WHAT IS A MINISTER

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What is a minister?
A minister is many things to many people.

To some he is a padre dressed in black, with a clerical collar.
To some he is a man in a blue suit with a Bible under his arm.

To some he is all shout and no sense. To some he is theological hodge podge four raised-pulpit-feet above the floor.To some he is a soul-saver,
Sanctified and a little supercilious. In reality, he may be some of these but not any of them completely,
And never all of them wrapped up in one neat easily identifiable package.
He is a composite of many ideas including his own.

His life is dedicated to God, But he lives out his existence as a human being.Sometimes in this daily business of ministry,
He finds he is too young
When the occasion demands the dignity and experience of age. With the passing of time he may feel too old
When the exuberance of youth is needed.
Often he is at a loss for words while the world waits eagerly for gems of wisdom. But in the life of every minister, there comes the touch of God’s hand;
As he labors in the tangled shouts and clamor of the city,
The quiet plow-furrowed hills of the countryside,
The shifting sands of the sea-side suburbs:
And from this touch he gathers strength for each new day.
What is a minister? He is a multitude of sermons each year,
An unnumbered collection of talks to s host of different groups,
From the PTA to the Society for the Preservation of Ancient History,
Telephone calls about everything from rosebuds to the rosary,
And hospital, house, and hello-calls, till long after the shades of night have fallen. A long line of the destitute, despondent, and dismal,
A kaleidoscope of the holy, haughty, or happy,
But above all, a host of God’s creatures seeking.
Sometimes, they are not sure what, but seeking nevertheless.Some days he tries to cram 26 hours into a pre-set 24.Other days, because he is human, he is a little lazy.
But if he is honestly called to his task, he learns and falls to his knees and learns from his mistakes.
Over the long run he is a man dedicated to God

What is a minister? He is husband, father, confessor,
Pick up a can of tomatoes on the way home,
Mrs. Smith refuses to speak to Mrs. Jones anymore,
Johnny broke his leg on the church steps,
And Mrs. Brown says she has 15 volunteers, six of whom have called and said
they won’t be able to help.

What is a minister? He is a leader sometimes caught up in the middle of the led.
He meets the paradox of love and hate in the sanctuary of the Lord. He hears a heavenly choir,
Just a few minutes after twenty screaming little boys and girls have broken a mirror
And torn up the rug in the choir-room. He sees a soul saved from the brink of destruction
And the next moment, it seems, he hears a man die with a curse on his lips.He watches the seed of his sermons
Fall on all the types of ground about which his Lord spoke…
And he is never quite sure of the type of ground. He misjudges, and the man who seemed as empty of faith as the
night skies of the sun, finds Christ, and there is a new man. The next day, a pillar of the church shatters
into a thousand pieces beneath the hammer of temptation.The minister’s heart bends under the blow,
He sits and wonders, and then at the ringing of the phone says,
"Mrs. Jones…certainly..I’ll be glad to pick up Susan."And he tucks away…but never quite completely…
Another of his people’s problems,
Looks life in the face with his own weakness
And is strengthened anew by his own faith.

What is a minister?

He is a man. Sometimes he is not sure what he is himself
Or how well he does what he does.The only thing he knows is that there is a job to do
And somehow in a great over-all plan
He has a part in it and he thanks God for it.

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A LEVER AND A FULCRUM

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Archimedes, the great Greek scientist once said, “Give me a lever that is beg enough and a fulcrum to rest it upon and I will move the world.”

And yes, God is that lever. And your faith is that fulcrum.

And when your faith moves you close enough to the creator of all things…you have the power to move the world.

A rewrite of the first verse of the first chapter of John makes the point, “In the beginning was the lever, and the lever was with God and the Lever was God and nothing that was done without the Leverage of God was done.”

You see…we can raise a rocket 200 miles above the earth and more but only God can raise a 200 lb. man out of the gutter…and which is the more important.

Yes, we can destroy whole cities with a single bomb, but God can redeem a man with one Word.
Which is most important?

Someone once said he would rather be right than President.

Well, sometimes when it comes to finding God you must first admit you’re wrong.

It’s called repentance, wiping the slate clean, accepting God’s forgiveness so there will be room for his power.

