Month: December 2021

We effectively have in our society two types of neighbors; and in our churches as well, we essentially have the neighbors that we’ve decided warrant our love, and the other forgotten neighbors that don’t. How can this be, you may ask? That is crazy, you say, that isn’t true. But oh yes it is true, and I will explain so that you can see, if you don’t already see.

For almost two years now we have been told, and maybe have said it ourselves, that we need to wear masks for those neighbors who are vulnerable. We should consider these neighbors and love them as ourselves, and though it is an inconvenience or an annoyance to wear a mask, it is an example of sacrificial love and caring for others. It is Christ’s example we are following. I don’t disagree, wearing a mask can be an act of love.

But what if it isn’t simply an inconvenience or annoyance to wear a mask; what if it is significantly more than that, and is actually the cause of real physical, mental, and emotional suffering? From the very beginning we have trivialized the wearing of masks as only a simple inconvenience and annoyance, so that anyone who might have a more valid significant objection on medical grounds has been forgotten, marginalized or even chastised and ridiculed. So that only certain neighbors are worthy of our love, but not the others. We have decided that we must love the neighbors that want masks, but we have failed to even give a moment’s consideration, not any real consideration, nothing more than a momentary lip-service to loving those who oppose masks.

What might be a legitimate cause to oppose mask wearing? We don’t want to know, because then it makes the whole enterprise much more difficult. So we’ve tossed to the side any honest consideration of these legitimate objections right from the very start, so that our love has been a one way road, flowing only in the direction of those who want masks. Whole populations are suffering true distress, but they are asked to deal with it, and they are even shamed for raising the issues in defense of their suffering. There is apparently no practical love for these forgotten neighbors.

But, you may object, this is because Covid is such a horrible disease, and the vulnerable are at such a risk, so this issue outweighs all other considerations. I won’t disagree that Covid is bad for certain demographic risk groups. But how can we say, right from the very start without any debate, that these other issues are insignificant. Is death by suicide unimportant? Is death by overdose a triviality? Are the growing issues of addiction meaningless? We don’t know for certain what effect mask-wearing has on these things but I think it is safe to say that it hasn’t helped, and very likely has added to these issues. But that isn’t all. I personally know of several people who have panic attacks wearing masks; anxiety increases as well as increased blood-pressure, these are known issues in our society and masks are making these problems worse. People die from these things too.

But not only that. I know of children with autism, or other people with high sensitivities to physical stimulus that are literally tortured by having to wear masks over their mouths. I have first-hand experience with severe headaches and muscle aches that linger for days, brought on by mask-wearing. Loneliness, isolation and alienation are huge mental health issues in our society and wearing masks seriously exacerbates all of these emotional responses.  We can’t see each other, we can’t read each other’s expressions, and we are literally alienated from one another.

I propose that all of these things are not insignificant, and by trivializing all of them by calling them mere inconvenience or annoyance, is a grave mis-characterization, and a self-serving one as well. It allows us to love certain neighbors, to the exclusion of many other neighbors, without a guilty conscience. We’ve picked our winners and our losers and well, those forgotten folks should just pull it together, and try harder to love the ones we’ve chosen. Feeling suicidal, feeling isolated, feeling anxious or panicked by these masks? Get over it, and just love your neighbor.

No, I want the forgotten neighbor to enjoy the same attention as those we are currently loving, and have been loving for nearly two years now. We should be taking these other people’s needs seriously as well. We shouldn’t trivialize their needs. For example, couldn’t we also trivialize mask wearing? There is legitimate reason to think they are little more than a placebo, and they have very limited value against transmission. The argument could be turned on its head: why risk all of these serious negative results (suicide, anxiety, drug addiction etc.) by wearing masks, which have very limited or perhaps no material effect on Covid transmission. I’m not proposing this argument other than to show that trivializing the opposition’s arguments, while effective at eliminating them from our own consideration, does little to advance the cause of love. If we really want to love our neighbor, I think we need to do a better job of recognizing who our neighbors are, and what their needs are; it isn’t enough to forget whole swaths of neighbors, only to make it easier on our conscience as we proclaim love for the select few that we’ve chosen.  

~FS

There may be no other more beautiful service of prayer and worship to God than the Orthodox Liturgy. For, as the emissaries to Prince Vladimir once said when describing it, “We knew not whether we were in heaven or on earth. For on earth there is no such splendour or such beauty, and we are at a loss how to describe it. We only know that God dwells there among men, and their service is fairer than the ceremonies of other nations. For we cannot forget that beauty.”

Oh yes, so true. I can attest to that as well. It is a gift, it is a gem of praise, and through it we are as though transported to the very throne room of God. It was designed to give us a taste of heaven and it has done this for worshippers for many centuries, with very little innovation; it has remained unchanged for a very, very long time. Because, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, as they say. It is based upon the visions and revelations of God’s Kingdom which are found in both the Old and New Testaments. Its intent is to be a manifestation of the heavenly realm here on earth, at least in some small way. Like Christ, who incarnated in the flesh on earth, the Liturgy is a type of incarnation as well; it puts flesh on worship and praise, and makes real the spiritual truths otherwise hidden from view.

