Sam Jones Pastor’s Blog

June 27, 1990.

May 6, 1993.

For most, these dates are two unremarkable days on a past calendar. For my wife and me, however, the birthdays of our daughter and son forever changed our lives.

During the past twenty-two years, we have been defined by our role as parents. A Peace Corps’ advertisement claims to offer “the toughest job you’ll ever love.” The same could be said about parenting—with each age and stage of life putting a different accent on the words “toughest,” “job,” and “love.”

The month of May marks a milestone in our roles as mother and father. This week BOTH of our children graduate from school.

Our daughter, Katie, graduates on Monday from the Nell Hodgson School of Nursing at Emory University. This fall she will enter graduate school in order to become a pediatric nurse practitioner.

Our son, Will, graduates from Cartersville High School this Friday. Last month he enlisted in the United States Army. In September, he will report to Fort Benning for Basic Training. Then he will receive advanced training to serve as a crew member on an Abrams M1A main battle tank.

Before becoming a father, I fancied myself a self-proclaimed expert on parenting. I recall preaching sermons that instructed others how to raise their children. To all my former congregants, let me take this opportunity to apologize. I gave up my status as an expert the moment our first child arrived.

I possessed the misguided notion that raising children closely compared to raising a garden. Plant the right seeds, nurture the soil, eliminate weeds, and apply appropriate amounts of water, sunlight, and fertilizer. Voila! One had a mature squash or child. Except for the fertilizer, however, it turns out that raising children and gardens hold little in common.

Here’s something newborn parents only learn through hard-earned experience: children emerge from the womb with minds of their own. Yes, nurture plays an important part, but nature also informs the final outcome. Although we raised two children in the same household, each differs greatly from the other. Not better or worse, mind you, just different.

Katie possesses a Type-A personality with a goal oriented mentality. She is a list maker, task checker, and objective obtainer. Katelyn has known since kindergarten what she wanted to do in her life.

Will enjoys a Type-B personality—or maybe a letter further down the alphabet. Rather than rushing down the rapids of life, he meanders down the currents in an inner tube. The boy will never die of an ulcer, and life is something less planned than experienced.

One secret to raising two radically different children is not to expect carbon copies of the same personality and behavior. We have attempted to modify our parenting styles accordingly. Inevitably, this has led to charges of favoritism and inequity.

Both Katie and Will remain firmly convinced that the other receives favored treatment. Our daughter claims she was the “starter” child burdened with unrealistic expectations. Our son claims he was the latecomer who has walked down paths already traveled by his sister.

Along with their differences, our children share some characteristics in common. Both have chosen service oriented careers: Katie in nursing and Will in the military. Most importantly, they are equally, deeply loved by their parents.

Our heavenly Father loves us because—and despite—whom we are. I suppose earthly parents do the same. However, my wife and I are proud of the accomplishments of both our daughter and son.

Another lesson this graduation week is teaching me: good fathers and mothers never graduate from parenthood.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville next to the gold-domed courthouse. Visit the church web site at: www.samjonesumc.org.

I began cutting the grass at home during the twelfth summer of my boyhood. My parents finally deemed me old enough for the responsibility. With dire warnings of severed digits and mutilated limbs ringing in my ears, I yanked the pull-start on the mower. I spent the next two hours cutting crooked lines through the yard.

Some snooty-pooty families in other subdivisions owned riding lawn mowers. The boys in our neighborhood were made of sterner stuff. We cut grass the old-fashioned way with manly sweat and straining muscles. Our Sears lawnmower put the “push” in “push mower.”  Maybe memory fails me, but I recall the blades only cutting a twelve inch swath per pass. Mowing our expansive front and back yard felt like a Herculean task of mythic proportions.

I got my first seasonal job cutting Mr. Joyner’s grass three doors down the street. He worked as an executive at a Fortune 500 company. Since the businessman traveled frequently, he preferred to delegate yard work to subminimum wage teenagers. No one on our block had ever heard of hiring someone else to cut your grass. However, Mr. Joyner came from north of theMason-Dixon Line, so we made allowances for his peculiarities.