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RUST ON MY SOUL (20th episode in series)

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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally)  ********************************************************
INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)

In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step. *************************************************
SPECIAL NOTATION TO MYSELF: I have been reading back over my diary and it is the wanderings of a man who not only doesn’t know where he is wandering but finally realizes he had better get some direction in life or be hopelessly lost.

Evening

Still no word from Connie and the police don’t give us much hope for finding her.

The statistics are staggering but Connie isn’t a statistic to use. She’s an intelligent young lady who’s momentarily confused.

Oh, please let it be a short moment.

Thank God Nancy hasn’t yet joined the ranks of working mothers.

She’d never believe that Connie’s running away wasn’t partially due to that. Nancy majors in traveling these days. If it isn’t one guilt trip it’s another.

At least this time we aren’t blaming God.

Does that mean we’re growing up? I doubt it, but I am still seeking.

I don’t really know how Billy’s taking this.

He’s been very quiet.. Since communication, or rather its lack, seems to have precipitated all this. I should talk to him.
But what can I say? I can’t even concentrate on business long enough to make a sane decision these days, so how do I make sense where there has been so little lately.

Midmorning

My car is in the shop again, so this morning I rode the people mover. One of the “people” sat next to me. His mustache looked like a ten year old toothbrush.

It matched his eyebrows/. There was egg on his tie and wrinkles in what had once been an expensive suit.

“Good morning,” he ventured.
“It isn’t good, and it’s going to get worse,” I muttered and tried to bury myself, and the conversation in my paper.

“Is it vegetable or mineral?”

“What?”

“Is it vegetable or mineral? Is it something you ate or something that’s eating you?”

As he turned toward me his corpulent body rippled and he absentmindedly unwrapped another candy bar. It rapidly vanished into his bulging cheeks. I am not a man of many prejudices but I find too much fat shouts of a lack of self-discipline.
“I’m old, and I’m tired, and I’m not jolly because I’m fat – and –“ and I soon learned that he had once been a football star and a successful businessman.

He’d made a fortune selling hula hoops. I didn’t laugh aloud at the incongruity. Ten years ago his wife had left him. His children never write, he has high blood pressure, gall bladder trouble and ulcers, now momentarily at rest.

He likes shoes two sizes too big because his feet hurt.

By the time we reached the station I knew his age, something about his childhood and much of his philosophy on life. I also learned that I’d never see him again because the next day he was moving south. To my surprise the time had passed quite quickly.

We had solved no riddles and erased no problems. But two people had interacted. The force of two lives had rubbed edges for a while.

How was it, Adam, when there was no Eve No Cain? No Abel How was it when you were completely alone. *********************************************************************
TO BE CONTINUED
(Complete book available on amazon.com) (great prices)
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JUST SOME THOUGHTS ON BETTER THINKING

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A long time ago I reached the conclusion that if bad lives can pull me down then good lives can lift me up. So I try to read about and come in contact with good people who outlive me with their kindness and compassion and by so doing make me more kind and compassionate.
I find good people because I have trained myself not to be like some who if they met a Saint would only remember that he had not cleaned his feet.

I know folk who cannot appreciate the stars because they are too busy complaining the Electric company has not fixed the streetlight. And oh yes, I begin each day with a Gratitude Attitude toward by God and seek out as many other people who are seeking gratitude as a constant friend.

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“Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
and his courts with praise!
Give thanks to him; bless his name!”
—Psalm 100:4 ***********************************************************************
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THE SECRET IS OUT

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What is the secret of a good life?

I have always loved the thoughts of Dr. Charles Beard, the great historian who wrote, “I have learned from history the following:

First, when it gets darkest, the stars come out.

Second, when a bee steals from a flower, it also fertilizes that flower.

Third, whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.”

And so I thought when I read his words…that is the way it is indeed.

First, the crucifixion was the darkest time in the history of mankind. Then came the miracle of the resurrection and the stars had never shined so bright.

Second, when God steals our sins at that moment, He fertilizes our souls.

Third, if we give God our mind, our thoughts and the avenues of our attitudes we will then see the world through His eyes.
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“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him.” - 1 John 4:16
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RUST ON MY SOUL (19th in Series of Novel)

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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally) ***************************************************

INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)

In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
NOTATION: It is a thought many have had. I can only pray it will have me. “Those who cannot learn from the past are condemned to be cursed by the same in the future.”

