Ayden United Methodist Church

Loving God - Serving Others - Building Christian Community

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Spot’s Run

I used to jog, back when I needed it less. My dog, Spot, would run with me. I ran two miles, Spot ran one. She would go 1/2 mile, lay down, and wait for me to come back. Then she’d run the last 1/2 mile with me. The road we traveled had many other dogs, all of which were less than pleased to see us. They would all rush out to see us, say their ugly dog words, and snap at our heels. At least they would try to. Spot wasn’t a big dog, but she didn’t take any stuff from other dogs. She especially didn’t let them mess with me. Spot loved me.

There was one house with two boxers. Boxers are territorial anyway, but two of them were even more formidable. These two would wait for me on the return trip and then rush out to growl and snap. Spot and I had already had some experience with those two. One day, Spot was lagging far behind and I found myself in a “Boxer Rebellion” on my own. They rushed out like clockwork. It didn’t take long for them to catch up with me.

I had learned a long time ago than dogs don’t expect their prey to turn on them. The element of surprise that can give you an edge. Its not enough to just stand there and flail at them. You’ve got to make the dog believe that he has made a terrible mistake; as if your jogging was merely a lure to draw him out for destruction. Just as the two boxers were about to grab my feet, I turned and roared at them. Then I ran at them as hard as I could, waiving my arms in the air.

The boxers stopped dead in their tracks. At first, they looked confused. Then they whirled around and headed for home. Spot wasn’t a big dog, but she had momentum and a great sense of timing. They never saw her coming. She rolled both of them before they knew what hit them. By the time they recovered, they were headed for home, yelping in fear. I felt like writing a Psalm:

“Yea though I run through the Valley of Dogs,

I will fear no evil,

‘Cause Spot and I are the “baddest” dogs

In the valley!”

Sometimes it seems like God ran one mile when you ran two. You find yourself in trouble and wonder where he went. Things get so tight that you can’t go off to a quiet place to pray. Any praying is done with eyes wide open, hands to the task and with sounds that don’t come out in reverent tones. Its a Lament: “Where are you, God? I need you now!” You turn to look behind you and no one is there. That’s because God is ahead of you. You look for answers, but God doesn’t send answers. He sends himself. You think you lack faith, but what you lack is experience. You have to learn the dogs that chase you and the ones that protect you. Faith comes from trust, and trust doesn’t develop on the first run.

So if the valley ahead is foreboding, don’t despair. Valleys are for learning and for faith. As I learned long ago, being on a “Spot” is not always a bad thing.

Rev. Dennis P. Levin

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The Cyclone

They always looked daunting. It used to be that they looked like an intricate matchstick construction, and the sound of them was never reassuring. There within the maze of wooden planks was a course that threw the occupants up and down. The turns were always tighter than it appeared the construction would carry, and indeed, an observer could see the whole structure give as the weight of the thing flying around the bend would screech its way back to the vertical bumps and grinds. I confess that as a boy, I was very hesitant to put myself at the mercy of anything so unsteady.

Today, such contraptions are tame. Oh, there’s nothing like the feel and sound of a wooden roller coaster. But they are confined to the vertical, and today’s riders demand so much more. When I show up at a theme park, I look for the highest, most serpentine contrivance of steel pipe and nylon rollers I can find. It must not just go inverted, it has to corkscrew, and at the point where the rider would hope for the most safety. Yes, up at the top where height can add to everyone’s instability.

I’ve also noticed as I wait my turn, that both the terrified and to non-plussed walk away after the ride and leave room for the next set of fools. It has nothing to do with your attitude or your fear. Somebody figured out how to send thousands of people around the track and return safely. It’s what they do. Then other people test the thing every day to see that it works. If it’s not safe, they shut it down. So I just ride it and enjoy it and stay calmer than the poor fool I’ve cajoled to ride with me. I may regale them with dinner suggestions or potential structural flaws during the course of the ride. It makes for great sport.

There was one ride that I did not enjoy so much. It was at Disney World in the virtual reality pavilion. Before you ride, you spend some time designing your own roller coaster on a computer. There are any number of suggestions, some of which would never go into an actual roller coaster. Once you saved your design, you climb into a simulator where you get to “ride” your own coaster. Of course the simulator was not an actual roller coaster. It was like a flight simulator. You see where you’re going on a screen and the thing bounces you around like you were actually traveling. It fools your senses, especially those in your stomach.

I don’t know if it was the “California Wrap”, or some other Disney cuisine that began to work on my innards, but I soon realized that not all aspects of the ride were simulated. I regretted every bounce, twist, invert and jump that I thought would be cool when I designed it. Ours was not a good ride. I don’t know beans about designing a roller coaster and those that do would never hire me.

Life also has its ups and downs. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes not; sometimes challenging, sometimes dull. Often we get the feeling we’re just along for the ride, and we hope that someone actually knew what they were doing when they put it together. It doesn’t take long to discover that even when we think we can plan the ride itself, we are not much in control. Often the ride we plan is worse than the ride we could have let someone else design.

The Bible tells us we need to leave our lives in God’s hands. That doesn’t mean that the roller coaster of life won’t be rough, it just means that it will always bring us safely home. That’s important, because in the ride of your life, there are no simulators.

Rev. Dennis P. Levin

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The Blue Bin of Paradise

It’s Thursday morning and I don’t know if I put it out last night; that blue bin the town provides for recycling. I know it’s a good idea to conserve, and we don’t want to overfill the dump, but I’m not a morning person and the thought of trudging out through the early drizzle in my fluffy slippers has no appeal. Besides the mismatched T-shirt and shorts, there is the problem of bad hair and general bedraggle that morning always seems to bestow. I therefore wish to avoid the contemptuous stares of the proud parade of early risers and walkers that infest the neighborhood. All of them having dutifully placed their blue bins by the curb the previous evening, no doubt.

