While I will not set any speed records, my old body still allows me to go out for a run.
Since the start of 2025, I’ve had the privilege of running in the Florida Keys, North Carolina, San Francisco and Monterey, California, Vancouver, British Columbia, Fairbanks, Alaska, and almost in Keystone, Colorado.
I was all set to go for a run in Keystone, but my body talked me out of it. My body did not like the change in altitude. In Keystone, the altitude is 9,173 feet. Where I live in Richmond, Virginia the altitude is 150 feet.
We arrived in Colorado on Saturday, July 26. By Monday, my body started to feel acclimated.
I know that I was lucky, privileged to be able to go for a run in those different locations. And as fortunate as I was with that opportunity, I still enjoy taking a run in our Richmond neighborhood.
No doubt those other locations offering unique settings for a run, but as Dorothy said in The Wizard of Oz—“there’s no place like home.”
For seventy two years, I have lived in North Carolina and Virginia. The entire southeast is known for its uncomfortable summertime temperatures. When heat, dew point, and humidity conspire to create daytime heat indexes over one hundred degrees, there is nothing like it.
Air conditioners strain, pets are hesitant to go outside, and the air is as thick as pound cake batter.
The sinking of the sun offers no relief. Sure the intensity of the sun is gone, but the still night time air has no pulse. Leaves don’t rustle, and when dawn breaks the temperature will be 75 degrees, with a dew point of 74 degrees, and a humidity reading of 96%—a sauna.
And now, I will confirm for you what you have known for many years now—Bill Pike is crazy— just like Max Klinger from MASH in search of his Section 8. I’m crazy because every summer I look forward to taking an early morning simmering sinner run through my neighborhood in those unbearable conditions.
On the morning of Saturday, July 12, I took a simmering sinner run. I ran the neighborhood 5K route in reverse starting at our house instead of Trinity.
By the time, I had completed my run from head to toe my entire body was soaked in perspiration. I could wring water out of my t-shirt and shorts. When I walked inside our house, I felt like I had walked into a ice chest.
Mentally, the simmering sinner run is good for me. I feel like any meanness in my body has been removed. It has dripped out of my pores.
Following the run, here is the bad news—any removal of my meanness, worry, anxiety, and discontentment is only temporary.
You might be thinking, Bill, why is your satisfactory simmering sinner run only temporary?
Here is my explanation from Dr. George Sheehan from his book Running To Win: “Life is not logical. Life is not rational.”
I think Dr. Sheehan’s assessment is correct.
Speaking for myself, at this very moment in my life, my country, America, is not logical and not rational.
Back on July 26, 1993, using a gift certificate from a friend, I bought Dr. Sheehan’s book at a Barnes and Noble on Parham Road. That store is gone.
I have never read Dr. Sheehan’s book from beginning to end. I have read it in pieces and highlighted his wisdom and wisdom from others that he quotes.
Tonight, I came across this wisdom in the last paragraph of the Epilogue.
Dr. Sheehan wrote: “The glory of God,” wrote Ireneus, one of the early church fathers, “is man fully functioning.” Find your place to do that, and you will find the peace that passeth all understanding.
Again, speaking for myself, America is not fully functioning for the good of all Americans.
For my old brain, this is a concern.
And in that concern is our inability to find our place and understanding.
I fear if we continue down our current path, peace will never grace America again.
August 30, 1971, the Beach Boys released their album Surf’s Up. In case your curious, the album features no songs about surfing.
On side two, there is a pretty, heartfelt song from Brian Wilson titled ’Til I Die. I think about one line from that song quite a bit—“I lost my way.”
A timeline of my life will reveal that I have “lost my way” on many occasions.
And yet, some compass, some internal voice, some nudge, some whisper seems to correct my path. Isaiah 33:22 states: “For the Lord is our judge, the Lord is our lawgiver, the Lord is our king; it is he who will save us.”
America has lost its way.
I wonder if America can be saved from this dysfunction?
Hot summer sun rising over Rollingwood. (Photo Bill Pike)
From the 2023-24 official state transportation map of North Carolina (Photo Bill Pike)
Good morning, I’m Bill Pike, and it is my honor to be with you this Sunday as the pinch hitter for Enon’s pastor, Michael Dettmer.
No matter if you are with us in the Sanctuary or watching on-line, we are glad to have you with us this morning.
Before we start, I need to share some disclaimers.
First, I’m not a Biblical scholar, nor a degreed theologian, but I do have a certification as a lay speaker from the Virginia Conference of the United Methodist Church.
My wife and I were traveling with dear friends from college when I listened to Michael’s voice mail. We had a good conversation when I called him back, but he said something dangerous to me.
Michael told me by phone and later in a follow-up email that I could preach on any topic of my liking.
That’s not a good offer to a person like me, who has what American writer, Dave Barry calls “brain sludge.” Mr. Barry defines “brain sludge” as useless information in the minds of men.
However, with Michael’s offer, my “brain sludge cells” started tossing out ideas.
Knowing that we are in Hanover County, home of the famous Hanover tomatoes, maybe, I should speak about the fruits and vegetables that are listed in the Bible.
In light of the recent water crisis that impacted the Richmond region, maybe I should talk about water. After all the Bible references water over 500 times.
Or since it is baseball season, maybe I should talk about the movie Moneyball, and offer suggestions to what churches might learn from characters Billy Beane and Peter Brand and their statistical thinking about baseball.
Or maybe, I can tell you some stories about my thirty one years of work in public schools, or my last fourteen years of work at Trinity, or maybe I should just let my heart do the talking.
Who knows, maybe I’ll be lucky, and something from my old heart might resonate with your hearts.
How about we start with a prayer: Father of us all, forgive my old heart. Amen.
The gospel reading this morning comes from Luke Chapter 10 verses 38-42. Let’s take another look at those four verses:
“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
I’m sorry, but I think Martha has a point. She has opened her home to Jesus and his disciples. Including Martha and Mary, that’s at least fifteen mouths to feed.
I can see Martha scurrying around her home, prepping food, finding serving pieces, and while she is burning all this energy, it suddenly dawns on her, I need some help.
Look at my sister, she is sitting at the feet of Jesus hanging on every word that he is saying. Why isn’t she helping me?
In our own kitchens with our families, we’ve seen similar scenes play out when we have special guests in our homes. We want the meal and the fellowship to go well. For that meal and fellowship to go well, we are probably going to need some extra hands.
But, Jesus, doesn’t see it that way. I think he can see and feel Martha’s sense of urgency in this moment.
While his reply to Martha acknowledges that she is worried and upset about many things, he offers no real relief—other than basically— hey, Martha, cool your jets.
By this time, Martha might be headed toward a nuclear meltdown.
Maybe she is thinking to herself: “I’m trying to be a good host, no one is helping me, sounds like Jesus told me to trim the menu down, and that Mary has chosen more wisely than me and that her choice will not be altered. I guess, I’ll just keep plugging along.”
