Pastor's Devotions by Tim Harris

The countdown is coming to an end. In two days it will be Christmas Day!  The decorating, shopping, baking, and so much more, will climax in all the celebrations and gatherings that take place on December 25. The day that we as Christians have set aside to remember our Savior’s birth is almost here. It’s almost Christmas!   For me, the month of December can feel a bit frenzied. As a pastor I’m working hard to make sure the services for the month and especially for Christmas Eve (and this year Christmas Day) will inspire our congregation to worship and help us remember why it is we celebrate Christmas in the first place. And, as a husband and father I’m busy helping decorate, get the cards in the mail, shop for gifts, and prepare our home for guests. (I don’t do any of the baking!) Admittedly, I can go a bit overboard, especially when it comes to the filling  of the Christmas stockings. Now that it’s almost Christmas, I can feel the momentum moving quickly towards that very special day.

As I look at the decorations that make our house feel like Christmas, I can’t help but notice how many small things have been placed around our home. From small nativity sets, some of which come from places like Peru and Israel, to the little Santa globe sitting on the kitchen window sill, I find that it’s the little things that add to that feeling of Christmas when you come into our home. It’s not just the big tree standing in the living room, but the small ornaments that hang on it; it’s not just the stockings hung on the fireplace, but the many small things that get placed within them that add to the celebration of Christmas.  On the other hand, I think we would all agree that we are just naturally attracted to big things. In spite of saying, “Good things come in small packages,” when given a choice, we tend towards the large package. We take trips to go and see the largest Christmas tree.  We want the big break, look for that big job, we like to hang out with the big shots. At time

From the time each of our children was born, we have given to them each year a new ornament to hang on the Christmas tree. It began with the Hallmark ornaments that noted each of their first five Christmases. It has then continued with a new ornament each year to hang on the tree and then be stored for the rest of the year in their own box. When it’s time to decorate our Christmas tree, each of them (and now their spouses alongside of them), take their box and decorate one part of the tree with their set of ornaments.  And, we continue to give to them an ornament each year; the only difference today is that, now that they are married, they get to take the new ornament to their home to hang on their own Christmas tree.   As I look at the various ornaments on our tree, many of them bring back memories of years gone by. They help me recall the times when our children were yet filled with the awe that Christmas just naturally brings a child.  As we hang the ornaments collected through the

I’m sure just about all of us have had the experience of going to an airport to pick someone up and waiting at the arrival gate. Although I’ve been in that situation numerous times, the most memorable was when our daughter Joanna was returning from her semester spent in Vienna, Austria. As Kim and I stood by the arrival gate, we did so anticipating that any moment Joanna would come through the gate, pulling her luggage and carrying her viola. After months of not seeing her (except a few times via Facetime), our adrenaline was pumping as the excitement began to build. Then, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, we spotted her coming towards us. Within a few moments all of our anticipation had become a reality. Joanna was home. (See picture) Of course, lots of hugs were in order! This season into which we have now entered is called, “Advent.” The word means, “the arrival.” It’s meant to be a season within the year during which we as Christians not only prepare for the celebration

This past Monday I had the privilege to take a missionary friend to The Ellis Island National Museum of Immigration. To get there, we parked on the New Jersey side at Liberty State Park and took the ferry to the island. (The only way to get there from either New Jersey or New York is by ferry). We spent the day in the museum and then, at the end of the day boarded a ferry to get back to where our car was parked. It was a beautiful, albeit chilly, ride. The sun was low on the horizon. The Statue of Liberty seemed to be glowing, as were the buildings of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Jersey City that surrounded us. Yes, it was truly beautiful…until I noticed that we were riding right by Liberty State Park and heading towards Battery Park at the tip of Manhattan! Immediately I realized, we had gotten on the wrong ferry!  I soon found out that, since this was the last ferry of the day, we couldn’t ride back to either Ellis Island or Liberty State Park via this ferry. In a very quick minute, I ha

