Category: Religion

Blogs about religion.

Mimosa Trees

(Photo Credit: Nick Rizzo, nickphotographics.myportfolio.com)

As told by my mother, Betty Burton Rizzo

My Uncle Edgar Morgan got hurt working in the coal mine. He was actually my father’s uncle, which made him my grand uncle. He and Aunt Martha lived in the town of West Jefferson. They had several daughters, Joy, Faye, Joanne, Marie, and Carol Jane. Marie was about my age. We were probably in the fourth grade when Uncle Edgar was hurt. He broke his back and was in the hospital for a long time. When he came home, he was confined to a hospital bed and wheelchair. 

I remember going to visit him after his accident. Of course, I had been around them before, but this was my first time to go to their house in West Jefferson. Along with me were my two baby brothers Floyd and Lloyd, my mama and my daddy, Granddaddy and Granny Burton, and my daddy’s younger sister Helen Burton. Uncle Edgar was Granny Burton’s brother. My granddaddy and granny didn’t have a car for a while, so my daddy drove them.  

That was the first time I or any of the rest of us, for that matter, had ever seen anything like the tree in their front yard. It was glorious. It was bushy. It had a base and then limbs branched out with these pretty pink fuzzy blooms on them. We had never seen anything like it! We all liked it. Aunt Martha said it was a mimosa tree. (I think it has a Japanese origin.) Granny was always getting cuttings off everything, so she and Mother got cuttings from the tree and rooted them. 

Mama set one out in the front yard. It grew and was so pretty. Then after a while, mimosa trees just sprouted up everywhere. They tried to trim them down. But they kept coming up and coming up. They tried to get rid of them but couldn’t get rid of them. They just kept getting in everywhere. 

Granny already had kudzu, another invasive plant from Asia, in her backyard that would start growing before the grass got high enough to be mowed. She also had a scuppernong vine that the kudzu would get intertwined with. Then she planted two mimosa trees in the backyard. The mimosa trees spread at my granny’s like they did at our house, so they came up in the scuppernong vine also. They tried to cut the kudzu and mimosa trees out of the scuppernong, but they could hardly cut anything without cutting the good scuppernong vine also. 

My daddy finally cut down the tree in our front yard. But that didn’t kill it. It kept sprouting from the stump. I especially remember how Mother fought the tree stump because it kept sprouting up again, so she kept trying to kill the stump with anything that she had that she could. Anything like hot grease or hot water or anything that had lye or something in it, she’d go out there and pour it on the stump. But it still just kept growing and growing and growing till finally she killed it enough to the point that they could take it out of the ground with a tractor. We didn’t have big equipment, just the little red and white Ford garden tractor. But Mother had finally managed to get it to the point they could pull the roots and everything out of the ground. But it took years to get it to that point.

Now almost eighty years later, mimosa trees grow all over this area. When we moved here, we moved into almost a wilderness area that had no mimosa trees. We lived in the woods like Little House on the Prairie, so I figure that it’s the cuttings Granny and Mother got from Aunt Martha that are responsible for all of these Mimosa trees around us.

I think there’s a spiritual lesson here. Sin may look beautiful at first. It’s enticing, so much so that you bring it home and make a place for it. You even cultivate it. But then when it starts to take root, it’s hard to get rid of it. And even if you do get your life right with God, what you bring into your life you also bring into your family. Just like the mimosa trees that are all over this area now, you could be letting something take root that will be a problem for your family for generations. So if you see a mimosa tree, leave it where it is. And when you’re tempted to bring sin into your life, no matter how appealing, leave it alone too!

It’s Your Time To Pray

As told by my mother, Betty Burton Rizzo

I was a little girl of only five years old. I had not started school yet. I had a father and a mother and twin brothers who were seven months old. I was happy with my family and loved them very much, and they loved me.

My parents had been Christians all my life. I never knew any kind of life except going to church regularly with my parents and grandparents. All my life my parents taught me the Word of God. The first book I ever owned was a Bible storybook. My parents read me stories from the book and every night had family prayer. My mother or father would say, “It’s your time to pray.” 

And then I would begin to pray: “Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”  This was something I was accustomed to doing every night before I went to bed. 

My dad purchased forty acres of a farm in 1945. This was during World War II. The property was surrounded by woods on every side. He built a house on the property in the middle of the woods and moved our family into it. It was not a large house. But there was room for our family in it. Because the house was far off in the woods, it did not have a paved road that came to it, only a dusty dirt road. During the war, materials like copper that were needed for electrical wires were not available. So it would be several years before the house would have electricity. 

Even though it was the middle of the 20th century, the family lived like pioneers from the 1800s. Mother cooked on a wood-burning stove and washed clothes by hand. At night, the house was lit by kerosine lamps and heated by a fireplace. 

One day in March, I was having breakfast. Wearing a nightgown and little cloth house shoes, I sat at the kitchen table. Mother had mixed together butter and syrup, and I was sopping it up with a homemade biscuit. One little brother was sitting beside me in a highchair. The other little brother had spent the night at my grandmother’s house. I noticed that my mother kept going to the doors and windows and looking out. But that did not disturb me. I was just having breakfast. 

Suddenly, one of the doors blew backward and outward. I wondered what made the door do that. But I was not worried. I continued to eat breakfast while my mother closed the door and locked it as tightly as possible. Next, I heard a roar from outside. But I was still not worried. Mother was there.

Then Mother began to hurry back toward me and my little brother. She walked past a bed when suddenly the house jolted as strong winds hit it. Mother fell over on the bed flat on her back with her feet hanging off the edge and touching the floor. I felt the house shake and then lift upward. I started to feel frightened for the first time. 

Across from her in the kitchen was a window facing the outside of the house. She saw the window panes break and fly out. On the table by the window was a large basket of fresh eggs. It flew out the window. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with my chair turned over beside me. 

I reached out and grabbed the bottom of my little brother’s highchair to keep it upright. Mother was still on the bed and could not stand up because of the motion of the house. The rain was horrific. It kept raining and raining and raining. The house lifted up and off its supporting pillars of blocks and large stones and moved as the pillars gave way. The house moved to the side about three feet and landed on the corner where the kitchen was, driving it deep into the wet ground. 

My mother finally made her way to me. I still did not know what was happening, but I was frightened. Mother helped me up and picked up my little brother. She held me close by her side with one hand and my little brother cradled with the other and began to pray “Lord, help us. Save us from destruction.” 