I earned $5 a week during the height of the summer’s humid heat. Along with a farmer’s tan, some important lessons got baked into my head. I learned the correlation between work and pay. My sweat and toil taught me the value of a dollar. I grew much more particular about how I spent MY money (as opposed to my parents’ cash.)

Decades and decades later, I still enjoy mowing the lawn myself. In my advanced years, I HAVE progressed to the comforts of a riding mower. If color possessed a smell, then green would be the aroma of freshly cut grass. I enjoy the rhythm of the work along with an uninterrupted opportunity to spend time with my thoughts.

Mowing the lawn also fills me with a sense of accomplishment. Yard work provides immediate feedback. I can survey the lawn and see the results of my labor.

Seldom is this the case in pastoral ministry. Progress often occurs unseen beneath the topsoil of souls. A preacher might receive a compliment on a sermon, article, or Bible study but rarely are the long-term results of ministry evident. Ministers believe their work has eternal consequences; however, eternity begins in time where the future fruits of working in God’s vineyard are not always obvious.

Robert Frost described a poem as “a momentary stay against confusion.” In more meditative moments, I have pondered whether sermons and other acts of ministry do not serve the same purpose. They meet a need for the moment. Only in retrospect does one discover what possessed passing and everlasting effect.

So once a week I cut the lawn in order to see the immediate results. Some would call the labor futile because the grass will grow and need to be cut again the next week. But isn’t that a parable for life? We labor faithfully day in and day out, and our lives are the incremental accumulation of the results. Time will reveal the temporal and eternal.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville. www.samjonesumc.org

On Thursday, May 3, the United States of America will observe a National Day of Prayer. The annual event calls for people of faith to pray for our leaders and land. In Bartow County, a service is planned at the Frank Moore Administrative Building in downtown Cartersville. The prayer service begins at noon and will conclude by 1:00. All residents are invited to participate.

Our founding fathers proclaimed their new country to be “one nation under God.” In 1775, the Continental Congress declared the first day of prayer and “designated a time for prayer in forming a new nation.” Four years later on February 19, 1795 George Washington called his fellow patriots to a day of public thanksgiving and prayer.

During the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln signed a Congressional petition onMarch 30, 1863. The decree encouraged Americans to observe a day of fasting and prayer. Then in 1952, President Truman signed a bill unanimously passed by Congress. The legislation created an annual National Day of Prayer. It required the president to select a day each year for the observation.

Congress approved a new bill in 1988 which fixed the National Day of Prayer on the first Thursday of May. President Ronald Reagan signed it into law onMay 5, 1988. In his speech, the president said: “On our National Day of Prayer, then, we join together as people of many faiths to petition God to show us His mercy and His love, to hear our weariness and uphold our hope, that we might live ever mindful of His justice and thankful for His blessing.”

This May will mark the sixtieth annual observation of a National Day of Prayer. Organizers estimate millions of people will participate in a variety of events in all fifty states. A program entitled “See You at the Pole!” encourages students to gather at their schools’ flag poles to pray before morning classes. Other events take place at local courthouses or in places of worship.

This year’s organizing committee for Bartow County’s National Day of Prayer chose to meet at the Frank Moore Administrative Building in downtown Cartersville. The ecumenical gathering will feature leaders from diverse religious traditions. Setting aside human differences that so often divide, we will unite our hearts and minds in prayer before God.

In his book, “Wishful Thinking,” Frederick Buechner reflected upon the meaning of worship. He wrote: “Phrases like Worship Service or Service of Worship are tautologies. To worship God means to serve him. Basically there are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for him that he needs to have done—run errands for him, carry messages for him, fight on his side, feed his lambs, and so on.”

“The other way is to do things for him that you need to do—sing songs for him, create beautiful things for him, give things up for him, tell him what’s on your mind and in your heart, in general rejoice in him and make a fool of yourself for him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love.”

In a similar fashion, we pray for at least two reasons. We enter into communion with the One who loves us first and loves us best. Such intimate conversation transforms us into the people God wants us to become. Prayer certainly changes things, but perhaps even more importantly, prayer changes the person who prays.

