Genocide. The systematic elimination of a race or tribe or clan by the ruling powers. The most documented genocide in history is the systematic killing of millions of Jews in Nazi Germany. Despite that horror, genocide and similar atrocities still happen.

In the Darfur region of Sudan, the pillaging, burning, and murdering of black Africans has killed 300,000 people, left villages with poisoned water supplies, and destroyed crops. The human hunger and devastation left behind in the wake of this genocide is beyond measure. Similar lawlessness rules the land in Samolia and Zimbabwe.

These human tragedies happen on the opposite side of our earth. The most recent genocidal rages are often missed by our peers. A war in Iraq, a tough presidential campaign, and an economic meltdown have forced the spotlight away from most humanitarian problems. Distance and competing news has allowed atrocities to continue beneath the radar for years.

Will 2009 be a year when the world finally begins to pay attention to the voices of Ramah wailing and lamenting "Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more." (Jeremiah 31:15)? I pray it will be true. For while we party into the new year with a national holiday, thousands more will die of hunger or terror.

Pastor B.

Today, December 22, is one of the shortest days of the year. Technically, of course, the day is 24 hours long like the rest of them. But the time from sunrise to sunset is only nine hours. That means 15 hours of darkness.

The winter solstice is one reason we celebrate the Nativity of Our Lord when we do. In the middle of the year’s darkest days (in the northern hemisphere, I should note), we have the single most powerful light in the world thrust into our lives. We call him Jesus.

Although the days will slowly lengthen for the next six months, days of inner darkness, those times when shadows overtake your soul, can come at any time and any place. The symbolism of remembering Jesus’ birth at the darkest time of our physical lives is that we can have faith that he will come to be with us in the dark times of our spiritual and emotional lives as well.

May you be blessed by the Nativity.

Pastor B.

The state of newspapers continues to deteriorate. I know the papers of this country and around the world struggle financially. Electronic news outlets compete for the hearts and minds of a younger generation that can get instant updates as quickly as a reporter can get to a keyboard. The gaggle of media that competes for advertising dollars grows every year while newspaper subscriptions drop lower and lower.

The Capital Times here in Madison has eschewed print and become strictly an online news source. That leaves us with the Wisconsin State Journal. That paper, too, has morphed into a daily diary of non-news feature articles that are written days if not weeks before the paper goes to print. What news there may be is limited to mostly single paragraphs randomly picked off a newswire.

The lack of a truly credible local newspaper hit home like a wrecking ball on Thanksgiving. You may recall that on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving two major news items exploded into the news. First, in Mumbai, India terrorists attacked motels, a train station, and other targets killing over 100 people. All the cable news stations moved it to the top. Second, here in our backyard a gas leak in the industrial park on Highway N caused a neighborhood evacuation that included some OSLC members. The item was a top story on the local news.

On Thanksgiving morning I trekked out the driveway and across the street to retrieve the newspaper. I was anxious to read about Mumbai and the gas leak. Nothing. Nada. Not a column, not a sentence, not a word.

As I perused the articles in the paper it became pretty clear that it has all been written on Tuesday. The reporters (except for a couple of sports stringers) apparently went off for a five day weekend. Friday’s paper carried a couple of column inches about India but nothing about a portion of Sun Prairie being evacuated.

I like my morning newspaper. I can even put up with the inundation of advertising. I’m willing to ride along with feature articles that take up three quarters of the front page, with celebrity news on page two, and inches devoted to stupid sports statistics like the chart of attendance at all the Packer games.

But it raised my temperature when something like the State Journal has the audacity to call itself a newspaper when there is no news in it. Please, someone tell the editor that there are still newspaper loving people out here who crave real, in depth, printed news. If this is what passes for a newspaper these days, I can see why the medium is in trouble.

Pastor B.

Although the first official day of winter is still a few days away, we all know that cold and snow don’t wait for the astronomical winter solstice. Around here, anytime after school starts can be snowtire time.

It’s still pretty early, however, a couple of weeks ago the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association announced that our part of the country would experience a warmer than usual winter with precipitation amounts possibly higher or possibly lower than average.

Meanwhile, when the Farmers Almanac hit the newsstands a few months ago, newspapers promptly reported that this old standard bearer of weather lore had promised us a winter colder and snowier than average - even worse than last year.

Then again, I heard from my brother up in Minnesota where much of our weather comes from - especially the bad stuff. He said that the woody caterpillars in his yard had narrow bands. That means they agree with the NOAA. Of course my brother doesn’t actually measure the wooly dude each year. He’s just eyeing it up and announcing his learned findings.

Science, lore, wisdom, and guessing all seem to converge when it comes to predicting the harshness of winter. Sometimes they agree. Oft times they don’t.

My question is, where do all the prognosticators go in the spring once the results are in? Since they all will undoubtedly be wrong about something, they pretty much become invisible by the time the groundhog has his day. Maybe they’re all trying to predict the World Series winner during spring training.

As for me. I predict the days will get longer after December 21.

Pastor B.

Rude awakenings. Like when you wake up because the roof has sprung a leak and is now dripping on your forehead while you’re in bed. The end of fall brings the rude awakenings of impending winter. And two telltale signs break into my autumn revelry each year.

Are you ever surprised when one day you look up and the trees are all naked skeletons shivering like nudists on the North Pole? The glowing yellow, warm reds, and steadfast rusts disappear in the first mid-November blast. Jumping ship. They’d rather join the dust ("Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return") than suffer the purgatory of winter.

At night, when the wall clouds move through as invisible as angels, the wind that gusts before them whistles along the naked branches. A leaf may take flight from its place on the ground and briefly remind you of what was. It’s Marley come to haunt us.

Now, however, the surprise of winter gets worse. Along about now you realize the red thing on your salad someone calls a tomato tastes pretty much like damp cardboard. Only weeks ago, it seems the red orbs of summer festooned the kitchen like Christmas ornaments. Where, oh where have they gone? The mouth pleasing, taste satisfying tomato has been kidnaped and replaced by an imposter. How cruel! How uncaring to our sensitive palates!

Lord help us, the long winter has begun.
Pastor B.