Morning

Connie’s gone! The silence from her room is a shout. Oh, God, how could I have been so engrossed in me that I was so unaware of her?

I feel like an ostrich who’s just taken his head out of the sand. I’ve heard her complaints but ignored the reason for them.

They made no sense to me. They seemed like an adolescent buzz saw – lots of noise, but no meaning. I called her a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate all she had, and left it at that.
She’s been like a butterfly, all brightly colored, who fluttered around the landscape of life. But she was a butterfly with a burden, casting shadows that lingered like a stain. I refused to acknowledge the haunting in her eyes.

“I don’t feel like I have a home,” she said. “It wouldn’t make any difference around here if I just left.” What nonsense, I thought, and forgot about it.

Yesterday her anger was like a blister bursting. All red and oozing disgust. I ignored my tingle of panic. And now she’s gone.

Swallowed up by a world too big for a little girl who by now has taken of her rose-colored glasses.
Connie, I’ve lost your many times before – to time. It aged away your baby days. It readied you for school and we were pulled further apart as you entered a new world in which I could have no part.

You still sat in my lap and called yourself “daddy’s girl,” but you did this less frequently as you became more busy, and so did I.

I lost you to teenage loves. Love can be a runaway emotion and you were prone to dashes rather than marathons.

Your taste ran to long hair and lanky. This last year several new boys came around, equipped with skimpy beards and listless eyes. I feared drugs but would not give me fear a name.

You hadn’t been daddy’s girl in quite some time and I didn’t want to confuse hurt and observation.

I know now – too late – that you were shouting for help. Finding none; finding only irritation or muted anger in your father’s eyes, you simply walked away.

Connie, come home. I can’t promises miracles. Where you are, I can’t promise that, but I will take time to listen, really listen. I will give you more than just the outer edges of my attention.
Oh, God, please watch over my little girl. ***********************************************
TO BE CONTINUED

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AN ENLARGED ENGLISH VILLAGE OR…

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I believe that man can be a beast. He’s proven it often enough. But I also believe he can rise above such evil; he’s proven that as well.
Life is not an enlarged English village but neither is it a preparatory school for hell with man’s its star pupil.

Edwin Markham wrote, “When in the dim beginning of the years God mixed in man the rapture and the tears, he scattered through his brain the starry stuff, and said ‘Behold that this is not enough for I must test his spirit to make sure that he can dare the vision and endure…”

And men have…lept out at their best, been a light in the world, spread the gentle warmth of concern across the land.

It has happened before. It will happen again.

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“The Kingdom of God is not a matter of what we eat or drink,but of living a life of goodness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.” ~Romans 14:15

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BE A VICTOR AND NOT A VICTIM

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Horace Mann once said, “Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.”

It does not have to be some International Event or Newscast Specialty.
It can be one personal victory over bigotry.

It can be every time you do something kind for no gain, something brave for no reward and something good because the better part of you says you must.

Be a victor over your worst desires and not a victim.
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James 4:17
“So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”

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RUST ON MY SOUL (18TH in series of novel)

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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally)

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INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)

In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.

MorningI took a good look at Nancy this morning. For the first time in quite a while I really looked at her.

The years have treated her well. She has managed to win, well, if not win at least reach a compromise with, the battle of the bulge.It’s probably worry as much as diet that has kept her weight down and also caused her frown lines to become firmly etched. She says Connie is giving her more grey hairs than the years are.

Perhaps I looked more closely today because of late she is making more noise about going back to work.At first I dismissed her comments as only a passing fad. Then I tried to convince her it wouldn’t look good for me if she joined the labor force.

I figured that ploy would be sure to work since she’s always so concerned with other people’s opinions. But it hasn’t.I cringe at the thought of some of the inane remarks I’ve come up with lately, “Nancy, go buy a new hat and you’ll feel better.” “We don’t need the money; I’ve got a good job.” Fact is, we are at our usual crossroads of differing opinions and about to have another train wreck.

I know she doesn’t want to go to work for just the money, and she has assured me she isn’t trying to exert her independence, she says it’s only that she needs more in her life than she has.

What then should I care if she’s away from home working? She’s away at the country club or playing bridge often enough, so what is the difference?

