ITS ANOTHER OPENING DAY OF BASEBALL!

28 03 2025

RUDY SHEPTOCK MARCH 28 2025

Is there any day as close to perfect as Major League Baseball’s Opening Day? As far back as I can remember, I would have to come up with annual bouts of some type of rare illness to get out of going to school so I wouldn’t miss the fanfare and pageantry. And most of these recollections only occur in glorious black and white! Having attended my first professional contest at Shea Stadum in Flushing, Queens on the final day of the 1968 season, I couldn’t wait for the start of the 1969 campaign. The Mets were hosting the brand-new expansion Montreal Expos in their inaugural game so how could my team blow this one? Miraculously, my sore throat disappeared by 1:10 p.m. and I was shouting, “Lets Go Mets,” so loud, I’m sure Sister Cecilia heard it just down the road. My forever hero, Tom Seaver, was on the mound and when he was taken out for the bullpen, he was up 6-4. Up until then, the Mets had never won on opening day, but the fortune had to change. I was even praying for forgiveness and making deals with God to do anything to tilt the scale in the direction of the orange and blue.

By the top of the ninth inning, the Mets were losing 11-6. The bullpen wasn’t very good at closing out victories in the late 1960’s any more than they can be relied upon to seal the deal in 2025. But I was nine years old, and I believed in comebacks and Santa and that my Dad could walk on water. My father got home from work just in time to fix this embarrassing display. I filled him in on everything he missed because while I wasn’t very good at math, I was a wiz at keeping score of the ballgames. After Kenny Boswell struck out looking, Cleon Jones singled to left off former Mets southpaw, Don Shaw. Ed Charles who we called “The Glider,” followed with a walk. Al Weis popped out to shallow right, but it took three outs to win the old ballgame. Jerry Grote, the Mets catcher and the first player who ever signed a personal autograph for me singled and Jones scored, making it 11-7. Duffy Dyer was sent up to pinch hit and he proceeded to hit a home run. I thought we had tied the game but Dad pointing out my addition was something less than desired, proceeded to poke a pin into my balloon by sharing that the Mets were still behind by a run. It was only 11-10 and the Expos were still winning. I cried out quickly, “No problem, Dad, Amos Otis is up and he is a power threat,” Amos Otis singled and Tommie Agee walked and then the worst that could happen, actually did. Rod Gaspar took strike one. Rod Gaspar took strike two. Rod Gaspar swung and missed for strike three. Now I really felt sick. I don’t think I even ate supper that night, that’s how downtrodden I was.

But as history would prove, these weren’t the same old Mets. These “Amazing Mets,” would win 100 games that season and become the 1969 World Champions even at the 100-1 odds set for them. It was the “Summer of Man Walking on The Moon in July. It was the summer of “Woodstock” in August. But for me, it will forever be the best year a kid who loves baseball could ever experience. On the actual weekend that everyone was buzzing upstate to Max Yasgur’s New York Farm, Dad and I were at Shea Stadium for what was known as “Banner Day.” During the break in between the doubleheader, we fans could walk on the field parading the artistry of kiddom by stealing Mom’s bedsheets and painting them with slogans like, “Even Though We’re in The Red. The New York Mets Are Far from Dead. So come on Mets and Get Ignited. And Get Us Mets Fans So Excited!” Maybe my poetry ability was right up there with my arithmetic skills. But I cherish those times as some of the best moments that I ever experienced. Dad was alive and well. As a child, my whole world revolved around playing baseball, watching baseball and dreaming about baseball. I used to sleep with my Gogel Tires Little League uniform on and it was made of itchy wool! That Miracle Mets team will always be my team and my favorite players ever because they helped a kid who was always a bit of a dreamer learn that going for the impossible is actually the right stuff! It’s the stuff that lasts long after the last out has been made and the last person has vacated the premises.

I just got off facetime with my daughter Abbie. What was she showing me? My twin grandsons were playing together in the back yard with the wiffle ball set they just received for their birthday. Levi is a Phillies fan like his Daddy, John. Benji is a Mets fan like his Pop-Pop. Baseball continues to be a key ingredient in defining our legacy. I coached all my kids from T-ball through high school level softball and baseball. I still love to go and watch the Shamokin Games. I just asked Felicia who is a power threat from the left side of the plate when her next game is. Baseball has never been boring for me. There are so many facets and nuances that must be addressed when it comes to performing well as a team out there on the local diamond. The Commissioner of MLB, Rob Manfred, has single handedly tried to ruin the sport with time clocks and ghost runners. One of the best aspects of this contest was that there were no time limits other than the sun going down and no lights to turn on. How many of us can remember holding on to that last slice of sunlight to keep on playing? One more pitch! One more bat! One more swing! Isn’t that what we all yearn for anyway?

Hope springs eternal on Opening Day! Everyone is in first place. Everyone has a chance to be the champions. All the uniforms are crisp and shining, all the batting statistics and earned run averages are perfect. It may be sunny in San Diego or snowing in Cleveland. It may be the Los Angeles Dodgers or the Omaha Storm Chasers. It may be a 700-million-dollar pitcher or a five year old bonus baby, but for a moment, it is all new. I remember how excited I would get when the groundskeeper lined the field before the game. Mom used to wonder where all her baby powder went when I was young. It was new. It was untouched. It was Spring ready to be sprung.

Maybe that’s why I have a feeling baseball will be played in Heaven. Not only does the Bible start with, “In the Big Inning,” but the whole purpose of the reason why we are all gathered together is to get home. It is always about crossing the plate and coming home. Could this be why, as in life we get so disappointed when the effort of our days end only on second or third? And unlike any other game, I can sacrifice my time at bat to get you home safe where you belong. “Put me in Coach! I’m ready to play, today, look at me, I can be, Centerfield!”


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BASEBALL IS MORE THAN A GAME

18 10 2024

RUDY SHEPTOCK  SOUL MINING OCT 18 2024

I write this on the 55th anniversary of the day my “Amazing Mets” shocked the entire world by winning their first World Series over the heavily favored Baltimore Orioles. I attended Catholic School at the time and unfortunately Sister Cecilia couldn’t give two shiny nickels about a baseball game, never mind the biggest one that I had ever experienced in my ten years on planet earth! I never darted out of a building so fast in my life as I raced the mile home to get to our glorious black and white television to watch the last 2 and a half innings. Al Weis had just hit a homerun to tie the game. I learned later that Weis, a career .200 hitter, used a souvenir bat which was for showcase purposes only to knock that baseball over the left field wall. Hey, whatever works. In the bottom of the eighth Cleon Jones and Ron Swoboda smacked back-to-back doubles and Jerry Grote got an insurance run in with a ball that Boog Powell booted, and the Mets were 3 outs away from the miracle. My poor Dad was at work and so I knew I would be watching for the two of us as Jerry Koosman made future Mets Manager Davey Johnson to fly out to Cleon Jones for the biggest upset victory of the decade. As providence would have it, Davey Johnson would be the skipper who was at the helm when the Mets won their only other championship and Jessie Orosco who the Mets got in a trade for Jerry Koosman would be on the mound on that October night in 1986. These are the nuggets that make Baseball so much more than a game. It is a tinge of what folklore and legends are made of. I celebrated the Mets beating Baltimore the only way I knew how. I took my bike out for a victory ride shouting throughout the Cedar Knolls, NJ neighborhood that the Mets were the best!