Standing by my mother as the rain poured in on us, I began to pray too. I looked up toward the ceiling and imagined Jesus in Heaven looking down on us. This was the first time in my life that I prayed without someone telling me it was my time to pray. For the first time in my heart and my life I felt a need and a prompt to pray without someone telling me “it’s your time to pray.” I prayed to God for safety and to take care of my family. 

When the strong wind passed, everything in the house was covered in grit from the wind and rain and broken glass and wood. The house was heavily damaged. It looked like it could fall on us any minute, so my mother put a coat on me and wrapped up my little brother. Then Mother put on something to keep dry and headed out the door with me and my baby brother. 

The house was at the bottom of a long, sloping hillside that was covered in trees. Water from the rain was flowing down the hill. As we stepped out of the house, the water was already deep. Debris was floating in the water and rushing by us. Boards with nails and broken tree branches brushed up against us. As we walked, the water got deeper and deeper until it was up to my waist. Finally, Mother said, “We can’t do this. We’ve got to go back.”

They could not go any farther, so my mother and little brother and I headed back toward the damaged home. We took shelter in what was left of our home. The windows were out, the doors were gone. It was a terrible situation. 

Then help arrived. 

We saw a teenage boy on horseback. His family lived at the top of the hill. Joe Bob looked at my mother and said, “Let me take the little girl first. Then I’ll come back for you and the baby.” 

He took me to his house. His house was half gone as well. In one room his father lay sick in a broken bed inside a bedroom with three walls missing. His mother took me. Then he left. He returned with my little brother, still wrapped in the quilt Mother had put around him. After another trip, Joe Bob returned with my mother. 

The Brazeals, the family at the top of the hill, was kind to us. They found dry clothes for Mother and took care of my little brother and me. 

My Daddy had an uncle who lived nearby. Soon, he found us. Uncle George had been concerned after the storm passed through and had set out looking for us. Later my father returned from work. His factory was miles away, so he did not know about the storm until he returned from work. 

Over the next several weeks while my little brothers and I stayed with my grandparents, my mother and father camped at their small farm to repair the damage from the storm. Their clothes and sheets were all wet and nasty. My mother worked hard to clean them. Some of the furniture was broken and damaged. Over the next several weeks, my father had to completely tear the house down. His uncle and cousins helped him rebuild it. This was hard, heartbreaking work. But finally the house was rebuilt and our family could move back in it. 

The house still did not have electricity. It would be several years before it did. We still only had a dirt road that sometimes turned to mud and had deep ruts that caused the bottoms of cars to drag. We still lived the life of a pioneer in the middle of the 20th century. But this was okay. My family was safe. 

Almost eighty years later, I am a grown woman, not a little girl. But I still reminisce about this day.  The most important thing about that day is that God listened and that God had allowed me to have the privilege to be taught that He is always listening. I learned that when I am is in trouble, I can cry out to God, which is something I lived with all of life from that time to now. 

$19.78 Was a Very Good Year

This morning, I was in the drive through at McDonald’s picking up a breakfast order that cost $19.78. Normally on Sundays, I eat breakfast at my church in the café between choir and band rehearsal and the morning worship service. The proceeds from the church café support our church outreach ministries, so it is a good way to support my church and not have to make breakfast early before I leave home. But this morning, we were not having choir and full band because the church facilities were already decorated for our upcoming Vacation Bible School. We have new children’s pastors, Jeremiah and Averill Johnson. They are already doing a great job. The decorations, something like a wilderness campsite, were amazing when I arrived for band rehearsal.

That’s right, I showed up for band rehearsal even though we were not having it! Why? Because our music pastor didn’t remind me! Nah, just kidding. He had mentioned it in a previous rehearsal and had sent a text reminder to the full music department. I had just not paid attention. That did not keep him from feeling bad and apologizing for not sending out an additional reminder. But it was entirely on me. Blaine Johnson, our music pastor, is a Nashville-based musician, but he is also one of our homegrown musicians who returned to us about a year ago to serve as our music pastor. He has a servant’s heart and truly felt bad about the morning mix up, even though it was my fault. (Two more quick things about Blaine. One, he is focusing a lot of attention on the horns and writing charts that are solid and idiomatic to the wind instruments. Yeah! Two, he took me backstage to meet Allison Krause, something for which I am eternally in his debt. Sigh.)

Anyway, since I was going to have extra time on my hands this morning, I decided to pick up breakfast early and run it back to the house where my  kids – actually, the other adults who live at my house – were still getting ready. I prefer McDonald’s because I like its potato cakes, and since I was ordering breakfast, it did not matter if the ice cream machine was broken. 

When the server said, “That will be 1978,” I quipped, “That was a very good year.” Yeah, I’m clever like that. My kids – the adults who live at my house – call that a dad joke.

The server responded, “I’ll bet things were cheaper then.”

My response, “Yeah, plus I was still in high school, living in my dad’s house.”

At that, he smiled, and I pulled to the next window to get my order.

As I did, I began to travel down what Robin Williams in Dead Poet’s Society calls “Amnesia Lane,” reflecting on 1978. As I pondered, I realized it was, indeed, a good year and one with more significance than my glib retort to the drive through server conveyed. What follows is my musings from this morning about the year 1978, the fruit of what Wordsworth calls the “spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings… recollected in tranquility” as I ate my sausage, egg and cheese biscuit and sipped my half and half tea.

1978 Anno Domini was the end of my sophomore year and the beginning of my junior year at Mortimer Jordan High School in Morris, Alabama. In January of that year, my family lived in unincorporated Jefferson County in a community called Masseyline where my father pastored a church where he preached and I played trumpet every Sunday morning and Sunday evening. If I remember correctly, it was around this time, likely in January, my birth month, when my dad purchased me a new trumpet. We went to 2nd Avenue, North, in Birmingham to Nuncie’s Music.  The owner, Mr. LaBerte, waited on us himself. Nunzio “Nuncie” LaBerte founded the music store in 1946. Though he was our sales representative that morning, later Joe Hull would be the customer rep whom I would deal with while I was in high school, through college, and even decades later when my own children started band. Joe told me stories about Mr. LaBerte running out of the store office telling the sales reps not to extend more credit to the group Alabama. Of course, that was before Alabama became an overnight success after twenty years on the road. Anyway, that day in 1978, Mr. LaBerte did extend credit to us. Of course, he also charged us full sticker price. 

