Mixon Muses: The places you’ll go!

Mixon MusesOh, the places you’ll go! Oh, the places you’ve been! Oh, the places you are now! That about sums up my life – promises, memories and present reality. We are playing this month with the work of that great children’s writer and illustrator, Theodore Seuss Geisel. This brilliant and original man, had dreams of a PhD and a professorship in comparative literature. He studied at Dartmouth, Oxford and the Sorbonne, but he never achieved this original goal. He was “Dr. Seuss” by public acclamation, not the board of trustees of any institution of higher education. Apparently he was just a little too quirky to fit into the academic regimen.

He made strange proposals like publishing Milton’s “Paradise Lost” with new illustrations by him. It didn’t seem serious enough for Oxford University Press. I imagine, he was serious, though seeing something in the project that others didn’t or wouldn’t. Well, in the end, academia’s loss was the world’s gain. A broad, multicultural audience was the beneficiary of his wild and wacky imagination, his ability to grab language from thin air, his gift for creating characters who spoke to us with a wise wink and a knowing chuckle. Sometimes we sing the hymn “Earth Is Full of Wit and Wisdom,” a claim that Dr. Seuss personified and willingly proclaimed.

As I approach the end of my 6th decade, I am aware that I’ve been a lot of places and done a lot of things. For most of it, I am grateful. Like most people, there are moments I’d just as soon forget, but, of course, those are the very moments you can’t forget because they taught you something invaluable. Anyway, this June holds a couple of significant anniversaries for me, both of which represent promises fulfilled, an accumulation of rich memories and the blessings of my ongoing life.

It was 10 years ago in June that this congregation called me as its pastor. The official anniversary is July 1 but June is good enough for celebrating. As many of you know, I left the Bay Area 13 years ago to become interim pastor of the First Baptist Church, Granville, Ohio. While that was a significant step in my calling to ministry, I assumed that, at my age (mid 50s,) I would be doing interim pastorates along the eastern seaboard for the rest of my working years. So it was surprising gift to receive the call from this congregation to be its settled pastor. God works in mysterious ways.

We have certainly had our ups and downs over the years, but I thank God for bringing us together and for the profound blessing that is this community of faith. I am grateful to you all for giving me the chance. With this anniversary, I become the third longest serving pastor (after Dr. Offenheiser and Harold Bjornson.) Even though I’m passing Chuck Syverson in longevity, I am glad he is still around to share his wisdom and cheer me on.

Secondly, June 30 marks the 20th anniversary of my ordination to Christian Ministry. On a hot Gay Pride Sunday in 1996, I was ordained in a meaningful service at Lakeshore Avenue Baptist Church in Oakland. Lakeshore chose to ordain me after a 23-year struggle with larger Baptist bodies to get assent to proceed with its desire to ordain me. Though my ordination was by local congregation, some 25 other congregations from around the country sent letters of affirmation and support. I treasure the presence of the Granholms and Hunwicks at that service, representing this congregation and the time I served as Minister-in-Training here in 1973. Again, God moves in mysterious ways.

Of all the places I might have gone, might have wanted to go, did, in fact, go, here I am now. Dr. Seuss says,

 

You’ll get mixed up of course, as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.

A Great Balancing Act, indeed. Strange birds, for certain – and some of them quite wonderful! Careful, tactful steps – sometimes, other times, plunging stubbornly ahead. What a glorious journey it is. Thank you all for being my journey partners – in the past, in the present and, I hope, for some time to come. Of course, we don’t know for certain where the road will lead, or what lies ahead, except that we journey with the knowledge that the future, the journey, we, ourselves, are in God’s hands. Thanks be to God for the great gift of life, whatever it brings, wherever it leads. And while we’re at it, thanks to Dr. Seuss for a little wit and wisdom and joy along the way.

“I meant what I said and said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful one hundred percent.” Well said, Horton. May it be said of us as well.

Pastor Rick

Transience and welcoming

Mixon MusesWhen I was at First Baptist Church of Granville, I would occasionally hear people rue the transience in the congregation. At times, it seemed as if people were constantly coming and going. I’m not sure how constant the turn‐over was but there was enough for people to comment on. Of course, this is a phenomenon to be expected in a college town. Students definitely come and go, but so do faculty and staff. Transience is a fact of life. It has nothing to do with how well (or how poorly) a church is functioning. It just happens, especially in our very mobile world in which people frequently find themselves moving on – to a new school, to a new career, to a new job, to a new relationship, to a “new” retirement.