Baseball is Abbott and Costello’s timeless routine about Who’s on first and I Don’t Know on third base! Baseball is Babe Ruth and the House that Ruth built. When I was a kid, I actually believed that Babe and the rest of the team actually built Yankee Stadium. I also believed that Lou Gehrig walked off the field after his famous, “Luckiest Man on Earth,” speech and died right there at the ballpark. Baseball is going to “Bat Day,” with the Cub Scouts on an old rickety school bus that made you so nauseous, the den mothers had to keep attending to their boys in blue with plastic bags in tow. Can you imagine giving out wooden bats to crowds today? Neither can I! Some stadiums don’t even allow you to bring an umbrella in never mind supply you with a free weapon that is decorated in your team’s colors! Baseball is the seventh inning stretch when men who won’t sing Happy Birthday at their own kids’ parties are belting out, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” at the top of their lungs. Baseball is having a hot dog fresh from that metal holder that the vendor guy has been sweating in for the last five innings! It was Humphrey Bogart who once said, “a hot dog at the game beats roast beef at the Ritz,” and we’d never dare question the judgment of a man who was cozy with Edward G Robinson! My Dad never let us buy anything at the ballpark. When you went anywhere with Mom, you ate first class. Dad would pack up the sandwiches and tell us to go find the water fountain. Obviously, the man didn’t care about the sanitation factor! Yet, I miss him so much and there are times I go to the ballpark looking for him to be there in the crowd cheering for the comeback nobody expected. Dad passed just before the Subway Series in 2000. Yes, I thought he would have some pull over the Mets beating the Yankees that year, but I was wrong. I wonder if Dad still uses the water fountain in Heaven or if he actually takes the Lord up on the offer that the Living Water is free!

I know I’m a Mets Fan surrounded by Phillies Fans. Before I moved to Shamokin, I lived in Cape May County surrounded by Phillies Fans. Living in the Coal Mountains is no different. The very first baseball game at Shea Stadium that I ever saw in person was a Phillies vs. Mets contest and some slugger named Richie Allen clubbed three tape measured home runs. I think one of them is still flying somewhere over Flushing. These were the days when Philadelphia had those big numbers on their uniforms and guys like Cookie Rojas, Tony Taylor, Clay Dalrymple, Johnny Callison and Chris Short were on the team. I probably know more about the team than most Philadelphia Fans do. But when the Mets made the play-offs this year on the day after the season ended by beating their true thorns in the side, the Braves, I was shocked. Then the Mets went on to beat the Phillies in the NLDS to make the NLCS. I have kids and grandkids who were rooting against Pop-Pop’s team, but I’m used to that! Now here we are playing the mighty Shohei Ohtani and the Dodgers and who knows yet where that will lead but this I do know, I’m not taking any of it for granted. My Mets have only been in five World Series my entire lifetime and they lost three of them. The last time they were there was 2015 and look, 9 years have flown by, and they are 3 wins away from returning. You can keep your sabermetrics and computer analysis and who hits right handers the best on Thursdays when the temperature is below 60 degrees and the pitcher’s name begins with a vowel! For the next few days, I am ten years old again trying to disappear from the nuns and escape the clutches of those who won’t matter in a few years from now anyway!

So put me in Coach, I’m ready to play today! If Jim Morris of the Tampa Bay Rays could make his debut at 35, so what if I’m 30 years older than him. There must be a few pitches left in this body of mine. And speaking of Jim Morris whose story was portrayed in the Disney Film, “The Rookie,” it begs the question of what is your favorite Baseball Movie? Is it “The Pride of the Yankees,” “Field of Dreams,” “The Natural,” “Eight Men Out,” “The Sandlot,” or some other film about America’s Past time? It is hard for me to pick just one although when Benny the Jet Rodriguez laces up his P.F. Flyers, it is hard not to get nostalgic for what was basically my childhood on the big screen. Who needs adults to play the game we love? Not us! We played until the sun was a distant memory and the last trace of daylight was disappearing with the rising moon. Baseball was not just a professional sport. It was our rite of passage. Dad telling stories about his mother throwing out his baseball cards and me guarding mine like gold from Fort Knox! Hey, I still have each and every one from my collection in the 60’s and early 70’s! I’ve been to Fenway and Wrigley and many other places where there used to be a ballpark. I get lost in my own world with every visit to Cooperstown and when I close my eyes, I still can see pitches from my college days that I just missed. That pop up to short should have been a line drive to left if only I was just a little more patient.

Will the Mets make the 2024 World Series? I have no idea and won’t shed any tears if they don’t. Nothing will ever top those days gone by when I bought 5 packs of cards for a quarter and couldn’t wait to buy The Sporting News so I could check out the box scores of games we never saw a highlight from. The voices that used to describe the game over the radio are mostly gone and with every season, it’s a little harder to hear them in my mind. I treasure Gary Cohn and Howie Rose of the Mets, and I love Tom Hamilton who does the Cleveland Guardians’ games. But today’s broadcaster loves to hear the sound of his own noise rather than actually bringing something to the table that is worth digesting. Maybe this is why I have worn out the Ken Burns documentary of the sport I love the most. If I could go back to any era, it would easily be the 1950’s when Willie Mays, Duke Snider and Micky Mantle patrolled center field in New York. When Ebbets Field still existed, and Gil Hodges was being prayed for in every Catholic Church in Brooklyn. There were no millionaires playing ball and the guys had to work in the winter just like the common man. The rivalries were fierce, and the fandom was passionate. Oh, what a time it must have been to experience a real subway series when even the athletes had to buy a token to ride. I have my memories and to me they are my trophy, and they are my moments of pure joy! Play Ball!


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BYE BYE BULLIES!

18 10 2024

RUDY SHEPTOCK OCTOBER 11 2024

As long as I can remember, there have always been bullies in this world. As a kid, I remember how Butch terrorized the other Little Rascals with his tactics of intimidation. Poor Alfalfa didn’t have a chance as a crooner to one up the neighborhood brawler. In almost every story we were told or program that we watched, there was always a mean someone waiting in the wings to spoil a perfect day. Laura Ingalls had Nellie Oleson. Charlie Brown had Lucy. George Bailey had Mr. Potter. Dorothy had the Wicked Witch of the West. Robin Hood had the Sheriff of Nottingham. Popeye had Bluto. The Wacky Racers had Dick Dastardly. Eliot Ness had Al Capone. Jerry the mouse had Tom the cat. David the shepherd boy had the giant Goliath. Poor Bambi had to deal with all mankind. Maybe you too had someone who tried to steal your lunch money, cheat off your test paper, beat you up on the playground or just show up to turn your laughter into pain and shame. I wish I could tell you that people grow up out of it but adults are just as bad as the kids are in this department. In many ways, current politic has become nothing more than who will bully who better.