In the May 23 edition of the news magazine The Week, I read an obituary about Joseph Nye. Dr. Nye was a political scientist who had a distinguished career in academia and politics.
The Washington Post reported that the future Dr. Nye grew up on a farm. He attended Princeton University. It was at Princeton that “he briefly considered studying for the ministry—until he read the Bible all the way through.”
I’ll be honest with you— I have days like that with the Bible. Days when I have no earthly idea how I can understand or rationalize what is written.
And I’ll take that honesty a bit further, these four verses about Martha and Mary are difficult for me to understand.
My vision, my practical thinking sees this home visit by Jesus from Martha’s perspective. I hear and understand her plea.
But in the footnotes of the 1973 edition of the The Oxford Annotated Bible, the Revised Standard Version, I’ll give you a bit more to ponder: “With delicate ambiguity Jesus rebuked Martha’s choice of values; a simple meal (one dish) is sufficient for hospitality. Jesus approved Mary’s preference for listening to his teachings as contrasted with Martha’s unneeded acts of hospitality.”
“Unneeded acts of hospitality” sorry, but I need to think about that comment for a while, maybe longer than you want to be here this morning.
On the evening of Thursday, July 10, my wife and I were on a redeye flight from Fairbanks, Alaska to Minneapolis-St. Paul to Raleigh.
We experienced a brief delay for our flight to Raleigh, but other than that all went well.
Even though I grew up in North Carolina, I have never figured out the roads in Raleigh.
This is despite many trips to Raleigh to visit our youngest daughter.
We were on US 1 north headed out of the city into Wake County.
And I have no idea why on this Friday afternoon, my eyes were drawn to an exit sign for Rolesville.
But, my brain locked on to that name— Rolesville.
I’ve never been to Rolesville, don’t know if I will ever go to Rolesville, but the town was founded in 1837 by William H. Roles. Today, it is the second largest city in Wake County with a population of 9,745. (Wikipedia)
Luckily, my jet lag did not impact my driving, and we made it back to Richmond safely.
Yet, my old brain would not let go of Rolesville.
Late on Saturday evening, I started doing some preliminary prep for this morning, and when I consulted the lectionary for the gospel reading, Rolesville nudged me again.
And that’s when it hit me, what is my ‘role’ in this cantankerous, weary, and worn out old world?
Mary and Martha both have roles in this scripture.
What is your role in this world?
How do you impact your family, your friends, your community, your work environment, and how do you impact Enon?
What is our role, our responsibility?
How can we use our role, our responsibility to make a positive impact?
You may never visit Rolesville, but I hope you will revisit everyday what your ‘role’ is in this world. Never stop evaluating how your ‘role’ can bring about change.
A few years ago, I stumbled upon this quote from E. B. White: “The only sense that is common in the long run, is the sense of change and we all instinctively avoid it.”
How about in your ‘role’ in this life, do you “instinctively avoid change?”
When I read a book, an article in a magazine, or the daily devotional in the Upper Room, I use a highlighter. If I come upon wisdom that resonates with me I will highlight it and that includes highlighting the page number.
I recently read The Secret World Of Weather by Tristan Gooley. In the book, Mr. Gooley shares with readers how to read weather signs ‘in every cloud, breeze, hill, street, plant, animal, and dew drop.’
If you are intrigued by our daily weather, you might want to read this book.
Now, I haven’t gone back in the book and counted how may times the word ‘change’ is used by the author to make his points, but ‘change’ is used a lot.
Our seasons and their weather force us to change our routines. Yes, we might complain about the weather, but do we really ever consider how it initiates change?
These weather changes force us to adapt.
In the New Testament isn’t that Jesus’ role? Isn’t he nudging us to change?
With every interaction with every parable, isn’t he working to initiate change, to make us think, to make us uneasy, to nudge us out of our comfort zones? Doesn’t he want us to take on a different ‘role’ in the reality of our own Rolesville?
Who in your Rolesville needs you?
Is it an aging parent, a student who needs a mentor, a struggling co-worker, a church member, a stressed out neighbor, or a stranger rummaging through a dumpster in the back of a fast food restaurant?
You, me, we, us have a ‘role’ to fill in our communities.
And, I’m not sure about your thinking, but I sense God and Jesus are not much different from Martha. Maybe they don’t want to admit it, but they need us to take more of an active ‘role’ in this raging old world.
We are at a point in all of the Rolesvilles across the world where we can no longer “instinctively avoid change.”
Perhaps you are aware that in Luke Chapter 10, just before the story of Mary and Martha is the story of the Good Samaritan.
What a ‘role’ this man played in saving a stranger’s life.
The last four words that Jesus speaks in that parable are “go and do likewise.”
I wonder if I’d be able to offer the same type of assistance to a stranger today like the Good Samaritan did?
I love music.
I have a deep appreciation for musicians.
I can’t sing or play any instrument.
At home, if I were to attempt to sing in the solitary confinement of our shower, I’m certain all of the dogs in our neighborhood would howl in anguish.
The Steep Canyon Rangers are a bluegrass/Americana band from Asheville, North Carolina.
Unlike me, they are gifted songwriters, musicians, and singers.
The lyrics from their song “Down That Road Again” made me pause and think:
“Don’t let me go down that road again I know where it leads and how it ends Right now I need the kind of friend Who won’t let me go down that road again” (Written by Graham Paul Sharp of The Steep Canyon Rangers from their album Radio on Rounder Records 2015)
At this very moment, there is someone in your life who doesn’t want to go down that road again. This individual needs someone from Rolesville to be the ‘role’ of a friend ‘who won’t let them go down that road again.’
Jesus was honest in his assessment of Mary and Martha, and I’ll be honest with you.
Each of us has a ‘role’ to play in this world full of hurting people.
It is time for us to put into action the words from Jesus: ‘go and do likewise.’
Near the end of June, I turned 72.
There is a little voice inside of me that whispers, “Bill, you don’t have much time left, you need to get busy.”
That whispering voice is correct, I don’t have much time left, I need to get busy.
How about you?
In the time that you have left, how are you going to get busy?
What ‘role’ are you going to play?
Maybe you know the name Dr. Mae Jemison. Dr. Jemison was the first African American woman to travel in space. She was a mission specialist in 1992 on the space shuttle Endeavour.
This wisdom from Dr. Jemison makes me think a lot about the time I have left: “Never limit yourself because of others’ limited imagination; never limit others because of your own limited imagination.”
I told you earlier this morning—I’m not a Biblical scholar or a degreed theologian, but I’ll tell you what I think about Mary and Martha.
My old heart tells me that God and Jesus both need Mary and Martha, and we do too.
We need to hear the words from Jesus, but we also must put those words into action, and we must not think about our limitations.
Dr. Jemison never allowed limits to slow the pursuit of her goals.
Nor should we, as we position ourselves to “go and do likewise.”
Mary and Martha had limits in offering hospitality to Jesus and his disciples. But, I suspect that Mary and Martha came away from that experience a little wiser.