For some who remain, it is a struggle not to feel responsible. This is clearly not a logical response but it can be a deeply emotional one. What did we do wrong? What might we have done differently or better? Why don’t they want to stay with us? Surely, one of the psychological links is to the way in which we respond to loss of any kind. There is always a sense in which each loss is a little death and we need time and ritual for saying good‐bye and letting go.

Every good‐bye, every moving on, with its inherent sense of loss, also changes the make‐up of the comuunity. We are, minimally, the sum of our parts (though I believe we are much more.) Still, when a member of our community moves on, they leave a hole in the whole that fits their unique personality and contribution to community life. It’s not that those holes can’t be filled in some way or another, but we will not look or feel exactly the same. So, we must learn to live with, to embrace new and even shifting shapes to our community.

I suppose I am pursuing this theme today because we are facing some significant transience. We said farewell to Joanne Jones last Sunday. Soon we will say good‐bye to Pastor Tripp and not long after Oscar Ramirez will go away to college. That’s a lot to process. Even though this is a university town, we don’t experience as much transience as a small college town like Granville. Joanne Jones only stuck around for 57 years before moving into retirement. Fred Hillier came as a Stanford student and stayed 50 years. We have a number of folks in our community who have been here 50 years or more, so the loss has the particular flavor of all those many years shared. It is different from losing someone who has been in the community for only 3 or 4 years, though those losses carry their own grief with their own depth.

In a small congregation these transitions can be felt acutely. What will we do without…? What will become of us? Can we go on? When I first wrestled with this phenomenon in Granville, I came up with this image – church as way station. It may be that a vital aspect of our ministry is to be here, faithful and steady, to serve those who pass through. It is not unlike the great Benedictine tradition begun in the Middle Ages to provide hospitality to travelers. As it was for those nomadic people in biblical times who wandered the desert from oasis to oasis, the Benedictines and others recognized hospitality, especially to
the transient, as essential to both the life of the body and that of the soul as people passed through. It may be that God has put us here precisely so that we might offer a welcome, a respite to weary travelers of every sort.

I used this quotation from Henri Nouwen in a recent Midweek Message. It goes with the wonderful Emmaus Road story that is a frequent text for the Sunday after Easter. Nouwen writes, “I have many memories of encounters with people who made my heart burn but whom I did not invite into my home…It is one of the characteristics of our contemporary society that encounters, good as they may be, don’t become deep relationships. Thus our life is filled with good advice, helpful ideas, wonderful perspectives, but they are simply added to the many other ideas and perspectives and so leave us ‘uncommitted.’ In a society with such information overload, even the most significant encounters can be reduced to ‘something interesting’  among many other interesting things. Only with an invitation to ‘come and stay with me’ can an interesting encounter develop into a transforming relationship.”

We are a people willing to invite others into our “home.” Come and stay with us. Be our guest. Stay as long as you need or want. We are delighted to share what we have with you – whether you stay 3 years or 57. As God’s Easter people, we want to be in the business of transforming relationships. Of course, transformation often means we can’t hold on – to traditions, to expectations, to people. We have to let go and let God…let God be our guardian, guide and stay. We’re a little way station, a small boat on a large sea, a limited community but we serve a God who is big enough to see us through, a Christ who shows us the way, a Spirit that gives us power to be and do what is asked of us. We are not without resource and the ministry we provide is important. Even in times of tough transition, let’s not lose sight of that.
Pastor Rick

 

You Want to Live? (February 16, 2014)

sermonsMORE LIFE

A sermon preached by Randle R. (Rick) Mixon
First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA
Sunday, February 16, 2014

 Text: Deuteronomy 30:11-20

 Sunrise by Mary Oliver

You can
die for it—an idea, or the world. People
have done so, brilliantly, letting
their small bodies be bound
to the stake, creating
an unforgettable
fury of light. But
this morning, climbing the familiar hills
in the familiar
fabric of dawn, I thought
of China, and India
and Europe, and I thought
how the sun
blazes
for everyone just
so joyfully
as it rises
under the lashes
of my own eyes, and I thought
I am so many! What is my name? What is the name
of the deep breath I would take
over and over
for all of us? Call it
whatever you want, it is
happiness, it is another one
of the ways to enter fire.”

