Two days after you receive this pastor's memo it will be Groundhog Day.  By the middle of the morning we will know if Winter is almost over or whether we will be suffering through six more weeks of cold and snow and slick roads.  My preference would be a short wait for the warm winds of Spring to be heralded in by that rodent known in Pennsylvania as Phil.  Come on, Phil!  Give me what I want.  On a more somber note, February 2nd also marks the Church's noting the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple.  On the 40th day after a male child is born, Jewish tradition has him presented at the Temple.  Various purification rituals are performed.  It marks the official end of the Epiphany Season.  In the Western Church, the priest will bless candles on the 2nd; hence, Candlemas.  Those blessed beeswax candles were to be used throughout the year in the homes of the faithful to ward off storms.  I have never made beeswax candles nor have I ever placed said candles in the windows of my home. As February 2nd comes this year, give thought to Winter drawing to a close, sooner or later.  Also, remember Jesus presented at the Temple.  And may His Light shine from every window in our homes and from every heart that lives within.  And may the storms of life safely pass.

Christmas was just a month ago.  The non-stop Christmas music has disappeared from the radio.  We pretty much have the decorations put away.  It's probably rather easy to remember what you received from family and loved ones.  Same with remembering what you gave them.  We move through the calendar one day at a time.  The days become weeks and then months and then years.  It has ever been so.  I have never been one to decorate for Christmas; or any holiday, for that matter.  If it was left to me, putting up a tree with lights and tinsel and all the rest might not happen.  So, when I see houses and living rooms and shopping malls decked with "boughs of holly" I give a nod to those who have the time and energy and spirit for such things.  As I drive into Syracuse I see a home with Christmas lights still burning.  Red and green and white.  I can't tell you if any of them blink off and on.  Every time I drive by and see those lights, I think of Christmas.  This home is still decorated for the holiday.  And at least one citizen takes notice and remembers.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if all of us kept the spirit of Christmas alive after the season ends?  How would our communities be different if that spirit was kept alive not only on our houses, but in our hearts?   It wouldn't bother me at all if those lights stayed up and stayed lit for a few more weeks or even months.  It's only 335 days until Christmas, 2018.

Last week, for thirty-eight agonizing minutes, more than a million and a half residents of Hawaii were in fear for their lives.  News reports tell us a button was inadvertently pushed and the alert was sounded that a missile was inbound, presumably, from North Korea.  This button-pushing was flagged, so to speak. After immediately inquiring if it was the intent of the button-pusher to sound the alarm and it being confirmed, the alert was sounded.  In less than a couple of minutes citizens all over the islands were confronted with a kind of horror no one would invite.  Given the news over the last many months about North Korea and its testing of ballistic missiles, it is completely predictable grave concern for life would erupt.  A kind of panic ensued.  Thirty-eight minutes later, it was announced as a mistake.  There was no inbound missile.  The Apocalypse was not at hand.  I ask you: what would you have done during those thirty-eight minutes?  How would you try to spend what you believed to be your very last moments of life?  Reach out to your family?  Pray? Pray some more?  Would you just leave work?  Wander the street?  Try to protect yourself from the nuclear blast and fallout and the firestorm that would rain down everywhere?  Where could you go?  What about water and food and your prescription drugs?  Life as we know it would be altered.  Hiding under our school desks, as we were taught to do back in the late 50's and early 60's, seems almost quaint.  I am relieved the button-pushing of a week ago was an error.  I hope we never have to try to survive such an event.  If what follows such a thing could be called surviving.

Cell phones have advantages land lines never had.  First, they fit in your pocket.  They're mobile.  They are way more than phones; they're computers and cameras and "tape" recorders.  They can be mirrors simply by reversing the camera function.  You can keep up with the latest news without any trouble at all.  There are "apps" for games and stock market up-dates and paying bills.  We have in our hands a kind of miracle.  Slide rules and 35mm film and even memory cards are outdated technology.  Not one of us can predict what even a quarter of a century into the future will bring; with respect to our hand held devises.  I read we will be implanting chips under our skin and even in our brain so we can be connected to everything all the time.  ALL THE TIME!!!  Could anything be more frightening?  When would we ever day dream?  When could we just sit and admire nature?  What about staring at the moon or the stars or a sunset?  In this era of #me too, I guess "standing on the corner watching all the girls go by" is out of the question.  And if this gets me reported or put on a list, my name is spelled Henry; not Henery, like, “Henery, Henery, Henery the 8th I am, I am."  And to make matters worse, there is no longer any such thing as a "no call list."   The telemarketers have my cell number and they can even mask their nefarious intent with my local area code.  Oh, for the good old days.  Maybe.  I wouldn't give up my cell phone.  But I sure would like a button on it somewhere so I could zap the brain cells of those who only want to sell me a condo in Florida or adjust my credit card interest rate or offer me a free cruise to the Bahamas.  Now that I've vented my spleen, I'll go to my prayer closet and confess to Jesus.

The year 2018 has commenced.  It may take a couple of days or so to remember that when writing checks or a letter or a thank-you note.  That is, if you still do those three quaint things.   For quite a great number of people debit cards and e-mail have pretty much replaced writing checks and letters.   As to thank-you notes, it is absolutely necessary to write them and mail them and to do it in a timely manner.  Courtesy demands it.  However, I'm not sure we still adhere to tradition concerning thank-yous or dress codes or common courtesy.   I attended a wedding this past week and the invitation read "semi-formal attire."  To me that meant I should be wearing a dark suit and a white shirt with a tie that didn't blind those who would see me dancing with my wife.  She would be wearing a dress; not a skirt or a pant suit.  Semi-formal.  That means attire just short of a tuxedo and a gown.  Or have I become too old, too soon for this generation?  You might imagine I noticed very un-semi-formal attire at the above mentioned wedding.  I kept my mouth shut.  I said not a word to my wife nor to any of my family.  I may have sighed heavily a time or two, but I did not embarrass myself.   Apparently, we've moved to a new permissiveness about wedding attire and funeral attire for that matter.  To quote Cole Porter, "Anything Goes."   As the Year of Our Lord 2018 moves inexorably along, I intend to revel in its blessings and keep my semi-formal attire at the ready.