Archives for December 2014

Grandparents in Search of Some Grandchildren

December 24, 2014 by admin

Cranberry door with red berry Christmas wreath.

For decades, the Mains family has honored the tradition of celebrating Christmas together on odd years, and having the even-year Christmases free to visit with other in-laws without feeling torn between family systems or to just stay home and honor your own traditions. This is the year 2014, so it is a non-Mains family Christmas celebration year.

Generally, David and I plan to go away on these even years, but one of our sons will be alone, and since we all are still reeling from losing Jeremy Mains, son and brother, age 41 in November 2013, we are settling in for a quiet gathering.

Angela, Jeremy’s wife, has made her own plans with family and friends, so the littlest grandchildren will not be with us. Our eldest grandchildren, ages 22, 20 and 19, are in Phoenix, AZ. Our daughter, son-in-law and their two kids, 17 and 14, are happy to follow their own traditions.

So the three of us (the leftovers) have consulted and plan to attend a Christmas Eve candlelight service performed at the reasonable hour of 5:00 p.m. We’ll prepare crab-and-cheese fondue at our son’s house. Christmas Day we’ll serve the traditional English menu—a rolled roast of some sort, Yorkshire pudding, a platter of white braised vegetables, and something flaming for dessert. The request has been made that we play Scrabble (my request), do a puzzle together and sit by the fire.

Frankly, it sounds lovely. In some ways we are grandparents in search of grandchildren—we have eleven grandchildren, but none of them will be with us for Christmas. (Lest you begin to feel sorry for us, our 19-year-old with girlfriend in tow is flying into Chicago the day after Christmas—that is when the festivities will truly begin!) So instead of getting blue about this potential emptiness, I’m going to anticipate what God has in mind for us. What kind of gift in this quiet is He preparing?

The grandchildren will not be here, but there are three of us and isn’t the promise the same for Christmas as it is for the rest of the year?—“Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of you.” This could be, if we will let it, one of the best Christmases ever.

Award-winning author Karen Mains has long had an interest in spiritual formation and the obedient Christian walk. She has written about the God Hunt in her book by the same name, The God Hunt: The Delightful Chase and the Wonder of Being Found. A hardback copy can be ordered from Mainstay Ministries for $10.00 plus $4.95 shipping and handling. Contact Karen at info@mainstayministries.org and she will be happy to autograph a copy for you.

Karen continues to write content for her Christian blog, “Thoughts-by-Karen-Mains.” In so doing, she desires to touch the lives of Christian women and men and help them find ways to walk closer with the Lord Jesus Christ. In addition, through silent retreats, spiritual teaching, women’s retreats, Christian vacation opportunities, and other ministry activities, Karen helps each Christian woman and man receive vital spiritual food.

Through her Hungry Souls ministry, Karen serves as a spiritual coach to many Christian women and men, and teaches a mentor-writing class. And, through the Global Bag Project, she is working to develop a network of African women who sew exquisite cloth reusable shopping bags, Africa bags. This micro-finance women opportunity helps provide a much-needed sustainable income for struggling African families. For more information on this critically important project, please click here.

For decades, Karen and her husband, David, have served God through religious communications—radio, television, and print publication. They are the co-authors of the Kingdom Tales Trilogy: Tales of the Kingdom, Tales of the Resistance, and Tales of the Restoration. To find many valuable resources for pastors and congregations at the Mainstay Ministries main website, please click here.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Listening to Handel’s Messiah With the Score

December 23, 2014 by admin

Handel “Messiah” scores beside Advent wreath.

Every Advent I pull out the five scores I purchased for what I hoped would become an annual Christmas tradition—listening to the whole Messiah, the score on my lap, turning the pages as we moved through the extraordinary lyrics this master composer has set to the oratorio format. I read music, although without the lyrics to act as clues I definitely get lost in all the black circles and bars on the pages.

For years, the scores were used as one of the meditative tools we provided during Hungry Souls’ annual 24-Hour Advent Retreat. The five scores were set out on a table in a quiet room, a tape recorder was provided, iPods were available for privacy, and women were allowed to read and listen to the Messiah without being interrupted. Sometimes we just don’t have the time for such an event in our busy lives.