There is nothing worse than allowing this injustice to take place on your watch. While the sin nature of humanity will make sure that the stronger picking on the weaker will never go out of style, we can do something about it. Most bullies are insecure at heart and will cave in when they see that there are more of them then there is of him or her. Confronting the perpetrator is a must to nip this sort of bad behavior in the bud. There is always strength in numbers but unfortunately crowds are in the habit of picking the wrong side when it comes to doing the right thing. When the crowd is stomping in the wrong direction, that is always a good time to make it less crowded and start a new advocate group of your own. The only reason that there have been too many examples of others doing the wrong thing is because not enough people had the courage to step up and do the right thing. My motto goes along the lines that while I may not be able to prevent all bad behavior, I can do something about what is happening on my watch. Like if you use the restroom and don’t wash your hands, be sure I will challenge you on this issue before you reach the exit door. Wash your hands already!

As I have written before, I come from an unusual family where my parents had seven children of their own and then legally adopted thirty more children. I was the first born of twenty seven boys and ten girls. Many of these siblings were born with physical challenges that society simply labels as handicaps. I have two brothers with Down-Syndrome named Martin and Isaac. I have always said that maybe in heaven everyone will have Down Syndrome because there is a kindness and a capacity to love within them that I wish I had. One day we were out having pizza at a restaurant when all of a sudden a group of teens at the next table began making fun of my brothers. They were in full mocking mode. This is when my inner spirit goes into overdrive. While some might say to just ignore it, God didn’t write me that way. I immediately got up from my chair and walked over and without hesitation told them to knock it off or bodies would begin to fly out of this establishment. Did I mention I’m a pastor? Ignorance that is not addressed will never heal itself on its own. If I remember correctly, even Jesus turned over a table or two when the religious hypocrites turned His Father’s House into a local department store. Sometimes just acknowledging the act of bullying puts the spot light on someone who normally gets away with it because its doings are kept under the rug. Lift up that carpet and get rid of all the dirt! No short-cuts allowed.

I did an activity last night for all adults at our weekly Wednesday Family Fun event. I had everyone sitting at the tables get a nice clean sheet of white paper. I then instructed everyone to write their names nice and big on the sheet before them. I then proceeded to tell them to write the things they liked most about themselves. I then shared that they should pass that piece of paper to other family and friends at the table so they too could add positive aspects and qualities about them. By now, this project should be suitable for framing and placed somewhere prominent so the individual could be reminded of their worth and value. But I didn’t allow that to happen. I then asked them to give their paper to someone they didn’t know and that stranger was to grab it and crumple up that paper as tightly into a ball as they could without ripping it. Then they were to toss that ball of a ruined work of art back to the original owner. At this time I asked everyone to try to smooth out the paper as close as they could back to its original shape. All the words still could be seen but not without wrinkles and some damage done to what at once was perfect. Needless to say, the object lesson was to show us that God creates us in His image as wonderful masterpieces and works of divine art but the cruelness of this culture and the potshots it takes does its best to vandalize with nasty graffiti what the Lord intended to shine bright.

I am in the habit of doing my very best to intentionally build up the ones I love and make them feel safe and secure in my presence. As a preacher and a teacher and someone who knows that words actually cause more damage than sticks and stones ever do, we need to be proactive in listening to our loved ones and allowing them to vent and share and be honest about how they feel when they are out of our sight. This goes for the youngest to the oldest within our sphere of influence. An angry customer, a driver with road rage, a teen with an agenda, a child who has been hurt so often that the only way they know how to react is by hurting others, we have got to be willing to see below the surface and not just to react to the tantrum but respond in such the way that we can reset the switch in another person. And if you see someone standing all alone whether it is in school or the workplace and they are being mistreated because of their race, their lot in life, their looks or their inability to fit in, make that solo act a duet and then a trio and then a quartet and prayerfully a band of brothers and sisters who make sure that nobody stands alone!     


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IS IT TIME FOR RAPTURE PRACTICE?

26 07 2024

PASTOR RUDY SHEPTOCK JULY 26 2024

I have been involved in radio for over 40 plus years. I was also raised with an AM transistor in my pocket so I could listen to the music wherever I was. Before a Walkman or an iPod were even invented, I made sure that the sounds of the day’s greatest hits would become an important ingredient within the soundtrack of my wanderings. For almost every significant event I have ever experienced, I also have a song for that! Just hearing the opening notes will transport me right back to the place and time when that moment was taking place. Like Richie Cunningham of the classic television program “Happy Days” would always start singing, “I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill,” whenever there was romance in the air; I know the actual ballad blaring from the dashboard of my car the magical instant of my first real kiss. Some saw fireworks, but I heard Barry Manilow.

Another rather frequent announcement that the airwaves communicated to us on a regular basis, much more regularly in the 1960’s than they do so today was the blaring of a siren followed by the assurance that we were all just being tested. The authoritative voice would proclaim, “This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with the Federal, State and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency, the signal you just heard would have been followed by official information, news or instructions. This station serves the New York City and northern New Jersey area. This concludes this test of the Emergency Broadcast System.” I still get a bad feeling in my gut today whenever I hear, “We interrupt this program for the following special bulletin.” It makes me always go to the worst-case scenario that something horrible has just taken place. Those of us who heard that ominous introduction before can readily think of Walter Cronkite informing us of the tragic assassinations of JFK, Martin Luther King and RFK . To be honest, I wanted to get back to the music as soon as possible and just escape into fantasy land rather than face the truth that evil has reared its ugly head in our world again.

People don’t do well without tests. If a teacher or professor ever informed the class that the material they were about to dispel to us would not be on an upcoming exam, I took no notes and daydreamed that period away. I wish I could tell you that I participated just for the joy of learning but what was driving me was to get an “A” in every class that I had so my parents would be happy, and I’d be recognized as a smart kid. I still claim today that what I really excelled in was memorizing facts and figures and scoring 100% even when I had no working clue of what I was talking about in those little blue books where our essays would be expressed. The fear of failure motivated me to be prepared so that a “pop quiz” could never burst my academic bubble. But would “duck and cover” really have protected us from nuclear war? I didn’t think so then, but I faithfully went through the motions whenever the call was given.

Another pet peeve of mine was the timing of some of these drills. In junior high, I had physical education during the 8AM hour and this was when they required us kids to purchase and wear the official gym suits during the session. I can’t believe that we guys used to brag and compete for the smelliest shirts and shorts in the grade. No wonder the girls wanted no part of us. You could smell us from the next county. So, we all would get ready for the calisthenics that included squat thrusts which I haven’t done since then and all of a sudden we would hear, “Ding! Ding! Ding!” Nobody had to explain on the intercom what was going on. It was a fire drill. Was there a fire in the school? Was there even a fire in the state of New Jersey? Had there ever been a fire near that place? It didn’t matter, out into the bitter cold 20 degrees of a Chester winter, we lined up and got into our places so that if there ever was a fire, we would be ready. I used to joke that it would be warmer if someone would have lit a fire outside in the parking lot but none of the educators thought I was funny.

