The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

Today is All Saints Day, the day set aside when we remember and give thanks to God for the faithful who have gone before us, the invisible church triumphant that  parallels into perfection what our church militant still struggles with this side of heaven.  In the liturgy this morning, I included a series of readings from Scripture and prayers that included this: And, finally, we remember those who have no one to remember them; those who died in infancy; the miscarried, the aborted, and the stillborn; and those martyred for the sake of Christ.   I do this ever year for All Saints, and every year, that paragraph catches in my throat. I think of those people, the unnamed, the unremembered, the unknown, and I feel a little less human at how our society treats the least. I've stood in paupers cemeteries filled with graves, most with names but some with name spaces left blank, a far, far cry from the celebrated Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers in Washington DC. No one stands ...

Ever wonder what your life would have been like if you did something else, made different choices along the way? A different school, or no school at all; dared to play ball one more year and figure out how to hit a curve; worked at McDonalds instead of hauling hay and fixing cars; dated the cute redhead that sat next to you instead of the foxy brunette? If your daughter was a son or your son a daughter, how would that have changed things? What if that curve ball led to a MLB career, or that part time, fast-food job led to enrolling at the Culinary Institute of America and working with Emeril Lagassi - BAM! - on his show? For that matter, what if that red-head became your Bonnie and you her Clyde, and the two of you ran a string of vending machine robberies all along Kansas Highway 15 up into Nebraska before being cornered by a Seward county sheriff deputy at a random mom & pop gas station with a flat tire and a trunk of coins and dollar bills?  There are days when I...

It's that time of the year when ghosts, goblins and witches make their annual appearances and cauldrons of green, steaming, mysterious liquids boil, boil, toil and trouble. A common phrase used by those creepy ghouls when putting the finishing touch on their witches' brew is "Hocus pocus!" It implies something mysterious is happening, that there are unseen forces at play doing some kind of extraordinary act, changing forms and substances into a new, powerful potion or stew.  Do you know where "Hocus Pocus" gets its name? Given its conventional use, it's background is most unusual. It comes from the Church - specifically from the Words of Institution spoken by Jesus on Maundy Thursday when first sanctifying the Lord's Supper.  Travel back in time with me to the Middle Ages. The liturgy of the church - the regular structure of words spoken in the worship service - was all done in Latin. The people of the congregation were largely uneducated and unf...

I'm getting to the age where I guess I should start reading obituaries, as Mark Twain said, to see if reports of my death might be exaggerated.  I've only written one formal obituary in my lifetime, for my father in April, 2000, but I've rewritten or adapted many, many more in my vocation as pastor. I usually begin a funeral sermon with an abbreviated obituary, stating date of birth, baptism, and confirmation, date of marriage, and perhaps something about their life of service to the church. I conclude with the date and location of death, with the summation of X years, X months, and X days. Finally, I solemnly intone, "Blessed are those who die in the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore." It's an all-too-brief synposis of a person's life.  Some time later, the family will place a head- or foot-stone. On it, the obituary is condensed to a singular character that conjoins a date of birth and death. That character is a dash: --. That simple keystroke i...

My daughter gave birth to our grandson, recently. It was a joyous day for our family: a beautiful, baby boy, whose birth marks the beginning of a new generation: great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, baby. The beauty of it is that Junior was born just hours before the annual celebration of our daughter's birth - a birth day birthday to the second power, if you will.  The celebration of Little Junior began on my birthday when I got a birthday card saying: What do you get the greatest dad in the world for his birthday? How about a grandchild?  Cant argue with thet logic. Besides, there is a "no return" policy on this gift! Since that wonderful night, I have kept that little baby in my prayers, for health for himself, an uneventful pregnancy for mom, patience for dad, and most of all, ten fingers and ten toes.  Those last two requests may seem rather simple and mundane to you, but to me, Dear Reader, those two requests make up twenty very important reasons to pray for a...

They call it "empty nest syndrome," usually referring to parents who suddenly find themselves without any kids in the house. The metaphor is simple: as the house is now empty, so momma and papa bird suddenly have more space in the nest when their chick flies off.  My wife and I are empty nesting, a marital duet for the first time since September 25, 1997, the day before  our daughter was born. I suppose you could back that up nine months to define the end of our two-person nest, because when we found out Laura was expecting mid-January of that year, our world expanded from the two of us to the two-plus-one, pending arrival.  For the last 25 years, our world centered around our kids, first one daughter, then a second, and then a son. There were soccer games, band concerts, theater, and FFA. We sold candy bars, popcorn, and beef jerky. We cheered, hugged, encouraged and fussed. We proofed papers, flipped flashcards, learned "new math" (literally, we had to...