Secondly, prayer challenges us to change the world around us. The Almighty is the God of the weak, abused, downtrodden, neglected, ignored, poor, illiterate, and mistreated. Personal devotion leads to social action and national transformation.

Join God’s people on Thursday, May 3, in a National Day of Prayer. The experience will transform the participants and our nation.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in Cartersville. www.samjonesumc.org

Here’s a new twist to an old joke. Question: Why did the Methodist cross the road? Answer: To get to the other side! AtSamJonesMemorialUnitedMethodistChurch, the classic riddle has become a daily reality.

In the 1980s, the Sam Jones’ congregation made the decision to remain in downtown Cartersville. However, the sanctuary and education building occupied most of the property. The church was landlocked with no room to grow.

In 1998, the congregation began purchasing additional property across West Church Street. The construction of aFamilyLifeCenterin 2003 provided much needed additional space. In order to facilitate foot traffic, an overhead bridge connected the facilities on both sides of the street.

Although people often utilize the bridge, other times folk find it more convenient to cross the road. InGeorgia, pedestrians possess the right-of-way. The law requires motorists to stop for persons on foot when crossing the street.

A painted walkway clearly marks the pedestrian crosswalk onWest   Church Street. A fluorescent yellow sign warns motorists to stop. Redundant traffic cones flank the crosswalk on Wednesdays and Sundays. We even purchased a “Slow Man” to put on the sidewalk in the shape of a child about to cross the road. The neon color and bright flag of the plastic “man” cannot be missed.

Several weeks ago we posted on the church sign: “Please stop for Methodists in the cross walk.” We received more reaction to this message than any before. Most people wanted to know if they only had to stop for METHODISTS. I threatened to change the sign to “Please stop for PREACHERS in the cross walk,” but cooler heads prevailed!

Despite all these precautions, drivers regularly hurtle through the crossing with total disregard of pedestrians. On numerous occasions, I have stood on the sidewalk waiting to cross while car after car sped past. Most of the drivers are talking on their cell phones, oblivious to the world around them.

Adding insult to injury, many motorists wave at me as they drive past. I just stare back in disbelief. One Sunday morning a car nearly ran me over. I held out my hands in a “Why?” gesture. He stopped at the four-way stop and waved. Then I realized that only one finger was extended on his waving hand. I’m not a fire and brimstone kinda preacher, but I found myself wandering about that particular prodigal son’s eternal destination.

On more than one occasion, the church staff has found the traffic signs and cones run over by a vehicle. I would like to think that it occurred accidentally, but I possess a strong belief in the doctrine of human sinfulness.

We have bought half a dozen of the “Slow Man” characters in the past. Someone must like them because four have been stolen. On the latest incarnation, large block letters state: “Thou shalt not steal.” We looked into putting a “Lo-Jack” in one, but the company does not appear to make a device for plastic traffic men.

Georgialaw gives pedestrians the right-of-way for a reason. In any encounter between motorist and pedestrian, the person on the street will always lose. A moment’s inattention or carelessness could have life-changing consequences.

The next time you are driving downWest   Church Street, please slow down and watch for pedestrians. Christians are heaven-bound, but we are in no hurry to be helped along. Help us make sure that the Methodists cross safely to the other side of the street. Better still, turn in the parking lot and join us in our cross walk.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville. www.samjonesumc.org

OnAugust 23, 2005, the eleventh named storm of the Atlantic Hurricane Season formed over theBahamas. Following the alphabetical naming system, the National Weather Service christened the storm “Katrina.” The tropical depression became the sixth strongest Atlantic hurricane ever recorded. The storm caused $75 BILLION in damage and killed 1,420 people. In the face of such widespread tragedy, people of faith wrestle with questions like: “Where is God in the midst disaster? And how does our faith carry us through the storms of life?”

In the fourth chapter of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus had spent the day beside theSea of Galilee, preaching and teaching. As evening fell, Jesus told his disciples, “Let us go to the other side.” So the fishermen among his followers launched a small fleet of boats into the darkening. Exhausted by the day’s activities, Jesus laid his head upon a pillow and fell asleep in the stern of the boat.