This day I was determined to practice this listening discipline myself—hopefully with some friends, but I just couldn’t see my way to getting a time when we could pull something together. When the leader of our book group cancelled our monthly meeting (via email) because things had become too frantic, I grabbed the opportunity of inviting everyone to our house. The December meeting is set aside for catching-up with one another. I suggested we listen to the Messiah with scores in hand, then share with each other where we were in our individual lives.

I didn’t realize that for some this would be a daunting invitation. In total, four people canceled (busy schedules), David had to go to bed with heart arrhythmia (chronic problem), but seven of the rest of us enjoyed cookies, hot cider, then gathered around the fireplace to listen to just the first four songs with our scores in hand.

I realized as we debriefed this 20-minute experience that one of the men had never heard the Messiah before. The other young man was ready to excuse himself to the washroom, then slip down into the basement to watch the football game! (He confessed this to me himself.) My friend beside me couldn’t read music. The other four of us seemed to be wondering at the majesty and creativity of the event, the richness of the music, the score in our hand heightening our enjoyment beyond our expectations.

After twenty minutes, we turned off the CD and talked about the listening experience. One of the women who has her Ph.D. in dance told the story of how Handel created this piece—24 straight days in which he felt he was overpowered by the Holy Spirit and couldn’t stop until the work was finished. I shared how the first concert was performed in Dublin, Ireland for charity and that Handel had been poor and impoverished himself. We began to talk about how listening proficiency in many things comes over time. We acquire a taste for classical music. One of the women, an ESL teacher, told how the same is true about languages: The nuances of tone and words and conjugations are often overlooked because people are struggling just learn the basics. In time, however, they begin to hear things they couldn’t hear before. The world of that second language opens to them, doors beckon, the learner begins to step through with delight.

The same is true with listening to God. This spiritual exercise also takes time before a proficiency comes. When we begin, we may consider it a dull occupation—nothing happens! We certainly aren’t hearing the whispers, not to mention the shouts of the divine. We’d rather be down in the basement watching the football game rather than trying to “configure these black marks on the page.”

One of the classic words of advice that comes to us from people wiser than ourselves regarding listening—to music—or to that mostly quiet Word of God that speaks to our hearts is: Even when you don’t quite get it, just keep listening.

Open the score, put on the music, light a fire in the fireplace, follow as best you can, catch up on the score when the words are printed matching the voices you are hearing (don’t hide away in the basement), but expect—just anticipate—that something eventually will open up in your soul and you will hear and know what you have heard and you will understand.

You will no longer go through life “never having heard the Messiah”!

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Thwacked! Television Habit

December 22, 2014 by admin

Who says the Lord doesn’t speak loudly enough? For instance, I am in a dramatic struggle to break a television habit.

Actually, I hate most of what’s on television. It’s inane, often boring, sometimes disturbing and predominately offensive. The news channels are not objective, do not respect my intelligence, and give only one side of the argument. Commercial drivel drives me batty. Apart from a few bright lights of exceptional programming, we are paying for what looks like a passel of reality shows with extraordinary opportunists grabbing their brief moment in the limelight, for endless infomercials, and for outrageous talk shows that demean their participants.

So why do I have a television habit, in that I watch too much TV? It seems I have a television habit when my mind goes into a fog about 6:00 at night. For six months last year, I was on an intensive nutritional program, working with a clinical nutritionist. I felt the best I had felt in a lifetime, and went straight through the day from 5:00 in the morning to around 9:00 at night without brain fog, an aching afternoon back or any physical lassitude. During this whole time, I watched barely any television.

It appears my television habit is more a health problem than it is an addiction. So why don’t I get back on the nutritional plan if it did me so much good? Simple answer: It costs a whole lot of money—around 800 to 1000 dollars every month and a half. Insurance, of course, doesn’t cover anything that keeps you healthy; only the things that cure your ills.

So one morning (no brain fog early in the day), I finished a book I’ve read before. It is Sacred Reading by Michael Casey and deals with learning to develop the habit of a deep reading of the Word. It was so good that I read all the endnotes, often highlighting excellent quotes.

