Church issues

 

Hayter article for March 31, 2024

 

“Easter with the Hayter family as told by Mark”

Do you know what’s weird about this particular Easter? This year Easter falls on March 31st, and won’t do it again until 2086. Your grandchildren may witness it, but you likely won’t. On the bright side, none of your grandchildren will be expecting you to hide Easter eggs for them.  

Oh, and get this. Next Easter falls on April 20th. Who on earth came up with such a scheme? Easter is one of those holidays that is determined by the full moon. Jesus was nailed to a cross on the day before the Jewish Passover and rose from the grave on the day after. The Catholic Church instituted the celebration of Easter based on the time of the Jewish Passover. 

Considering the number of calendars we’ve had since the death of Jesus and the uncertainty of the actual year he was crucified, it is impossible to determine the date of the first Easter. … unless artificial intelligence can figure it out. I would explain more of this, but then I’d have to continue with my research, and I’m sick of doing that.  

Many of you may have little to no concern about the Christian faith. Were I born to a different family or in a different country, there is no telling what my faith would be today… if anything. That’s pretty much the way of religion. Generally our religious faith is determined by our parents and their culture.

I’ve mentioned before how I was practically born in a church building. The first Sunday after Mom left the hospital after birthing me, she dragged the family to church. I used the “dragged” verb to demonstrate how much the Hayter kids dreaded church. Our family went to a church of Christ which, back then, was an institution that believed we were the only ones who had a chance to go to heaven. And, we weren’t so sure we were going either.  

One example of our beliefs involves Easter. It was not recognized as a God-given celebration. It was okay to dye eggs and hide them, but there would be NO mention of Jesus during the occasion. If God wanted us to celebrate Easter, He would’ve said something about it. 

And Christmas? Oh, my word. You could get a Christmas tree, exchange gifts, and lie to your kids about Santa, but it was a sin to bring Jesus into the equation. No way on God’s green earth was Jesus born in the winter. 

We couldn’t drink or dance, and women couldn’t wear pants. There were too many other sins to keep up with. Some of the rules seemed to come out of the blue. It sounds horrible, but some other religions throughout the world pack even more of a wallop.  

Fortunately, the church we now attend stresses love more than fear. It’s difficult to love a god who would just as soon send you to hell as look at you. I’m sure that wasn’t the intended message, but the sermons back then seemed geared toward that very thing. I was of a mind that the preacher was the only one going to heaven. And, he was quite proud of that. 

When I was a kid it was okay to celebrate Easter in elementary school. I remember that my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, had us all follow her down the sidewalk to somebody’s house so we could hide eggs. Mom didn’t have an Easter basket for me, so she made one out of a cylindrical oatmeal box. I don’t know if you’re aware, but oatmeal boxes don’t have handles, so Mom somehow affixed a shoestring to the top of the box. It broke on our walk back to school.

It’s cruel how the embarrassing moments in our lives tend to stay with us longer than the happy ones. While I have no desire to go back to the time of my youth, knowing what I do now, I think I could really improve on Mark. 

In the real world, children generally learn from things they witness. Over the years, my church experiences have changed so much for the better. As for the old church we attended, it’s long gone. The preachers and members back then stressed the fear of God and seldom mentioned His love. When His love was mentioned it included so many caveats. God loves you up to the moment you sin. At that point, you better hope you don’t die, because you’ll be going to hell in a basket. 

 The young people who attend such churches, generally leave as soon as they leave home. The congregations end up with old people and a few families with youngsters. The church Kay and I attend today has a congregation that is equally split among children, young adults, adults, and old people like Kay and me. Easter will be celebrated this Sunday. There will be an early service followed by an egg hunt and some catered food. Afterward, there will be another service attended mostly by old people and adults who have no children. That’s just a guess. Kay and I will be there. 

I’m proud of you for sticking with me through this discourse. It had a little religion, a lot of foolishness, and a considerable amount of family history. By the way, the first outing Kay ever had with the Hayter family was on Easter. We went to Milby Park, hid Easter eggs for the kiddos, and played softball. Kay didn’t enjoy softball. In fact, she was never excited about any of our outdoor family gatherings. That fact is registered somewhere in the Hayter Family history. She has shown no concern about that. 