I’ve notice recently that many fast food places have longer lines at the drive-through than they do inside at the counter. Such is the case at the Dunkin’ Donuts I drive by every morning, with cars spilling out onto the road. I’ve seen the same at the local Chick-fil-a, Starbucks, and Wendy’s. It seems that many people either don’t want to make the effort to get out of their car or they are in such a hurry that they want to eat on the run. I for one, almost never go through a drive-through; I’d much rather go inside, see the counter-person face to face, and sit down to have my lunch or coffee. Even if I need to do take-out, I’d still rather go inside. I tend to think that the drive-through is somewhat a symbol of the kind of culture in which we live. People living in other places around the world would never consider eating while driving in their cars, no less pick up their food in a drive-through line. The pace of their lives is such that it allows them to actually sit and enjoy their

This past week I took our dog Sadie to the vet for her annual check-up and vaccines. I knew it wasn’t going to go well. And it didn’t. As soon as we began to walk through the first of two sets of doors, she knew where she was, turned around and began pulling to go back out. Once we got into the examining room, she sat with her body right up against my leg with that nervous look in her eyes. When the tech and then the vet came into the room she pushed even harder against me and even went under the chair I was sitting on. No amount of coaxing or bribing with treats was going to get her to allow for an examination, no less any vaccines. We decided I’m going to need to bring her back and allow them to completely sedate her if they are going to be able to get done for her what needs to be done. (And, please no advice…we’ve tried everything! She’s too smart to be tricked!)   Obviously, Sadie is afraid of the vet.  And I can’t completely blame her. After all, she doesn’t understand that what

A few weeks ago a friend and I took a ride down to the Barnegat Lighthouse on Long Beach Island, here in New Jersey. Although I had never been to it, I knew it was a beautiful lighthouse. However, I learned the day before the day we were supposed to go that, beginning in May of this year, the lighthouse began to undergo a restoration process that would supposedly be completed by the end of October. Of course, we all know how fickle those dates can be. And, the most recent pictures of the lighthouse were of it covered in scaffolding. Thus, although I was hoping the work would be finished by time of our visit, I wasn’t really sure or even all that hopeful that such would be the case.  Yet, we took the trip down.  The whole time we were driving down the Garden State Parkway and then crossing the bridge to Long Beach Island, I was wondering what we would find. Would the lighthouse still be covered with scaffolding?  Or, was the renovation work done? I really had no way of knowing—that is,

Now that we’re in the midst of baseball’s post-season, and especially because the Yankees are still in it (currently playing for the American League title), I’m watching a lot more baseball than I usually do during the rest of the season. Although baseball is not the fastest moving game, it is a game that is filled with lots of tension and drama. And there is no more tension and drama as when there is a “full count.” When the pitch count reaches three balls and two strikes, the very next pitch is going to end that particular at-bat by means of either a strikeout, a walk, or a hit of some kind. (Actually there may be another foul ball which would count as nothing.) When the pitch count reaches a ”full count,” the next pitch will mean either success for the pitcher or success for the batter. It's no wonder the fans are on their feet cheering. It’s a pressure-cooker moment, especially for the pitcher, for it is up to him to make sure he throws just the right pitch. If he does, he succ

I know I’ve written a lot recently about my running escapades and what I’ve learned from all the training that led up to the half marathon I ran a couple of weeks ago. But one thing I haven’t mentioned was a lesson I learned the hard way: the need to properly fuel up before, during, and after a long run. You see, when running three, four, even five miles I never really worried too much about how much I needed to eat before beginning the run. Nor did I consider the need for any kind of nutrition during the run. And when finished, I would eat what one might consider to be a pretty normal meal (usually breakfast). However, when running six miles or more I found that I my nutritional needs became quite different. At times, because I hadn’t fueled up properly beforehand or had nothing to keep me fueled up during the run, my body clearly let me know it did not want to keep going; my body was depleted from not being properly fueled up.  After doing a bit of reading (as well as talking it thro