The Orthodox Liturgy is also thoroughly biblical. In fact, one can find a scriptural reference for practically every aspect, every moment, everything that is said or sung from its beginning to its ending. All things have been taken into account, every detail has been thought about as it relates to our salvation so that it is a sublime experience. The church space is filled with icons which reflect the perfect beauty of Christ; lamps cast a soft glow of light that illuminates the cloud of witnesses surrounding worshippers. The altar is hidden at first, reminding us of our ancestor’s tragic fall from grace, but then the curtain is removed, revealing the glory prepared for us by Christ’s loving incarnation and His sacrificial love for us. Incense wafts up into the air, it is the prayers of the saints ascending to heaven. Everything is sung; it is like a choir of angels are in our midst. The priest, deacon, readers and servers all wear beautiful vestments, reminding us of the exquisite beauty of God’s Kingdom.

And then there are the masks that all of the faithful wear, to cover their faces and protect them from disease. Liturgy means the ‘work of the people’, it is the body of Christ working together to praise and worship God. So what is the meaning of this corporate donning of masks in the midst of our liturgical work? It is impossible to ignore, it has become a central feature or our worship—as well it should—because, as I’ve already spelled out, everything about the Liturgy has been considered, everything matters for our salvation, every detail weaves into the tapestry of its beauty, its theological prowess, and its representation of God’s Kingdom here on earth. Centuries have gone into making the Orthodox Liturgy the beautiful tradition that it is; it is biblical, evangelical and fully sacramental. While one might overlook the dress of an individual, one can’t ignore when the entire body as a whole adopts a new custom in the midst of the Liturgy; it has become an integral aspect of our work together. So, what can the wearing of masks mean in our Liturgical celebration of the saving power of Christ, and of His victory over death?

Is our mask-wearing a manifestation of the beauty of God; or of our own beauty as humans made in the image and likeness of our creator? Or is it the opposite; hiding the beauty of creation? Do these masks in any way supplement or augment the beauty of the Liturgy, as all the other aspects of it do? Should we embroider the masks, and consider them a new part of the vestments worn by our clergy? Can we make our peace with masks in the Liturgy by considering them as something akin to head-coverings? But, unlike head-coverings, we find no biblical basis for masks. Or should we consider them like the wings of the seraphim; “with two wings they cover their faces”? But we aren’t the seraphim, and masks are not wings; nor do masks represent wings. What do they represent, and how do they fit into the beautiful Liturgy?

Perhaps they don’t, and they never will; nor can they fit into the Liturgy. Despite our efforts to ignore them, to overlook them, to rationalize them, to accept them, masks are not biblical, nor evangelical, nor even sacramental; and they don’t add to the beauty of our worship, nor do they find any place in our traditions. Masks don’t represent anything about God’s Kingdom, and they don’t help to bring heaven down to earth. Nor do they help us understand God’s Kingdom, or His love for us. There is nothing catechetical about them. In truth, there is no place for masks in our beloved Liturgy. Especially not in our Liturgy.

Ritual and symbol have power; our Liturgy has sacramental power. The instruments employed in our rituals have meaning and importance. We have introduced a Trojan horse into our sacraments under the guise of health and safety, which manifests as masks, and is the antithesis of everything our Liturgy represents. We Orthodox love paradox and here is one, an irony: masks are purported to protect us from death, yet they can easily be seen as the symbolic representation of our very fear of death.

Christ is the ultimate victor over death, the beautiful Orthodox Liturgy is our shared work in praise and thankfulness of His victory, and our freedom from death’s snare. We are hard-pressed to honestly and faithfully incorporate masks into this program of praise and worship.

~FS

Hope springs eternal from the stomachs of dogs. And they are always eagerly on the lookout for their next good meal. Therefore, it was not surprising when the litter of dachshunds clambered excitedly up the staircase to awaken Mr Christianson, to arouse him to his morning duties, calling upon him to satisfy their hopes, and to fulfill their tiny tummies with something good from the kitchen cupboard. 

The old man loved his little dogs and he showered them with kisses; and they returned the favor, licking his cheeks while climbing over one another to get in the best positions for pats and pets. Back downstairs, they pushed and shoved to get the best positions in front of their food bowls, as the old man rained various delectables and delights down upon them—tasty tidbits and scrumptious savories, which they ingested voraciously and with gusto, leading to numerous belches and bellyaches moments later.

Next, they rested by the fire—shiny black and brown bodies piled one upon the other, and laid out prone upon the rug, and spilling over onto the hard wood floor. Their little pink bellies rose and fell as they slept, some snoring, with the occasional fart flattening the air. This was the sight and sound (and smell) of contentment. Mr Christianson watched them happily as he went about his business; his curious business.

The folks in town were perplexed when Mr Christianson first put up his sign for business: “Merrysville’s Dachshund Stagecoach” and then, “Rent us by the hour, or for the day!” Nobody had ever heard of, or had ever seen before, a Dachshund Stagecoach; and they looked at one another quizzically, and with the occasional snort and chuckle. One citizen quipped, “I’ll eat my shoes if he’s still in business in a month!” And that was the general consensus, that a stagecoach business in today’s world, was an anachronism by any measure, compounded and made all the more obsolete by the use of such tiny dogs, rather than horses.