All of this leads to something I have done with the people I have worked with since I first became a Minister back in 1982. Crowds remember what they should forget and forget what they should remember. Christians are not much better when it comes to a promise that Jesus made to all that belonged to Him many years ago. Jesus told His disciples that He was heading back to Glory for a while to prepare a place for us so that where He is we would forever be. Just like He came the first time to a clueless religious sect who would have known He would be born in Bethlehem if they had only paid attention to the prophet Micah who spelled it out quite clearly. Jesus gave us His word that He was coming again. Paul the Apostle wrote about this to the Church in Thessalonica (I Thess 4:16-18) “For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.” Believers back in the Bible days would greet each other with the encouraging phrase, “Maranatha,” which means Jesus is Coming! Do you know that one day very soon Jesus will show up in the sky and “catch up” all those both dead and alive who belong to him. The Latin phrase for “snatched up” is “Rapture!” The Lord is going to show up like a child who is ready to close out the game, “hide and seek,” by shouting, “Ready or not! Here I come!”

I had the idea one Sunday to begin to do what I called, “Rapture Practice.” Like the tests and drills that came before us, I would get up when they least expected and shout, Jesus is Coming!” and then we’d hear the sound of trumpets, usually borrowed from a Chicago Record and boom, we would all climb up to the highest thing in the room and together we shouted, “One Two Three- Jesus is Coming!” and then we would all jump. If we hit the floor then today was not the day so I would always try to show wisdom in how high you climbed, but the whole lesson was that soon and very soon, the Lord is coming back, and it should not hit those who say they follow Jesus as a surprise they had no pre-instructions for. I have done “Rapture Practice” at the Shamokin Alliance Church and found myself jumping from the stage to the floor and in my mid 60’s, let’s just say my knees are not what they used to be, but I want us to be ready.

I’ll come and run a “Rapture Practice” for you and yours if you want me to. I got plenty of brass to take on the challenge! I don’t want us to be in the dark about the things to come especially when the biblical Books of Daniel, Ezekiel and Revelation give us insights so that we won’t be shocked by Jesus on the day He returns. Jesus is not coming like a “thief in the night,” to those who believe in Him. Like we put out milk and cookies on Christmas Eve for Santa, perhaps we should put out reminders all thru our homes and places of business to remind us that one day it won’t be just a test, and this is one exam that nobody must fail for whoever receives Jesus as their Rescuer and Coach will not perish but have everlasting life. And I have a song even for that! “We’ll Never Have to Say Goodbye Again!” Now Maranatha! and be ready to pass from this world with honors! 


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DANCING TO THE TRUTH OF THE TROUBADOUR

24 07 2024

The last few weeks have been like a blind folded ride sitting in the front row while on the Twister roller coaster at Knoebels. We said good-bye to a new grandson and welcomed one into the world within the span of seven days. I drove from Pennsylvania to Florida back to Shamokin to Johnstown putting more than just mileage on my car and my weary soul all along the way. Then last Saturday, I like all of you, witnessed the assassination attempt on President Trump’s life at his rally in the portion of our state I just left from. How do we process all of this with the finite tools at our disposal? What is really going on in the country that still claims to be, “the land of the free and the home of the brave?” I no longer find any solace or stability on the television’s news sources in times like these and when I read the vile hatred being spewed on social media making light of another human being’s very life, literally taunting, “How did you miss?” I know where my battered heart must go. Music is my medicine and within the lyrics and melody, I discover the peace and courage I need to press on despite the landscape on our horizon.

When I began my pilgrimage in following Jesus back in 1975, there was very little available in what we know today as contemporary Christian music. I was learning the hymns along the way as we sang so few of them in the church I grew up in, but I was still hungering for the sounds my spirit could relate to. One such artist that touched me deeply was Randy Stonehill. Stonehill’s first album, “Born Twice” was released in 1971, with financial backing from Pat Boone. One side of the record was a live performance, the other side recorded in a studio and the whole project t was recorded for a mere $800, and according to Stonehill, “sounds like every penny of it.” A year later, Randy made his film acting debut in “The Blob” sequel, “Beware the Blob,”, with TV’s Laverne and Shirley’s Cindy Williams. Randy also made a cameo appearance in the 1973 Billy Graham film, “A Time to Run,” performing his song “I Love You.”

But in 1976, Stonehill released the classic “Welcome to Paradise,” which was voted the number three most important contemporary Christian album of all time by CCM Magazine. The very first track sang, “All alone, drifting wild, like a ship that’s lost out in the ocean. Everyone’s a homeless child and it’s not hard to understand, why we need a Father’s hand. There’s a rainbow somewhere.
You were born to be there. You’re just running in circles, until you reach out your hand to the King of hearts.” To this day this song is a personal oasis I go running to when life gets a bit too overwhelming, and my eyes get blurry and my brain gets squeezed. No matter what happens here on earth and no matter how much pain and devastation it leaves in its path, God will never abandon those who have put their trust in Him. The bridge of the above song fully contradicts what we were told in the 1960’s by Donavan. “You can try to catch the wind but in the end, you’re only wasting precious time. And life can really be so kind once you find the truth and follow. Go on, follow!”

I have followed Jesus through jungle brush so thick, a machete became a wasted tool. I have yearned to breathe fresh air in a world where toxic fumes have been leaked into our atmosphere and the poisons are dismantling the moral compass of my lungs! There is another Randy Stonehill song that begins to play in the jukebox of my being. I once sang it as I participated in long cross country meets in high school and I thought the cramp in my side would burst my gut to smithereens. Today I sing it as an anthem to keep on keeping on even when it feels like you are still running solo on a course that is not familiar or fun. “Keep me running. Keep me moving from the sins I can’t erase. Like an outlaw with a mask to hide his face. Once I was told that love could fly.
Yeah, but it’s been so long that I just don’t remember why.” And the older I get, unfortunately my ability to bring back yesterday’s victories are becoming more of a challenge than ever before. But I am not home yet and if this isn’t Heaven, then I’m not finished.

In my naïve way, I still believe that I can get people excited to redeem their exhausted and burned out by religion lives. I invited Randy Stonehill to come to Shamokin and sing this weekend. Yes, this Sunday night at the Shamokin Alliance Church at 6PM. The man is in his 70’s but he hasn’t quit, and he still proclaims the good news as vibrantly as he did back when we were all so young. If music is my medicine, I thought why not just bring the Doctor along to give us all a strong dose of hope and purpose and the challenge to celebrate each heartbeat because we never know when it just might be our last! The Concert, like the salvation Jesus provides, is free and if you are already making excuses why you shouldn’t come, tell those negative vibes to shut the door and keep out the devil!

This past Saturday night, when I heard what was happening with President Trump, I thought of another song that began to ring in my ears. It’s a song recorded by a couple of guys who used to live next door to Randy Stonehill in California named Don Henley and Glenn Frey. Those lyrics are straight through and piercing and go something like this: “Molotov cocktail, the local drink, and all she wants to do is dance, dance. They mix ’em up right in the kitchen sink and all she wants to do is dance. Crazy people walkin’ round with blood in their eyes. And all she wants to do is dance, dance,
Wild-eyed pistol-wavers who ain’t afraid to die and all she wants to do is dance and make romance.” When we see the violence and hear the rhetoric of division and despair, where do we go to center our balance? I know that there were times in my own upbringing that when the yelling got too loud at home, I turned the volume up on my stereo but that was no solution to the pollution I was residing in. Where are your words of worth coming from? What directions do you choose when the bedlam and archaic anarchy flirts with even our homeland? Will we pretend that it’s just another day in party land while we lose the principles that our forefathers fought for? Intimidation to just be quiet and get in line must not work with those who were born to make a difference. We can’t be canceled if God has already promised us that we will not perish but experience everlasting life. We don’t need to dance to escape the headlines. We rejoice because the One we serve makes the headlines and one day soon our Lord will wipe away every tear from our swollen eyes and puffy cheeks. This may be a season of weeping, but joy will come on a morning in the not-too-distant future. I don’t have to ignore the world I have been planted in. We just need to reap life in the soil the landmines couldn’t annihilate.

