Fear is a great marketing tool. Commercially and politically, fear moves people to do illogical and reactionary things. Politicians have used fear for hundreds of years by trying to make us believe that their political opponent will expose us to the un-American machinations of some perceived enemy. And the enemy is always someone who is different than us.

Using fear to market products has also been around for a long time. Even soap is sold on the premise that using any other brand will cause you to fear unclean linens. How many products market their anti-bacterial properties that will keep you and your children from getting sick? Never mind that some bacteria is good bacteria and never mind that influenza like H1N1 type A comes from a virus not a bacterium.

For me, however, the marketing of fear goes beyond ethical bounds when commercials prey on a fear of others. There’s a company that sells house alarm systems that features a robber breaking into a house while the owners are at home striking fear into them and us. Of course, the beeping alarms shoos off the intruder while the security company calls to reassure the residents that they are safe and the police are on the way.

The worst one, though, is for Duracell batteries in a commercial where a boy wanders off over the top of a knoll. Supposedly he’s wearing a tracking device. What if, the advertisement makes us wonder, the battery went dead on the tracking device, undoubtedly if it were not a Duracell battery, the boy would have been kidnaped, held for ransom, and threatened with death. In other words fear everyone in the park. Assume the worst from the get go. Panic the moment you lose sight of your child. Never mind that by all accounts our streets and parks are just as safe today as they were 25 years ago.

Yes, fear sells. But there are some places where it shouldn’t.

Pastor B.

Last summer I used this space to compliment and complain about a wren that seems to like the tree next to my bedroom window. I complimented the tiny flier for its bubbly song that cheers the start of the day. I complained that the start of the day for the wren was way to early for me.

You will be glad to know that the wren has returned with its 5 o’clock warble that lifts the sun into the dawn. God has made nothing on earth to match the optimistic cheeriness of the wren who appears to want nothing more than a new day to sing to.

This year, however, the wren has taken on an opening act. Having an opening act is a sure sign that the wren has made it to the big time. Opening acts warm up the crowd. They also add an hour onto the concert time so folks feel like they got a better value for some exorbitantly priced ticket.

Many of today’s music stars began their careers as an opening act. Sometimes, the opening is better than the big star. That’s when you know the opening act is ready to tour alone.

Of course, there are also the horrendous openers that tend to go on way to long. I suppose they make the regular act look that much better. It’s always helpful to have a "easy" act to follow.

So, back to my morning wren. He brought an opening act that would fall under the category of "easy act to follow." Yes, for ten minutes or so before the mirthful wren began its song, a crow took the stage with a raucous "caw" that was only slightly less obnoxious than a chainsaw at that hour of the morning.

So if you want the music of your life to sound good to others, follow a crow.

Pastor B.

With baseball season now in full swing, I thought I’d tell you about the time I met the immortal Ted Williams of the Boston Red Sox.

I’m not sure of the date, but my guess is some day in mid-summer of 1957 or 1958. The place was Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, Minnesota. The local team was not the Twins. They didn’t split from Washington, D.C. until 1960. No, the AAA minor league Minneapolis Millers took on their big league affiliate Red Sox once each summer in those days. The season was shorter than today, and major league teams regularly brought their big names to a minor league franchise to boost recognition and attendance.

Somehow, my dad got tickets to the exhibition game that summer, and he invited his oldest son to go along - that’s me. (I actually don’t remember if my younger brother came along or not.)

Ted Williams was my baseball idol. The Splendid Splinter batted over .400 in 1941, and no one has done it since. He won baseball’s Triple Crown (home runs, runs battled in, and batting average) twice, and led the league in batting six times. For his career, The Kid batted .344 with 521 home runs (he would have had more but twice left baseball to serve his country as a Marine pilot). With no designated hitter rule, Williams camped out in left field for most of his 21 years playing baseball.

My baseball glove carried the signature of my idol, and no one could convince me that his name on the glove didn’t help me catch more fly balls. No doubt, it those dreamy days of boyhood, I wanted nothing more than to grow up and play ball like Ted Williams.

When my dad asked if I wanted to go to the game, I jumped at the chance. Our tickets put us in the bleachers along the left field line. I had my glove along "just in case a foul ball comes our way." The stadium was a sea of white shirts, and only boys wore baseball caps. Williams came to bat at the top of the first. Being a left-handed hitter (he threw right-handed), we could look right into his face (unfortunately, we didn’t own binoculars). I don’t’ recall if he got a hit.

At the bottom half of the inning he jogged out to left field where he was only a couple hundred feet away. Everyone cheered. He turned for a moment and looked our way. I am sure he looked right at me and smiled. The inning ended, and he didn’t bat at the top half of the second. When #9 returned to left field he didn’t look my way again, and when his spot came up in the batting order in the top of the third, they substituted for him (no one wants to risk an injury during an exhibition game.)

So there you have it. The day I met Ted Williams.

Pastor B.

These headlines are usually quickly developed by an editor somewhere, and while they initially make sense, there’s a second thought behind each one. Enjoy the headlines along with some comments from me.