Mr Christianson heard all of the negative remarks but he was undeterred. And within a few hours, he began to prove his naysayers wrong, when he had his first paying customers: a family visiting for the week, on vacation, who were captivated by the strange idea of a ride in a Dachshund Stagecoach. They paid cash for a three hour ride, and waited patiently outside while Mr Christianson went to the back of the building to prepare the coach. Curious onlookers lined the sidewalks in anticipation for their first peek at this new business; and they were delighted when the first pair of little dachshunds rounded the corner from behind the building, with a long chain of dachshunds following.

Mr Christianson made it a very merry sight indeed: with hand-knitted harnesses, knit in colorful yarn, looking like holiday sweaters for each of his pups, and with matching knit caps, and with jingly-bells, which jangly announced their arrival, for their safety of course (they are very little dogs after all), but also for joy. But who could have imagined the sheer number of dogs, for there were ever so many. As they rounded the building, two-by-two, it seemed as if they would never end. The kids began counting them out to each other, as they came rounding the corner, “There’s ten!”, “Now, there twenty!”, “Now even more!”, “There’s thirty!!”, then finally, “Forty!!!” Yes, there were forty proud dachshunds pulling the coach!

There at the helm, Mr Christianson sat, beaming and glowing and calling the names, of his beloved dear dachshunds at the end of his reins. “Pull Courage, Haul Patience, Yank Joyful and Tippy! Dig Justice, and Sloppy, and Prudence, and Hank!” All the tiny, warm canines pulled with delight, their long pointed noses showing the way, and the onlookers cheered them as they rode off into the night.

That was the beginning of something truly amazing in our little town of Merrysville, and as is so often the case, there are things that we never knew we needed, but then we find that we can’t live without. I’ve already warmed to the sound of the dachshund’s tiny feet, pitter-pattering down Main Street several times every day, and the sounds of the little jingly bells that they wear, and the colorful lights strung along their bright harnesses. It is hard now to imagine a time when we didn’t have the joyful presence of our remarkable Dachshund Stagecoach.

But it was one year quite recently when the townspeople realized with even greater wonder and with deeper depth, what an incredible and fortunate thing it was, to have Mr Christianson and his forty little dogs pulling that coach. It began in mid-winter, when a sudden cold chill blew in from the west and descended upon Merrysville, and the surrounding towns. With it came a feeling of fear and of darkness—very grim—like some invisible creature of dread had moved in. Nobody could say for certain what had happened, but everyone could feel it; some blamed this thing, and some blamed that, others said it must be something else, and some said it was nothing at all. But that nothing, or something had an appalling effect on everyone.

People stayed inside and barely ventured out, and they stopped visiting each other; family and friends hardly saw one another at all. Instead they ordered everything by phone and online, and if they did visit, they did so virtually, and never in person. Mr Christianson and his little dogs grew very busy that year, as demand for their services grew immensely, calling upon them to do all sorts of errands, making delivery upon deliveries. Certainly FedEx was speedier, but the dachshunds were much merrier; and no one could resist smiling joyfully, when they showed up en masse at one’s front door, with the groceries in tow, or something from the pharmacy, or just a simple letter from a friend.

The following Christmas was even darker and drearier than the months earlier, if you can believe it; it didn’t get any better at all. Compounding everyone’s ennui, the power went out, the stores all shut down, and even the roads were closed between towns! For a storm had come through and knocked the forest all down. Still, through all of this, Mr Christianson worked harder, and his little dogs were indefatigable—carrying folks to the hospital, or to the diner to pick up their Christmas meal-box—and especially delivering to her neighbors, hundreds of containers of Ms. McCleary’s famous cranberry sauce.

It was Christmas Eve day and Ms. McCleary was all in a tizzy, with so many jars of her famous jelly to be sent, and with all the roads closed, and so little time, she was fit to be tied. But in a moment of wisdom she picked up the phone and called Mr Christianson to get the job done. He arrived seconds later, truly heaven-sent, loaded the stagecoach and lickety-split, off he went.

At the end of the day, with all the packages delivered, he and his dachshunds drove past the town square, and there in the middle was a large Doug-fir tree. It was standing dark and forelorn in the center of the square, and was surrounded by dejected workers and volunteers. It was only hours away from the annual tree lighting party, but all the ornaments and lights hadn’t come; they were lost in transit somewhere along the way, and wouldn’t make it to Merrysville until the next day. What could be worse? But it was par for the course, with the sort of year they’d been having, it was hardly surprising, that something so dire was transpiring.

The workers and volunteers shook their heads in disgust, and the small group of school-children nearby kicked at the dust; what an awful bad year, what more could be done, so they all started to slough off back homeward in gloom. But Mr Christianson had an idea then, and he called to his dachshunds to drive to the tree-side. He unhitched them and raised them into the tree one-by-one, and they clung to the branches as he lifted others still higher, to the top of the tree. One volunteer stopped, turned and then smiled; next he called to the others and they all began to return. All the dachshunds were lit up with the lights from their harnesses, which Mr Christianson had woven into the fibers, and with their bright little sweaters and their colorful beanies, they looked like pretty ornaments covering the tree.

