WHAT'S A FUNERAL ALL ABOUT?

I attended a funeral many years ago. My elderly uncle mentioned that it was the fourth funeral of the week for him. I thought that statement somewhat funny until I arrived at the age of 70. Funerals are now something of a social event in small town Texas.
I preached the funeral message for a 74 year old woman this past week who had been through 8 long years of physical pain and suffering. She had remained very faithful throughout her ordeal, and her funeral service was a testimony to God's goodness. That's what it really is all about. The question is . . how are we going to die?
We're now in the great health care debate. I admit up front that I want the best possible health care than I can receive. I also admit that the idea of living a few extra years right now is a good one. I just don't know how many extra years I want or need.
That brings up my mother, Birdie Idell Low Cotter. Bryan posted her picture last week on Facebook, and he received so many wonderful comments from friends and family. This is what she looks like . . if you missed the other picture. It's only 2 more months until she will be 103. I not sure she'll make that goal, but she has surely fooled us over the past few months. I visit her each day, and she always surprises me with her ability to recognize and communicate even though she can speak with a discernable voice.
I don't think Birdie is really interested in health care. She is interested in funerals and in heaven. Maybe that's where I should put more of my emphasis in life. It surely makes sense to me . . and to God.

A THEOLOGY OF WORSHIP

I didn't create the term. It's a part of Ann Ortlands classic book Up with Worship where her husband Ray says that a certain pastor doesn't have a "theology of worship." That idea has captured my heart for many years.

Ruth Lynn and I visit a lot of churches. Often I am asked to serve as a supply preacher; we visited hundreds of churches as a denominational worker; and I've led dozens of conferences on "worship". I am thankful that God has given me some spiritual insight into worship, and many of our churches are in trouble.

It is very common for the average church to focus on the wrong things. Churches do a lot of "things", and many of these things are good. But they are not the most important thing.

God created man to have fellowlship with Him. Our very purpose is to worship Him. So we need to spend more time thinking about him. We need to honor Him.

The hour or more that we use on Sundays should focus on worship. We often spend an excessive amount of time making announcements, shaking hands, and doing the secondary when the primary issue is given second place.

Asaph, the writer of Psalm 73, said it this way:
1 God is indeed good to Israel, to the pure in heart. 2 But as for me, my feet almost slipped; my steps nearly went astray. 17 until I entered God’s sanctuary. Then I understood their destiny. Psalms 73:1-2,17 (HCSB)

I pray that God will give me a theology of worship!

WHAT WE'VE LOST

New church buildings . . new outreach ministries . . new ways of reaching people . . change. I've heard these phrases and ideas over the years; I'm probably even used many of them while preaching or leading conferences.



I'm a part of a denomination that is in decline. Oh, we put on a good face and some good numbers. But the truth is this . . we are not experiencing the power of God at work in our churches. We know how to "do church" and how to appear to be successful. BUT . . it is the church at play.



Charles Nuckolls said, "People feel they want something they've lost, and they don't remember what it is they've lost."



What is it that we've lost?



Is there such energy and excitement in your worship that people can't wait to meet together as the body of Christ? That's what we've lost!



When is the last time the altar of your church was filled with people crying out to God for his outpouring? That's what we've lost!



When was the last time that your church felt such unity and love that there was criticism and discord among the people? That's what we've lost!



When was the last time the Holy Spirit took over the worship hour, and no one even cared about a time schedule? That's what we've lost!



Is the bond of love so strong that every age group in the church wants to be with every other age group in the church? That's what we've lost.



As I've aged, I have learned one important thing. It doesn't make any difference how good we look or how good the church looks. The thing that is most important is "our" relationship with Christ. The "our" relationship is the church body. It's all of us, working together.
That's what we've lost.

I'M NOT VERY BRIGHT

If you look at my posts back in July and August, you notice one theme. I did not expect my 102 year old Mother who is on hospice care to survive to October 14. She was just so very weak and seemingly near death.

Was I ever wrong.

Ruth Lynn and I visited with her today. Her bed was cranked up, and she smiled at us when we entered the room. We've known that something was going on in her brain in the background, but she has been unable to talk for any extended period of time. She said "Morning" to us without any suggestion from us. She was very bright and alert, but she still could not communicate except with her eyes and facial expression. It was just a normal day of talking with her or "at" her.

Ruth Lynn then asked if she could write anything. Since I visit with her each day, I had the usual answer. No. I had actually given someone that answer just last week. The only problem with my answer was that we had never really tried to let her write.

So I got a pad and pen. Ruth Lynn held it very tightly as she grasped the pen with her one good hand, her left "writing" hand. Ruth Lynn asked her a question, and she clearly wrote down the answer. It was "Ruth" in response to Ruth Lynn's question of who she was . . as Ruth Lynn pointed to herself.

Ruth Lynn then called me over as she was yelling, and we all had a wonderful laugh, including Mammaw, at her ability not only to think but to write something.

We often wonder how much Mammaw really comprehends. Is she responding to us or just to our physical touch. We know the answer now. She's thinking very clearly, and she wants to talk with us about it.

So, beginning tomorrow, we're going to let her write. I may even post a picture of the author in the coming days.

God is still at work in Birdie Idell Low Cotter's life.

IDENTIFYING A GRAVE

Many people have been buried over the years in obscure locations. Many will never be found, but it is always enjoyable to locate and identify graves. Many of you remember the story of my chance to find and identify my Grandmother's grave in Vernon, Texas just a few years ago.

We live in Parker County, Texas, and there are dozens of cemeteries, many with unidentified graves.