This Ancient Word is an old story – it’s an interesting story but it’s not really our story, is it?  Here we have the children of Israel, gathered on the Jordan’s bank, looking over into the land of promise.  They’ve gathered to hear the last words of their leader, Moses.  He has led them through 40 long years of wandering in the wilderness while they grumbled and complained, often looking longingly back to Egypt, wondering if they would ever come to this new place that God and Moses have promised them.  Now we find them on the verge of realizing the promise.  Their old leader will not join them as the promise is fulfilled.  They will journey forward without him.  He has hard words of warning for them as they move ahead.  If they fail to journey with God, they will journey alone and the consequences will be disastrous.

But in the comfort our lives, settled already in a land of promises fulfilled, experiencing wonders and blessings beyond our imagining, this is not our story.  We’ve got it made.  We’ve already arrived, haven’t we?  What more could we want or expect?

The way I tell the story, my father had a photographic memory.  As a preacher, he would study all week, reading and reflecting on his text; then on Sunday morning, he would get up early, scribble six words on the back of an envelope, enter the pulpit and preach for thirty-five minutes, a well-thought out, well-reasoned and eloquent sermon.  That is not my story.  I approach preaching differently, and I know those of you who already think my sermons are too long are glad that I don’t preach for thirty-five minutes.

When I was in Granville, the little town celebrated its 200 anniversary.  Founded in 1805 by pioneers who headed west from Granville, Massachusetts, Granville, Ohio, felt in many ways like a New England village.  At First Baptist Church, we decided we would do a historical service to celebrate the anniversary.  It was an historical mish-mash but we had a good time remembering the long legacy of the village and the church.  I wore a frock coat and top hat.  We sang gospel songs and hymns from the mid 19th century and I “preached” a sermon written by Charles Baldwin, who was the congregation’s longest tenured pastor, serving for over 35 years.

The reason I could use one of Reverend Baldwin’s sermons was that the entire collection of handwritten manuscripts had been bequeathed to the archives of the village historical society.  I was granted access to those manuscripts and spent some time looking through them.  The obvious problems were that the language, style and theology were quite dated, not exactly what Granville’s current congregation would want to hear.  Also, Reverend Baldwin’s sermons were pages and pages long, typically lasting 45 minutes or more.  The people in Granville in 2005 were no more interested in listening to me preach that long than you are.  I finally found a manuscript that was adaptable and I edited it to an appropriate length for the day and age.  It was good compromise for an occasion of historical remembrance, but Reverend Baldwin’s story was not mine, nor did his sermon speak directly to his old congregation 125 years after he first preached it.

What’s the point of these digressions?  Nothing profound, I guess, except this morning’s scripture comes at the end of what some scholars call a very long sermon.  This is Moses’s farewell exhortation of his people and it covers the first 30 chapters of Deuteronomy.  I’m quite sure you would not be comfortable listening to me proclaim the first 30 chapters of Deuteronomy.  Maybe, if Moses himself was here, we might tolerate it.  But it’s really not our style nor is it our story.  Or is it?  Is there more life in this ancient tale than appears on the surface?

The verses we read this morning are the final words of Moses’s sermon, the climax that includes the invitation.  And, by the way, both my father and Reverend Baldwin would have concluded their sermons with such a climax and invitation to make a critical choice.  They would have urged a decision for discipleship, for following God’s way by following Jesus Christ.  We’re not comfortable with that sort of invitation these days.  Many of us are not comfortable with forced choices of any sort.  We don’t so much like, “It’s this or that.  You must choose; now is the moment of decision.”  We see life as much more nuanced and ambiguous.  We find ourselves living with the questions.  Very often there are no clear or easy answers.  So this is not our story, is it?