The children laughed and they pointed with glee, “Look! It’s a weiner dog Christmas tree!!!” And with that, they all ran off to tell their friends, to come see! Within the hour most of the townsfolk had come; and minute by minute more arrived, from nearby towns and from the countryside. And then something magical happened—something very needed and long awaited—the clouds which had hovered overhead for nearly a year, they parted, and with them the drear and despair lifted and folks started to smile. A sound was heard in the crystalline sky overhead, and the forty little dachshund noses pointed upwards to see; and folks glanced in the direction of those noses, and to everyone’s surprise a beautiful bright comet streaked on by!

Later that eve, as the townsfolk milled about, sharing Christmas cookies and stories, old Mr Christianson brought his dogs down from that tree. He harnessed them back to the stagecoach again, and offered all the children rides ’round the square for free. And as the colorful, magical Dachshund Stagecoach went about the crowded town square, the townsfolk began to sing a tribute:

“Merry Mr Christianson,

and his forty dashing dachshunds,

set out that dark ‘n dreary year,

they delivered Ms. McCleary’s cranberry sauce,

while spreading their holiday cheer!”

(Refrain):

“Jingle, jangle, jingle,

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter-patter, pit,

Jangle, jingle, jangle,

Patter, pitter, patter, pitter-pitter, pat.

It’s the Dachshund Stagecoach coming your way,

making your tears go away—

It’s Merrysville’s Dachshund Stagecoach ride,

now holiday joy’s here to stay!”

“Merry Mr Christianson,

and his forty dashing dachshunds,

saw that dark ‘ole Christmas Tree,

and they climbed it one by one,

filling it with weiner-dog glee!”

(Refrain)

“Merry Mr Christianson,

and his forty dashing dachshunds,

when everyone said there’s no way,

all the townsfolk moping and having no fun,

then the dachshunds saved the day!”

Yes, hope springs eternal in the hearts of men; someone said that once and it’s true. And while hope springs from a different organ in a dog, we’re not all that different—dogs and men—when it comes to hoping. And sometimes, when our hope is flagging, we just need a little encouragement; and that inspiration can come from each other, or it can come from our four-legged friends.

Just before midnight, on that Christmas Eve night, Mr Christianson finally brought his dogs home. It had been a long and a busy day and they were all ready to sleep. The dachshunds dragged themselves over the threshold and flopped in front of the fire—as he poured out the eggnog and fired up the grill. The smell of bacon filled the air and the dachshunds got their second wind; they shot up from the fire and over to the frying pan, hoping and expecting some fat, juicy bacon! Yes, hope springs eternal from the stomachs of dogs; I don’t believe anyone’s said that before, but it’s true. And there are very few things more worthy of placing one’s hopes, than in the kindly old Mr Christianson, and the sweet, meaty smell of fresh bacon!

The End

~FS

(or ‘How My Church Was Finally Built’) Part 2:

Mid-morning they took a break. My wife brought out coffee, their new favorite drink, and a muffin for them to share. Back home in Finland they drank nettle tea, which was a staple. Sometimes they added pine needles, or spruce in the proper season, when the needles are young and tender and sweet. And for the occasional pick-me-up they swore by birch-bark and peppermint which they ground up into a fine powder and sprinkled over the tea like we would do with cinnamon.

We sat down with them around the fire, and our dogs sat close beside us while warily watching our tiny visitors milling about. Aari Vitta, Analie’s older brother, tossed two morsels of bacon across the fire, one to Fritz and one to Rocco, and they devoured the little snacks eagerly. After that, our dogs viewed our new friends much more favorably. Where he got the bacon, I had no idea. I overheard Analie speaking with her mother about getting more eggs, they would need the yolks to mix with their pigments before they could begin work on the icons for the new church. She was the iconographer of the group, she and her mother who had originally taught her the craft. Though now, at the age of sixteen, Analie had already far exceeded her mother in ability. Her younger brother, Armas and their second-cousin Eero both chimed in excitedly, saying they knew where to get eggs, they had discovered chickens earlier in the morning, in a coop not far away, and they could show us where to find them! Their mother agreed, but reminded them that they aren’t thieves, and they’d leave something of value in return for the eggs they took.

So off we went in search of eggs: Analie, her mother, the two boys, and me with our two dogs. Patty, my wife, returned inside to clean up after the morning snack and to track down a plastic bag that someone requested to use as a tarp. At the mention of the word, ‘chickens’ both Fritz and Rocco grew very excited, and Fritz led the way, though he had no idea where he was going and needed to be called back to the correct direction on several occasions. The chickens were in a coop behind our neighbor’s house which wasn’t a long journey. As we entered the yard, Fritz caught the scent and ran barking excitedly after the chickens. Rocco, with much smaller legs, followed as best he could, with his tail held proudly in the air and waving back and forth behind him as he ran.

We gathered up two well-shaped eggs and Paivi, their mother, pulled from one of her many pockets a beautifully knit wool cap, which she lovingly placed beside the nest where we found the eggs. “We’ll leave that for them, it’s a fair trade, in truth they got the better of it. Back home this cap would be worth a half-dozen eggs.” And I believed her, as I peered down with interest at the finely crafted hat. Though I was hard-pressed to imagine how my neighbor might actually use the miniscule thing. Perhaps he could wear it as a finger-warmer, by pulling it over his pinky, or maybe his ring-finger, but certainly not his thumb. It would never fit, not without permanently stretching the little cap and ruining it.