The Good Samaritan set no limits for himself to ensure that the robbed and injured traveler received the care he needed.
The person in the Steep Canyon Rangers’ song “Down That Road Again,” requested the help of a friend to keep them from making the same mistakes again. Tomorrow, you might be that friend who keeps a friend on the right road.
And grounded in the each of these examples is the E. B. White quote about change.
At this stage in my life, I can no longer “instinctively avoid change.”
If I avoid ‘change,’ then I will be incapable of playing the ‘role’ that Jesus charged me with— “now go and do likewise.”
Doesn’t matter if we are down in Rolesville or at Enon United Methodist Church— it is time for our hearts to “go and do likewise” in our communities.
Time isn’t on our side.
We need to get busy.
Talk to your heart.
“Go and do likewise.”
Author’s note: Today, I had the privilege of “pinch hitting” in the pulpit at Enon United Methodist Church in Hanover County, Virginia. A special thanks to the church staff and congregation for their hospitality and patience.
Over the last year, I’ve thought about 72 quite a bit.
On August 31,1992, my mother died courtesy of one the cruelest things on earth— cancer. She was 72.
I always wondered if I would make it to 72.
In June of 1972, I turned 19.
I had just finished my freshman year at Greensboro College.
It is unbelievable to me how quickly the last 53 years have passed.
Time is not on my side.
Truthfully, I don’t think time has ever been on my side.
I often reflect about how badly I have managed my time on earth. I could have been better at so many things.
I could have been more thoughtful, patient, kindhearted, and friendly.
I could have read more books, been more attentive to the needs of those around me, less judgmental, and less whiny.
Yet, I am thankful that I might just make it to 72.
This verse of the day showed up recently in my daily early morning quiet time. It’s from Psalm 121 verses 7-8: “The Lord will keep you from all harm— he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”
When the news isn’t good, how in the world can a person of faith or a person who struggles with their faith believe those words?
With the bombing of Iran, the word “obliterated” was used to describe the destruction at the country’s nuclear facilities.
Obliterated applies to human beings too.
A neighbor for the second time is battling cancer. Her most recent post indicated that the cancer is obliterating her body.
Nothing that the oncologists have tried is slowing down or killing the cancer. Too bad we don’t have a 30,000 pound bomb that we can drop on her cancer.
And despite this discouraging report, our neighbor wrote, “I’m not losing hope.”
How in the world does she hang on to hope when her body has been betrayed by the words in the Psalms?
Clearly, her body hasn’t been kept from harm, and in her going and coming she must feel like she hasn’t been watched over.
On the afternoon of Sunday, June 22, I was running some errands. I was listening to a rebroadcast of a live concert from Mountain Stage.
A Kentucky duo named The Local Honeys was performing. One of The Local Honeys, Montana Hobbs, introduced a song that she had written about her grandfather.
Back stories fascinate me, and this one didn’t disappoint.
Her grandfather came from a large family. Unfortunately, his parents died early. This meant the children were shipped off to relatives to be raised.
In those challenging circumstances, Miss Hobbs’ grandfather ran off twice. Eventually, he joined the Navy and became a pilot during World War II. Somehow, her grandfather survived his plane being shot down and crashing in the Pacific.
With time, the roots of this family and their stories came together. When Miss Hobbs had the opportunity to visit her grandfather, if she asked him how he was doing, his standard reply was “better than I deserve.”
That reply from Miss Hobbs’ grandfather punched hard at my old soul.
At this point, my life has been “better than I deserve.”
And yet, I will complain until the day I die when a verse from the Bible, promises to protect, but from my downcast perspective the words fail.
In the May 23 edition of the news magazine The Week, I read an obituary about Joseph Nye. Dr. Nye was a political scientist who had a distinguished career in academia and politics.
The Washington Post reported that the future Dr. Nye grew up on a farm. He attended Princeton University. It was at Princeton that “he briefly considered studying for the ministry—until he read the Bible all the way through.”
I wonder what in the Bible changed Nye’s mind about pursuing the ministry? Was it a day when the news wasn’t good, and he knew that the hopeful words of scripture had let another person down?
If I make it to Friday, I will be thankful.
And on Friday, when I compare my life to the lives of others who are struggling to hang on, I’ll think about the words from Montana Hobbs’ grandfather “better than I deserve,” and with respect to the doubt of Thomas, I too will not lose hope.
Author’s note: I wrote this piece as a devotional for a staff meeting at our church on June 24. It was not my intention to draw attention to my birthday. The purpose is simply to remind you, me, we, us how fragile and unpredictable life can be. Love you all, Bill
Window at Trinity UMC Richmond, Virginia (Photo by Bill Pike)
I’m Bill Pike, the director of operations for Trinity. Before starting, here are my disclaimers: I’m not a Biblical scholar, nor a degreed theologian, but I do have certification as a lay speaker.
In truth, I’m a rapidly aging, grumpy geezer who slings baloney. My monotone voice is guaranteed to put the sleep deprived in a deep sleep in a matter of minutes.
On a Sunday morning, when I pinch hit in the pulpit, the U.S. Geological Survey picks up substantial seismic shifts across Virginia graveyards. These detections are where former Methodist bishops and district superintendents are buried. They are rolling in their graves, and saying not Pike again
Despite my disclaimers, I’m honored to be with you on this Father’s Day.
Let us pray: Father of us all, forgive my old heart. Amen.
My deeply Methodist parents would be pleased to know that I have the opportunity to deliver a hellfire and damnation sermon to a bunch of heathens this morning.
Relax, I’m teasing you. I’m the heathen who needs to be saved.
Deep inside their hearts, my parents wanted me to become a Methodist minister. There was only on problem with their dream.
My brain is like this ancient cowboy insult: He is as shy of brains as a terrapin is of feathers.
Even if God had greased my entry, I had no chance at being admitted to Duke Divinity School.
Somehow, despite my many faults, my parents loved me. I think the best trait my father gave me was an understanding heart.
My father could get riled, especially if wire grass or rabbits invaded his garden, but he had a good heart. On Sundays, after church, my parents, my sister and me came home. We devoured my mother’s delicious homemade lunch, and then the only thing my father wanted was a nap.
The only thing I hoped for on Sunday afternoons was that my father took a short nap. I wanted him to pitch a baseball to me, toss a football, or shoot baskets.
My father hoped his son would allow him thirty minutes of snoring.
Hey, I seem to recall that our scripture reading for today mentions hope.
“We rejoice in our hope of sharing the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts.”
I’m not sure about you, but I don’t see many people who are in a battle with cancer rejoicing.
Nor do I see a homeless person on a street corner rejoicing.
The same for the parent of a son or daughter who is fighting a substance abuse addiction.
In my thirty one years of work in public education, I remember my peers saying, “If you can teach in a middle school, you can teach anywhere.” That’s a form of endurance to survive all of the physical and emotional challenges that middle school students face in their development.