I hope to see you this Sunday night at 6PM. I have a feeling we will be hearing one of the songs Randy Stonehill wrote with another individual who was never afraid to speak the truth in love in a land that didn’t always applaud Jesus then or now. His name was Keith Green. Lyrics go something like this: “Like a dreamer who was trying to build a highway to the sky. All my hopes would come tumbling down and I never knew just why. Until today, when You pulled away the clouds that hung like curtains on my eyes. I’d been blind all these wasted years I thought I was so wise but then You took me by surprise. Like waking up from the longest dream. How real it seemed. Until Your love broke through.” God’s love can still break through and will still break through to anyone who is willing to put their trust in He who is greater than all we see. Jesus is all about the kingdom of God and when His will is done on earth as it is in heaven, we will understand what living free really means! That is something to sing and dance about.


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TAKE ME BACK TO THE BALLGAME

18 07 2024

Next week is the All-Star Game for Major League Baseball and I could care less. Now if this was the 1960’s, the day of that contest would have been circled on my calendar and treated like the summer holiday it was. In a day before smart phones, cable and technology overload, baseball fans depended on regular issues of The Sporting News and NBC’s Saturday Game of the Week to know what was going on across both the National and American Leagues. As a Mets Fan growing up in New Jersey, I looked forward to learning about other shining stars playing in distant cities that I could only dream about visiting someday. I studied the stats like I should have been doing my homework but if it came to questions about our National Past Time, I knew I’d score 100% every time. I knew about the history of Babe Ruth who I thought was actually buried under one of those monuments out at Yankee Stadium and that he truly constructed the place himself brick by brick. After watching the Lou Gehrig Movie, Pride of the Yankees, I believed that after Lou gave his speech; he walked off and died that very day. I was a kid in a more innocent time than today.

Little League was a reason to exist for me. I remember we used wooden bats back then and my baby was a thick handle Harmon Killebrew special. I literally slept with my uniform on before big games, and they were an uncomfortable wool, so comfort was forsaken for loyalty. The beauty of these childhood years was that we didn’t just play baseball when adults organized it. We ate, drank, breathed the game and whenever there was enough daylight, we would be in someone’s yard competing in the only way we knew how. There were fights and disagreements and a few black eyes and unwelcome bruises, but we learned how to get along. And I grew up in a neighborhood that was already multiracial and honestly, I could care less what color you were as long as you could throw and hit. I cringe today when I see adults interfering with kids just trying to work it out. Guys didn’t need to hug after every slug. We could be at each other’s throats one minute and standing up to battle to the death for that same person ten minutes later. I think we are seeing the fruit of raising a generation that has too much supervision in the inability for many children today knowing how to deal with difficult circumstances. If everybody always got along then there would be a large amount of those present not participating in the festivities.

I learned how to be a switch hitter because we played at so many yards with unique configurations. Short right field, I’d bat lefty. An inviting fence in left field and I’d bat righty. My brother learned the same way. Before you pay some so-called hitting coach big money to turn your son or daughter into Shohei Ohtani, give me a call and I’ll help them for free. We were good because we played even when nobody made us. We threw hundreds of pitches during the day before we ever got to the organized game that night. I never witnessed anyone’s arm falling off. Baseball today has become a business. Do you know that my dad paid me 25 cents a week to work with him and I immediately would spend it for 5 packs of baseball cards. Do you now how much they are nowadays? We would stuff all that cardboard gum into our mouths as our version of chewing tobacco. And I remember the anticipation I would feel about opening each and every fresh pack of those little treasures. While I was always hoping for Tom Seaver, Bob Gibson, Willie Mays or Roberto Clemente, it seems that I always got plenty of Kevin Collins cards. Who is Kevin Collins? Exactly! Kevin would be the card that was clothes-pinned to my bike spokes or used as trade bait to steal a prime player from someone who was a novice. My Dad used to tell me horror stories of his Mom throwing out his baseball cards when he left the house and so you can be sure I never let my Mother near mine. I still have them today and even though my wife encourages me to part with them, they are not for sale! Maybe I’d consider dealing a Kevin Collins card or two.

The two All-Star Games I remember best were the 1964 and 1968 battles. Shea Stadium hosted the first one at their new ballpark with the World’s Fair right across the street. I begged my Dad to take me but he kept mentioning the fact that he was no John Rockefeller so that never materialized. Our Mets second baseman Ron Hunt was the starter for the NL and the win was dramatically captured when Phillies outfielder Johnny Callison hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth. It was not called, “A Walk Off,” yet but we all cheered just the same.

The other All-Star Game had me in fits because my Mom made us go out to visit family on the night of the game. I was beside myself and was never without my trusted transistor radio the whole evening. It was 1968 and Willie Mays led off for the National League in the bottom of the first at the very first All-Star Game held at the Houston Astrodome. The final score was 1-0! Willie scored that run in the opening frame. Willie also played the entire game. Both Seaver and Koosman pitched in that classic with Jerry Grote the Mets catcher behind the dish. I was so proud that the Mets had contributed so heavily in the victory. It was only the appetizer of what awaited me in 1969.

I took my brother to the 2013 All-Star Game when it was at Citi Field. I could hear Dad whisper from Heaven, “What are you Rockefeller?” We had a great time together but we both knew that the innocence was long gone and the game we grew up with a distant memory. It was the last public appearance of my Hero Tom Seaver and as I drove home that night, I knew I could not ever go back. With tears in my eyes, I said a prayer of “Thanks,” grateful to have been raised in the time I was. Money ruined the game. Business hijacked the romance. Greed took over privilege. And today baseball is slowly disappearing from the landscapes of towns all over our country. Nobody needs 100 million dollars! You can only drive one car at a time and sleep in one bed at night.

Did you know that Babe Ruth didn’t just play every inning of every game for the Yankees, but he also participated in every exhibition game that was played just so people could get a glimpse of the Sultan of Swat? Babe knocked himself unconscious in one game but still got up and finished the rest of it because he knew what he meant to the people. Babe never forgot where he came from and didn’t want to treat kids in the manner that he was mistreated. Babe Ruth was the greatest ever. Did you know that the Yankees wouldn’t let him train after a certain time because they didn’t want him to injure himself and they lose revenue. Babe loved the game, and he loved the fans that he played before. There are days that I challenge myself to never forget the privilege I have to do what I love before people that I really care about. When I think about the years my grandfather was cooped up in a coal mine, I have no room to complain.