Why do I feel so threatened by this? Is my manhood so shallow I feel emasculated by the very thought of her bringing home a paycheck? Is my self-worth so meager that being the breadwinner is the only viable role I see for myself?

Evening

“Honey” is dead. “Honey” and “Darling” and “Sweetheart” are words that have died and been laid to rest.

It was a slow death. The first symptoms showed up twenty-some years ago but we ignored them. I rationalized. There were added responsibilities. I worked hard and overtime and came home tired.

We’d lost our child and, though no one was to blame, anger toward God spilled over into other moments and anger at ourselves for what we might have done, whatever that was. The anger lingered and wore our patience thin.

Why have I Thomas Kettering let myself reach this point in my life where I have become a past master at emphasizing negatives and conflicts and everything that is wrong with life. Why don’t I put out equally as much effort looking for some good things?I know that by the time I recognized where we had let ourselves go it was too late to return to what we had had before. I know I wasn’t willing to talk about it and unsure of what to say if we did.

Togetherness has diminished. There never was enough time, or if there was we didn’t spend it together. Occasionally one of us would try. “Tom, would you read this article? It’s us, you know.”Oh I remember. I remember the title – MARRIAGE LIMBO A REALITY - and felt a twinge. But my pride wouldn’t let me admit that a magazine article could teach me anything. Hadn’t I minored in psychology in college?

We got along all right I convinced myself…whatever that meant…and , after all, the days of wine and roses don’t last forever.I knew better than that. There are couples who find time to play tennis together, or work in the garden together, or walk quietly in the last soft light of evening.

But I childishly rationalized that I had tried in the past to talk about our lax behavior toward each other, she hadn’t been willing to talk then, so why should I read that article for her now?All our love isn’t dead, but how on earth do you resurrect a hot flame from a flicker in the ashes?

That’s all our love is now.

TO BE CONTINUED

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THE POWER OF DISCIPLINED DISORDER

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It was a number of years ago when navigation was more primitive and Captains could get themselves in a heap of trouble.

This was not a good idea when there shorelines lined with rocks and waves sent all kind of craft crashing into them.

On a particular night in question a captain caught in a raging storm realized that he really didn’t know where he was in relation to the shoreline coming up. The lighthouse wasn’t doing its job for whatever reason.

At this moment a passenger came up to him and asked,” How are things going Captain?

“Going,” the captain, replied, “Well, in the first place we’re lost, but as for going we’re sure making good time.”

Most of us are fortunate. We don’t get ourselves in quite that bad a pickle. We have roadsides signs that point where it would be best and better for us to go. And we have a Biblical lighthouse that is always available.

This Bible speaks with a great clarity. It puts out signs with a single word on them; honor, honesty, love, forgiveness.

And as we travel we find construction signs and the construction they are talking about is “us.” What are we constructing? When it is finished will it have been worth the time and effort? Will it be good for those around us?
And as we travel if we have chosen the wrong road how easy will it be to exit? There is a thing called addiction and some addictions are a daily trip to hell.

So yes, in our travels through life we need to discipline any disorder to which we find ourselves becoming addicted to…and follow the right signs…and don’t rush forward until we are sure we are not rushing toward disaster.

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HOW OLD IS OLD?

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How old is old? A caterpillar is an ugly duckling about to grow up into something beautiful in a matter of weeks and then in the length of time we call a season…it dies.

An oak tree is just beginning to live after one hundred years.

And man or woman, when they enter the grave are still babes for they have eternity ahead of them.

When Jesus said, “Do not fear those who can kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul…” he was saying that the valley of the shadow is a passageway and not a dead-end street.

The late Peter Marshall, famous Washington preacher, died at 47.
Abraham Lincoln never reached his three score years and ten.
Jesus himself tasted death at 33.
Would you say they had not lived a lifetime?
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To view an abundance of unusual stories by Neil Wyrick go to his other blog ONE A DAY, YOUR SPIRITUAL VITAMINS

Click on the following URL http://oneadayyourspiritualvitamins.blogspot.com/

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RUST ON MY SOUL (17th in series of novel)

**************************************************************
RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press

 in 1985 & Distributed internationally)

  **************************************************************
INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)

In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.