Since then, I have learned to wheel and deal and purchase used horns. I now have around seventeen brass instruments (I lose track of exactly how many). But on that day in 1978, price did not matter. First, because my dad was paying for it. Second, and maybe even more importantly, because the horn was beautiful. It was a Vincent Bach Bb Stradivarius, ML 37, lacquer trumpet. When I opened the case, it had that new trumpet smell, which is something akin to a new car smell but infinitely more glorious. And the sound of the instrument was that characteristic dark tone that Bach’s from that era are known for. My dad, a non-musician, commented that even he could tell a difference in the sound between my Old’s beginner trumpet and the Bach. I still have the horn. For something like 40 years, it was my go-to instrument, and I played it indoors and outdoors all over the country with numerous college and church ensembles and not a few paying gigs. Though the finish is now more tarnish than lacquer and it sports a repair on the second valve slide by my college band director, Dr.  David Walters, it is still an outstanding sounding horn and serves as a respectable backup to my new Yamaha Bergeron Model that I procured at a sweet price in 2020 from a dear friend, Scott Berry. (Sadly, Scott passed just a few years later.)

In the spring term of 1978, Phillip Renda was my band director at Mortimer Jordan. Renda, not Mr. Renda, just Renda, as we affectionally called him, was a also a trumpet player and a Jacksonville State University graduate and was one of the primary reasons that I decided to audition for the Marching Southerners and major in music at JSU and when I graduated. He was a riot to be around, and I spent countless happy hours in the band room, on the practice field, and in the stands at football games under his direction, as well as private time talking with him and a small cadre of students in his office. I remember snippets from then. For example, we played “Kentucky 1800” in concert band. I recall he once asked his office entourage if we knew what pizz on a music score meant. I did. (Incidentally, it means to pluck with the fingers instead of bow the strings, for example, on a violin.)

Renda fostered my interest in music in a number of ways beyond the classroom. In 1978, along with a handful of other Marching Blue Devil band faithful, I attended a Chuck Mangione concert with Renda and his college buddy, Mike Jones. I still recall the concert. Mangione was in rare form. “Feels So Good” had been released on his album by the same name in 1977 and the single in 1978 and would ultimately reach number four on the Billboard Hot 100, no mean feat for a jazz (sort of) instrumental piece. I also remember that when we got to the concert hall in Birmingham, Renda and Mr. Jones could not find their tickets and had to buy more. (Weeks later, we found the tickets in his center desk drawer, though I am not sure he ever confessed this to Mr. Jones.)  Seeing my interest in music, he loaned me his copy of Donald Jay Grout’s A History of Western Music, which was still the standard music history text when I started JSU two years later. I returned it to him, slightly worse for the wear thanks to our toy fox terrier, before he left Jordan in May or June of 1978. That’s right, he left Jordan in 1978.

My last memory of Renda at Jordan is standing in the band room with him and Mr. Trotter, the principal, as Renda named Tony Cousins band field captain and Vickie Nail and me co-drum majors. Tony was a drummer and one of the nicest and most popular guys in the band. We still see each other… at least on Facebook, and a few years ago I had the pleasure of teaching his daughter at my college. As for Vickie, she was the youngest of the Nail sisters, who were three of the prettiest girls ever to grace the halls of Mortimer Jordan. We had matching uniforms, except hers had a long skirt. Our shirts were bright white and silky (probably Rayon, something I had to Google) with matching blue neck kerchiefs, red cummerbunds, and Cavalier hats with long ostrich feathers dyed blue and red. My shirt, a bit faded from time, hangs in the back of my closet; the hat rests on a bust atop the bookshelf in my bedroom; and the cummerbund and kerchief are long lost – 1978 was some time ago, after all. As with Tony, my contacts with Vickie now are pleasant but mostly over Facebook.   

I am also still in contact with Renda. We periodically message each other, and I love reading his Facebook posts about his Sicilian roots, something we share, his tributes to his mom and dad and his faith. He has retired from band directing… and come out of retirement more than once and continues to foster a love of music in his students. (He also passed the passion to his son, Stan, who is an outstanding director in his own right.) And Renda and I get to eat, reminisce, and play together at the Jacksonville State Southerners Alumni Reunion, and hopefully will do so again this coming November.

Back to 1978, after the school year ended my dad made a decision that is a testament to the type of man and father he was. It was time for him to change pastorates. He had two options: take a promotion that moved my family from the area and me away from Mortimer Jordan or accept a smaller church appoint that kept us in area and me in the same school district in order for me to be drum major.  All I have to say is that summer I met my new band director… at Mortimer Jordan! (Thank you, Papa Bear.) 

In the summer of 1978, Allen Bailey, also a JSU graduate, took the position of band director at Mortimer Jordan. Renda may have started the spark but Allen truly fanned the flame of my interest in music as a career. (Wow, that sounds cheesy, but it is true.) I do not remember all of the music from the fall of ’78, but I do recall we played Allen’s arrangement of Jenkins’ “American Overture for Band.” It was a great piece. But Allen did not just expose me to great music but to great performances. I rode him along with his then fiancé and now wife, Debbie, to Troy University to see the Marching Southerners. Of course, weather delayed us ; consequently, we only got there in time to see them march off the field after the halftime show.  He also took me and another band friend with him and Debbie to a drum and bugle competition at Jacksonville State. That trip his car died in Anniston on the way home, so waiting for a garage to open the next day, we four spent a restless night at The Heart of Anniston Hotel. We paid the nightly, not hourly rate (enough said). Then when I was in the Southerners, he and Debbie ferried me to Birmingham to march in the Veteran’s Day Parade. That time a policeman stopped us as Allen pulled onto the Interstate. Come to think of it, traveling with Allen was frequently interesting.

After Vickie graduated, leaving me the lone drum major, Allen arranged for lessons with Gordon McGraw, the drum major at Jacksonville State. Once a week for I’m not sure how long, I hopped in Allen’s car, and we headed to Jacksonville. Fortunately, we did not get caught in a deluge, break down, or get stopped by the police. Gordon and his roommate, Tam Easterwood, were hilarious, and I benefitted greatly from the lessons. First-place competition medals packed away somewhere testify to this. And I have a couple of trophies, as well, thanks to Allen. He arranged solos for trumpet and accompanied me on the piano when I competed in Teen Talent, a talent competition sponsored by my denomination, when I competed at regional, state, and nationals. He also played for me when I auditioned for a music scholarship at JSU, though I did not get a scholarship. But that is OK. At the audition, he introduced me to Dr. Walters and Dr. Davis, two men who would also have a significant influence on my life.