Then I read this endnote on Thomas Merton, the Catholic priest/contemplative:

“Thomas Merton was fierce and extreme on this point. ‘The life of the television-watcher is a kind of caricature of contemplation. Passivity, uncritical absorption, receptivity, inertia. Not only that, but a gradual, progressive yielding to the mystic attraction until one is spellbound in a state of complete union. The trouble with this caricature is that it is really the exact opposite of contemplation. Contemplation is the summit of a life of spiritual freedom. The other, the ersatz, is the nadir of intellectual and emotional slavery.’”

Thwacked!—and by the endnotes at that. So after some careful prayer and consideration, I am not attempting to break my television habit. Instead I’m working hard to set aside the funds, get back into the advisement of my nutritionist, and become healthy enough again that I feel great and active and lively for the whole day.

Looks to me like God speaks loudly enough.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Shoe Boxes

December 19, 2014 by admin

The “Make Your Own Snowman Kit” ready to deliver.

I can’t bear waste, so the few times I’ve shopped at discount shoe stores, purchasing items that are 40% or 50% or even 60% off, I hate to bring home shoe boxes only to throw them away. Most of the time, I leave the boxes at the counter in the store—but a few times I’ve hauled home some boxes, particularly those that store boots—to see if I could find a way to recycle them.

Yesterday, I went to pack a “Make Your Own Snowman” kit that a friend had given me for our younger grandchildren. It contained a felt black hat with a jaunty ribbon band, a felt carrot (better than a corncob pipe), some coal for the mouth and nose, buttons for the eyes and a book of instructions. Also included was a plastic bag of sundries, some of which I could see were jingle bells.

What to pack this all in?—wait, wouldn’t that shoe box I’d stored in the gift wrap center in the basement be just the right size? Everything fit—perfectly. But that color. And those price tags stickers on the sides. And the brand name imprint. I could wrap it. Or—or perhaps—perhaps I could spray paint it.

Sure enough, there was a can of Christmas green paint in my garage storage cupboard. So, I took my shoebox, sprayed the sides bright green, tucked the “Make Your Own Snowman Kit” into red tissue paper and tied it with seasonal ribbon. I signed a card, “To children who love snow. Nina and Papa.”

It’s amazing, isn’t it, what it takes to make some people happy?

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Mittens

December 17, 2014 by admin

The mittens on display.

In an effort to provide work for women who live beneath the poverty line, many of them members of the immigrant community, some friends and I began to experiment with sewing mittens from recycled sweaters. In time, I had invested some $400 in resale sweaters (most of which sell for four or five dollars, and if you’re lucky and find a half-off sale, for two or three dollars).

Wool sweaters make beautiful mittens—warm and sturdy—but they need to be felted, washed in hot water, and shrunk. This is a stage that adds time and work to what we were hoping would become a cost productive process for any sewer. It is one thing to be a part-time crafter, another thing to be attempting to make or supplement a minimal living existence.

Since the crafters were grabbing up the wool resale sweaters anyway, I began to wonder if the wool blends—plentiful in second-hand shops—would also make sturdy, washable, attractive mittens. College students joined us in our process—gave input and stood at cutting tables to see if we could hasten our mitten-making tasks by establishing an assembly line process. I began to notice when they chose fabrics, they took delight in combining random patterns. Sewing friends stitched up samples. We lined the mittens and made cuffs with resale velour, sometimes from thin summer or stadium blankets.

Then 2013 intervened and interrupted all my plans—a beloved son, age 41, with a wife and three small children—succumbed to a rare and aggressive lymphoma. He died five months after the first diagnosis. I fell, dislocated my shoulder, and tore the rotator cuff. Surgery ensued and months of physical therapy. Then, another operation had to be performed when a long-needle biopsy on thyroid determined that I had suspicious papillary cancer cells.

The mitten project was organized and stored in large cartons in our attic. The patterns and instructions were filed. Donated buttons were color-sorted into glass jars and put away. The college kids graduated, their cut patterns labeled and sealed in plastic sacks.

One friend, however, used the mitten project as a section in her re-certification classes for renewing her teacher’s license in Illinois. She turned out some 16 beautiful wool mittens (none of them random pattern blends). My eight prototypes and hers sat unused in storage baskets. What were we going to do with them? Christmas gifts, I guessed.