The scripture goes further to tell us that endurance produces character.
For today, let’s think about character in terms of our integrity, our moral fiber, our moral strength, our temperament, our fortitude.
How might our character—our integrity, moral fiber, moral strength, temperament, and fortitude produce hope?
Let’s take a Mayberry detour for a minute.
In this scene, Sheriff Taylor is concerned about his son, Opie. Opie is constantly chatting about a Mr. McVeebee.
Based upon Opie’s descriptions of Mr. McVeebee, Sheriff Taylor believes that Opie is making up all of this stuff. Sheriff Taylor decides to confront Opie.
Let’s play the clip now.
Parenting, no matter if it is in fictional Mayberry or here on Forest Avenue, is tough work.
There can be suffering in parenting.
Parenting can wipe out endurance.
Parenting can test our character, our judgment, our decision making.
In this scene, what is Sheriff Taylor hoping? What is Opie hoping?
Sheriff Taylor is hoping to learn the truth from Opie.
Opie is hoping his father will believe him.
How many times in our lives are we asked to believe when we have doubts?
Deep inside Sheriff Taylor, he must still have doubts about Opie’s convictions. But somehow his integrity, moral fiber, moral strength, temperament, and fortitude convince him to believe in his son.
As it turns out, Opie was telling the truth about Mr. McVeebee. He was a real person.
For a parent, there is no greater relief when your character endures the suffering and hope does not disappoint us.
Let’s travel from Mayberry to England for the first season of the Apple TV show, Ted Lasso.
In this locker room scene, Ted is talking to his team before their soccer game.
Ted says: “So I’ve been hearing this phrase y’all got over here that I ain’t too crazy about— “It’s the hope that kills you.” Y’all know that? I disagree, you know? I think it’s the lack of hope that comes and gets you. See, I believe in hope.”
I love those words from Joe Kelly, Jason Sudeikis, and Brendan Hunt.
I’ve thought quite a bit about the line: “I think it’s the lack of hope that comes and gets you.”
I’ll be honest, I have days when I lose hope.
There are days that I want to walk into this sanctuary, and stare into that stained glass rendering of Jesus and shout out: “Hey, Jesus, where are you?”
People are suffering down here.
Where are your miracles from the New Testament?
1 Thessalonians 5:17 says “pray continually.”
I do pray every day. Where are you?
John 15:7 states: “If you remain in me, and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”
Jesus, I’m not perfect
But, my life is in you, and your words are in me.
I’m asking for the people battling cancer, the homeless person on the corner, and those fighting addiction where are you? Their hopes, their wishes are not being fulfilled.
I can’t imagine what it is like to be God or Jesus.
Everyday whiny, cranky, grumpy old men like me rail against them.
I suspect God and Jesus want to shout back, “Hey, Bill, where are you? What are you doing to bring hope into this world?”
Ed Smylie was a NASA engineer.
On April 13, 1970, Mr. Smylie was at home. He received a phone call. An oxygen tank aboard the Apollo 13 spacecraft had exploded.
It was Ed Smylie and his team who figured out how the astronauts could build an air scrubber from the materials aboard the spacecraft.
Once Smylie and his team designed and built that air scrubber, they taught the astronauts how to build and install the air scrubber for the spacecraft.
The air scrubber removed the carbon dioxide from the spacecraft. This creative intervention kept the astronauts alive.
Smylie always downplayed his role in this “lifesaving of the astronauts.”
He had this to say about constructing the air scrubber: “If you’re a Southern boy, if it moves, and it’s not supposed to, you use duct tape.”
Does this equation work? Suffering + endurance + character+ duct tape+ love = hope. For the astronauts, their families, and the leaders at NASA, that equation worked. Smylie and his team’s solution gave hope.
On the morning of Sunday, June 1, Trinity member, Courtenay Brooks stopped by my office. She asked if had any super glue.
The heel, the sole of her shoe was separating. I handed Courtenay a roll of duct tape. She put her shoe back together.
When life looks bleak, maybe our souls are hoping that a person with endurance, character, love, and duct tape shows up.
In my thirty one years of working in public schools, I learned many student names.
At Lakeside Elementary School, we had a young lady in the third grade whose name was Hope.
I wonder where Hope is today?
Hope never knew this, but on those days when things go wrong inside a school building, Hope’s name gave me hope.
One day the school nurse came to my office. Hope was in the clinic. She was really sick. She needed to go home. When the nurse phoned Hope’s home, the line kept ringing busy.
My father’s understanding heart took over.
With the address in hand, I asked our guidance counselor to ride with me to take Hope home. When we arrived, the family dog greeted me in the yard with lots of welcoming hospitality.
A member of the household came out. I explained what was taking place.
This person was apologetic and grateful.
Sometimes hope comes from a soft heart taking a risk.
Maybe you have read Isabel Wilkerson’s book The Warmth Of Other Suns.
Then you know that Ida Mae Brandon Gladney, George Swanson Starling, and Robert Joseph Pershing Foster took risks. These were challenging risks. They left Mississippi, Florida, and Louisiana as part of the Great Migration.
Each of these individuals suffered through the injustices of the South. In their suffering, their character was developed.
Enduring the South gave them an extra layer of endurance and courage to pursue the perilous journey to new opportunities.
And in every mile to Chicago, New York City, and Los Angeles hope hovered around them like a guardian angel.
Let’s take one more cinematic look at hope.
Please play this last clip.
Hope is a good thing.
No good thing ever dies. You, me, we, us can’t let hope die.
At this very moment someone is suffering.
Might be a person in this Sanctuary, someone watching on line, a neighbor, a colleague at work, a relative, a friend, or a stranger, and no matter what is hanging over these people—they need hope.
We don’t give God and Jesus days off. In this weary world, they are overworked.
That’s why they ask, “Hey Bill, where are you? What are you doing to make this world less weary? How are you giving weary people hope?”
With our endurance, character, and the grace and love of God, in our hearts, we can be the duct tape, the hope for those who are struggling.
Even though I had lots of rotten moments, my father never lost hope that despite not becoming a Methodist minister that I might land on my feet someday.
Sheriff Taylor in a difficult moment of parenting hoped that his decision to believe in Opie was the right one.
Ted Lasso helped his team to see hope from a different angle.
Ed Smylie and his team gave the astronauts hope.
Courtenay Brooks found hope for a shoe in duct tape.
Ida Mae Brandon Gladney, George Swanson Starling, and Robert Joseph Pershing Foster never lost their hope when they took the greatest risks of their lives.
An unassuming, energetic third grade student named Hope gave a weary principal hope on lousy school days.
And in The Shawshank Redemption, Ellis Boyd “Red” Redding showed us that the endurance of friendship can redeem hope.
Remember the simple equation of words: suffering + endurance + character+ love + duct tape = hope.
Let’s rewrite that word equation: my heart + your hearts + our hearts + God’s love = hope.
God and Jesus can’t do it all.
Let your father take a nap this afternoon.