When we arrived back in our yard the crew were all busy working. I was curious to see the progress so I walked up to one of the elders who clearly was running the show, and asked him how things were coming along. “Good. Good. Very good.” He replied while continuing to scrutinize the activities taking place all around us. I asked him how they all knew what to do, with no plans to follow. And I followed that question up with another, hoping to discover what my role was going to be in all of this. He told me to hold out my hands, and he inspected them both closely while laughing and shaking his head. “Not a callous to be seen! Those are the hands of a dreamer, not a worker. You’ll watch!” But, I protested. I let him clearly know I wanted to help. “Don’t you fret, be at ease my oversized friend. You have a very important part to play. We’re using your church design, don’t you know?!”

I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. “But how did you know about that? I wanted to tell you, but hadn’t gotten around to it.”

“Your plans are hanging on the wall of your office. I made copies last night. See!” He pointed at a stack of tiny papers on a nearby rock. Peering closely I could see they were indeed my designs, but so tiny I could barely discern them. “I hand-drew them all myself last night,” he continued with a wave of his hand. Before I could reply he held his hand up, “Shush!” He said curtly. “Do you smell that? Wood preservative. Our secret recipe.” There was a pungent but pleasant smell filling the air; something like creosote but with a hint of pine. “Reminds me of pine-tar soap.” I remarked. “Mmmm,” he sniffed deeply. “I love the smell of wood preservative in the morning!”

He turned to me quickly and looked up into my eyes. I think. It is hard to tell what exactly he was gazing at from way down there; but I’m fairly certain he was staring me down, and about to make an important point. “And you should be happy! We’re using quarter-scale for this church. We never do that. We’re exclusively metric you should know; but it’s a concession to you. Your plans are all in imperial.” He rolled his tiny eyes and snorted derisively. He waved his hand dismissively, “It’s fine. You’re welcome. We’ll make do.”

However, I was disappointed. I had been of the impression that they would be building an actual full-scale church, and my life-long dream of creating a real church would come to fruition. Was this then to truly be the fulfillment of my dream, or only a partial, scaled fulfillment of it? I pondered this as we stood beside the fire, as very tiny men poured out glowing hot metal into forms, to create sections of a circular chandelier which would hang over the central crossing of the new church. I stared at the red, molten iron and considered this turn of events and what it meant for my dream. To my right, in the distance, sparks of brilliant white light showered the ground, while a little man welded two sections of the chandelier, which had cooled and were now ready for assembly. Where on earth did they find a MIG welder?! I was dumbfounded by, and admired their immense resourcefulness.

(to be continued)

The Podes have added circular icons to the central column structure, as well as the second level of columns, which will support a third level of stave columns, and then a dome of Christ Pantocrator, and finally everything enclosed by the roof structure:

Now for the latest, most current and up to date news for your day. It has been a most spectacular and wonderful day today. At the beginning, the sun rose! And though the local cloud-cover made some people doubt this fact, it is absolutely true. Even so, we had a beautiful accumulation of various cloud formations which rolled through all day long, and these brought with them some rain, and limitless cause for amazement as they swirled and glided and changed shape and form; providing inspiration in whites and grays unlike anything else we’ve recently seen.

Among the birds, a small flock of chickadees were seen at a birdfeeder in the morning, followed later by another group of titmouses (titmice?). Whatever we should call them, they were all very happy and chirping as they ate, and afterwards they danced off upon the invisible breeze.

Trees continued to shed their leaves and prepare for winter. Quite a few shrubs followed suit and did the same. Many of these were very colorful, and some were less so, yet still of interest.

In the world of humans today quite a few things also happened. We should report that a large number of folks all around the world argued and then blamed one another, many also made fun of the others, and in the end they all pretty much wasted the time they’ve been given here, on grievances and prideful displays.  

Back to more interesting matters; the deer found some good things to eat and were seen itching themselves with their hind legs before bounding off into the woods. They were a beautiful display of God’s great imagination and love.

In other news today, many people availed themselves of the tremendous invitation and opportunity to seek God and pray. Those who took God’s will to heart, made efforts to forgive others and live with gratitude and thankfulness every moment. This occurred all day today, as in fact it occurs every other day as well. Nevertheless, this is big news!

And in the world of humans, on the smaller scale of face-to-face interactions, many kind gestures and happy moments were witnessed, and those who participated in these were enriched. And on the most intimate scale of the individual human heart, some hearts swayed toward the good, and some drifted to the bad, unfortunately. But tomorrow is another day, with fresh opportunity to choose the good.

In the soil today, we have big news. Numerous moles and earthworms were busy aerating. Several new mounds could be seen poking through the surface here and there, which testify to the activity of these subterranean creatures. Another example of God’s love and creativity.

That’s all the time we have for today. We thank you for looking to us for your daily news. This is the news you can trust. We know you have choices and we’re glad you choose us; the place for all the news that matters.