This fall, however, our office manager, Heather Ann Martinez, and I visited a store in nearby La Grange Park where items like our reusable African-fabric shopping bags from the Global Bag Project, a small microenterprise we help to sponsor in Kenya, are made available to shoppers without a fee or share of the margin taken by the shop. This was amazing. We had not looked into retail marketing because the store cuts threatened our fair wage philosophy.

In the store, I asked if they would be interested in our recycled sweater mittens, since the winter season was creeping upon us. I explained that this would be a trial for the products and if they sold, we would see what kinds of sweater fabrics landed in the African flea markets, or we would follow our original plan of employing immigrant women who could sew.

Four days ago, I received a call informing me that all but two sets of the mittens had sold.

“The young gals loved the random pattern mittens. They just walked out the door. Do you have any more?”

The random pattern mittens were all made from wool blends—a good sign: availability, less processing, cheaper purchase prices. Sure enough, I found eleven more sets, all needing hemming and accent buttons. Let’s see: 24 sets of mittens selling at $25 each meant that we had cleared $600. I could repay a part of my original investment and write checks totaling $400 to my friend who had made 16 beautiful wool mittens and didn’t know what she was going to do with them.

Christmas is around the corner, but I am dying to get into the attic and open the boxes and find those plastic sacks of cut and random matched wool blend patterns all waiting to be sewn into mittens that will “just walk out of the store.”

As Martha Stewart (and my friend Walt Wangerin) says, “This is a good thing.”

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Singing Again

December 15, 2014 by admin

The best Christmas gift I have received (early) this year is that about three weeks ago I discovered (in church) I was able to sing again.

After the thyroidectomy I had in July, I went around hoarse. I couldn’t yell at my husband—perhaps the words should be, I couldn’t call him. “David! Da-a-vid!” came out as kind of a croaky whisper. The nodule in my neck that the Ear, Nose and Throat surgeon removed was the size of a tennis ball. He showed me an iPhone photo to prove it. I will spare you evidence of the fact, but I did slip a copy into my prayer journal to remind myself.

The doctor sounded obviously relieved when he reported, “Good news.” What cancer I did have was small, slow-growing and would not require further treatment (since it and the whole thyroid had been removed). But I also think he was relieved that the node, being so large, hadn’t wrapped itself around my trachea and my vocal chords.

However, the hoarseness lasted for several months, and I gave up singing in church. Probably, I thought to myself, I will never sing again. As far as the world is concerned, this is no great loss. I am not the musician in our family. The list of true familial talent is extensive. The capability of the extended clans—mine and David’s—is remarkable. There are those that have degrees in music. There are orchestrators, studio musicians, record producers. No one—no one—is going to miss the fact that I might be permanently out of voice.

I don’t know when the hoarseness of my talking voice faded. I just realized one day that there was little strain left. But I did distinctly notice in church one Sunday morning around Thanksgiving that it seemed as though I was on pitch, reaching the higher notes, and slipping in and out of David’s harmony. I love to sing in church beside my husband. What’s more, surprise, there seemed to be no strain.

So just in time for Advent, just in time for carols and Christmas hymns I discovered I was singing again. “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” … “Adeste Fidelis” … “Bring a Torch, Jeannette Isabella” … “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” … “Break Forth, O Beauteous Heavenly Light” … “Lo! How a Rose E’er Blooming.”

To sing again—this is the greatest of all Christmas gifts to me. I sing thankfully. I sing gratefully. I am not silent.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Yellow Slickers

December 12, 2014 by admin

Rain slicker at the ready.

Last week, the temperature rose in Chicagoland, from the twenties to the forties—48 degrees to be exact. Now I have hauled more pans of boiling water than I care to count after a sudden freeze caught me with my Christmas greens outside their garden pots. In order to arrange Christmas decorations during those years, I needed to de-thaw the frozen planting soil.

Waking up in the middle of the night and checking the temperature outside, I discovered it was warm enough I could plod around outside without a coat while just wearing a sweatshirt.

I was in a race against falling temperatures. Somewhere about 5 A.M., I could feel that the temperatures were dropping—a couple degrees per half-hour. Stopping for a warming cup of coffee, I checked my iPhone—yep, it was now 42 degrees outside.