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com

Cash Hayter Soccer

 

Hayter for March 24, 2024

A game of low scores and a lot of running 

          Jill spent a couple of days with us last week. My kid sister is my favorite visitor. I’d appreciate it if you don’t share that with my other siblings. One of the many great things about Jill is that she never takes advantage of her welcome.

We’ve had guests who would have gladly spent the month with us, had I let them. Kay has always been able to put up with much more discomfort with guests than her husband. Some guests completely ignore any hints about their leaving.

I find only two reasonable responses to the clingers. Honesty or a lie. I’m fairly good with both. For example: “Excuse me, gang. Kay and I have to rush off to Corrigan because of sickness in the family -- or a sale on corn on the cob -- or to visit a sick friend.” -- I use the name of a remote town that would be believable in that it’s unlikely one would make up the name.  I’ve found “Corrigan” a safe town name. I’ve yet to meet anyone with family or friends living there.  

To holdovers, Kay prefers I tell a lie over the truth. --  “Okay, it’s time for you guys to load up and leave. You can get lunch on the road.” – Let’s face it, no chump wants to hear the truth. 

Of course, Jill’s visits are always fun times. In this case, we went to a high school soccer game in Willis. Willis was playing Oak Ridge. I taught at Oak Ridge High and would’ve yelled for the War Eagles. But, I felt obligated to cheer for Willis because Big Al’s grandson plays for the Wildcats. Cash is the tallest player on the team. He’s lean, but not mean. And, he’s fast. I would tell you the position he plays, but the only position I know in soccer is that of goalie.

The goalie doesn’t have to run nearly as much as the other players. You see, he’s guarding the thing with the net, so needs to stay close--by. The rest of the players run their guts out during each of the 40-minute halves. That’s like 80 minutes! Sure some of the players trade off now and again, but there’s no way a normal human being could get his wind back after a six-minute rest.

By the time the first 40-minute half ended, I was bored out of my gourd. The score was one to one. Both teams ran their rears off for one point each. Willis scored first and Oak Ridge scored with about 30 seconds left in the half.  Apparently a few War Eagles got together and agreed to score in the last minute. Sure enough, they ran downfield kicking back and forth until – SCORE!

There weren’t that many fans in the stands, but most of them were rooting for Oak Ridge. The last score in the half impressed me enough to boost my interest in the game.  

Let’s face it, soccer isn’t for everyone. As a novice, I liken it to a basketball game that ends up with a score of 2 to 4. The players run themselves ragged, yet there is a limit to how many missed baskets one cares to watch.

During the short wait at half time, Jill and I got a chance to talk more with Clint, who is Cash’s dad. Clint’s wife, their younger son, and two daughters were also there, as was Clint’s Dad, Big Al.  I see it as important for a kid’s grandpa to go to his game. Be it baseball, football, soccer, or that game where two guys use a curved claw-looking device, to sling a ball back and forth. I don’t remember the name of that game.

Al had purchased three folding stadium seats for Clint, his wife, and himself. They are made out of water-resistant fabric wrapped over two cushions, with straps that enable you to fold the thing up and carry it on your back like a backpack. It’s light as can be.

Clint let Jill sit on his folded foam mat. Jill has a bad back, so she now likes Clint more than the other nephews.  During half-time, Al handed me his folded cushion seat. I tried it out and found it exceptional.

I tried it out for about five minutes and then gave it back to Al. I mean, I tried to give it back. He said, “No, you use it.” Twenty minutes into the second half, I tried to give it back to him again, but he said, “No. I’m good. I don’t want it.” What a brother.

And, the game? Willis won three to two. They made their third point in the last two minutes of the game. How those boys have enough energy to jump around and back-slap one another, after running practically non-stop for 80 minutes or so, is more than any other sportsman would have the energy to do.

After the game ended, I bragged on as many Wild Cats as I could. Oak Ridge had to leave quickly, so I didn’t get to brag on them. Each of the Willis athletes lit up just a bit when I complimented them. They didn’t hear all that much cheering during the game, because there weren’t many fans seated in the stadium.

I wouldn’t have been there had Jill not wanted to go. I tend to go out of my way for my kid sister. We go way back to a time when— Well, I’ll continue with that on another day. The Hayter kids have experienced a lot of strange events… as do many families with multiple kids. – Next time.  