Now that our grandson Jesse is beginning to talk, he is able to refer to Kim and me as “grandma” and “grandpa.” Actually, he says, “ga-ma” (or sometimes, “ra-ma”) and “pa-pa.”  And, if I point to myself and ask, “Who is this?” not only does he answer, “pa-pa” but also, “papou,” which is “grandpa” in Greek! (Imagine at two years old, Jesse already speaks Greek!)  Of course, long before he was saying “ga-ma” and “pa-pa,” he had learned to say,  “momma” and “da-da,” which is only right, I guess.  Like most parents and grandparents, we haven’t taught Jesse to refer to us by our first names. In fact, I for one would find little joy in hearing him call me, “Tim.” That’s the way everyone else in my life refers to me, except for my children who call me, “Dad” (and congregants who call me, “pastor”). Family members and friends, neighbors and sometimes strangers to whom I’ve introduced myself, call me “Tim.” Yes, it’s my name but it says nothing about my relationship with the person who is using

As many of you know, this past Saturday I ran my first half marathon. It was a great day, the climax of twelve weeks of training.  When I crossed the finish line my legs were tired, but I was pumped; I had accomplished my goal and did it in better time than I thought I could. I was definitely on a high for about a day. By late Sunday, however, the fatigue began to kick-in, not just in the legs but in my whole body. I had given it everything I had and now my body was saying, “rest.” Thus, I entered into  recovery mode. No major running for about a week, just walking, light motion on a stationary bike, some light weight training, and on day five just a short easy run. But not only was my body tired, I began to feel a little down; the post-race blues began to hit. I began wondering what to do next and how to schedule any upcoming running. I found myself looking online for other races, trying to figure out when I could race again, what kind of training I would need to go through, and how l

“Trust the training” were the words a person wrote on my Facebook post in which I highlighted one of my final training runs for my first half marathon, which will take place tomorrow morning. Those words have stuck in my head since. Each time I begin to wonder whether or not I will be able to actually run the 13.1 miles required and/or run the kind of time I’ve been striving for, I repeat to myself those words, “trust the training.”  For 12 weeks now I’ve been running three times per week various types of runs and slowly increasing the distance. The longest I’ve run thus far is 12 miles, so I will have to add just one more mile to complete the race. It’s been quite a journey, but as of yesterday my training is done. And now with the training completed, all I can do is “trust the training” and get out there and run.  For sure, that phrase can apply to a lot of areas of life. Whether it is the training for a different sport, studies for the medical profession, the learning required to be

Through the years, Kim and I have enjoyed walking through the neighborhoods in which we have lived. As we do, we are able to see things we would miss when driving through.  After all, when one is driving they easily miss the small things around them—e.g., what people have planted in their flowerbeds, the small changes they have made to their home, the new sidewalk that was recently laid, etc.  When driving we often miss the details in front of us. Walking through a neighborhood gives to us a completely different perspective. (And having a dog to walk causes us to walk through our neighborhood a lot!)  And it’s not just about the homes and lawns and gardens, it’s even more so about the neighbors—i.e., the people who live in the houses we pass each day. When we drive through, we might give a friendly wave through the car window, but we have no opportunity to talk, learn about each other, and find out what might be taking place in one another’s lives. When we walk, we can actually stop an

This past Monday, Labor Day, I had the opportunity to run a 5K race with my son Jonathan in Montgomery County, Maryland where he and his family live. Following the 5K race, there were two races for the kids, one for children ages 2-5 years old and one for children ages 6-12 years old. Jonathan and Danielle signed up our grandson Jesse, who just turned 2 years old, for the first race.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as excited to run a race as was Jesse. As they lined the younger kids up (all three of them), there was Jesse wearing his American flag tank top, with his number pinned to his shirt, and Jonathan holding him back from taking off before the signal was given. He just couldn’t wait to run!  And when the signal was given, he gave it his all, running to the end of the stretch marked out for them and then turning around to make his way across the finish line. Not only that, but when the older kids were lined up to run their race, Jesse cried out, “More!”  He wanted to race ag