The beauty of baseball is all about coming home. Nobody cares that you got 9 triples but never crossed the plate. I am so irritated these days about the number of hitters who don’t make contact. With a runner on 3rd base and less than two outs, just put the ball in play and something good can happen; and yet we witness, strike one, strike two and strike three. I loved getting my hits back when I played but I also hated losing. I was a good sport and went down the line saying, “Good Game,” to the opposing team but don’t give me any of this moral victory stuff. I think too many people have forgotten that God didn’t put on this planet just to take up space or worse yet, sit the bench! This is our time and our season to run with the heart of a child and dash for home like we were Jackie Robinson in the World Series. Take me out to the way of the old ballgame. The last pitch hasn’t been tossed yet! 


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CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT BEING RESCUED

18 12 2023

PASTOR RUDY/ SOUL MINING/ DECEMBER 15 2023

One blaring characteristic trait of mine is that I don’t hide my feelings very well. One look at my face and you know exactly how I am doing! Nobody will ever confuse me as being, “The Great Pretender.” I not only wear my heart on my sleeve, I also display quite publicly a few more bumper stickers of adjectives across the rest of my body. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I am a walking billboard of about a million more!

When I was about six or seven years old, my family spend the day up at Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey. During the day we would go swimming and as evening came, we would go to the amusement park on the other side of the water called Bertrand’s Island. One summer night I had an experience with fright and fear there that I will never forget. I used one of my ride tickets to board what was advertised as, “You Drive It Boats!” I must have missed the part that tried to define the fact that I would be driving and this wasn’t just a sit back and go along with the flow type of happening. When I realized what I had gotten myself into, I pressed the gas pedal so hard that I literally jumped the rope that kept the boats at bay. Before you know it, I was heading towards the middle of the lake and I was terrified. I immediately got up and began to scream at the top of my lungs, “Help Me! Help Me!” My siblings are cracking up at their older brother now acting like an idiot but I was in over my head and I was not about to tackle this obstacle on my own. I wanted a rescuer and I needed them now! What I got was a teenage lifeguard who was forced to swim into the water and come out to my boat and let’s just say, she was angry for me getting her wet. She climbed in with me, glared with eyes of fire and scolded me to sit down and shut up. She drove the little dingy back to safety and I was never so glad to get back on dry ground. Everyone was laughing at me and even my parents were visibly embarrassed, but I was not playing around because I needed somebody to save me and even though she did it with a grudge the size of the giant roller coaster overshadowing us, I was no longer in any danger.

The name Jesus in Hebrew is Yeshua. It comes from the personal name for God in Hebrew, Yahweh, and the word for “to save” or “to deliver,” yasha. Yeshua therefore means “God saves,” “God delivers,” or “God helps.” Jesus’s name points to his role and the primary reason for Christmas!

Luke 2:10-11

“I bring you good news of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”

The herald angel assigned by God pronounced that night on a Bethlehem hillside good news of a “Grand Opening” that should have been a sold out event! A new Hero was being birthed in the city known as “The House of Bread.” Someone who could truly provide us with a hope and a future no matter what tyranny of government hijacked the political thrones of earth. There was a new Kid in town and He was going to do more than just clean up Dodge City. This King of Kings was going to transform we human beings from the inside out. We who had been full of sin and shame would now become containers of grace. But the royal birth of God’s only Son tiptoed quietly by with a silent thud while the rest of the world slept. How could this be? Where was everyone? Why weren’t the streets filled with celebration? People who celebrate so many empty occurrences that are deficient of any substantial substance missed this one and botched it good.

What does it really mean to call Jesus, the Savior? Why do we need a Savior? What do we need saving from? How does Jesus save us? The salvation Jesus offers all humankind is far more expansive and expensive than simply cheap forgiveness and a ticket to get yourself a, “Get Out of Hell Free” card. Salvation is a biblical term used about 150 times in the New Testament alone, and one that Christians of all shapes, ages and sizes use in hymns and worship songs!

The Hebrew word “Yasha” and the Greek word is “sozo,” both of which can be translated in their various forms as saves or saved but they can also be translated as delivered, rescued, or helped. We find the word “saved” is used to define the remedy for physical healing, the redemption to forever forgiveness via a regenerated heart, the rescuing from one’s enemies who long to destroy us and being removed just in time to escape safely from disasters. Earlier, I used it of what an angry teenage girl did for me that night in the middle of a dark lake. I was in a predicament that I was not able to get out of in one piece on my own. If I was ever to taste real peace again, I needed someone on the outside to venture into my mess and get me to shore safely.      

Christians have not just been rescued from their past misdemeanors. The beauty of Christmas is that Jesus was willing to leave the confines of Heaven where He was worshipped and adored and come to a planet that would eventually nail him to a cross out of hatred and jealousy. If you think that you can’t make everyone happy and get frustrated by it, our Lord was perfect in every way and yet was still despised and rejected. The darkness will always scorn the Light because when God flips the switch of grace and mercy and brightens up the interior of our souls, sin can’t hide in the closets anymore.  The good news of Jesus is not that we’re sinners, but that He’s our Savior. In both the Old and the New Testaments, the words most commonly translated as sin in Hebrew, “hata,” and in Greek, “hamartia,” means to “miss the mark.” For us to escape drowning in the sea of our own mishaps, we would have to hit the bullseye and split the arrow not just once as Errol Flynn did in Robin Hood. But we would have to bat 1000 and accomplish this feat every single time. This morning when I jammed my little toe into the chair before me, I said a bad word that was far from holy. The moment we go off the course of traveling the narrow way, we jump the rope and now need a rescuer! You can be quiet if you want to, but I make no apology for yelling, “Help! Help!” at the top of my lungs. 

When the Christmas angel got on the midnight microphone in that little town of Bethlehem, he was making it clear that this special bulletin was for everybody. It wasn’t for just a certain race, or class of clientele, it was for all of us. The rich and poor. The highly educated and the blue collar force. Those who went to church and those who slept in. Christmas teaches us clearly that the heart of God is always tuned to hear the cries of the lost. The goal of God is to restore us back to where we belong! We were created not for fear but for faith. We were destined to live in community with the Lord and one another. There was never supposed to be outsiders until some decided to jump the rope and wander beyond the borders of life and everlasting love.

All of us are outcasts, for every single one of us has sinned and has fallen from grace and we will drown in our own muck if we don’t humble ourselves and admit that we can’t do this on our own. Like that summer night in Bertrand’s Island, I didn’t care what anyone else thought. I just wanted to be safe again. When Jesus came, He didn’t come with a chip on His shoulder for having to enter into the inconvenience of where I was. Jesus loved me enough to go the distance and unlike the lifeguard, when He got to where I was, He held me close and promised that I would never be alone again. Who doesn’t need a love like that? Maybe this Christmas is the perfect time for a rescue!

And whoever calls upon the Name of the Lord- will be saved!


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STILL LOOKING FOR HOME

7 06 2023

RUDY SHEPTOCK MAY 20, 2023

I have spent the last 10 days in Florida visiting my Daughters and five of my Grandkids who live down here in the Sunshine State. I have to be honest with you, while I know it is many a person’s dream to live here in the eternal land of heat stroke, I have never been one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I would be with my family wherever they may call home, but living in an oven is not my idea of paradise. And as a native of North Jersey, I think that way too many have migrated to Tampa and Orlando and Daytona Beach bringing the phenomenon of rubber necking and bumper to bumper travel and nonstop traffic with them. I hate the time being stuck in a car moving one inch at a stretch. I joke about the 4:30 PM standstill daily on Route 61 as you enter Shamokin because it some days may be 6 cars deep!