But when that nap is over, figure out how next week will be different.
It will be different because you, me, we, us are going to use our endurance, character, duct tape, God’s love, and our understanding hearts to give hope to a weary soul.
Benediction
Whether here in the Sanctuary or watching on line, thanks for putting up with me this morning.
I often wonder where our student, Hope, might be today.
I’ll tell you where Hope is today.
She is in each of your hearts.
I have one small favor.
Before Monday arrives, find the duct tape in your home. Cut off a piece of the tape and write the word hope on it. Then put that piece of tape where you can see it every day.
Now go in peace and use God’s love and your understanding hearts to give hope.
Author’s note: On Sunday, June 15, 2025, Father’s Day, I had the privilege of speaking at Trinity United Methodist Church on Forest Avenue in Henrico County, Virginia. If you want to watch the presentation go to this link: https://www.trinityumc.net/media and go to Summer Worship, you should come to a play button for Sunday, June 15. At the 26:30 mark is when I start. Thanks for your time, be safe, Bill Pike
Warren Zevon was a gifted songwriter, singer, and musician.
You might recall two of his songs “Excitable Boy” and “Werewolves of London.” Each garnered attention, and yes, “Werewolves of London” has become a Halloween standard.
Through his songs, Mr. Zevon was a storyteller. His characters were from all walks of life. His lyrics captured all human emotions. At times, his words were not for the faint of heart.
I chuckle when I hear these lines from “Excitable Boy”: “Well, he went down to dinner in his Sunday best. Excitable boy, they all said. And he rubbed the pot roast all over his chest. Excitable boy, they all said. Well, he’s just an excitable boy.”
And I chuckle more with “Werewolves of London”: “He’s the hairy-handed gent who ran amuck in Kent. Lately, he’s been overheard in Mayfair. You better stay away from him, he’ll rip your lungs out Jim. But hey, I’d like to meet his tailor.”
But the chuckling stops with “Carmelita”:
“ I hear Mariachi static on my radio. And the tubes they glow in the dark. And I’m there with her in Ensenada, and I’m here in Echo Park. Carmelita hold me tighter. I think I’m sinking down. And I’m all strung out on heroin, on the outskirts of town.”
Singer Linda Ronstadt respected Mr. Zevon’s song “Hasten Down The Wind” so much that she recorded it and used the song as the title to one of her albums.
The song will pinch your heart and moisten your eyes: “She tells him she thinks she needs to be free. He tells her he doesn’t understand. She takes his hand. She tells him nothing’s working out the way they planned. She’s so many women, he can’t find the one who was his friend. So he’s hanging on to half her heart. He can’t have the restless part. So he tells her to hasten down the wind.”
Even in 1978, America had challenges with lawyers, guns, and money. This song of the same title notes how risk and luck don’t always complement each other: “I was gambling in Havana. I took a little risk. Send lawyers, guns and money, Dad, get me out of this. I’m the innocent bystander. Somehow, I got stuck, between the rock and the hard place, and I’m down on my luck.”
At times, maybe in each of us, we have a desire to be left alone, isolated from the world. In “Splendid Isolation” Mr. Zevon wrote: “I want to live alone in the desert. I want to be like Georgia O’Keefe. I want to live on the Upper East Side, and never go down in the street. Splendid Isolation, I don’t need no one.”
Clearly, those characters envisioned in Mr. Zevon’s lyrics are thousands of miles and years away from the people Jesus encountered during his life.
Yet, I sense there might be some similarities.
How might the Demoniac compare to the “Excitable Boy” or the “Werewolves of London”?
Does the son in “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” have any connection to the Prodigal Son? Each son is looking to be saved and ultimately forgiven by their fathers.
What does the Leper have in common with the man addicted to heroin in “Carmelita”? Each is impacted by the circumstances of their health. Each needs an intervention. In their situations, both men are seen as outcasts.
In “Hasten Down The Wind” might that have been a conversation between Mary and Joseph as they tried to sort out the complications of God’s unexpected intrusion? Or, maybe this matches with the woman at the well, whose relationships with men haven’t been successful.
And for “Splendid Isolation” how many times in Jesus’ ministry did he truly need time to be alone? Did he reach his limit with the masses of followers and individuals who needed just a touch of his clothing to change the circumstances of their lives? In those moments, perhaps Jesus felt like embracing Mr. Zevon’s words: “I don’t need no one.”
By now, you must be thinking poor Bill. He has really gone off the deep end this time— comparing Warren Zevon’s characters to the people that Jesus encountered during his lifetime.
Well, maybe I have.
But, the bottom line is that both Jesus and Mr. Zevon were remarkable storytellers. More importantly, these characters, these people, no matter when or where they lived provide us an opportunity to learn from their challenges in life.
And to tell you the truth, at the age of 71, I’m not sure I’m any closer to truly understanding the challenges in the Easter story.
Maybe that’s because the world has become more complicated.
Or has the redundancy of the Easter story diminished my curiosity?
Could it be that I’m a shallow Christian, reluctant to dig deeper to break the predictability of Easter?
Maybe, I’m part of Romans 5 verse 6: “You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly.”
Yes, Jesus knows my old sack of bones. He has a file on my ungodly ways.
And, despite my “ungodly” confession, I still hold on to the hope that Easter offers. For me, that hope is tied to love.
On September 7, 2003, Warren Zevon lost his battle with inoperable lung cancer. Diagnosed in 2002, Mr. Zevon spent those miserable declining months recording his final album.
The last song on the album is titled “Keep Me In Your Heart.” Simply, this is Mr. Zevon’s way of saying goodbye to his family and friends.
Always insightful with his lyrics, here is the opening of the song: “Shadows are falling and I’m running out of breath, keep me in your heart for awhile. If I leave you it doesn’t mean I love you any less, keep me in your heart for awhile. When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun, keep me in your heart for awhile. There’s a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done, keep me in your heart for awhile.”
Despite the ups and downs that Mr. Zevon experienced in living his life, I think in the end his song “Keep Me In Your Heart” was his way of acknowledging the importance and value of love.
With Easter, isn’t that what our take away should be?
Isn’t that what Jesus needs from us?
That we keep him in our hearts.
That we share his love with the people we encounter everyday.
Isn’t that what Jesus did when he encountered people?
No matter their status or circumstances, he loved, he kept them in his heart.
“When all is said and done,” is that too much to ask of my heart?
Easter 2024, the cross starting to fill with flowers. (Photo Bill Pike at Trinity UMC)
Early in my life, I remember my parents started their day reading the daily devotional from the Upper Room at the breakfast table.
I’m not quite sure when or how, but I start my day with the Upper Room devotional too.
As an early riser, nothing else goes on in my life until I read the devotional and the recommended scripture.
Next, I pray, a prayer that I’m sure God and his angels are thankful when this detailed, prolonged plea concludes with—thanks for listening to my prayers.