The “Sea” ofGalileeis actually a large lake fed by the River Jordan and surrounded by mountains. Cool winds off the Mediterranean blow down the narrow passes and collide with the humid air over the basin. The area is well known for sudden and violent storms.

While Jesus slept, the skies darkened and the demonic wind began to howl. When the storm struck, high waves threatened to swamp the boats. Even the experienced fishermen were terrified. Meanwhile, Jesus slept peacefully in the back, rocked by the waves like a baby in his mother’s arms.

The scene reminds us that Christian disciples are not shielded from the storms of life. We live in a fallen world where it rains on the just and the unjust alike. No one gets through this world without a fair share of bumps, bruises, scars, and stitches. Storms happen, and Christians are not exempt from harm. The Christian faith promises abundant life and everlasting life—but there are NO guarantees of an easy life.

The disciples rudely shook Jesus awake with the cry: “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” There may not be a more honest, human question posed in the pages of Scripture. In dark, dismal moments of life, we echo the disciples’ demand: “Lord, don’t you care?”

Jesus awoke to the cries of his fearful friends. He rose to his feet and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Stretching into wakefulness, he rebuked the wind like an unruly child. Then he said to the waves: “Peace! Be still!” And the winds died, and the waves calmed.

After Jesus calmed the sea, he looked at his water-soaked, windblown friends.  Then he asked them: “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

There is an inverse correlation between faith and fear. The greater our faith, the less our fear becomes. The greater our fear, the less our faith becomes. They mix like oil and water. Faith drives out fear. Fear drives out faith. Time and again Jesus commands us: “Do not be afraid.”

In the aftermath of the storm, the disciples stared slack-jawed at the calm seas. They heard Jesus’ challenge: “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” Then they turned to one another and asked, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

Storms strike in every life. Sometimes we witness the waves miraculously stilled by Jesus’ voice. Other times we grow in faith in the face of fear. However, we never encounter life’s storms alone. By faith, we can face them unafraid.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister of Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in Cartersville. www.samjonesumc.org

I lived next door to a church cemetery during the first nine years of my pastoral ministry. People often asked if a graveyard’s proximity ever bothered me. I always answered quite truthfully, “No, it contains some of the best neighbors in the world!”  The local residents never worried me. However, it would have only taken one incident for me to consider relocating.

I enjoyed walking through the cemeteries and reading the headstones. Some of the names were familiar while others were total strangers. Many had lived long years upon the earth; but their entire lives were summed up in two dates with a dash separating them.

I have been thinking about my own tombstone lately. Not that I actually own one, mind you. Possessing an engraved tombstone while I am still above ground is a bit disconcerting to me. There is no need to bother the stonemason before my time. Quite frankly, I find myself in no hurry to need the services of a marker or a plot.

Yet I have thought about what epitaph might best sum up my life in stone. A sentimental “Gone but not forgotten” would be nice. Or I could go the religious route with “Asleep in the Lord.” I’ve even considered a humorous inscription such as “I told you I was sick!”

Regardless of my final decision, there will come a day when I am not. Although the possibility seems incomprehensible, the world will continue long after I am gone. Even graven lines etched deep in granite will weather and fade with time.

I live with the confidence, however, that I will never be forgotten. One will still know me by name. The Maker of the heavens and the earth has promised that God’s children never perish. John Donne wrote a classic poem entitled “Death, Be Not Proud.” The final verse proclaims: “One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.”

In a high hymn of hope and praise, the apostle Paul exclaimed: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!”

On Easter Sunday we celebrate the good news of the Resurrection. No tombstone marks Jesus of Nazareth’s grave. The first disciples discovered an empty tomb. The angelic proclamation still rings in our ears today: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen, just as he said!”

