Our adventures in life are often spawned by events that we prefer would never happen. Such was the case for the Prophet Ezekiel (Ez 1:1-28). I tend to think this was the case for Terah, Abraham’s father when he left Ur of the Chaldeans and ended up in Harran, about half-way to his stated goal of Canaan (Gen 11:27-32). When God spoke to Abram, the journey continued encouraged by God’s promise of land, people and blessings (Gen 12:1-5). As Abram traveled, he listened to God and worshipped. First at Shechem (Gen 12:6-7); then Bethel (Gen 12:8); the Negev (Gen 12:9); Egypt (Gen 12:10); back to the Negev (Gen 13:1-2); and Bethel (Gen 13:3-4) until quarreling broke out between Abram and Lot, his nephew over rights to grazing land (Gen 13:5-7). Quarreling led to family separation (Gen 13:8-13), but continue affirmation to Abram from God (Gen 13:14-17) and further worship from Abram, this time at Hebron (Gen 13:18). When Abram’s faith in God’s promises wavered, he would receive further affirmation (Gen 15:1-5). Which leads to this pivotal verse: Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness (Gen 15:6). Paul used this verse to undergird his message that salvation comes through faith (Romans 4:3, 18) James quotes this verse to support his contention that faith must be supported by works (Jam 2:23-24). No matter which side of this controversy you may land, I believe all of us are called to take a leap of faith, to sail away with Jesus as our captain, to live the adventure that includes listening and worshipping and action no matter how difficult the path.

Maybe one of the appeals of the Bible is that it is filled with adventure stories, and the Epiphany, the wise men traveling from the east to Jerusalem and finally Bethlehem is one of the greatest adventures of all time (Matt 2:1-2). Many ironies show up in the story. Certainly wisdom from the east is definitely counter-intuitive for a good Jew (Gen 3:23-24; 4:15-16; Jonah 4:3-5). That a monster like Herod figuring into the story so prominently is also unusual (Matt 2:3-8). Should we then be surprised that very difficult people figure into our stories as well? For the wise men, the star stopped over Bethlehem (Matt 2:9-10), but maybe our star is still moving? No matter, in order to maintain our sense of adventure we need to genuinely worship and extravagantly give (Matt 2:11). God expects our best (Gen 22:1-2), and it disheartens us and saddens Jesus when we give less (Mk 10:17-22). If we don’t have silver and gold, we need to give what we have (Acts 3:3-6). One more irony, generally speaking our greatest gift is our deepest pain.

Pastor Tom brings the HPcc Weekly Gatherings to an end.

A tattered flag flies over a nearby Hardee’s, a reminder of how fragile the union it represents? Do we remain indivisible? Is there liberty and justice for all? Is our democracy stable or teetering on the edge?

For many the church has become either irrelevant, misguided, or downright dangerous as it goose-steps behind religious-nationalistic leadership. If a deranged populist says black is white or 2+2=5, heads bow in submission and arms rise in adoration, while others look on with dismay or disgust.

Every autumn growing up, the Andrews family front yard doubled as the neighborhood football field. Boys from all over Pinecrest would gather after school, choose up sides and slug it out until the sun would tell everyone to go home.

Sometimes those words make me extremely happy, after visiting the dentist for instance. But ironically, they can be exceptionally painful, especially if coming from a long-time friend. I heard those words this past week from a friend of long stories, good laughs and exchanged gifts.

It was the biggest game in my high school career. Jefferson and Stuart vied for first place in the Northern District. The Washington Post even sent out a reporter to cover the excitement…and exciting it was…nip and tuck down to the very end. Actually, my name was mentioned several times in this article, but never in a good way. “Jefferson’s final bid for victory, a follow-up basket by Steve Greenstreet, was disallowed when the officials ruled time had expired. Earlier, Tom Andrews missed a free throw with 12 seconds left that would have tied the game…. Andrews later grabbed a loose ball and threw up the shot that led to the disputed ruling.”

Is it any wonder that Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Like the rest of us, I am sure Jesus figured out that little children are a heck of a lot more fun than most any adult.

A few months ago, Ann and I made a pilgrimage to Holly Lawn Cemetery in Suffolk, the final resting place for many family members including my mom and dad. On the way we stopped to see Aunt Lois who for the past 50 years has lived on Brewer Avenue, a street I knew so well as a child because it was also home to my grandparents oh so long ago. Memories flooded back of childhood adventures, deeply ingrained and so very rich. I told Ann about cousin Chay, born in 1950 just like me, a good friend and congenial competitor from birth through high school. Four or five times a year my Northern Virginia family would head south to reunite with our Suffolk kin. When this happened, Chay and I were inseparable. While the adults talked and told stories, the same-aged cousins played board games, ran races, fought imaginary enemies, laughed, joked and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. Among other things I learned along with Chay never to fire your pea shooter at the local bully riding his bike down the street, even if you do it from your grandparent’s front porch. And even more important, never fire your pea shooter at a wasp’s nest no matter what. But like Little Jackie Paper, both Chay and I grew up and no longer entertained imaginary dragons or fought for pirate gold. Upon graduation from high school, treasured childhood toys and dreams were lost and forgotten. We pretty much went our separate ways, seeing less and less of each other as we no longer shared common ground. The last time I saw him, Chay and I were 20-years-old. His IQ was off the charts… creative, curious, hard-working, like-able, but we took different paths. We parted company and lost track. Years turned into decades, until out of the blue I heard from Chay’s cousin, Ford. Their mom, my Aunt Winnie had died. My condolences immediately went out to Ford, but my memories remained most closely attached to Chay. That was when the Holy Spirit began to speak to me through my wife, again. “You ought to call Chay.” “I don’t know how to get in touch.” “I’ll look him up on Facebook.” “I doubt if he is interested. We haven’t spoken in 50 years. He may feel like I am intruding…” But she was persistent, and I felt obligated. So, a couple of weeks ago, I ginned up the courage to make this long overdue phone call… And I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was as the Chay and Tom of early childhood seemed to reemerge. The things that separated seemed to dissolve sentence by sentence and story by story. We concluded with a promise to stay in touch and meet together in person after vaccines make that safe. I know that “all good things come to those who wait.” But it is also true that “there is no time like the present” especially when you have an opportunity to become friends once again with an almost forgotten cousin.