Bono wrote with such convicting and compelling lyrics that he still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Dorothy Gale went all the way to Oz and back searching for answers somewhere over the rainbow. Johnny Cash used to sing, “I’ve been everywhere Man,” and proceeded to list the towns that he inhabited like one would spit out a grocery list. John Denver philosophically pontificated that he was looking for space and to find out who he was. Diana Ross asked us if we knew where we were going to and if we liked the things that life was revealing to us as we walked the path before us. The Beach Boys lamented that they just wanted to go home and leave sailing on the Sloop John B to the real sailors. I am not here in Florida because of the weather, the attractions, the palm trees, or the orange juice. I am here only because I have a real relationship and love some of the wonderful family that calls this sauna home.

I wish I wasn’t so restless. I have battled being satisfied with who I am, where I am and what I am with the ones I’m with my entire life. I can share without hesitation that it is not money or possessions I seek. It has never been about titles or gadgets or cars or houses for me. I can honestly report that God has always done an excellent job providing all our needs. I didn’t say wants. I said that God makes sure that if we don’t have it, we don’t need it! It is one of the reasons I think we pay athletes and entertainers way too much salary. How many houses can you live in at one time? How many vehicles are you able to drive? What good is it if you gain all the things that the almighty dollar can buy but still forfeit your very soul in the process?

One of the hardest things about being here in Florida is that the whole state reminds me of my Dad. My parents had moved from Jersey to Interlachen, Florida back in 1983. I waved to them as they hit the highway. My Dad hated the cold. Unlike his oldest son, he didn’t revel in the white precipitation flakes that fall from the sky. Of course, I came to visit the family over the years but I never had the urge to relocate. In 2000, the year my father passed due to a horrible battle with cancer, I actually spent 7 months on the Cape May Court House to Tampa shuttle via Spirit Airlines. I was honored to be holding his hand when he took that last labored breath that ushered him into the arms of Jesus. When I left Florida after Dad had graduated to glory, this visit back now is only my third time here in Gatorland in the last 23 years. My heart yearns for reunion. I know I have never been whole since that September. Have you ever had a hard time being in a certain area because the memories cause such heartache? While I am here with Leah and Abbie and five of my grandchildren having a blast and making awesome new memories, I just can’t shake the pain of letting go of the old ones. Honestly, I am looking forward to coming back to Shamokin. While our little Coal town isn’t much to look at from the outside these days, I still see and feel God there and for now, it is my home.

Maybe restlessness isn’t such a curse after all. Could it be that the Lord provided it as a gift to never get too attached to this side of heaven? If you know me, you know that I always joke about ever resuscitating me should I die in your presence. I have no desire to spend just 90 minutes in heaven and then be brought back. If you snatch me out of glory after I’ve been there, I’ll fight you! I have no fear of what is ahead of us after our body conks out. My last breath here will usher my first breath there and it will be wonderful to never have to say, “Goodbye,” again. It’s not the climate or the environment of the everlasting that I yearn for. It’s the company I will keep forever!

The Christian Contemporary Music Artist Steven Curtis Chapman sang, “We are not home yet.” The Christian band Mercy Me challenged us to, “Only Imagine,” what that moment we see Jesus will be like. They also added a tune entitled, “Homesick,” because no matter how good a day is here in Florida or Pennsylvania; it will come to an end. We might make the good times roll but we are not powerful enough to make the feelings go on and on. Perhaps the biggest reason we all need faith in the living God is because we are powerless to transport ourselves from here to there. Is there anybody here who can rescue us from our own brokenness? God, in the very Psalm of 23, has promised that He would escort us through the shadow of the valley of death so that we would have nothing to lose and nothing to fear but everything to gain. How about you? A timeshare secured in the promised land is one you will never need to weasel your way out of.

Two days from now we will be leaving our own flesh and blood behind us. Those precious sloppy wet smooches with our grandkids are priceless but they will have to last until we are reunited once again. Home is not necessarily where your heart is but where God lands you for such a time as this. All I know is I too am still searching to find the answer to soothe the separation anxiety that ties my souls into knots. But I pray that we will be wise enough to understand that earth can’t give us what it is incapable of producing. You don’t go to McDonalds for a whopper! And the palm trees are not about to grow in Northumberland County. But if God is with us, we can be alive wherever we are planted. We can find blessings even amidst the neighborhoods that cause agita. Take this world and give me Jesus because wherever I am, He will be right beside me holding my shaky hand. Home is where my feet land for now. Home is not a building as much as it’s a companion who promises that He will never leave us nor forsake us. I wonder what God’s welcome mat looks like?


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SHINING OUR LIGHT IN SHAMOKIN

7 06 2023

SOUL MINING JUNE 2, 2023

Shamokin helped beautify 2nd Street by upgrading the playground that sits to your right as you make your way into town. I was told that there have been many complaints about investing such nice equipment on a not so nice part of town. I live on 2nd Street by the way and so I will take offense to that remark as I believe that if you want something to become dilapidated, simply do nothing and let your little neck of the world go racing downhill.

June marks my second anniversary since moving to Shamokin from Cape May County, NJ. where the ocean was just four miles away from my home. I have heard all the jokes and I’m not laughing anymore. God brought me here and He didn’t relocate me so I could sit in the corner and eat a steady diet of worms. Right from the get-go, I believed that you can create your own paradise by investing your very best into the grounds in which God has planted you. I take pride in my neighborhood, and you can be sure that we have been using the Shamokin Christian and Missionary Alliance Church as a home base to love on people from where they are so that they can get to Jesus!

I am now in my sixties and have spent lots of time here working with the children. Kids are the toughest audience of all because they have a sense about you. They know whether you really care about them or not. I know they have felt the love from the people of our church because we have offered them the prime cut of who we are. In a day when too many houses of worship pay more attention to their brand and their worship band, I have challenged us to become the hands and feet of the Savior on the streets where we live and move and have our being. I was in Weis’ the other day and ran into some of the young people who come to the Good News Clubs that we continue to hold on Sunday nights through June. I felt like the Pied Piper of Coal Town as we picked out the best watermelons for that night’s refreshments and got the Popsicle brand of ice cream to celebrate the night before Memorial Day. Why is it that we are always looking to do things on the cheap when God offered and continues to give us His absolute best.

Recently, my wife and I bought new basketball standards for the multipurpose room at the church. I wanted the brand that could take a licking and keep on ticking. We are getting the floor lined so that the open gym basketball nights to come will be done right. If they build it, they will come was the theme of the baseball classic movie, “Field of Dreams.” If you genuinely love others like Jesus loves us and do it with passion and excellence, people will respond and begin to be proud of who they are and where they live rather than being dumbed down by the fact that if the adults don’t care, why should the next generation be any different.

Come this Fall, I have talked with school officials to do some Fifth Quarters at the Church after the football games. I oversaw them at other parishes where I pastored, it provides kids with a positive environment to go to between 10 PM and Midnight on football Friday nights. Did I mention that these events would be free? I’m looking for caring adults to pay the bill so that teens can be free to enjoy a good time and not look to booze or drugs to do what they can’t do anyway. Nothing good comes from alcohol and drugs and I have done enough funerals in my lifetime to back up this statement. Let’s make it hard to get addicted in Shamokin and Coal Township. Let’s stop the whining and put our best foot forward so this place can start winning off the field too.