There it is. Still in the garage and full to overflowing. We are at least diligent in filling it up with the wreckage of the week. Bottles and cans, plastic and paper. Enough for two families and certainly enough for two bins. I wonder if those early walkers notice what repasts are replaced with the wrappings, or if they might think that our inventory of soft drinks is too high. Life is often defined by discards. Ask any archeologist, and they’ll tell you there is nothing like an ancient dump to define civilization. But not for the town of Ayden!

No! They will never find just what vast quantities of soft drinks or other beverages were consumed, nor how we preserved our food, nor how many newspapers we read. Why? Because the containers will be disguised as something else. That jelly jar will be someone’s windshield. That two-liter bottle will become packing material for a computer. Who knows? Maybe that aluminum foil will end up in geosynchronous orbit, defending us from hostile missiles. So I guess it’s worth a trip to the curb in all my morning glory, just so some refuse can fulfill its destiny.

In ancient Jerusalem, the remains of the executed were thrown in the town dump with the rest of the trash. But this one was different. He had friends, apparently, and they found a tomb for him at the last minute. The burial was hasty, given the limited time they were allowed. There were rumors that his followers would try to make something up and pretend that he survived. So they set a guard and put the emperor’s seal on the stone. No mourners allowed.

One might suppose that recycling day in heaven comes on a Sunday. I fear that angels are morning people, because their job was done by first light. Evidently they don’t appreciate any interference with their route. The soldiers beat feet as soon as they could find their legs. When the women showed up to try and prepare the body, it was already gone. One more desecration, they feared. The problem was that they were looking for a corps, but the body had already been recycled. Not so much that it couldn’t be recognized, but different none-the-less.

The fact that God would find a way to restore his Son is not surprising. After all, who wouldn’t do that if they could? No, the real surprise is that it was done to impress on the rest of us that God will also do that for us. That means that we also have infinite worth. We are not merely created in God’s image, we are God’s children. We are not thrown away and buried. We are recycled.

Unlike other religions which preach there is nothing after this life, or that we are recycled as something or someone else, Christianity proposes that God loves us for who we are. Our lives and personalities, our relationships with God and with others are all maintained. In fact, they are improved, even perfected. All those imperfections and quirks are transformed. Even our bodies get a workover, certainly mine needs one already. When God recycles, he does it all. The only catch is that your heart needs to be in the right place. In the recycling and not in the trash.

So let us celebrate Easter! A story, a hope, and a promise. Next time you walk that blue bin to the curb, think about it…and smile.

Rev. Dennis P. Levin

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The Biker

When I was in college I had a camera and a friend. The friend had a motorcycle but wanted a camera. We swapped. My motorcycle was a Kawasaki 85, black and chrome. It took me a while to get used to it, but it sure was fun. Besides, I couldn’t afford a car. (For you non-biker types, a Kawasaki 85 is just a tad bigger than the scooters currently favored by people who are no longer allowed to drive.)

I remember zipping about town in my brown leather jacket, bug splattered glasses and helmet. Those 85 cc’s managed to move me comfortably up to 45 miles per hour, more than enough for the streets of Quincy, Massachusetts. If I brought a date, however, the pace had to be more sedate. Of course, that didn’t bother me too much, since my date is now my wife.

As I was working my way through college, I found a job on the other side of Boston. That meant I had to brave the traffic on the highway with some of the worst drivers in the country. Bostonians aspire to be European in their driving. They drive too fast to stop on time, or creep along during “rush hour”with horns blowing and vocabulary now classified as “Road Rage”.

Bostonians don’t associate with people who can only go 45 miles per hour. Kawasaki 85’s refuse to go faster than 45 miles for any length of time. Every day I would find myself by the side of the road waiting for the little motorcycle to cool down enough to get me another mile or so. Motorists had a variety of comments which still limit my desire to visit Boston traffic to this day.

I enjoyed my leather jacket. I thought my glasses were cool. I even had a beard at the time. I gave the biker salute to the other “Bikers” as they passed. But it’s no fun being a “Biker” if your bike is a Kawasaki 85.

It’s a tough world out there, and sometimes you’ve got to have some horsepower, just to get out of a jam. But too many Christians want to downsize their faith to something they can handle. You know, something that keeps them putting along by the curb of life. They might have the little cross necklace, maybe even a fish on their bumper. But get them into a situation where they really have to rely on God and all they’ve got is a few cliches and a “Now I lay me down to sleep. . .”

No, for the kind of traffic we face today, faith has to be stronger. I wouldn’t say that there are more temptations than ever before, but the delivery systems have improved. And if it’s tough for you, think how hard it is for your children! Yet some Christians keep nursing their little faith along, hoping that Satan won’t run them off the straight and narrow. They avoid church for the slightest excuse, leave their Bibles on the table for decoration, keep their prayers short and one-sided. Then they wonder why God doesn’t look out for them better or their children seem out of control.

But the Gospel is powerful stuff. The example of Christ lays out the course. The Holy Spirit reminds us how to meet the curves life throws us, and how to avoid the potholes. If Satan wants to drag you down, you can leave him in the dust. If that’s not happening, you need a bigger faith. So trade in your old complacency for a new commitment. Smell the new you, crank up your hope, and know that though the road ahead may not be clear, your windshield is. Enjoy the ride.

Rev. Dennis P. Levin

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