The message on my tombstone will not ultimately matter. My challenge is to make the dash between the two dates into the Christian race run well. Maybe I will simply have my name and the two customary years inscribed on my tombstone. After the second date, however, they can place a comma rather than a period. Easter reminds us that death is not the end but a new beginning for all that trust in the Lord.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in Cartersville, Georgia. www.samjonesumc.org

Sights of Christmas: The world wrapped in holiday colors of red and green, silver and gold. Crimson berries nestled in the emerald green of holly leaves. Wreath-clad doors, mailboxes garbed with garland scarves, and shrubs robed in lights. Rudolf, Frosty, Charlie Brown, Ebenezer Scrooge, and the Little Drummer Boy on TV. The “Big Tree” towering overLenox Square. Piled gifts spilling beyond the sheltering arms of a Christmas tree’s embrace. On, off, on, off, on, off, on, off of blinking bulbs. Windows alight in warm candle glow. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. Cardboard manager characters casting long shadows in flood light. “Kiss-me-quick” mistletoe dangling from doorways. Diamond stars displayed on a black velvet night. Clydesdale horses stomping through a Currier and Ives winter wonderland. Santa Claus swooshing down a snow-covered hillside on a Norelco electric razor ad. Traffic-jammed mall parking lots.Churchpageant children clothed in oversized bathrobes, cardboard wings, and pipe-cleaner halos.

Sounds of Christmas: Salvation Army, red kettle ringers. Jingle bells jangling. Salutations of “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays.” Crackling fires of wood or gas. Mailboxes crammed with catalogs, cards, invitations, and bills. Carolers’ off-key singing. Horn blare of traffic jams. Canned carols endlessly looping on store speakers. “Blue Christmas,” “The Hallelujah Chorus,” and “Mama got ran over by a reindeer” played back-to-back-to-back on the radio. A bedtime story of “’Twas the Night before Christmas.” Children’s Christmas morning squeals of surprise, delight, and excitement.

Smells of Christmas: Dusty boxes of attic-stored decorations.  Fir-scented Christmas tree smell.Hickorywood smoke wafting from ice-frosted chimneys. Oven roasted turkey basting. Sugar cookies baking. Cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, peppermint, and allspice. Apple cider simmering on the stove. Flavored coffee steaming in a mug.

Feelings of Christmas: Sticky, sappy, prickly, pine boughs. Polar breezes that cut through pants and find where underwear ends. Cozy down comforters for long winter’s naps. Fleece, flannel, wool, fur, cashmere, leather, velvet, cardigan, and cotton clothes. Overcoats, gloves, hats, and scarves. Candy-cane kisses from a candy-smeared child. Children laying awake on Christmas Eve, knowing the night will never pass. Home for the holidays. The presence of loved ones, both present and absent.

Tastes of Christmas:Anjoupears, delicious apples, navel oranges. Hot cocoa with sliver sprinkles of chocolate and topped with marshmallows. Sweet eggnog sprinkled with cinnamon. Honey ham, sweet potato soufflé, cornbread dressing, and deviled eggs. Gingerbread dunked in milk. Unopened fruit cake “regifted” from person to person, family to family, home to home. Chex mix baked with butter and garlic. Some homemade pumpkin pie.

In the Gospels, one title given to Jesus is “Emmanuel” which means “God with us.” For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, God’s grace is all about us in these Holiest of Days. As we continue to celebrate the good news of Christmas—even on April Fool’s Day J —see, hear, smell, touch, and taste that the Lord is good!

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in Cartersville. www.samjonesumc.org

Hi, my name’s Bill, and I’m fashion challenged.

I’m not sure when the condition originated. I experienced some trouble dressing myself during childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood. However, the malady intensified after my wedding.

My new bride sensitized me to the disorder. After surveying my clothing selection from head to toe, she would ask incredulously, “Are you REALLY going to wear THAT?” I am as clueless as most men, but I recognized the inquiry actually contained a commentary on my state of dress.

For the life of me, I couldn’t discern the problem. What could possibly be wrong with wearing green pants matched with a yellow golf shirt from Sears? The discount shirt featured a dragon rather than an alligator on the chest. I complemented the ensemble with a brown belt and sandals.