I don’t know how many years that I can keep doing what I do. I’d be lying to you if I said that I don’t feel the aftereffects of the radiation that took a toll on my body during my battle with prostate cancer. I just know that I want to go with my boots on. I would love to be preaching up a storm in my usual passionate style when suddenly, I’m no longer confined to the halls of earth but have been ushered into the presence of Jesus.

I mentioned to the kids that I am going to take them to Knoebels this Summer, and they remind me often that this too must happen. But when we do go, don’t expect to find me sitting in the shade. I am going to be sitting in the front seat of the Phoenix with my hands held high and the wind blowing through whatever traces of hair that remains. When I read the Bible, I see Jesus with the people, walking with them and eating together and experiencing life together. The idea that clergy should inhabit an impenetrable bubble far from the congregation is not a biblical picture. If there are songs to be sung, let me sing the loudest and if there are sliding boards to conquer, then I will meet you on the top rung of the monkey bars.

God so loved that world that He gave His absolute best so that we would know how treasured we were to Him. We don’t need any more lottery tickets that will end up on the floor trampled upon as another missed opportunity. And you don’t need to fly as high as a kite on some artificial illegal substance that in the end will only steal, kill, and destroy the legacy you were created to impart for good upon this planet. The saints of old said that the glory of God is best expressed in men and women who are fully alive. How many days this year would you say that you were running on all cylinders?  There is a hurting and lonely world that needs to know they matter and if you have been filled with the love of God then it’s time to be spilled all over the neighborhoods that we reside in.

So, thank you Shamokin for the new playground equipment and I pray its just the beginning in sewing seeds of life upon the streets that we call home. You can count on me to do whatever I can to shine a light where darkness must be defeated for good.        


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SEIZING THE MOMENTS TO BE GRATEFUL

9 11 2022

I am grateful for the fact that my wife always makes me a nice piping hot cup of coffee every morning. She is always mixing up a variety of flavors when it comes to providing my daily brew and this time of the year includes some of my favorites like gingerbread, pumpkin spice and other holiday blends. Tasting that first hot sip of the new day is one of my absolute favorite blessings! But I usually only savor the first two gulps warm because I am usually doing a hundred other things at the same time. Many days, I will finish that same mug later in the evening when it has become cold but still just as delicious to me. I can never throw it out because I would not want to hurt the heart of the one who prepared it for me with loving hands in the first place.

There is a new worship song out that includes these following lyrics, “So come on my soul! Oh, don’t you get shy on me. Lift up your song, cause you’ve got a lion inside of those lungs. Get up and praise the Lord.” I think about how many moments do we just miss the precious little gifts that God provides us every day because we are preoccupied with what we need to do and in the process, we are blind to the wonders that the Lord has already done for us? I have been in my share of school cafeterias over the years. They can become loud and even scary places for those who aren’t in the know of how to navigate their way through these jungles wisely. I can tell you about something that hurts my gut with every dinner crowd. It’s the amount of food that ends up in the trash, uneaten, not enjoyed and totally taken for granted. I know there were parents behind those meals who assumed that what they were giving to their sons and daughters to quench their appetites would at least be appreciated and consumed. But unfortunately, the haste of a student’s schedule makes waste of their homemade sandwiches and hearty snacks that end up nestled within a garbage bag. And I see heaven looking down and shaking its head over these inept practices that have no real rhyme or reason.

Nestled within our yearly calendar is a holiday that just begs us to remember all that we have and not get suffocated by all that we don’t. I know the retail businesses jump right from Halloween to Christmas but we must fight the temptation to get sucked into a consumer mindset. How many big screen televisions does one household need? How many more gadgets, doo-dads and the latest edition of a smart phone that actually does your taxes and cleans your over can we use? It always cracks me up when my wife and daughters would look into their closets chock full of enough clothes and shoes to outfit a small city and say with the most serious of expressions, “I have nothing to wear!” And even I have to admit that I pretty much wear the same shirts and pants every other day and yet I have so much hanging on hangers that never sees the light of day. Stuff holds us back. Possessions anchor us down. Could this be the season that we practice the principle that it is more blessed to give than to receive.

I’m not a fan of all you can eat buffets. It just encourages the old adage that our eyes are bigger than our stomachs. You might have Bettie Davis eyes but it becomes unattractive when meshed with Fred Flintstones portion sizes. I have seen participants pile up their plates with enough food that is just begging for a belly ache. And the reason that the roast beef is not being digested properly is because there is more shrimp to be peeled and a whole stack of crab legs waiting to be dipped in butter. If you have ever been overseas on a trip to a third world country, you understand that sometimes feeling a little guilty isn’t such a bad thing after all. How can we be truly grateful for a home made piece of pie if there are another dozen more warming up in the bullpen?

I’m not a minimalist by any means. One look at my office and you know that I am a collector of memories. If I can tell a story about something someone gave me, I can’t throw it out. But the moral of that story is that all that we own must not own us. Living for the bigger house, the sportier car, the 6 figured salary has proven that it never satisfies the cries of our soul. What if we forgot about ourselves and focused more on those precious family members and friends that we still have access to in our lives? What if gratitude became more about the people and less about the number of packages that I can put my name upon? What if I stopped what I was doing and actually had the whole cup of coffee while the steam still rose from my cup?

It was Thanksgiving 1999. This was usually the time of the year that I would pack up the minivan and gather all the kids and head down to Florida to spend the holiday with my parents and siblings who moved their back in 1983. On a side note, I have no desire to relocate to a climate that doesn’t provide all four seasons. If there is no chance of snow, I don’t want to go! As you may know from my other writings, I have an unusually large family. We all gathered around a humongous table and got ready to share the goodies together. My Mom is Italian so Thanksgiving is a feast for the ages. After dinner, we all would go out and play a huge family game of football. But that particular Thursday, my Dad wanted us to go around the table and have everyone share what they were grateful for. I rolled my eyes because the timing on that taking place could roll right into Sunday! Unfortunately, my Father didn’t get his wish and we hemmed and hawed until we were free to go outside.

None of us knew that this would be our last Thanksgiving with Dad. By the following year, he would have already graduated to glory, taken at a young 67 by cancer. Why didn’t we slow down and linger with each other? Why did we feel the need to rush on to that which was next when what my Father wanted to do would have been an invaluable memory? When will we ever learn that loving people and not missing the magic when we are together needs to be paramount in our lives?

Every Wednesday night, the church that I pastor holds a Family Fun Night. Next week, November 16th at 6PM, we are having a taste of Thanksgiving night together. The day when everyone would gather around the table nightly to share more than a meal but to invest into one another’s lives is long gone. We all need the human touch and to have someone love us enough that our story genuinely matters! If you would like to join us, consider yourself invited. It is free and there are no strings attached. The Shamokin Christian and Missionary Alliance Church is located were 2nd and Arch Street collide. So come on out and don’t you get shy on me. We don’t have forever to get it right!   


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