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Morning

I’ve just about come to the conclusion that we’re a pagan society as we ever were. We no longer fight duels, nor keep slaves, no work children to an early grave. But nonetheless, we too often treat God like a holy afterthought.

I don’t know who wrote it but he wrote it well:
“I never cut my neighbor’s throat
My neighbor’s gold I never stole:
I never spoiled his house and land;
But God have mercy on my soul!
For I am haunted night and day
By all the deeds I have not done:
O unattempted loneliness;
O costly valor never won.”

At my best I am inadequate for life.

Physically I’m never more than a heartbeat away from death.

Mentally the best I can do is briefly be clever and seldom really wise.

Spiritually I shout to keep away the dread that, if there is no God to take my soul, then there is no soul to take.

Late Night

We made it! We just moved to within one block of the country club, two blocks from the president of the First Federal and less than a “hoot and a holler” from bankruptcy.

Nancy is in seventh heaven.

Maybe now she’ll get off my back about moving up. I can’t say I like the new house any better than the old one, but Prestige Terrace is where all the new executive live this year, so I really had no choice.

Late night

Why have I spent so many of my adult years overlooking dad’s admonition, “Poverty is a pain and money can be a blessing, but both are a misery if you spend a lifetime forgetting who you are.”

Here I am, almost half a century old, asking just that: Who am I? Where am I going?

Where is the little boy who climbed trees or just lay back in the fields and looked up at the clouds flying by? Where is the young man who, when he first came with the firm twenty years ago, exclaimed, “This is the best day of my life.”

I can find no vestige of my yesteryears. No one at forty-nine thinks as he did at twenty-nine, but have I been too busy to think of anything but business? I haven’t taken time to even look out the window at the garden, much less stop and smell the roses.

Why do I feel guilty when I take a Saturday afternoon off for a little pleasure?

Was the Puritan work ethic too deeply instilled in me, or do I just have an insatiable appetite for money? We can always use more, but even if I earned more than we needed would I still want more just to flaunt it?

What matters most in my life? And, perhaps answering that, I ought to reword my question: What should matter most in my life?
Unfortunately at this moment I can’t come up with an answer I’ll accept.

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TO BE CONTINUED ***************************************************************

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Discontent is a part of the universe, but how sad to let it become a way of life.

Perhaps, if leaves could think, there would be some that would be continually unhappy because the would wish they were pine needles, or wish they could be let loose, and now free from their branch flutter though the air like a bird.

Discontented with how things were and growing more so with the passage of every leaf long day.

And then find fear and fault with their ultimate destination; the ground.

Finding fault with what is, to chase some pie-in-the-sky that isn’t, has happened to lots of people too, but how sad to live in such a state of discontent.

To paraphrase an old saying – man does not live by pie alone.

One thing is for sure… it is important to realize the difference between being stuffed or being satisfied. Ah yes, many who have been chasing and successfully finding more and more still are as dissatisfied as if they were having less and less.
How it really is possible to have too much of a good thing. Take praise. It is certainly good, unless you receive so much of it you can’t live without it, and become blind to criticism.

There is such a bitterness to not being satisfied.

Indeed the Greek word for bitterness also means poison.

I learned and try never to forget the truth that if you feed your discontents they will become a poison to you. If you constantly don’t like what life is doing to you , or what people are doing, or even what God is doing, you will continue to be miserable.

It is God’s world and He loves you. Your life is a gift and God will allow you to fill it with majesty even if sometimes you find it hard to see the whole eternal picture.

So pray positive prayers even in the midst of negative moments. Think positive thoughts even when sunshine is still below the horizon. And then when things have gotten better dance and sing with such gratitude… the angels in heaven grin and break out in song.
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CLICK ON THE TOP RIGHT SIDE OF THIS SCREEN WHERE IT READS “CLICK HERE TO WATCH NEIL AS WESLEY, LUTHER, FRANKLIN & LINCOLN” and enjoy these One Man Drama TV specials films…His presentations have been called equal to Hal Holbrook and were presented all over the world.
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Three of Neil’s books are still available on amazon.com. THE SPIRITUAL ABRAHAM LINCOLN, RUST ON MY SOUL and POOR RICHARD’S ALMANACK FOR THE 20TH CENTURY (Written as if Ben Franklin had come back to life in the 20th Century and wrote yet another Almanac)

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