Oh, there is one more trip I should mention.  After the national Teen Talent competition in Dallas, Allen and I flew back to Alabama together. I stayed with him and Debbie for a few days. We raided my mom’s kitchen for any pot, pan, or ladle I wanted (something she still talks about); then he and Debbie moved me to Jacksonville in time for Southerner’s band camp, all because of 1978.

By the way, I call them Allen and Debbie instead of Mr. and Ms. Bailey because we became friends. I was honored to be Allen’s best man in their wedding. For years, he was the pianist at my dad’s church in Gardendale. For my parents, he was just another one their kids and was welcomed in their home like one. Symbolic of this relationship, Allen wore a tie my dad had given him to my dad’s viewing after he passed.  He pointed this out as he hugged my mother. Finally, a few years back in a Facebook post, I complimented a former student on her success, saying how proud I was of her. Allen responded to my post and said that my expression of pride in my student was exactly the way he felt about me. Yeah, that was a lump in my throat moment. I am embarrassed to say that I do not contact Allen as much as I should, something that I thought about just a few days ago. It is time I did something about that.

I realize what began as a brief muse has turned into a long ramble. I do not apologize, but I will close. My memories of 1978, its seminal events and other special people, such as Noah White, Sarah Glover, Devin Stephenson, and Jerald and Marla Wilson, to name a few, continued to fill my thoughts Sunday. It is interesting what can trigger a flood of memories – the smell of freshly cut grass, the sound of a marching band, the glimpse of an old photograph on the mantle, or even the cost of breakfast at McDonald’s. We cannot live in the past, but visiting it is not a bad idea, especially when it spurs us to reach out in the present to the people who made the past special.

Gotta go, I have some folks to get back in touch with.

Introduction to the Epistle of James

Image: Jesus with His Brothers James and Jude
Nicholas S. M. Rizzo, 2024

This is an excerpt from a series on the books of James and Jude that I taught at my church a few years ago. Unless otherwise indicated, all scripture are New English Translation (NET, https://netbible.com/).

1 From James, a slave of God and the Lord Jesus Christ, to the 12 tribes dispersed abroad. Greetings! (James 1:1)

According to the Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament: James, the earliest extant manuscript witnesses of James dates to mid to late 3rd Century. The Epistle of James[1] was probably written sometime between 45 and 50 A.D. This makes it potentially the first New Testament book written with Galatians being the other contender for this distinction. Some have questioned if an uneducated 1st Century Jew whose mother tongue was Aramaic could have written the sophisticated Greek reflected in James. Of course, such an objection is easily dismissed when we consider that James could have employed an amanuensis to help phrase his thoughts in Greek. (Such was common practice. In fact, Paul’s writings list several amanuenses; likewise, Peter probably utilized Silvanus in this capacity.) The Epistle of James is one of the General or Catholic (meaning universal) Epistles, which also include 1 and 2 Peter, 1, 2, and 3 John, and Jude. They are called general because they are not addressed to a specific church or person. They broadly address the experiences and struggles of the Christian life. General Epistles were some of the last to be included in the cannon of the New Testament.

The epistle begins with a salutation much like that of the Apostle Paul’s writings. Just as today, letters of the period had a certain form that they followed, for example, an opening salutation that identifies the author and audience. Paul, who was well-educated in both Jewish and Greco-Roman traditions, writes letters that show a masterful use of rhetoric of the period. James’ letter follows the opening formula of naming the author and audience. But beyond that, it departs from the letter structure. Instead, it has a stream of consciousness feel, as Roger Daniel, my friend and mentor, describes it. One idea sparks a comment about another idea and another and another, covering the same themes several times throughout the letter. 

In discussing the Epistle of James, Chuck Swindoll points out that there are two great overarching themes of the Bible: the way to God, addressed mostly to the lost person; and the walk with God, addressed to the person who knows God – the believer. Several themes are apparent in James in addressing the issue of the believer’s walk with God. Bruce Metzger in The New Testament: Its Background, Growth, and Content, comments that “the main themes, most of which recur several times throughout the letter, are the following:” trials and temptations, the rich and the poor, faith and works, the tongue, patience and prayer, the true wisdom of life.[2] The epistle is sometimes called the Proverbs of the New Testament because of its similarity to the Jewish wisdom literature of the Old Testament. It also contains fifty imperatives or commands to the Christian believers and almost as many indicatives or statements of fact about God and the Christian life.[3]

As noted, the epistle begins with the standard greeting that identifies the audience as “the 12 tribes dispersed abroad.” Dispersed or scattered comes from the word diaspora (Greek) that would have been applied to a farmer scattering seeds, what today we would call broadcast planting where a handful seeds, such as with turnip greens, is scattered across a field. This is a pseudonym for Israel. The Jews had gone into exile to Babylon in the 5th Century B.C. When they were allowed to return by Cyrus the Great, not all Jews returned, thus creating the first of many Jewish expatriate communities. By the 1st Century A.D., Jews were dispersed across much of the Roman world. Of course, the focus of the epistle is on Jewish believer in Jewish. These may be who were converted on the Day of Pentecost and then returned to their homes across the Roman world. Many commentators believe that more specifically James may have in mind those Christians who left Jerusalem following the martyrdom of Stephen and the persecution that followed. Although we may assume that any Gentile converts are tacitly included in this general salutation, there is no hint of the controversary that would eventually arise over Gentile converts and the question if they should be required to follow the tenets of the Jewish Law, such as circumcision. (This also helps date the letter’s date of composition.) But undoubtedly the salutation reflects that the fledging Church is still Jewish-centric at the time the letter was written.

The author identifies himself as “James, a slave of God and the Lord Jesus Christ.” The Greek term translated “slave” is doulos. Another “good translation [for doulos] is ‘bondservant’… in that it often indicates one who sells himself into slavery to another.”[4] (We will discuss this further below.) The name James in English is the Hebrew Ya’aqor (Jacob). It was a common name in 1st Century Palestine. There are three James from the New Testament who are considered as the possible authors of the epistle: James the Apostle and brother of the Apostle John, two of the twelve disciples of Jesus; James the Less, also one of the twelve disciples; and James, the earthly brother of Jesus.

