The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

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...

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...