~FS

(or ‘How My Church Was Finally Built’)

I have recently had the great pleasure to befriend a band of tiny craftsman, a family-clan of master builders long-forgotten by history, with whom I have developed a working relationship. They are a fiery folk, hale and hearty, but small. I first met them on the road to Inverness. They were sitting by the side of the road and looked to be a ragged and tattered bunch, much beleaguered from their journey thus far. Surprised to see them, so colorfully attired in their traditional garb, I stopped my car and made it my primary objective to refresh them with hot coffee and a muffin, which I just so happened to have on the back seat. As they ate and drank, I gathered the courage to inquire from where they had come, and to where they were travelling.

One of their kin replied that they were from the northern forests of Scandinavia, half-way betwixt the Baltic and the Berent Seas, and just ten kilometers shy of equidistant, as the owl flies, between the Norwegian and the White Seas. Another of their group interjected that they had arrived at our shores upon a small sailing vessel made by his-truly and his brother and several cousins. They were all now in the midst of fleeing their homeland for undisclosed reasons—but along the way, they had suffered a surprise shipwreck, wholly unexpected, which was the reason they were now traveling by land, in search of a new home.

So, as they made their way through my muffin, I decided to ask the glaring question that most intrigued me, but the one I also feared might cause offence. “How is it that you all are so very small?” I asked. For none of them were taller than my shin, and I’d bet good money that none of them, even the tallest, could touch my kneecap on their tippy toes, nor even if they jumped with all their might.

A young lass stood proudly and exclaimed, “We sir, are The Podes! ‘People-Of-Diminutive & Exceptional-Stature’!”

“Oh yes, like Lilliputians!” I returned enthusiastically.

“No!” They all cried out in unison. Those are islanders from the South Pacific. We’re Podes from Finland!”

I considered this silently for a moment. I had never heard of such a people. “Fascinating! So you’re all…Podes. Okay. And what will you do now?”

“Vitta, sir.” The girl answered. “That’s our surname, I’m Analie. Analie Vitta! We’re carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, and painters, anything you like. We build churches. That’s what we’ll do.”

I was astounded. Church builders, I never would have guessed. Maybe doll-houses, but nothing quite so grand, or so large. “Fantastic! I’ve always dreamt myself of building a church. That was my dream, I would love to build a church. Though I never thought I might.” I answered.

“Then you shall build one with us!” They declared as one, with a raising of their mugs and a cheer.

I was flattered. I did in fact have a design for a church that I had created in my earlier years, and secretly, I had always hoped to bring that design out from the world of mere fantasy, out into the wide world of reality. Perhaps they could build my church. I wanted to ask, but sheepishly I kept my hope hidden, deciding to wait for a future moment to expose my secret to them.

After coffee and muffin, I invited them home and set them up in our spare room. When my wife came home from work, she was as surprised as I had been, when she first saw them—about twenty or so little people tucked into our guest bed. They were charming and great conversationalists, even considering English was not their native tongue. They won her over, though later that night she asked me quietly, how long they planned to stay. She was dismayed to hear it might be indefinitely. But she cheered up when I suggested they might build the fence I had never gotten around to, and that we may even ask them to remodel the master bathroom.

Early the next morning we awoke to the sound of our dogs barking. We peered out the back window and saw the whole of them already hard at work. Some were cutting branches from our trees and others were stripping the fallen twigs of their bark. Our dogs pressed their noses against the glass and looked intently at the industrious group as they labored. Already, in one corner of the yard they had a large pile of pebbles gathered, near which one bearded gentleman was crushing lime, adding water and adding the pebbles to create a strong concrete. Just then a group of young men returned from the woods behind our yard dragging several old planks of wood which they immediately went to work on, cleaning off the dirt, and scraping away the outer shell to reveal a very pleasant-colored wood underneath. They stacked the newly minted lumber in rows, organized by dimension and length. Our fire pit had been loaded with logs and a large fire was now burning, into which crucibles filled with metal gathered from who knows where, were boiling and several men were pouring out their contents into molds, creating nails, hinges, and other fasteners, connectors and chains.

It was an extremely impressive show and the four of us, me and my wife and our two dogs, looked on with amazement; though I feared it was hunger our dogs had in their eyes. “No Fritz, Rocco, these are not for eating.” I scolded them preemptively. These are people, we don’t eat them, understand?” They cocked their heads attentively, and then glanced out the window. “Not for eating,” I repeated. They looked up at me sheepishly and I knew they understood me. So we went out to greet our new visitors and I felt confident our boys wouldn’t attempt a quick bite. In fact, it turned out both our dogs were rather frightened by the little people, and preferred to keep a safe distance.