James, the brother of Jesus, is the most likely candidate, and one we will consider in more detail. Herod Agrippa “had James, the brother of John, executed with a sword” (probably beheaded) (Acts 12, NET). This took place about 44 A.D. With his execution so early in the history of the fledgling Church, it is not likely that the Apostle James is the author of the epistle. James the Less, the son of Alphaeus, is sometimes proposed as the author as well, but this James did not have near the stature in the early Church as did James, the brother of Jesus, so it is unlikely that he would have had the standing or status to send such an authoritative letter to the dispersed believers.

James, the brother of Jesus, was the biological half-brother of Jesus. Jesus was divinely conceived of the Holy Spirit through Mary when she was a young virgin (see Luke 1). Mary was also the mother of James, but Joseph was his father, making James a half-brother biologically to Jesus. Catholic and Orthodox commentators, on the other hand, who hold to the extrabiblical teaching that Mary remained perpetually virgin throughout her life, believe that James was instead a stepbrother by Joseph and a first wife, or even a cousin to Jesus. Is it possible that James and the other brothers and sisters[5] of Jesus were from by an earlier marriage? Sure, but it is more likely that they were younger siblings by Mary and Joseph.  (I will add a handout on this later.)

Imagine what is must have been like to have Jesus as a big brother. Even at a young age, his wisdom was obvious as demonstrated by his reasoning with the teachers in Temple when he was only 12 (Luke 2:46-47). Returning home from the Temple with his parents, scripture tells us that he “was obedient to them” (Luke chapter 2:48, NET). Even children are tempted. I recall the first time I deliberately disobeyed my mother. I was six. I had a toy gun that shot a plastic projectile. It was an outside toy and that was the rule set down by my parents. But I fired it inside the house. Confronted by my mother, I then flat-footed lied, declaring that I had not done it. But this was not the case with Jesus, though as a child he was surely tempted to sin, to take his brother’s toys or pull his sister’s hair. Yet according to scripture, Jesus was “tempted in every way just as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15, NET). Imagine living with a perfect sibling! Who did that? Well, we know it wasn’t Jesus. (This is funny for us, but probably frustrating for his brothers and sisters growing up.)

What is interesting to note is that during his ministry, Jesus’ family did not believe he was the Son of God. John MacArthur thinks that it was the animosity his siblings felt toward Jesus is why they rejected him. With all due respect, I do not doubt growing up they may have felt animosity, but I cannot see that as enough to reject him. It may have been because of their familiarity. It could even have been out of concern for him; after all, scripture indicates that they thought he had lost his mind. Mark 3:21 (NET) relates, “his family… went out to restrain him, for they said, ‘He is out of his mind.’”  

The Chosen (directed by Dallas Jenkins) is an Internet/TV series adaption of the life of Jesus. I have watched most of it. It does take some artistic license, for which some have criticized it, but I think it is a good dramatic telling of the Gospel. That said, one of the most interesting scenes, at least for me, was when Jesus first openly declares himself as the Messiah as recorded in Luke 4:16-22. .   

16 Now Jesus came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,
18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and the regaining of sight to the blind,
to set free those who are oppressed,
19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
20 Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to tell them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled even as you heard it being read.” 22 All were speaking well of him, and were amazed at the gracious words coming out of his mouth. 

Jesus already had a large following. But this surely caught them off guard. It was one thing to believe he was a great rabbi or teacher; it was another to believe he was Messiah, Son of God. The Chosen does a great job showing the confusion among his followers and those in the town where he grew up. His family was the same way. How could their big brother be the Son of God?

But after his crucifixion and resurrection, we see Jesus’ family converted and playing an important part of the early Church. Jesus even makes a special appearance to James after the resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:7). What must that have been like? Did Jesus say, “See, I told you”? Probably not, instead consider what a loving thing this was for Jesus, the Son of God and also the older brother of James, to appear to James after the resurrection! But that is what Jesus does – loves and reaches out to reconcile those who reject him, even his younger brother. James goes on to become a pillar of the Church (Galatians 2:9). He was the leader at the Council in Jerusalem and conveys the decision concerning Gentile believers (Acts chapter 15). According to Church tradition, he was called Old Camel Knees because his knees were so calloused from kneeling in prayer. Eusebius, the Church historian writing in the early Fourth Century, records that James was thrown from the pinnacle of the Temple for his testimony of Jesus, and when he did not die from the fall, he was beaten to death for his testimony about Jesus.

With this in mind about James, let’s return to his greeting in the epistle. He is James the slave or bondservant. Most people love titles, even if the title does not mean anything. But James did not claim to be anything special. He does not begin with James the Pillar or James the Prayer. People also like to drop names because it makes us sound special by association, as if that person’s merits are ours by association. This can be done in Church as well. I could talk about my father being a pastor. Others in my class are descended from the founding members of our congregation, for example. The Jews did this disputing with Jesus in Matthew Chapter 3. Alistair Begg commenting on this says, “Jesus… acknowledges that they are the offspring of Abraham… he says [they have] a biological, a physical… descent, but [they did not] have any spiritual kinship…. [He] absolutely confront[ed] them when he says, “I know that Abram is your father in terms of your pedigree, but you know who your father is? Satan’s your father.’”[6] The point is that it is our personal spiritual relationship that is important.

Of all people, James could have laid claim to a pedigree. He was not only a descendant of Abraham and in the royal line of King David, he was also the brother of the Messiah! Ironically, I have heard some ministers condemn him for not appealing to this relationship to give more credence to this letter. But James recognized that it was not a physical relationship to Jesus that was important. It was his spiritual relationship that was important. Before we even get into the body of the letter, this is a model for us. It does not matter who your mother or father was, what they did for God, etc. We all must come to Jesus for ourselves, depending on no one else and nothing we have done. He may not appear to us in person as he did James. But his invitation to us to accept his forgiveness of our sins is the same.

[1] The name James comes from the Hebrew יַעֲקֹב‎ (Yaʿăqōḇ). In Greek it is Ἰάκωβος (Iákōbos). The name is translated as Jacob in English translations of the Old Testament. However, it is rendered James in the New Testament. This dates back to the fist English translation of the Bible by John Wycliffe (ca. 1330-1384) who used Jacob for the Old Testament but opted for James for the New Testament. It is uncertain why he made this decision. So as you read James, think Jacob.

[2] Bruce M Metzger, The New Testament: Its Background, Growth, and Content, 3rd ed. (Abingdon Press, 2003).