As some of you may know, as of this week (actually, yesterday) I am now another year older. It’s amazing to think how quickly time has gone by, both the decades as well as the individual years. Some of you can relate well—especially, those of you who are a bit older.  After all, when we are young, one year, no less a decade, seems so much longer than when we have a few more years under our belt. The older we get, the quicker time seems to go by. Right now, for me the years seem to be flying! As I look back it seems like it was just a few years ago that Kim and I were getting married and starting our life together. (We celebrated 37 years this past month!)  It seems like it was just a few years ago that our kids were piling into the van to go somewhere as a family or riding their bikes around the neighborhood or sitting around a dinner table, all talking at the same time as we tried to get through a meal. It seems like it was just a few years ago that Kim and I were starting out in mini

I know there are some people, like my son Nathaniel, who follow the tides and swells and temperatures of the ocean by means of an app so they know what to expect when they go to the beach with their surfboard. The rest of us, however, as we walk onto the beach are wondering how large the waves are going to be, whether it is high tide or low tide, and what the water temperature is. We look to see if the lifeguards have put out the green flags, yellow flags, or red flags, each indicating the level of danger. Most of us go to the beach with the highest of hopes, but we understand that the ocean can be unpredictable, thus we don’t really know what to expect.  Living as close to the beach as I do (I’m about 5 miles from Long Branch, NJ), I’m down there quite often. And like most people, I usually don’t know what to expect. Recently, two days in a row, I went to the beach hoping to take a good swim only to find the waters very rough and the wind blowing strong and steady. The water was not a

This week Kim and I have been caring for Odin, Joanna and Dan’s greyhound. He’s a really good dog, but has one major issue that sometimes makes it a bit hard to care for him: he’s deathly afraid of the sound thunder—or fireworks or any other loud noises for that matter. Our dog Sadie gets nervous at such sounds, but not like Odin who will end up shaking in a corner and/or simply freeze. At that point, he won’t eat, sit with us, or go for a walk. The poor dog becomes completely dominated by his fear and anxiety.   Odin chilling..no thunder! In fact, just yesterday morning as we were waking up, a thunderstorm rolled in. Predictably, with the first clap of thunder, Odin ran up the stairs and ended up in our bedroom in a panic. It is always so sad to see how frightened he becomes. Again, Sadie is as well afraid and will start to pant a bit, but Odin was shaking and would not move. Thankfully, the storm didn’t last long and we were eventually able to calm him down enough for him to eat and

Once again Kim and I spent a couple of weeks on Lake Pleasant in the Adirondack Mountains with some of our family. Each year, while there, we take a canoe ride from our lake to another lake through a channel that is about three-quarters of a mile long. It’s a beautiful ride filled with water lilies, duck families, fish that pass under the canoe, the sound of bull frogs, and this year a young heron and it’s mother. This year, however, we never made it to the other lake. You see, about two-thirds of the way through we found our way completely blocked by a beaver dam!  We’ve seen the beaver dams in the past, and now and then even the beavers themselves. However, we have never seen a beaver dam like this one. It extended across the whole channel giving us no way to get around it. The water on the other side was 4 to 6 inches higher than on our side. And it was amazingly strong made with sticks and logs cut and shaped by the beavers and sealed together with mud.  It was an engineering feat

As many of you know, I have been somewhat of a runner for the past few years. I began with running a mile or two on our local boardwalk.  Since then, I’ve run a number of 5K races, seeking to run a somewhat respectable time. The longest I’ve ever run is 10 miles. Currently, I’m finishing off the second week of a 12 week training plan to run a half-marathon at the end of September. Needless to say, the running metaphors of the New Testament hit home with me.  As I’ve read the scriptures and thought about both my physical running and my spiritual race of faith, I’ve realized that both require of me the same thing. In fact, recently I’ve honed in on four keys to running a good race both physically and spiritually—and in other aspects of life, as well. They are discipline, perseverance, pacing, and focus.  I’ve learned that, in order to run a physical race I need to first of all discipline myself multiple times per week to get up and run, even when I don’t feel like it. I then need perseve