The conversation recurred during the first months of our marriage. Finally, I faced the fact that my fashion sense was senseless. Also, I had grown weary of changing clothes. So one day in a Solomon-like moment of wisdom, I said to my spouse: “Why don’t you just pick out my clothes, and I will wear them?” My wife accepted the offer with great relief.

Today if someone comments favorably about my clothes, I respond, “I just put on what my wife laid out.” Then we will join in a good laugh—the other person never suspecting that I am telling the unvarnished truth. Whatever vestigial ability I once possessed to dress myself has now withered away from disuse.

For example, last month my beloved spent a long weekend with family. I stayed home to man the home fires. Fortunately for the fashionistas in my congregation, my better-half had selected a suit beforehand and ironed a shirt for Sunday morning church. On Monday, however, I ran out of pressed clothes. Rummaging through the closet, I finally found a blue dress shirt that appeared reasonably unwrinkled. So I shrugged into the sleeves and wore it out the door.

Midmorning, I noticed that the shirt felt a bit binding. Upon further inspection, I found the sleeves ended an inch or two above my wrists. Someone obviously put the 100% cotton shirt through the dryer rather than hanging it to air dry. I made a mental note to discuss it to with my major domo.

Later I mentioned the shrunken shirt to my wife. After asking where I found the garment, she shook her head in disbelief. My darling then informed me that the shirt originally belonged to my son who had outgrown it two years before!

When the apostle Paul sought an analogy for growing in holiness, he chose the image of changing clothes. The Holy Spirit calls us to take off our old, worldly clothes of sin. We are called to don new, spiritual clothes of righteousness. Paul wrote: “You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” (Galatians 3:27)

This process of sanctification takes a lifetime to accomplish. The Holy Spirit examines our lives and asks, “Are you really going to wear THAT?” Conviction, confession, and repentance follow. We take off one outgrown garment at a time to exchange it something more fitting for the Christian life.

Hi, my name is Bill. And I’m a recovering, fashion challenged, child of God.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville next to the gold-domed courthouse. Visit the church web site at: www.samjonesumc.org.

I grew up during the 1960s watching Password on television. For the uninitiated, the game show coupled celebrities with contestants. A person in each pair received a secret password also revealed to the audience. The partner attempted to guess the password through one word clues. In the original daytime series, winners earned an astronomical $100.

Today I find myself playing a different game of Password. In our technological age, electronic devices along with on-line sites require a variety of passwords. Using my fingers and toes, I quickly ran out of digits for counting the myriad of passwords required in my daily life.

Passwords for: computers, cell phones, telephones, answering machines, I-Pads, security systems, web sites, on-line banking, ATMs, credit cards, and more.

Despite strident warnings from experts, many use simple passwords for ease of memory. The numbers 1-2-3-4 remain popular favorites, followed by the challenging combinations of 2-4-6-8 or 1-3-5-7. The more creative use the word “password” for their password. “Open sesame” continues to be a perennial favorite.

Others use details from their personal lives to provide memorable passwords. Examples include birthdates, anniversaries, street addresses, spouses, children, and sports teams. However, tech gurus warn that hackers using “social engineering” can often break such codes.

According to professionals, the best codes include upper and lower case letters along with numbers and symbols in random order. The longer the password, the harder it is to crack. According to these guidelines, a robust password might be #ri&BR5n+/ac!07~$. There’s just one problem: WHO is going to remember #ri&BR5n+/ac!07~$?

On top of everything else, experts also advise using DIFFERENT passwords for EVERY account AND changing it every 60 to 90 days. Ohmygoodness. Who exactly is going to do this? Even when people do create strong accounts, despite warnings to the contrary, most people write down their passwords in an easily accessible place. Of course, this causes another set of security issues.

The best advice I’ve seen lately is to use a common combination of letters, words, and symbols in ALL passwords. For example, it might be $t*rW@rs. Memorize this combination. Then build on it to create other passwords. So a password at the bank might be NameofBank$t*rW@rs2012. When writing down the password for later reference, use X for the memorized portion of the password. So it would look like NameofBankX2012.