[3] “God’s indicatives are always the basis for God’s imperatives. This is why we often find the word therefore in the New Testament. It’s because of who God is and what He has done for us in Christ that we should therefore respond in a certain way.” Sinclair B. Ferguson, “Gospel Indicatives and Imperatives,” Ligonier Ministries, October 3, 2023, https://www.ligonier.org/podcasts/things-unseen-with-sinclair-ferguson/gospel-indicatives-and-imperatives.

[4] Hall Harris, ed., “New English Translation Bible,” NET Bible, July 2019, https://netbible.com/.

[5] Mark 6:3 and Matthew list the brothers of Jesus. Sisters are mentioned but not named. Mark list reads James, Joses, Judas [Jude] and Simon. Matthew lists them as James, Joseph, Simon and Judas [Jude]. With James named first in both lists, he is probably the oldest of the brothers.

[6] Alistair Begg, “Free Indeed! — Part One,” https://www.youtube.com/@truthforlife1, January 11, 2004, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbavGK84UCE.

Glossary

Amanuensis – a scribe or secretary who would dictate what someone else said. Beyond taking direction dictation, the might also assist with diction, etc., especially if the original speaker was less fluent in the language.

Indicative – statement of fact. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16, KJV). (Compare with imperative.)

Imperative – a command. “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment. And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” (Mark 12:31, KJV). (Compare with indicative.)

Bibliography

Inclusion in the bibliography is not an endorsement of the content of the referenced sources.

Barker, Kenneth L, ed. “James Introduction.” In Zondervan NASB Study Bible, 1803–4. Grand Rapids, Michigan, U.S.A.: Zondervan, 1999.

Begg, Alistair. “Free Indeed! — Part One.” Truthforlife.org. Truth for Life, January 11, 2004. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbavGK84UCE.

Ferguson, Sinclair B. “Gospel Indicatives and Imperatives.” Ligonier Ministries, October 3, 2023. https://www.ligonier.org/podcasts/things-unseen-with-sinclair-ferguson/gospel-indicatives-and-imperatives.

Harris, Hall, ed. “New English Translation Bible.” NET Bible, July 2019. https://netbible.com/.

For My Uncle Lloyd Burton

Today we said our goodbyes and laid to rest the mortal remains of my Uncle Lloyd Burton.

Lloyd was not one of a kind. He was one of two of a kind. He and his brother Floyd, older by a mere ten minutes, were born on August 15… a little bit ago. As is often the case with twins, they had a unique and close relationship. They even had a unique name for each other, “Yaya.” Both were Yaya. When they were just learning to speak, they could not pronounce their names and came up with Yaya. It stuck their whole lives. I have heard stories of their youth and how they were always together and frequently into something. This was a relationship that continued into their adulthood as they were business owners together for decades. And as Lloyd faced health challenges, my Uncle Floyd, along with my Aunt Sue, was there for his brother.

My mother is their older sister, which means she was born more than a little bit ago. Her name is Betty Ruth but that was morphed to Boof by her little brothers. My dad used to joke that since they only had one sister, only one of them was his brother-in-law. So he introduced them as “my brother-in-law Floyd and his brother Lloyd.” But there was love with the humor. Mom was reminiscing this week and said that just like any siblings, sometimes they disagreed, but regardless of the conversation, good or bad – agree or disagree, it always closed with “I love you.”

Lloyd was seldom out front or boisterous, preferring to work behind the scenes. I would like to quote Jeff Anderson, one of his friends:

“I know what kind of man Lloyd Burton was! They don’t make them like that anymore! He would give people food, hay for horses, gas and many other things no one ever knew except the ones who was watching…. He loved people like Jesus did!”

The day Lloyd passed, I visited with his wife of sixty-one years, my Aunt Martha. She said something very similar to Jeff’s words, how if at a fundraiser people were asked to raise their hands to give a certain amount, Lloyd never raised his hand. She noted he was reserved in public, much like his daddy had been. Yet though he would not raise his hand in the crowd, he still contributed quietly behind the scenes to meet the need.

On the other hand, just because he was reserved does not mean he was boring. He had a wry wit about him. I defer to Jeff Anderson one more time.

“We seen each other a couple of weeks ago at the gas pumps and started picking at each other! He said come on by for supper but make sure you bring something for us to eat!”

My earliest memories of my uncle are of him driving my grandfather‘s old red and white Ford tractor, plowing the gardens or bailing hay.

When I was in school, he helped me with a number of woodworking projects. He guided my hands as I used my grandfather‘s bandsaw to cut out a wooden map of Australia.  And he helped me build a wooden toolbox and workbench that I have to this day.

He gave me a talking to when he thought I needed it. (I needed it three times in my life if I remember correctly. What they were about is between us.)

He attended my wedding and the college graduation of my children.

And he invited me to dinner… as long as I brought him something to eat. The last time I saw him, about two weeks ago, I took him at his word and brought him a pineapple ice cream sundae, one of his favorite treats.  He could hardly wait to get it open and devour it. We closed our visit holding hands in prayer. His last words to me were ”Stephen, I love you.”

All of this is not to say my uncle was a perfect man; none of us are. But my uncle was a forgiven man, a man who had given his life to Christ. Because of that, we grieve at his passing, but we do not grieve like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13).  Jordan, his granddaughter, called the day he passed his “celebration day.” I like that. Here’s how C.S. Lewis would describe Lloyd’s celebration day:

“He saw Him…. could look on Him. What is blinding, suffocating fire to [others] is now cool light to [Lloyd], is clarity itself, and wears the form of a man.”

Yaya, we love you. We are going to miss you. But we also know one day we will be reunited with you and all those who have put their faith in our Savior.

Stephen with Lloyd and Martha
September 2024

A Christmas Greeting Calligram and a Christmas Letter

Instead of a photo and a poem this Christmas, I got creative (maybe) and opted for a calligram, a visual image and poem in one. A calligram, sometimes called a concrete poem or visual poem, is poetry in which the arrangement of words creates a visual image, in this case a Christmas tree. The poem is comprised of Christmas greetings in numerous languages. Almost all the greetings are in languages that are spoken by my friends across the globe. But just for fun, I added an Anglo-Saxon greeting in runes, though I doubt Alfred the Great is going to read my poem. And I included Latin, you know, just in case the Pope does read it.

Additionally, I decided to share an old-fashioned Christmas letter. Back in the day, Christmas letters shared the news of the year and holiday greetings. I loved getting them, especially from my cousin Diane in Houston. Of course, Christmas letters have become a thing of the past since we share each other’s lives in real time on social media. At least, I know you guys see my antics online because you tell me about it. Anyway, here we go.