A damp drizzle began. I went inside, dug out my yellow sailing slicker, found some rubberized garden gloves, pulled on my wellies and kept working—no hauled hot water this year if I could help it! In a little bit of time, my jeans were soaking, and I was getting cold. “Better stop,” my husband warned. “You don’t want to get sick.” Instead, I went in, changed my damp stockings, peeled off the jeans and dug out the yellow slicker pants.

By this time it was light, a grey gloomy growing colder November morning, and any passersby would have seen a yellow-clad figure frantically hauling greens, clipping and cutting, half muddy now in her yellow sailing slicker, protecting herself from what might be an approaching Nor’easter (what is a Nor’easter, anyway?).

However, I and my determination prevailed. By the time I ended my race at 9 o’clock in the morning, the temperature was 38 degrees, heading fast toward freezing. My walkway to the front door lined with evergreen boughs, however, and the pots filled with greens, and the wire baskets outside the garage were all neatly waiting now to be solidly impressed into the soil by the wind and the rain and the cold. The shepherd hooks were pressed into the earth and eagerly waiting for the red Christmas lanterns I hang so that their light greets people to our home.

It occurs to me that Advent, the season after Thanksgiving, that much of the church observes as the beginning of the church year, asks us to get ready, to watch for the coming of Christ, to be prepared.

My yellow slicker—pants and coat—and my race against the cold are what I call living metaphors, actions we take that are like a sometimes unseen spiritual reality. They point the way; they show us; they remind us of what we often forget. In this case, the first week of Advent asks us to get ready by repenting, to take some time for self-examination. This prayer is fitting:

Accept my repentance, Lord, for the wrongs I have done: for my blindness to human need and suffering, and my indifference to injustice and cruelty,
Accept my repentance, Lord.

For all false judgments, for uncharitable thoughts toward my neighbors,
And for my prejudice and contempt toward those who differ from me,
Accept my repentance, Lord.

For my waste and pollution of your creation, and my lack of concern for those who come after us,
Accept my repentance, Lord.

There is more, but you get the idea.

Observing Advent appropriately, getting ready for the coming of Christ, is like donning a yellow sailing slicker, pants and coat, and working hard before the climate 48 degrees turns to a frozen and chilling below-20. Be resolved. Be resolved to be prepared both outside and inside.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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A Thanksgiving Question

December 10, 2014 by admin

Generally, I can get things ready for Thanksgiving meals, which as most every woman knows, is a whole lot of work. Tables set, fall decorations in place, meals planned, shopping done, food prepared, folk greeted at the door. I am not so great at planning what I can only call the Thanksgiving “program”—whatever else happens at these festive meals—planned table conversation, prayers, discussion questions, historical notes, etc. (Well, I could probably be good at it, but there isn’t enough energy, time or determination.)

This year, I assigned the Thanksgiving Day “program” responsibilities to my husband. He is a minister, however, and a superb programmer. “I don’t want the ‘tell one thing you are thankful for’ idea; that has become hackneyed,” I instructed.

Fortunately for David, the morning office for Thanksgiving Day was perfect to read before we sat down to eat:

Let us give thanks to God our Father for all his gifts so freely bestowed upon us.
For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth and sky and sea,
We thank you, Lord.

For all that is gracious in the lives of men and women, revealing the image of Christ,
We thank you, Lord.

For our daily food and drink, our homes and families and friends,
We thank you, Lord.

For a mind to think, and a heart to love, and hands to serve,
We thank you, Lord.

For health and strength to work, and leisure to rest and play,
We thank you, Lord.

For the brave and courageous, who are patient in suffering and faithful in adversity,
We thank you, Lord.

For all the valiant seekers after truth, liberty, and justice,
We thank you, Lord.

For the communion of saints, in all times and places,
We thank you, Lord.

Above all, we give you thanks for the great mercies and promises given to us in Christ Jesus our Lord;
to him be praise and glory, with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen.

In addition, after we had eaten and were sitting around talking, David asked us to consider this question: “Looking back on your life, and apart from your own family, can you tell us about one person you are grateful for?”