On Saturday, March 29, the main scripture in the Upper Room was Philippians 4:6: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
If you have been a loyal reader of Might Be Baloney, perhaps you have figured out that I’m a certified worrier at the local, state, national, and international levels. Worry might as well be a name for me.
Worriers are also anxious. As an imperfect Christian and American, at this stage of my life, I have never been so anxious and worried about our country, the United States of America.
I wonder if God and Jesus, and their angels are anxious and worried about America?
My reason for asking is grounded in my honesty. While I always pray for America, since January 20, I’ve been praying more for our country.
Despite my anxious and extra prayers for America, the dismantling of our country continues. Almost everyday, a new executive order is signed and issued. With that single signature, many American lives are forever altered. Quite often those changes are not for the good.
I wonder if my daily prayers are doing any good? If my prayers are having an impact, then why is our president and his staff continuing to make all of these hurtful changes?
In the movie, The Shawshank Redemption, actor Morgan Freeman, portrays inmate, Ellis Boyd “Red” Redding. Mr. Redding is serving a life sentence. The film sequences ten year intervals where Mr. Redding appears before the parole board.
At years, twenty and thirty, Mr. Redding gives the answers that he thinks the parole board wants to hear. He feels confident that his answers will result in earning his release from prison. Unfortunately, Mr. Redding’s parole requests are denied.
In his fortieth year, Mr. Redding appears before the parole board. This time his attitude isn’t hopeful or optimistic. A bitterness hovers over him, a bitterness that conveys I don’t care anymore, go ahead, and deny my parole again.
Yet, in this hearing, there is a difference.
In Mr. Redding’s previous hearings his answers to the questions come across as scripted. Being sorry for his horrible crime seems distant, an after thought.
With this hearing, Mr. Redding’s bitterness reveals what his heart is feeling.
Mr. Redding addresses the chair of the parole board with these two questions: “What do you really want to know? Am I sorry for what I did?”
The chair of the parole board asks Mr. Redding: “Well, are you?”
Here is Mr. Redding’s response: “There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime.
I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him — tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone and this old man is all that’s left. I gotta live with that.”
Screenwriter Frank Darabont’s words delivered by Mr. Redding make me think about America. I want to take that second paragraph and direct these lines to our country— “I wanna talk to America, I wanna try to talk some sense to America—tell America the way things are. But, I can’t.”
And the reason I can’t is because America’s self-talk is singularly focused on—dismantling. There is no trying to talk sense to America because our common sense has disappeared. As for the way things are, our leaders are one dimensional—this is the way things are going to be.
Where is our hard earned democracy in the decisions that are being made?
Where are our voices?
Where are the voices of our politicians in Washington?
Are they silenced by fear?
Anyone with an ounce of common sense knows that our budget deficits needed correction.
Making those corrections would not be easy. However, making those corrections wisely and with an ounce of human compassion was possible.
Unfortunately, wisdom and compassion are absent from the leaders who are making these decision.
The absence of wisdom and compassion in these cuts makes me anxious.
My friend, Anne Burch, recently sent me a link to an interview with former Duke University basketball coach, Mike Krzyzewski(Coach K). The interview was conducted by Duke University professor and author, Kate Bowler.
Early in the interview, Professor Bowler, provides Coach Krzyzewski with a small white board. The assignment is for both of them to write down a word about the pending interview. Coach K wrote on the board “hopeful.”
As I reflect about Coach K’s answer, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m not very “hopeful” about America’s current status.
Perhaps, you are thinking, Bill, I’m not surprised in your lack of feeling hopeful about America. You often come across as a whiny pessimist.
While I respect your honest observation, hope is something that I will always hold in my old heart.
And to tell you the truth, I think that is the problem in Washington.
The leaders in Washington who are making these decisions have no heart.
They have no concept of working for the common good of all Americans.
If God is the least bit anxious about America, his concern is about our hearts.
Our hearts have lost their way.
Maybe this quote from Aleksandr Solzhentltsyn is worth pondering: “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, not between classes, nor between political parties either—but through every human heart.”
As far as I can tell with the no hearts in Washington that line has disappeared. With no conscience, evil dominates this empty-headed thinking.
Seems to me this thoughtless Washington thinking is more aligned with Proverbs 17:24: “A man of understanding sets his face toward wisdom, but the eyes of a fool are on the ends of the earth.”
I see no understanding or wisdom in these hurtful decisions. Their eyes are set on revengeful, selfish personal gains.
Yes, I’m anxious for America.
But more anxious about the silence of our hearts.
Maybe, I’m just as vacuous as our Washington leaders.
Every morning, one of my prayers to God is that our president and vice-president find their hearts.
Light from our eat-in kitchen cast out into the predawn of our backyard. (Photo By Bill Pike)
The recent dismantling in Washington and the ensuing turmoil have been brewing for decades.
Failing to acknowledge our shortcomings, Americans quickly blame political parties and their leaders. Rarely, do we blame ourselves.
For example, presidential election data from the University of Florida Election Lab finds that in 2024 nearly 90 million eligible voters did not vote. At such a pivotal time in America, that is unconscionable.
Additionally, a newly elected president at the stroke of a pen can overturn decisions championed by the previous president.
I don’t understand why leaders take pride in these selfish, vengeful reversals.
In the Pledge of Allegiance to our flag, we purport these beliefs: “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” Those beliefs are eroding.
Recent data on religion in America from the Pew Research Center shows we are no longer “one nation under God.”
On a daily basis, our division is rarely absent. Even houses of worship experience disunity.
As for liberty and justice for all, “all” keeps losing ground.
In the famous “They call me Mr. Tibbs” scene from the movie “In The Heat Of The Night,” two piercing questions are asked: “My God what kind of people are you? What kind of place is this?”
Those questions roil through my heart everyday.
Part of me wonders if America is experiencing its own internal D-Day.
Will we implode because our hearts have been misguided and overtaken by disrespect, fear, greed, hate, incivility, revenge and selfishness?
H.L. Mencken wrote: “The men the American people admire most extravagantly are the most daring liars; the men they detest most violently are those who try to tell the truth.”
America, what kind of people are we, what kind of place is this?
Bill Pike.
Henrico.
Author’s note: This letter was published in the Thursday, March 20 on-line edition of the Richmond Times-Dispatch. The letter started as an 800 word op-ed piece. The editors declined the op-ed, but wondered if I could cut 500 words and make it into a 300 word letter. Somehow, I trimmed 500 words. If by chance the letter resonates with you, please share it. Thanks for your reading time be safe, Bill Pike
Hey God, I hope you are having a good day in the blue yonder.
As an all knowing religious leader, maybe your angel advisors have tried to keep from you that America is in turmoil.
While Americans might not want to admit it, I suspect that you know America has been heading toward upheaval for decades.
Quick to blame our political parties and their leaders for our shortcomings, rarely do we point the finger of blame back at ourselves.
Every four years, we have a presidential election.
Those elections have become flip flop events.
A newly elected Democratic president might change things championed by the preceding Republican president.