My family and I have had a blessed year, and I am grateful to God for his blessings. Olivia and Nicholas both graduated from Athens State University. Olivia and Emma, her traveling pal, headed to Korea for two weeks right after graduation to spend time with two special friends, Fred and Reneea, who serve at school in Pohang. When she returned, she accepted a position with the Marion County School System as a science teacher at Brilliant High School, where she is also the band sponsor. The job keeps her busy, but she seems to be doing well.

Nick, on the other hand, only drove to Jasper after graduation where he served as the Interim Director of the Walker County Arts Alliance for several month. Additionally, he is a social media manager for Blanton Media Group, the publisher of 78 Magazine and The Walker Leader. He is learning a lot about real-world application of the skills he attained at Athens. And just to round things out, he is working on an M.A. in Visual Communications. In fact, he just got his first grades – all A’s.

The extended family is doing well also. Mom is still sharp and sassy as ever, and all things considered, doing rather well. We are all excited about the latest addition to the Rizzo clan. My nephew Chase and his wife Britney had a baby boy, Martin Joseph Rizzo, in November. He is absolutely adorable! As you can imagine, we are all beside ourselves excited about Martin’s arrival.

Finally, our congregation is blessed as well. I cannot share everything, but I will mention two additions to the church this year. Blaine Johnson joined our ministry team this year as the music pastor. He is talented, motivated, and caring. The growth in both quantity and quality of our music ministry under his direction was apparent in our Christmas service. (Find it on Facebook or Youtube at Sumiton Church of God.) And Jonah Barrett has taken on a volunteer position of Young ACollege/Young Adult Pastor. I have known him since the day he was born and am so proud of the young man he has become. His late father, Reverend DeWayne Barrett, a dear friend of mine, would be proud of his son as well.  For these and all God’s blessings, I am truly grateful.

To close, over the last few Christmases I have participated in a tradition where friends and I share recipes with each other. Last year, I shared a photocopy of my grandmother’s handwritten fruitcake cookie recipe. This year, I would like to share a Greek feta cheese dip called bouyourdi.

Ingredients:
Greek feta (Get the good kind in brine water, not the crumbled, dry feta.)
Tomatoes (It is so much better with fresh heirloom tomatoes, but even canned diced tomatoes will work.)
Peppers (Traditionally a sweet bell pepper is used, but I have used all kinds depending on what I have on hand, such as pepperoncini, roasted red peppers, etc.)
Ground oregano
Olive oil
Additional toppings can include olives and thinly sliced onions.

Directions:
Place the feta in a small baking dish. Layer the tomatoes and peppers on top. Add any additional toppings you wish. Sprinkle with oregano. I love oregano, so I use a lot. If you’re new to using oregano, start out with just barely more than enough to be seen. Drizzle with olive oil. Don’t be stingy with the oil.

Bake at 350 degrees for about forty-five minutes. At about fifteen minutes in, give it a stir to mix the ingredients. (If you’re impatient like I am, you can microwave it, but it tastes better baked slowly.)  Feta cheese does not become stringy like most cheeses. Instead, it has a nice creamy consistency when melted.

Pair with pita bread or chips or a nice, toasted bread of your choice. It is great as an appetizer or a snack.

When I make bouyourdi, I am reminded of a visit to my dad’s family in Galveston something over twenty years ago. We met up with dad’s cousin Mary, better known as “Wee,” and decided to go to his cousin Sonny Martini’s place for lunch, unaware that Sonny had moved his restaurant. When we arrived, we found a new restaurant and its owner, a nice Greek gentleman, instead of Sonny. But that was OK. We spent the next hour or so chatting with each other and with him, talking about Greece and family (Dad’s grandmother was Greek) and enjoying slice after slice after slice of warm feta and olives.

That was one of those times that was just perfect for making a memory. And though Dad and Wee have both passed, I go back in my mind to that day and live it over with them. My hope is that you might make similar memories and enjoy a warm plate of bouyourdi with your family and friends.

Merry Christmas!

A Life of Influence

The impetus for this little flash of inspiration (at least I hope it is inspired) was a recent conversation with a friend and ministry colleague, but as Emerson wrote to Whitman, it also “had a long foreground” in my life’s experiences and in the distillation of ideas by many others. In mulling over what is to follow, I initially thought to title this piece leadership something or other. Truth be told, however, leadership positions are rare and not easily attained. But influence is something that we can develop regardless of our station or role. My proposition, then, is not how to lead but how to live a life of influence, which comes down to one, two, three… six.  

ONE LIFE

There is only one of you. You have desires and dreams, and you have abilities and influence, maybe even amazing dreams and significant influence. Still, what you can do alone is limited. On the other hand, through healthy, meaningful, intentional relationships, what you can accomplish in conjunction with others is exponential. 

Up front, I need to state an axiom. Two relationships, your relationship with God and your relationship with your family, must supersede the following. If they do, these relationships will invigorate and nourish what follows. If they do not, failure in one or both of these primary relationships will diminish and taint success in any other area of life. 

We all have areas of interest and influence, whether you are the gardener or the president. (You might be surprised at which one has the greater sphere of influence. If you do not believe this, study the life  of George Washington Carver.) Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. But I surmise the majority of us at most can successfully operate in only a very limited number of areas. 

TWO SPHERES OF INFLUENCE

Consequently, I recommend that you select two spheres of influence, just two. These are areas where you have a passion, standing, and opportunity. These could be large and expansive or small and focused. Regardless, they must be realistic for where you are in your life. 

There is a good chance you will discover that your two areas of interest are related but not synonymous per se. They might or might not be scalable over time. Likely one will be more important to you than the other. Do not be rigid, yet the more clearly you can enunciate your spheres the more you free yourself of the noise and clutter in your life. 

This does not mean you do not have other areas of your life or concerns where you are tangentially or temporarily engaged. But these two areas will frame and focus who you are, where you primarily engage, and how much of your resources, the most precious of which is time, you allocate. 

THREE GOALS

Develop up to three goals, no more, for each area. A goal must be concrete and measurable. While you might personally benefit from accomplishments in these areas, ultimately the more altruistic your motivation and goal, the greater your sense of accomplishment and fulfillment will be. (There is nothing wrong with having a feeling or sense of accomplishment and probably something wrong if you do not.) 

