The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

Yesterday, Sunday, was a tough day. I didnt think about it until my brother pointed it out, that neither of us got our Sunday morning text from Mom. I think it started during the pandemic, but every Sunday morning, Mom would send each of us a brief, 2 or 3 sentence text between 6 and 6:30am. Sometimes it was "Thinking of you as you preach God's Word today," or "Blessings on your worship." Sometimes the note included her plans: "Going to church with Jill," or "Heading off to play organ this morning." Often, the old farm-girl in her added a weather note too, about heat or cold or rain or drought. Every now and then, I beat her to the punch and texted first, but I usually let her win the simple race of who texted first.  Yesterday, my phone didn't chime with her message. There were no notes of blessing, encouragement, plans, or weather updates. My phone was strangely quiet. No more messages from Mom.  We went to Jill's church yesterday. ...

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, ...