It works the other way too.
This flip flop leadership is disturbing. The common good of the people is jeopardized.
I don’t understand why our leaders take pride in these disruptive revengeful reversals.
Your son, Jesus, was quite the teacher. He was adept in using parables to teach and reteach us that we must love our neighbors.
At this moment in my life, I have a failing grade in loving my neighbors.
I don’t understand how my Republican friends can support our current president.
Those same Republican friends wonder why I’m unsupportive of their president.
So, God, I’m wondering are you a Democrat or a Republican?
Who do you support in this turmoil?
Before you answer, ponder this.
In our Pledge of Allegiance to America’s flag we purport the following beliefs: “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
Right now, I don’t sense those words are true to our souls.
If your angels reported the latest data on religion in America from the Pew Research Center, you know we are more likely to be “religiously unaffiliated” than “one nation under God.”
You also know, we are a divided country.
And as for liberty and justice for all, ‘all’ keeps losing ground.
I repeatedly ask myself— where is the middle?
Where are those commonalities for working together?
God, I’m sure you remember Barbara Bush, maybe you see her everyday up there.
I wonder does Mrs. Bush ever bring up her wise quote: “I hate the fact that people think ‘compromise’ is a dirty word.”
When she hovers near you, does Mrs. Bush ever say: “Hey God, could you remind America about my quote?”
Regrettably, we put more energy into undermining each other instead of finding the means to work together.
I’m no theologian, but I’m curious about how these words from the Bible apply to our judgment: “The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
What do you see in our hearts now?
Do you see hearts that have been misguided and overtaken by disrespect, fear, greed, hate, incivility, revenge, and selfishness?
With all the chaos in the world, I doubt if you have much quiet time for reading.
But, you might want to read—When The Sea Came Alive An Oral History Of D-Day by Garrett M. Graff. Your name appears in the book quite a bit.
In the Epilogue, I read this quote from Private Maynard Marquis: “It’s too bad we have to have wars, but I think we always will. People never change. Only the weapons change.”
Private Marquis was correct. We are stubbornly resistant to change.
As far as warfare weapons, the internet has become a psychological one.
I’m sorry God, but I owe you an apology. It is unfair of me to ask if you are a Democrat or Republican.
Everyday, people ask you heartbreaking questions—why is my grandchild battling cancer, why is my son an opioid addict, why did another Veteran die from death by suicide, why did we lose our daughter in a senseless school shooting?
Respectfully, with regard to questions, your plate is full.
However, Americans must be asking insightful, probing questions of ourselves.
In the famous “They call me Mr. Tibbs” scene from the movie In The Heat Of The Night, two piercing questions are asked: “My God what kind of people are you? What kind of place is this?”
God as you look down upon America, are those two questions roiling through your heart like they are mine?
Part of me wonders is America facing its own internal D-Day?
Will our longstanding stubborn neglect related to national debt, safety, mental health, housing, and the erosion of our families implode us?
H.L. Mencken once wrote: “The men the American people admire most extravagantly are the most daring liars; the men they detest most violently are those who try to tell the truth.”
America, what kind of people are we, what kind of place is this?
Americans, this is urgent. Our hearts must answer.
March 4, 2016 was a sad day for me. On that date, I learned that my favorite author, Pat Conroy, had died.
Mr. Conroy was seventy years old. In January of 2016, he announced that he was being treated for pancreatic cancer. To me, all cancer is evil. But, pancreatic seems to be extremely cruel.
At times, the world might have been extremely cruel to Mr. Conroy. Yet, he always seemed to persevere. His luck ran out with the destructive pancreatic.
Here are some instructions for my children, grandchildren, and beyond, my Pat Conroy books are not to ever leave the family. Sorry to dump that on you, but Mr. Conroy’s books touched my soul. They might just touch yours too.
When I see old book tour itineraries, when Mr. Conroy was close to Richmond, I still curse myself for not making the trip.
Only one book is missing from my collection and that is The Boo. I’ll read it before I croak.
Out of all if his books, I keep coming back to My Losing Season. That book is about his senior year of playing college basketball at The Citadel. My Losing Season is my favorite book to pickup for the purpose of re-reading a page or two or three. Sometimes, I can’t put the book back down.
With this book, Mr. Conroy’s gifts as a writer made me laugh, cry, and ponder.
I laughed at the room checks on road trips as the coaches checked for females in the rooms of players.
I cried when I read about Mr. Conroy’s teammates, Al Kroboth and Joe Eubanks, as they served America during the Vietnam War.
And I pondered, the difficult decisions that Mr. Conroy and his classmates had to make while serving on the Honor Court at The Citadel.
Woven into the book are the ups and downs of the season, the psychology of dealing with Mr. Conroy’s difficult father, and a demanding coach.
We learn about his teammates in the real time of the season, but we also learn about their post Citadel lives as Mr. Conroy finds and interviews each one of them.
I love the self-talk Mr. Conroy has with himself after a rare but exhilarating win:
“I needed time to memorize what happiness felt like because I had experienced so little of it. Looking up into the night sky, I saw the Milky Way. I instantly thought of God and how I was afraid I was losing my faith in him and the immensity of the fear and cowardice I felt when I thought of facing the world without Him.
I was receiving the Eucharist every day of my life and fighting this war with faithlessness with every cell of my body, but I could feel the withdrawal taking place without my consent.
On the causeway to Lady’s Island I prayed out loud, ‘O Lord, please hear me. I thank you for this year. I thank you from my heart. I needed to be a decent basketball player in college, Lord. I don’t know why. But, I needed it. We both know I’m no good, but we sure are fooling some people. Aren’t we, Lord?’(Pages 275-276)
I love the honesty of that passage.
I love it because I have been there.
I have felt and experienced that same tidal undertow of my faithlessness to God being pulled away too.
And I’ll carry that faithlessness further, it is still alive in me today when the discouraging headlines in the news overwhelm me. My fearful soul cries out—God where are you?
Like many scriptures found in the Bible, Mr. Conroy references being afraid with fear at the prospect of attempting to live his life without God’s presence. I know that fear too. It is with me everyday.
But there is another honest lesson about acknowledging life’s disappointments in the epilogue for My Losing Season.
Mr. Conroy writes: “There is no downside to winning. It feels forever fabulous. But there is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss. The great secret of athletics is that you can learn more from losing than winning.”
He continues: “The word “loser” follows you, bird-dogs you, sniffs you out of whatever fields you hide in because you have to face things clearly and you cannot turn away from what is true. My team won eight games and lost seven-teen—losers by any measure. Then we went out and led our lives, and our losing season inspired every one of us to strive for complete and successful lives.” (Pages 394-395)
Pat Conroy’s final game as a player for The Citadel was in the 1967 Southern Conference Tournament. They lost to the University of Richmond in overtime 100 to 98.