What resulted was a lovely discussion, recalling for us all the huge variety of people who come our way and bring us love or encouragement or unusual gifts. My daughter, Melissa, was grateful for a new friend who included her in farm-style kitchen gatherings—canning tomato sauce and dill pickles toward the end of summer. A couple recounted a friend who aged over the years that they came to know him and gave them a gift in understanding the aging process—a gift for the days ahead. As each unique individual was named and the reason for gratitude was explained, I began to sense how amazing is the variety of people who come into our lives and leave behind sweetness of one kind or another.

I have been thinking about this question for a couple of weeks: I have been formed (as have all of us) by an amazing conglomerate of humans who have touched my life for a season, who pop back into my days and surprise me with their growth and challenge me to keep my own growth growing. Some have taught me how to suffer wisely. Some have kept me laughing. Some have challenged my mind and my abilities. Some have lavished upon me their approval. Some have told me what I do well; others have reminded me of what I do poorly. Some just love me (I rarely go through a day without my husband telling me how much he loves me, or how brilliant I am—lucky woman).

I’ve been spending time thinking about all these folk who have played some kind of role in my life. I’m hoping I’ll find time to write down the names of all these folk for whom I am grateful since my thinking may not circle back this way again. Kudos, David. Great question.

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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Insincere Greetings

December 8, 2014 by admin

I ran into Jewel Food Store to do my weekly grocery shopping (although it had been a couple weeks since my last visit). I was greeted as I entered the automated door by a woman who gave me a brilliant smile. Surprised, I could hardly muster a smile in return.

Gathering my shopping cart and pushing it down the aisle, an employee who has been at Jewel for almost three decades stretched out her arms and smiled at me. This time I smiled back. “Aren’t you generally here with someone else?” she asked. I thought that was a rather odd question and replied, “No, I generally do my grocery shopping on my own.” “Just goes to show: The more you see people, the less you know about them.”

Hm-m-m-m-m-m. Something odd about all that. I pushed the cart to the produce department. Here, one of the grumpy-faced regular checkout clerks greeted me with a question. “Is there anything I can help you with? Are you finding everything you need?” She also asked me this same question in the cereal aisle; again in the home supplies section; and again around the staple shelves. None of these times did she appear to recognize me from the previous encounters just a few minutes before.

I got it. Someone had conducted a customer-service survey and concluded that buyers thought the Jewel-Osco personnel were not friendly enough. So sure enough, these ladies were working on being friendly. The first woman, however, gave a dazzling greeting to anyone who pushed through the front doors (at least on the west entrance side). The second woman though I looked vaguely familiar—I have been shopping at this Jewel for over 38 years—but she had the wrong person in mind. The third person didn’t want to be friendly, didn’t really care if I found what I needed, and couldn’t remember that she had asked me the same question four times.

Contrast this to the next day, Sunday morning service in a church we once attended over a decade before. After the service, David and I were pinned into the area around our seats by good friends and former staff members—all people we hadn’t seen in years who were as glad to see us again as we were glad to see them. We came away warmed, feeling kindly about being in this church, glad-hearted with that wonderful feeling of being welcomed, received and accepted.

What a contrast! What a contrast! People knew our names; they greeted us. The pastor came down from the platform and warmly embraced me in the aisle.

“Greet one another…” is a theme that runs through the New Testament. Some places instruct us to “greet one another with a holy kiss.” I take that to mean the greetings we give to one another must be sincere. Sincerity—how infrequently do people give greetings they really mean. I wonder how many heavy hearts are lifted because someone was glad to see that person? I wonder how frequently a burden is lifted by a warm smile of greeting? I wonder how a sad spirit gives way to joy when someone says, “Oh, it is so good to see you!”?

Today—just for practice—let’s be conscious of the quality of how we greet people—with grocery-store-style insincerity, because some manager waves a survey in front of us and insists on brilliant smiles? Or because there is a Christ-like love and tenderness and kindness welling out of us? And just to convince ourselves how important this is, let us read the greeting chapter, Romans 16. Start with verse 3, which begins, “Greet Priscilla and Aquila, who worked with me in Jesus Christ, and who risked their necks for my life…”

Likewise, pastors will find special resources to help them prepare effective, life-transforming Sunday sermons by visiting David Mains’ website by clicking here.

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