The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

Martin Franzman, theologian par excellence , once said, "Theology must sing!" I agree. I like to sing. Good thing, since by vocation, I am a pastor. Hymns and hymnody are part of my vocation as a pastor and life as a child of God. Every Sunday, I sing between three to five hymns and, often, during the week, I find myself singing more. Sometimes, these are devotional hymns, other times they are sung as prayers, and sometimes just out of the joy of singing the familiar words. Occasionally I sing a hymn with a shut-in or someone in the hospital. Just like singing along to the radio, most hymns have a fairly neutral emotional response. But there are a few hymns that just hit me, emotionally, in a very deep space. "I know that my Redeemer lives," with its rich resurrection imagery for God's people, is one of those hymns. I remember, as a boy, singing it at my grandpa's funeral, sitting next to my parents, while they cried. The older I get, the more I understand. ...

I'm the pastor at St. Paul's Lutheran Church & School in Enid, Oklahoma. Part of my responsibility every week is to lead Wednesday chapel. Last week, we had a special Lutheran School's Week chapel. I did something different, having several people send video clips that I shared via PowerPoint with the kids. The last slide was a picture of my family, circa 1990: Mom, Dad, two sisters, my brother and me. I told the kids that all six of us have been or are in church work: three teachers, two pastors, and one working in a District office. Our kindergarten teacher commented on the family legacy of church work and how impressed she was at our family's service to the Lord and His church.  Our mom, who was excited to hear about how last week's chapel presentation went, died suddenly yesterday, February 10, 2025, less than one week later.  Since then, I've thought about that word "legacy" in the vein of Mom and her love and care. There may be truth to that. ...

Janet was a school teacher in rural Iowa. They called it Deer Creek Community, just outside Fort Dodge. I dont think it qualified as a one-horse town, but it did have a 2-room school. Janet had the lower half, grades 1-4. Walter, who double-dutied as the school principal, had the upper grades, 5-8. Today they might call it a "self-contained classroom," a throw-back to an older, slower and simpler time, where teachers teach all subjects, but back then, it was " de rigueur ," what was expected - especially in small parochial schools like this one. So, Janet taught the Four R's - readin', writin', 'rithmetic, and religion - at Trinity Lutheran School.  One afternoon, Janet was working after school, grading papers and planning for the next day. She heard a slight squeak of a chair across the hall, where Walter - Walt to his friends, Wally to his brothers, and Mr. Meyer to students, parents, and his singular co-worker - was also working in his classroom, ...

A long time ago, I worked at one of the greatest small businesses in Central Texas, Mickan Motor Company. I learned so much while working there it's impossible to label it all. Mechanical, yes: tire repair & service, rotate & balance (R&B), oil & filter changes (OFC), and basic mechanic work & diagnosis. I also learned service: caring for the person, not just the problem - even when the person was part of the problem. Lots of places teach service, though, including the famous chicken place that uses holstein cows for marketing. More than anything else, though, I learned how and when to listen, especially to old timers (the men, not the pocket knives, although we sold those as well - the knives, not the men) who just wanted someone to listen. I've written and talked about Ray, Ethel, and their son, Danny, and how Ray was more than a boss, but also a fatherly friend.  One of the little things that made Mickan's shop special was the ever-present tubs of bub...

"This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it." I won't welcome the congregation with those words this morning. I won't be welcoming them at all, in fact. I'm sitting in my living room, 6am, still in my pajamas pants, a thermal shirt, and slippers - hardly my standard Sunday clerical attire: black shoes, pants, and clerical shirt. Most Sundays, I would either be at the church or on the way to the church, starting to review my sermon, looking over Bible class notes, and pausing to pray for those who will be attending church. Today, I'm on the couch, home-bound because of a - for this South Texan, at least - a serious snowstorm that dropped about a foot of snow in my yard. While I dislike very much cancelling church services, I think the elders made a wise call. With mostly an elderly congregation and many in outlying communities, it seems the prudent thing to do. So, in about 3 hours, along with the other members of St. Paul's, we wil...

  'Twas the night before Christmas,  In Enid, OK, No one was stirring;  No one was at play. Wrapped up in their quilts, My family asleep, Their eyes were closed tight, And breathing so deep. We had all our stockings,  Hung there, on the wall, Empty, but hopeful,  That Santa would call. And me?  I was watching the Christmas tree lights,  When l of the sudden,  I stood up in a fright. I saw through the window,  As bright as the sun, A loaded down pickup,  Comin’ on at a run, It sparkled and glistened  In the clear Oakie night, With three dogs, riding shotgun,  That made such a sight. He called ‘em by name:  "Butch, Heidi and Wyatt, There'll be plenty of riding;  Now hush and sit tight." The driver wore Levi's  And a shirt that was red, And a light-grey felt Stetson  Was perched on his head. As he stepped from his rig,  He was really a sight, His beard and his moustache  Were curly and whi...