The next morning in the Charleston, South Carolina newspaper, The News and Courier, Citadel coach Mel Thompson said this about Mr. Conroy’s play: “Pat Conroy gave another great performance. That kid gets more mileage out of his talent than any player I have ever coached.” (Pages 340-341)
Those unexpected words of praise from Mel Thompson were used by Pat Conroy to inspire and shape the rest of his life.
I don’t think my old heart can ever let go of Pat Conroy’s books.
Maybe this is why my soul will always hang on to him and his words: “It was the year I learned to accept loss as part of natural law. My team taught me there could be courage and dignity and humanity in loss. They taught me how to pull myself up, to hold my head high, and to soldier on.” (Page 400 Epilogue My Losing Season)
That is a powerful lesson.
No matter how bleak, frustrating, and uncertain this world can be, you, me, we, us must soldier on by pulling ourselves up with courage, dignity, and humanity.
On the Beatles’ Revolver album, the band’s lead guitarist, George Harrison contributes three songs. One of those songs—“Love You To” features Harrison playing the sitar backed by other musicians from India.
The opening line to the song is “Each day just goes so fast, I turn around its passed.”
Right now that’s the way I feel. I keep asking myself how did Christmas arrive so quickly this year?
As to why Christmas arrived so swiftly, the answer is very clear—it is my aging.
My days move fast. I barely recall what I did yesterday.
However, I do remember the Christmas of 2023. That Christmas will always be remembered as the one dominated by germs—stomach crud, flu, and COVID-19.
We were in Summerfield, North Carolina with our daughter, Lauren, and her family.
Before the germs attacked, I remember us sitting around the dining room table. I’m not sure what sparked this observation from our oldest granddaughter, Caroline, but I’ve been carrying her question around with me for a year—“I wonder how baby Jesus feels about being upstaged by Santa?”
At his birth, Santa was not on baby Jesus’ mind. Yet, I’d wager that Jesus might ponder Santa quite a bit today.
Back in October 2024, the National Retail Federation predicted Americans might spend “between $979.5 billion and $989 billion in total holiday shopping. This is a 2.5 to 3.5% growth from 2023.”
Santa and a few of his reindeer hanging over Devon Road in Henrico County, Virginia (Photo by Bill Pike)
Contrast that spending to these findings from the Pew Research Center. For many years, Pew researchers have been keeping track of religious trends in America.
A Pew report released on March 15, 2024 revealed the following: “80% of U.S. adults say religion’s role in American life is shrinking – a percentage that’s as high as it’s ever been in our surveys.”
In truth, I’m not surprised by this projected spending increase and the decline of religion in our lives.
It is difficult to block out the commercialization of Christmas. Retailers drum Christmas into our every waking moment. This relentless pursuit of our attention starts in October and ends when the last store closes on Christmas Eve.
For church leaders there is a pursuit, but it isn’t relentless. They don’t have the advertising pennies. Their focus is grounded upon too much reliance on tired and predictable templates.
I sense churches fear change. Perhaps, churches are like the wisemen in the Christmas story. When the angel of the Lord came upon them, “they were so afraid.”
Those wisemen moved past this initial fear. Churches must move past their initial fear of change too. No longer can change be a quiet whisper in the resistant souls of churches.
Perhaps, you recall the opening chatter of voices from the movie, It’s A Wonderful Life.
Multiple prayers from family and friends of George Bailey have sounded an alarm in heaven.
The powers that be in that blue yonder summon a wingless angel, Clarence, to become George’s guardian angel.
In briefing Clarence about George, the script reads as follows:
CLARENCE’S VOICE You sent for me, sir?
FRANKLIN’S VOICE Yes, Clarence. A man down on earth needs our help.
CLARENCE’S VOICE Splendid! Is he sick?
FRANKLIN’S VOICE No, worse. He’s discouraged.
I don’t know about you, but in my day to day living I often feel discouraged.
My feeling discouraged is grounded in headlines: school shooting in Madison, Wisconsin, man sets fire to passenger on a New York City subway, car plows into German Christmas Market, and in my own county—17 year old found dead in backyard after shooting.
Those heartbreaking headlines are a far cry from the Christmas song written by George Wyle and Eddie Pola that emphatically sings to us “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
You, me, we, us know there is nothing wonderful to be found in the Madison, New York City, Germany, and Henrico County headlines.
Even these unacceptable headlines do not slow down the retail drive of Christmas.
And yet, I wonder if these tragedies push caring, kind people further away from the church? I assume they question just like I question—where were God and Jesus? Couldn’t they intervene with a miracle? Maybe in our mean old world, miracles only happen in Hollywood scripts.
In their Christmas song “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” I love this line from songwriters Hugh Martin and Ralph Bane—“From now on, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.”
Perhaps that’s what people have been doing for thousands of years, finding a way “to muddle through somehow.”
I think muddling through life depends upon our hearts. I wonder if the perpetrators in these senseless killings lost their hearts?
A new year is on the horizon. As George Harrison noted in his song, our days will continue to go fast.
In a blink, Christmas 2025 will be here, and undoubtedly Caroline’s observation about Santa upstaging Jesus isn’t going to change in a year.
Despite feeling discouraged like George Bailey, I do find glimmers of hope.
On some morning runs, a flitting flash of blue with fluttering wings will dart in front of me. I find hope in bluebirds.
I find hope in medical updates from my cousin Alice in her battle with cancer. I love the hope in these words from her doctors: “the tumors are shrinking, and some have completely disappeared.”
In attending holiday themed dance recitals for two of our granddaughters, I find hope in the courage of dancers who fully embraced their roles despite not fitting the typical physical image of ballerinas.
On cold December mornings, I find hope in the light of the rising sun as it rays angle into the heart of our church building—the sanctuary. I know that light can put hope into hearts.
For some reason every Christmas, the carol “In The Bleak Midwinter” resonates with me. Something about the last three words: “give my heart.”
On the evening of December 11, I met three friends for dinner. We call ourselves the 53. That name came from our founder, Don Purkall, who figured out we were all born in 1953.
After that cheerful dinner, I was driving back home on Grove Avenue. At the corner of Grove and Wisteria, I saw a pretty, meticulously kept house.
On its front porch was a huge peace symbol adorned in strings of colorful lights.
That image stayed with me.
Early in the still dark dawn of December 23, I drove back to Grove and Wisteria.
I parked my car and quietly walked to the house.
With my dependable iPhone, I took a few photos of the fully lit, but resting peace symbol.
Peace symbol on front porch in Richmond, Virginia (Photo by Bill Pike)
Silently, I returned to my car and drove off.
I wonder how discouraged the world is by the tragic headlines we create every year?
I believe our spinning, wobbly world is tired of being discouraged.
The world wants the same in its heart that you, me, we, us want in ours—peace.
Maybe the path to that elusive peace can be found in these words from Psalm 23 verse 3: “He restores my soul.”
The path to restoring our souls is our hearts.
As we muddle through the remnants of another Christmas and head into a new year, we can’t let fear upstage our hearts.
might be baloney 