Your goals are not set in stone. Some goals might be finite and, therefore, could be accomplished at some point. Your priorities could shift for any number of reasons, such as you gain more insight in an area or life in general. Spheres of influence could change, or your own life situation changes.  Still, some goals might be perpetual and lifelong. 

SIX PEOPLE

Finally, for each area select six people whom you are prepared to invest your life in to accomplish your goals. These can be mentors, mentees, or partners. (Sometimes the lines between these roles will blur.) You could discover there is overlap in the six in your spheres of influence, and you might never have six all at one time. Certainly, I do not mean find people to use to get what you want. Rather, these are relationships that you will cultivate and invest in over time. These are relationships that are mutually beneficial and nourishing. Outside of your relationships with God and your family, these people you select and relationships you develop will form and frame you over the course of your life more than you might imagine, so choose wisely. 

Why six? Several reasons, but I will mention one. If you select six individuals in two spheres of influence, you have selected twelve people you value enough to invite into your life. If twelve was enough for Jesus, then it should be more than enough for you.

Mentors, partners, and mentees will come and go in your life for a myriad of reasons. Pastor Roger Daniel contacted me when he needed a six-month interim music pastor. Since then, a meaningful twenty-year friendship has followed.  On the other hand, not too long ago I lost a dear friend through death. Only my father’s passing has left a bigger hole in my life than the loss of Randy Beck. Others come and go because of a change in vocation or location. Sometimes your priorities diverge. And sadly, some may leave you through betrayal or apostasy. When this happens, do not be surprised. After all, Jesus had Judas. 

When you are young, if you are smart you will find mentors, people who are wiser, stronger, more developed, and better connected in your areas of interest. As you mature and develop, you should continue to have mentors, but you will also begin to make partners, men and women with like passions and complementary gifts and abilities. Of course, at some point you should find yourself in the role of mentor as well if you grow better, not just older. But what you should never do is find yourself alone. Stay engaged with people – your people. 

To recap, put God, not ministry, first and family second in your life will align your overall priorities. 

Limit yourself to two areas of significant interest or influence will guide you in allocating your resources. 

Have clear and measurable goals will focus and direct your actions. 

Engage a set of people with whom you intentionally engage will drive your calendar and multiply your effort. 

Of course, none of this is a guarantee of success, but it will ensure a greater likelihood of success with reduced stress and decreased anxiety, byproducts of prioritizing and focusing the one life you have. 

Light

In the beginning –

      Light spread across the cosmos at His Word. 

         Lightnings flashed from Mount Sinai at His presence. 

In Bethlehem –

      A child born – Eternal Light wrapped in flesh and swaddled –

         His mother’s eyes twinkled at His smile.

      A Son given – Eternal Light embraced by mortality and death –  

         Hell stared in terror before His consuming flame.

In the land of shadows –

      The people who stumbled in darkness rejoiced

         As the great Light shone. 

The nutcracker (photographed 2022) on this year’s card is part of Cullman’s Christkindlmarkt. This is one of the twin nutcrackers, approximately fifteen feet tall, that flank the gateway to the Christkindlmarkt.

The card design is by my son, Nicholas S. M. Rizzo. The season’s greeting is in German. The font is based on Bauhaus (Germany, 1919-1933) principles. His overall design is straightforward with an emphasis on negative space.

Sometimes Your Second Favorite Pastor’s Name is Harv

In the summer of 2021, my second favorite pastor resigned the pastorate of my home church to take another in Florida. I had known Victor Massey since we were young. Our fathers were ministers together, long before Victor became my second favorite pastor. I said he was my second favorite since my dad, Bucky Rizzo, was a pastor and will always be my favorite. But until August of 2021, Victor Massey was my second favorite. 

Then my church had a rather lengthy pastoral search while Pastor Lane Sargent, one of our retired former pastors, served as our interim and my second favorite pastor for about ten months. During that time the deacons prayed to find God’s will for who our pastor should be. Different individuals in the congregation indicated they believed it was God’s will for this one or that one to be our pastor. Yet I do not believe God cares. I do not mean God is unconcerned, but having given us free will he provides us opportunities to make wise choices and will give us wisdom in the process according to James 1:5. I really do not see that there is scriptural support to indicate that God has one particular person selected for every pastoral position or most any other role in the church or government or community or anywhere else. The task is not to ascertain the elusive and secret will of God. Instead, scripture teaches that we are much more responsible for our decisions and the consequences of our choices than we might like, which is why we should pray for wisdom. 

With that theological understanding, I prayed for wisdom and when the pastoral vote was taken, I voted for someone whom I felt met the scriptural guidelines of a pastor and would be a good match for our congregation. But that is not who was selected. Instead in March 2022, Harv Turner became my second favorite pastor. Along with Pastor Harv, his wonderful wife Kelley became a part of our church family. Shortly after, his father, a retired minister himself, and his mother joined the congregation. And we are working to entice his son, daughter-in-law, and daughter to move to Sumiton. 

I like Pastor Harv, my second favorite pastor. He is personable and a tad high energy. Early on, I noticed that he calls the names of members of the congregation as he preaches. It is a rhetorical device to engage the congregation, a way to connect new faces with names, and sometimes just something fun to do. Mine was one of the names he called, and I began to rib him about it on social media, keeping a tally of how many times he mentioned me. He was good natured and played along. 

Recently Pastor Harv ran into me at lunch on campus. (He tried to sneak away, but I caught him.) We shared a meal and a conversation, which ran the gamut. Partly we talked about his experiences as a pastor, his father’s, my father’s, and even mine as a past music pastor. My dad more than once said that pastoring should be one of the most enjoyable jobs in the world, but people – Christians – make it difficult. The Apostle Paul surely knew this, which is why in 1 Thessalonians 5:13 he admonishes “to esteem them [pastors and church leaders] very highly in love for the work’s sake. And be at peace among yourselves.” In the conversation with Pastor Harv, I alluded to this scripture. I try to follow it, though I know at times I have failed. But this is the way my favorite pastor raised me. 

I certainly hope I demonstrate my love and respect for Pastor Harv, whether he calls my name in his sermons or not. But I think he will keep calling my name. If you are a believer and live in the area but do not have a pastor, come meet mine. His name is Harv. I think you would like him if you met him. 

On the other hand, if you are not a believer you need a savior. His name is Jesus. I know he has been calling your name much longer and with deeper love than Pastor Harv has been calling mine. And you would love him if you met him.