My brother, Gene, and I just returned from a grave search in Leslie, Arkansas. Gene was born there in 1932, and another brother, Darrell Don died at birth there in 1934. My Dad carved on a small stone the inscription "Infant of Mr. and Mrs. Cliff Cotter - 1934". It has been in the same small plot since that time, and Gene and I made a special journey to that very sacred spot.

We were not even sure that the stone would still be standing as it had been about 30 years since we had visited the site. We were also not sure we'd be able to find it among the many old and broken stones. We weren't even sure whether the cemetery would be overgrown and inaccessible. So we took along plenty of tools inlcuding a weedeater, pruning shears, hoes, shovels, and other ncessary deforesting items.

We had a wonderful surprise.

The cemetery has been enlarged and modernized, and the entrance gate is in a different location. It is, my the way, in the beautiful mountains of northern Arkansas. It is a wonderful setting for a cemetery.

We walked directly to the marker. It was right where my Dad had placed it in the ground 75 years ago. It still stood tall and proud with lots of moss on the back side. It was a beautiful sight.

Gene and I had taken along some supplies if we needed to lay the stone on its side. We had plans to possibly pour a small concrete slab as a support for the stone. All of those plans were discarded when we saw how strong the stone stood in the ground. Our Dad put it there; we're not moving it.

We did add another stone to the grave. It is an explanation of the person buried there. It says, "Darrell Don Cotter, Born and Died September 24, 1934, Original Stone Carved by Father, Clifford Victor Cotter". I also called the treasurer of the cemetery association and asked them to add Darrell's name to their website information.

Almost everyone who ever knew anything or had heard anything about Darrell Don is now gone. It really wouldn't make much difference if we didn't add the new marker. It did make a difference to Gene and me in our later years of life.

It has often been suggested that if Darrell Don had survived and lived, things would have been different. I may have never been born as my Dad and Mom raised two boys during the depression years. They might not have had a third boy.

So . . what we did the past couple of days is very important to me. It's a way for me to honor an unknown brother; it's a way for me to thank God for my own life. It's a way to recognize the importance of our daily walk with God.

We had a fun trip to Arkansas. If you're ever in Leslie, Arkansas, be sure to look up the grave of Darrell Don Cotter.

FUN AT THE NURSING HOME

Many people don't realize how much fun people have in a nusrsing home.

My mother had a stroke just about 8 weeks ago, and she can hardly communicate. We do get some smiles and grins and squeezing of the fingers along the way. That, in itself, is great joy to us. We had an especially fun event that happened yesterday and today.

One of the aides often comes to her weekend job with her fingernails painted some crazy color. We've talked about it before, and I've discovered that her 6 year old daughter often picks out which color her mother will wear. It was, in my view, an ugly green . . and it was not a pretty sight!

She was showing her chartreuse fingernails to mother yesterday, and she asked my permission to paint mother's nails. Well, today when RL and I showed up to visit, we were met by three of the workers with big grins on their faces. We went in to see mother only to discover all of her nails painted chartreuse. Every one of the workers kidded mother about the color, and she opently laughed out loud when we spoke about it. She was obviously having a fun time with us and with the workers.

Several people came into her room to look and laugh. It was fun at the nursing home.

I'll never really understand what mother comprehends through these visits. I just know she was laughing and having fun. That's a good thing when you've suffered a stroke at 102.

MY MOTHER IS DYING

An opinion column in today's Fort Worth Star Telegram entitled "Clinging to a life that one can barely call a life anymore" reminded me of societies attitude about death. This is my answer to that editorial, and I use some of the writer's phrases and words.

MY MOTHER IS DYING

My mother is dying. She could die today, tomorrow, or perhaps next week. No one, including her hospice care, knows just when she will die, but her death is imminent and, having been at her beside each day for the past several weeks, I can testify that her death is a wonderful experience.

Yes, there are certainly deaths far more gruesome, but her slow death in Holland Lake Nursing Center in Weatherford is filled with daily joys. She has shared a room with an Alzheimer’s patient for the past 12 months, and there has been little/no communication between the two of them. As I think of human life, this seems to be an undignified way to end a wonderful life. So I’ve been thinking about life and death and its meaning more than ever in the recent weeks.

My mother has been preparing for her death for the past 102 years. She was a vibrant younger woman with children and grandchildren and wonderful memories. She has suffered through many of the normal ailments of life, from cancer to strokes to her now fetal position in a bed. She has been in and out of emergency rooms and hospitals and assisted living homes and nursing homes, but she is now under the care of a loving hospice organization. This just affirms the fact that her life on this earth will end very soon.

My mother recognizes that she is dying. We’ve talked about it together, and she answers me often with that small smile of recognition. She gives me that smile when we speak about her past, about her husband who has been dead for 22 years, about her wonderful childhood, about her loving family, and most of all, about her faith. Almost every day I sing hymns to her; I speak to her about heaven and its wonderful promises. Often tears will form in her eyes as she looks forward to the joys of eternity. And she tries so very hard to form the words “I love you” as I say them to her.

I have a question. What is mother comprehending as we spend time together. Does she really know what I’m saying? Is she seeing a small glimpse of heaven right now? Is her mind still working, and she just can’t get the words out? Every one of these difficult questions is puzzling, but these unanswered questions bring joy to me as I visit with her.

Physical death is a part of life. She understands that. I understand it. She grandchildren and great grandchildren, who have visited with her in these final days of her life, understand it. She is now showing us how to die. Early in life she taught us the truth that we now understand. It is that the joy of eternal life comes to all of us through faith in Jesus Christ.

I wouldn’t take anything for this wonderful experience. Each day I’m growing more in my faith as I wait patiently for God to take her to glory.

Mother, I love you!