(to be continued)

First photos of the church The Podes are building for me:

I have a funny little story to tell, a true tale about a simple experiment which my scientific and mischievous friends enacted upon me one day in our youth. It was a conspiracy of suggestion actually, one designed to convince me that I was ill, when in fact I was perfectly healthy. But first, before I begin the tale, let me interject with a non-sequitur, but one that I hope you shall soon see, is very important: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

I think we all understand that the more times we hear something the more we believe it is true. This is the basis and rationale of advertising after all, and the entire purpose of marketing; making claims about a product regardless of the validity of the claims, but if the claims are made often enough, people will buy the claims and the product. Our behavior is guided and influenced this way, right? Of course we all know this, consciously or unconsciously, all of us having been thoroughly saturated in these psychological truisms by our commercial economy. Keep these facts in mind as I continue with the tale of my friends’ dastardly plot against me, and how I fell for it; but let me first say: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

The day began like most did for me during high school. I arrived at my locker before first period and spun the combination and pulled out a few books and binders before the bell rang to make my way to class. But today I was not just a high school student. Unbeknownst to me at the time, about ten, perhaps twenty of my friends (and even a few mere acquaintances enlisted to participate) had made me the object of an experiment. The hypothesis: could they make a healthy friend sick, merely by suggestion? They believed that they could! The test and observations: repeated suggestions from numerous sources throughout the day to persuade and guide my health to their desired outcome. And so the experiment began, at my locker, just prior to first period. Two friends arrived, and as we began talking one looked at me with concern on her face, “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine.” I responded. And my other friend jumped in, “Really? I don’t think so. You look awful.” This seemed very strange to me at the time, but that was the end of it and I walked to class.

As I walked between first and second period someone passed me in the hallway. “Hey! How’s it goin? Whoa, what happened to you?!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You look like you got hit by a bus. Are you sick or something?”

“No, I’m fine. What are you talking about?!” I replied with annoyance.

In second period my buddy who sat behind me made a few comments as I sat down, saying that my face looked pale and green.

“No it doesn’t,” I said. “What is wrong with everyone?” I asked.

“Seriously, you should go look in a mirror.” He replied.

So after class, during break I went to the bathroom and had a look. That was when my doubts began. The lighting wasn’t great in the bathroom, with horrible fluorescents, all pasty and white, and the walls were painted green. Like a chameleon I picked up both these traits and indeed I did look pale, green and sickly. By third period I was feeling a little nauseous. By fourth period I was feeling clammy and hot, and my head was beginning to hurt a bit. Several classmates suggested that I should go home and get some rest. I considered it but shrugged it off and said I’d be fine.

At lunch I reconsidered, and I concluded that everyone was right, I wasn’t feeling all that well. I must have picked something up, a cold or flu or something. Maybe I really should go home, and get better. Later, I learned of their trickery. We all had a laugh at my expense, which I really didn’t mind. It was a clever experiment and I was impressed. And the conclusion we made, based on our observations, is that yes, it is possible to make a healthy person believe he is sick through repeated and ongoing suggestion, made by many different sources all with singleness of intent and purpose.

Just today I had an interesting interaction with a propane delivery man, which was actually the situation which made me remember this experiment from my high school days. Let me tell you what happened, but first: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

Having refilled our propane tank, the driver carried the hose out from behind our house and I called out to him from my perch on the second story balcony, “Hey! Thanks for filling our tank.”

He looked up at me, from a distance of thirty or forty feet, and quickly, he pulled a cloth mask up over his face. I called down to him to reassure him that I was fine, he didn’t have to put that thing on if he didn’t want. After all, we’re outside, and he was miles away from me. I’m not worried. But he responded, “Yes I do! I don’t want to get this virus!” So it dawned on me then, that he wasn’t protecting me at all, he was protecting himself. I felt foolish; and realized he was probably upset at me now, since I wasn’t wearing a mask. I had been trying to make him feel at ease by saying not to worry about the mask, misunderstanding his motives as being thoughtful towards me, when he was actually just looking out for himself. And that was fine with me once I understood him. Yet, how interesting I found it that here is this man delivering a truckload of propane gas—which to me seems a fairly dangerous job—and he had no concern about that at all, but he had an incredible terror of contracting a virus from me, in the wide outdoors, at a distance of over thirty feet, while I stood on a second story balcony and he stood on the ground. How can this be?!?

“Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

And I remembered the high-school experiment. Of course, that’s it! This propane driver has been terrorized day and night about this virus, by many sources, repeatedly, continuously, all with a common motive and purpose; to provoke his fear, and to manipulate his behavior. It is astounding how effectively this experiment has been enacted upon us. But then, I know first-hand how well this method can work; I remember how it once worked upon me.

We must help each other now, we must reassure each other. We must repeat the better and the more truthful things. We must use our voice and our strength to combat the terrifying message that we are being sold all day, every day. Sure, we may die; we will die. But let us first live; let us live without fear. I imagine that if I were to tell that propane driver every day about all the propane explosions that happen each year (roughly 2,900 homes destroyed annually, 25 deaths and 155 injuries) he might eventually grow frightened to drive that truck. But why scare him? What’s the point of that?

I would rather give him hope, and give him courage to face the challenges of this life, with all of its difficulties and sorrows. I would rather repeat again and again for him: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!” This is the message that he needs to hear, and hear repeatedly, continuously with singleness of purpose, so that he and everyone like him can live without fear of life.

“Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

~FS

I have a funny little story to tell, a true tale about a simple experiment which my scientific and mischievous friends enacted upon me one day in our youth. It was a conspiracy of suggestion actually, one designed to convince me that I was ill, when in fact I was perfectly healthy. But first, before I begin the tale, let me interject with a non-sequitur, but one that I hope you shall soon see, is very important: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

I think we all understand that the more times we hear something the more we believe it is true. This is the basis and rationale of advertising after all, and the entire purpose of marketing; making claims about a product regardless of the validity of the claims, but if the claims are made often enough, people will buy the claims and the product. Our behavior is guided and influenced this way, right? Of course we all know this, consciously or unconsciously, all of us having been thoroughly saturated in these psychological truisms by our commercial economy. Keep these facts in mind as I continue with the tale of my friends’ dastardly plot against me, and how I fell for it; but let me first say: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

The day began like most did for me during high school. I arrived at my locker before first period and spun the combination and pulled out a few books and binders before the bell rang to make my way to class. But today I was not just a high school student. Unbeknownst to me at the time, about ten, perhaps twenty of my friends (and even a few mere acquaintances enlisted to participate) had made me the object of an experiment. The hypothesis: could they make a healthy friend sick, merely by suggestion? They believed that they could! The test and observations: repeated suggestions from numerous sources throughout the day to persuade and guide my health to their desired outcome. And so the experiment began, at my locker, just prior to first period. Two friends arrived, and as we began talking one looked at me with concern on her face, “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine.” I responded. And my other friend jumped in, “Really? I don’t think so. You look awful.” This seemed very strange to me at the time, but that was the end of it and I walked to class.

As I walked between first and second period someone passed me in the hallway. “Hey! How’s it goin? Whoa, what happened to you?!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“You look like you got hit by a bus. Are you sick or something?”

“No, I’m fine. What are you talking about?!” I replied with annoyance.

In second period my buddy who sat behind me made a few comments as I sat down, saying that my face looked pale and green.

“No it doesn’t,” I said. “What is wrong with everyone?” I asked.

“Seriously, you should go look in a mirror.” He replied.

So after class, during break I went to the bathroom and had a look. That was when my doubts began. The lighting wasn’t great in the bathroom, with horrible fluorescents, all pasty and white, and the walls were painted green. Like a chameleon I picked up both these traits and indeed I did look pale, green and sickly. By third period I was feeling a little nauseous. By fourth period I was feeling clammy and hot, and my head was beginning to hurt a bit. Several classmates suggested that I should go home and get some rest. I considered it but shrugged it off and said I’d be fine.

At lunch I reconsidered, and I concluded that everyone was right, I wasn’t feeling all that well. I must have picked something up, a cold or flu or something. Maybe I really should go home, and get better. Later, I learned of their trickery. We all had a laugh at my expense, which I really didn’t mind. It was a clever experiment and I was impressed. And the conclusion we made, based on our observations, is that yes, it is possible to make a healthy person believe he is sick through repeated and ongoing suggestion, made by many different sources all with singleness of intent and purpose.

Just today I had an interesting interaction with a propane delivery man, which was actually the situation which made me remember this experiment from my high school days. Let me tell you what happened, but first: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

Having refilled our propane tank, the driver carried the hose out from behind our house and I called out to him from my perch on the second story balcony, “Hey! Thanks for filling our tank.”

He looked up at me, from a distance of thirty or forty feet, and quickly, he pulled a cloth mask up over his face. I called down to him to reassure him that I was fine, he didn’t have to put that thing on if he didn’t want. After all, we’re outside, and he was miles away from me. I’m not worried. But he responded, “Yes I do! I don’t want to get this virus!” So it dawned on me then, that he wasn’t protecting me at all, he was protecting himself. I felt foolish; and realized he was probably upset at me now, since I wasn’t wearing a mask. I had been trying to make him feel at ease by saying not to worry about the mask, misunderstanding his motives as being thoughtful towards me, when he was actually just looking out for himself. And that was fine with me once I understood him. Yet, how interesting I found it that here is this man delivering a truckload of propane gas—which to me seems a fairly dangerous job—and he had no concern about that at all, but he had an incredible terror of contracting a virus from me, in the wide outdoors, at a distance of over thirty feet, while I stood on a second story balcony and he stood on the ground. How can this be?!?

“Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

And I remembered the high-school experiment. Of course, that’s it! This propane driver has been terrorized day and night about this virus, by many sources, repeatedly, continuously, all with a common motive and purpose; to provoke his fear, and to manipulate his behavior. It is astounding how effectively this experiment has been enacted upon us. But then, I know first-hand how well this method can work; I remember how it once worked upon me.

We must help each other now, we must reassure each other. We must repeat the better and the more truthful things. We must use our voice and our strength to combat the terrifying message that we are being sold all day, every day. Sure, we may die; we will die. But let us first live; let us live without fear. I imagine that if I were to tell that propane driver every day about all the propane explosions that happen each year (roughly 2,900 homes destroyed annually, 25 deaths and 155 injuries) he might eventually grow frightened to drive that truck. But why scare him? What’s the point of that?

I would rather give him hope, and give him courage to face the challenges of this life, with all of its difficulties and sorrows. I would rather repeat again and again for him: “Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!” This is the message that he needs to hear, and hear repeatedly, continuously with singleness of purpose, so that he and everyone like him can live without fear of life.

“Fear not the things of this world, only fear God and gain wisdom!”

~FS