Yes, it was Super Bowl Sunday, but I had a hard time getting into it. What was very super about Sunday was the response of the worshiping community to our Souper Bowl of caring. Because of the generosity and spirit filled joy of the assembly, Joining Forces for Families will get a check for over $1100. Thank you, thank you, thank you. We scored a touchdown for caring (sorry John K. I couldn't help it).

Some thoughts on the Giants vs Patriots big show:

• This game is all about extravagance and excess, and no matter how hard the announcers tried to hype it, Indianapolis simply doesn't fit the description.
• It's very different to watch this game when you don't have a "favorite." I found myself rooting for whichever team was behind. I am always pulling for the underdog. (Unless the underdog is Dallas, of course).
• Although the game was close throughout, it was kind of dull being void of big plays or truly dazzling athletic moves.
• I truly, truly dislike Cris Collinsworthless as a commentator. He is such a talking head for the NFL corporation that it makes me feel like I'm among lobbyists. His breathless, dramatic explanations of the timeout situation toward the end of the game were almost laughable - and very wrong.
• This will not go down as the SB with the most memorable commercials. Pretty lame. Isn't it odd how we have come to expect spectacular commercials at a game that seldom produces spectacular football.
• The most dramatic picture of the day? NY tight end Jake Ballard testing his knee on the sideline and going down in a heap of pain.
• Baseball spring training starts in about three weeks.

Pastor B.

I blogged a few weeks ago that I would occasionally take this space to write about some of those things on the memento shelf in my office. This week will focus on a couple of coffee mugs.

One of my earliest Disney memories comes from a three part Sunday evening series on Davy Crockett. Wes Parker played Davy and his trusted friend (there was always a trusted friend, right Tonto) was played by Buddy Ebsen who later became the famous Jed Klampett of Beverly Hillbillies fame.

I suppose the Disney version of the historical Davy Crockett messed with the facts a little. And I suppose the show at least partly grabbed my attention because the title character and I shared a common name. Whatever the reason, I loved the show and it set the benchmark for everything from Daniel Boone to John Paul Jones.

The product tie-ins were fewer then. Still, I did have a coonskin cap complete with tail. And, I had a mug. I don't know where it came from. It shows Davy riding a horse and leading a covered wagon.

The mug was made of milk glass and the scene was painted on. I think I may have used it for hot chocolate at some point. Like so many childhood items, it fell into disuse and sat upside down in the deep recesses of the cupboard. Eventually I forgot about it.

But it returned. When my dad died in 1999, the fruit and vegetable wholesaler for whom he workd boxed up the few things he had at his desk and gave them to my brother and me. Surprise, surprise. From one corner of the box Davy Crockett starred up at me. My dad had used the mug as a pencil holder.

Now Davy leads the way from the shelf across from my desk. It now and then shoots me a reminder of the simpler, childhood days. And, it rings a bell that reminds me of dad.

Then, for Christmas, Susan presented me with another milk glass mug from long ago. This one featured Hopalong Cassidy (Gabby Hayes as the sidekick). Hoppy, William Boyd in real life, rode the trails through our television on Saturday mornings. Roy Rodgers, the Lone Ranger, and the Cisco Kid completed the two hour marathon of "B" westerns. So Hoppy has joined Davy on the shelf to bring me a smile and a reminder of the easy days of being a kid.

Pastor B.

A friend of mine mentioned to me the other day that he'd run across something that a loved one had written. The loved one is gone, but the handwritten note seemed to him to carry her very presence.

The more I thought about my friend's experience, the more I found it true. I have very few things that carry the handwriting of my parents. Now I feel like I need to dig around for more.

Handwriting is unique. Even if you tend to print in your writing, as I do, there is a one-of-a-kind nature that stands out. And because of its uniqueness, you can almost sense the presence of that person on the paper.

Today handwriting still occurs, but speed and accuracy have pushed us towards typing. The multiple electronic gadgets that clutter our countertops normally require punching buttons. We send emails and texts. We send letters, reports, and spreadsheets to the printer down the hall. Handwriting even a memo has taken a backseat to intra-office emails.

Signatures cannot be trusted for authenticity. The front office here at church has two stamps. One says "Pastor B." The other says "David J. Berggren." They both are copies of my signature. Besides the stamps, somewhere on the file server computer lives my scanned signature.

So a note or letter you know was handwritten in person carries a tremendous emotional weight. Real paper. Real ink. A real message, no matter how short, has a value well beyond the message itself. To possess the handwriting of a person you love (and loved you) is a precious gift.

This Sunday here at Our Savior's we will recognize those youngsters who have completed the communion enrichment course. I wonder if one way we can highlight the mystery of Christ's presence might be by understanding the bread and wine as Jesus' handwriting. The meal is a personal note from the Lord. Wow! That helps me to understand the value of the Lord's Supper all over again.

Pastor B

Here's a riddle from my brother.

"What's green and gold, lives in Green Bay, and imitates the Vikings?"

I know this is a tough one for many folks.  Think on it.  You'll eventually get it.

Pastor B.

Now that we're into the second week of the new year, I'd like to let you know of a blog theme that will run in and out this year. I'm just calling it Things on the shelf.

For those who have visited my office, you know that my shelves have more knick knacks than books. Over the years I seem to have accumulated all this stuff. As I look at it all, little of it comes from big, important events in my ministry. The stuff represents gifts, little mementos and collected junk.

At home we have lots of very old pictures. I don't know who the people are in many of them, but I do know that they mean something to me. My brain says to throw them away, but my heart wants to hang on. So, my brain and my heart have set upon a compromise. I will hang on to them, but I will not feel bad thinking my kids will pitch them the moment they get the chance.

The stuff on the shelves fits into that same category. There is nothing there of any value beyond my memory. And to be honest, I don't remember where some of those things come from.

I thought this would be a good space to occasionally give a shout out to some of the pieces on the shelves. That will give me a chance to inwardly recall something that makes me feel good. It will give you a chance to peek into my background.

I'll begin with a softball. A softball signed by most of the members of the youth softball team from St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Red Wing, Minnesota. It comes from 1977.

My first call to First Lutheran in Red Wing saw the development of a high school age co-ed church softball league (slow pitch). I spent many of my Sunday evenings umpiring the games between the six teams that played. It was often a thankless job, and I was pleasantly surprised when the youth members of St. Paul's presented me with the signed softball as a way of saying thanks.

The writing is nearly invisible these days. But it still carries a lot of memories. I sometimes wonder where the players from all those teams are these days. I hope they are doing well.

Pastor B