I could, and came over to where the three of them were standing.  I had stood - unrecognized - for six or seven minutes when Steve asked the others, "Where is that Jimmy?"

"Here I am!" I said.  They were totally shocked, and Steve was the first to recover enough to say "You look like a bird!"  At first Louise didn't want to dance with me, but she finally did.  As people around the room began to recognize me I became sort of a sensation, and Steve told everyone that I was now "Bird" Harris.

My hair grew back and I went off to college (VCU) to study art.  Even though I no longer had short hair the nickname followed me, and was spelled with an "i" until a girl named Nancy changed it to a"u" which she thought would be more unique and infinately cooler. 

It was how I signed my artwork.  Later in the Navy it continued as my nickname.  I gave it up when I married my first wife because she did not like it, feeling that it was of my "old" life (before my decision for Christ).  And that is why I don't use it now.  However, many of my old high shool, college and Navy friends still call me Burd.  And that's okay with me.