In the Old Testament, Judges 12 records a strange moment in Israel’s history. After defeating the Ephraimites, the inhabitants of Gilead guarded the fords of the River Jordan to keep any refugees from escaping. Everyone crossing the river had to correctly say the Hebrew word, “Shibboleth.” The Ehpraimites could not correctly pronounce the term, and their inability to say the password betrayed their identity.

Thank God the church remains a place where no passwords are required. No one challenges visitors at the doors for proper identification. People are welcome to come as they are. Worshippers are not required to pray with “thees” and “thous” or conjugate verbs in Elizabethan English. The doors remain open wide for everyone.

In Matthew 11:28, Jesus said: “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” You and I are part of the y’all of all. Join Christ’s church in worship this Sunday—no passwords required.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville next to the gold-domed courthouse. Visit the church web site at: www.samjonesumc.org.

I despise returning purchases to a store. In the past, I have kept items of the wrong size or color just to avoid dealing with service desk clerks. A few weeks ago, however, I overcame my returnaphobia in order to return a $6 can of spray paint to a local business.

Of the two cashiers on duty, only one possessed the authority to deal with returns. So I waited semi-patiently in line for my turn. Just as I arrived at the counter, the cashier posted a sign that announced the closing of the register. However, she did condescend to handle my business before going on break.

I presented the paint along with the receipt which I had proudly remembered to bring. She examined the can closely and demanded to know the reason for its return. The woman scribbled something cryptic on the receipt before punching a series of numbers into the register.

Then the real inquisition began. The clerk asked my name which I freely provided. She followed with a request for my phone number. This struck me as slightly intrusive, but I volunteered the information. The next step required picture ID, so I presented my driver’s license. Typing the number into the computer did not trigger any alarms, so the woman commanded me to swipe the exact same credit card originally used for the purchase.

The cashier asked if I would like a copy of the receipt. After investing fifteen minutes of my life in the endeavor, I replied, “Sure.” This required a trip to another register to use a pouring-molasses-in-January-slow copier. Upon her return, I reached for the receipt. The cashier snatched it away and informed me in an imperial voice, “Sir, the supervisor must approve the refund.”

At this point, I may have lost my composure just a little bit. “YOUR SUPERVISOR HAS TO APPROVE A $6 REFUND?” I asked in an incredulous voice. My next comment MIGHT have crossed the smart-aleck line: “I’m not going to have to submit to DNA testing, too, am I?”

The woman ignored my question while calling on the intercom for a supervisor to respond to a “Code Three.” After my previous remarks, I figured that a “Code Three” probably referred to rowdy customers with poor attitudes. I glanced around nervously for the store police to arrive with batons, pepper spray, and cuffs.

I kept waiting for the employee to ask where I worked. After my vocal remonstrations, I had already decided to tell her that I served as a pastor—at First Baptist Church!

It took two “Code Three” calls before the supervisor finally shuffled to the front. After examining the casher’s paperwork, the manager deigned to sign the refund. Then they required me to countersign it before I scurried from the store like an inmate making a break for freedom.

During the afternoon, I continued to fume about the thirty minutes spent returning a $6 can of paint. However, God has a sense of humor. The next day my sermon dealt with the deadly sin of anger and the heavenly virtue of patience! During my visit to the store, I had definitely experienced the former without a thought about the latter.

Let’s be clear: yes, the store’s policies are ridiculous. And, yes, I will hesitate to shop there again. However, we cannot control how others’ act—we can only control ourselves. If this is the true measure of the Godly life, then I failed the anger/patience test miserably. I suppose the only good news is that it DID supply an additional story for my sermon on the following Sunday!

The Bible tells us that the presence of the Holy Spirit provides a spirit of self-control. God both calls us and equips us to cultivate patience in our lives. Within the context of eternity, the majority of life’s irritants are minor nuisances not worth losing our religion over. In Christ, the real return is patience rather than anger.

Dr. Bill Burch is the senior minister at Sam Jones Memorial United Methodist Church in downtown Cartersville next to the gold-domed courthouse. Visit the church web site at: www.samjonesumc.org.