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com

 

Importance of beginnings

 

Hayter for March 17, 2024

The importance of a beginning

 

          Last Sunday a dear friend of mine told me that she didn’t catch on to the beginning of my article, but did catch on to the last part. I considered it kind of her not to quit reading after the beginning.

          The message given to writers of any sort is to grab your reader at the very beginning. Virginia’s mom is my best example of that. I’ve mentioned how my adopted mom, Ruby Parker, would not finish one of my articles if she didn’t like the beginning of it. I’m guessing she didn’t read many of my articles.

Beginnings are tough for writers. I used the beginning of this morning’s article to set the groundwork for the rest of the piece. My favorite beginning to any of the books I’ve read is from “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger. It goes:

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all of that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”

Salinger captured me with his beginning. He had an honest way of writing his story and managed to carry this reader along with him.

Yes, the beginning of a story, be it fiction or fact, needs to grab the reader. Kay does not judge a book by its beginning. That girl will read 70 or more pages of a novel before deciding that it isn’t worth her time. I tend to catch onto a bad read sooner than Kay.

 There is at least one book that begins with “In the Beginning…” It’s the best-selling book of all time. I don’t even know the beginning of me. The closest I can get is the time Dennis and I stood barefoot in the dirt waiting for a school bus to drop off my big sister Lynda, and our brother Larry.  As soon as the bus stopped, Larry hopped off and headed home. Lynda chose to divide her books up and let Dennis and me carry them home for her

I couldn’t have been over three years old at the time. When I tell that story, I usually get misty-eyed. There were other kids on the bus looking down at Lynda’s dirty brothers in their filthy shorts. I imagine they thought Lynda was crazy to spend time with two runny-nosed knot-heads. I have every confidence that God viewed the moment in a different light.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. “In the beginning.” What happens in the Bible’s beginning is baffling to me. Books have been written and sermons preached to help explain what happened after the beginning. Early believers were killed for their interpretations of scriptures, but for the past century or two, churches have merely disagreed with different interpretations.

          While I don’t care to discuss such things, I am curious about what was going on before “The Beginning”. Does infinity have a beginning? If not, there isn’t a beginning. There are only two responses to that. One is “I don’t know. I’m just curious.” The other is, “If God wanted us to know, He would’ve told us.” I’ve heard both answers used in different arguments.

          I’m a patron of the “I don’t know, but I’m curious” answer. One might ask, “If God didn’t want us to think about pre-biblical questions why did He give us the ability to think?”

It’s similar to the question about why God put the tree “of the knowledge of good and evil” into the Garden of Eden. He was bound to know what was going to happen. If Adam and Even couldn’t fight the temptation, what hope would there be for the rest of mankind? Before he was even a teenager, Cain would’ve climbed the Tree and grabbed a piece of fruit for himself. The boy had issues. 

Is there even such a thing as “time” in the infinity of eternity? Was there no beginning and will there be no end?  If God has always BEEN, then He must be infinity. That thought is beyond the scope of the human brain. All we can know is that we’re here now, and considering the aspect of Earth Time, we won’t be here long. All we can do is hope that as soon as we’re out of here, we will understand the concept of there being no end. And more than that, we will enjoy being in a time with no end.

Some of my friends believe that the afterlife will involve each of us tending a garden on a new Earth… forever. Adam and Eve didn’t handle it well, so perhaps we will. Fortunately, the Bible describes heaven as a place where "No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things that God has prepared for those who love him.” From I Corinthians 2: 9.

Since my friends believe that we’ll be farming in heaven FOREVER, they have negated the possibility of us having to do that.  Remember,  “… no mind has imagined what God has  prepared for us…” Farming has been imagined, so we can’t be farmers. I doubt that’s what was intended from the passage, but sometimes you just have to go with what you got.

 In my case, I have no worries about what was happening before God created the heavens and the earth.  Unlike my dear old friend Ruby Parker, I just can’t help wondering about the unknowable. I’ve never been accused of being bright. But weird? Oh, yeah. – Next time, I’ll write about something more down-to-earth. What sayest thou?  

end

hayter.mark@gmail.com