But perhaps there are moments in our lives when we need to step out in space and make a choice.  Might there be points at which we decide, placing our trust in God and God’s promises?  We may not be moving toward a literal land of promise but is there a symbolic land of promise for us, a place, a time, a state in which we would know more light, more love, more life if we were to make a clear choice, if we were to answer “yes”?  Brian Jones writes of our ancient word that “The choice is laid out bluntly. It is yes or no. The options presented do not include ‘maybe’ or ‘I’ll have to think about it’ or ‘I’ll give it a try.’”  Quoting from Star Wars, he reminds us, “As Yoda famously tells Luke Skywalker who has half-heartedly promised to ‘try’ to do as Yoda asks, ‘No. Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try’” (Brian C. Jones, “Commentary on Deuteronomy 30:15-20,” 9-18-2013, workingpreacher.org).

Moses and his people had been wandering together for 40 years.  They had been freed from captivity in Egypt but they had not found the place God had for them.  Now it was in sight, so close they could smell it across the river, but, before they entered, Moses had a last word for them.  “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity…I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.”  There it was all laid out before them.  Sometimes God does put it to us in just such a fashion.  Here is the opportunity, now is the moment, how will you decide?  As you can see, the decision you make, the direction you choose will have consequences.  Are you willing to take the chance?

There are problems with this ancient text.  It can certainly be seen to support a prosperity gospel, though I believe that is a misreading.  It can be read as presenting God as a harsh and punitive parent, though again that’s not how I read the conditions.  And, because, for the original Israelites, claiming the land of promise meant occupying a literal land, often through bloody, genocidal means, the metaphor of promised land can be tainted for many of us.

Still, I see a promise of more life here and a challenge for us to claim it for ourselves and all creation.  Let us ask ourselves what God has set before us – what dimensions of life and death, of blessing and curse, of happiness and distress, of fulfillment and disappointment.  Then, what would it mean for us to choose life, blessing, happiness, fulfillment of God’s promises for us?

Thelma Parodi is responsible for the title of this sermon.  She brought it to us at Bible study on Tuesday – “You want to be happy?”  She was clear it’s not a statement.  It comes with a big question mark.  Do you want to be happy?  I don’t think she meant smiley faces with giggles and facile laughter.  Do you want to be happy?  To be blessed? To feel fulfilled?  To know deep joy and peace that passes understanding?  Then you need to choose God, thereby choosing life in its richest, fullest sense.   Carolyn Sharp argues that in “[t]his deeply moving text… Moses is urging his people to commit, heart and soul and body, to a vibrant relationship with the God in whom they live and move and have their being.”  You want to be happy?  There it is.  Love God with your whole being and your neighbor as yourself.

If we want to be happy, to know the joy of the promise fulfilled, then we must turn to God, we must center ourselves in God, we must commit ourselves to following God’s ways, we must turn ourselves over to life-giving relationship with the Giver of all life.  It is not conditional in any obligatory sense.  The great irony is that God does not wish to punish us ever. God wants only the best for all us and all creation.  It is our self-centeredness, our selfishness, that does us in.  We think we’re in charge or we can do it by ourselves.  The awful consequences of not walking with God are the inevitable consequences of being outside that life-giving relationship.  It is in the very nature of choosing life that we find light and love.  The alternative is to choose death and to lose both light and love.

In today’s Words of Preparation, William Sloane Coffin speaks eloquently of what it is like to choose life.  He says, “For joy is to escape from the prison of selfhood [where we often encounter obfuscation, apathy and death when left to our own devices] and to enter by love into union with the life that dwells and sings within the essence of every other thing and in the core of our own souls.  Joy is to feel the doors of the self fly open into a wealth that is endless because none of it is ours and yet it all belongs to us” (William Sloane Coffin, Credo, p.  123).  When we choose life, this is our “land of promise,” if you will – to be in concert with the Creator and all creation, to dwell with the riches of infinite blessing.  Even in the midst of our most difficult times and most painful struggles, this is the promise to which we assent.  This is the life to which we utter our inextinguishable “yes.”  You want to be happy?  Choose life.  More life, O God, more life.  Amen.

 

 

 

12.00

MORE LIFE

A sermon preached by

Randle R. (Rick) Mixon

First Baptist Church, Palo Alto, CA

Monday, February 16, 2014

 

Text: Deuteronomy 30:11-20

 

Sunrise

Mary Oliver

 

You can

die for it—an idea, or the world. People

have done so, brilliantly, letting

their small bodies be bound

to the stake, creating

an unforgettable

fury of light. But

this morning, climbing the familiar hills

in the familiar

fabric of dawn, I thought

of China, and India

and Europe, and I thought

how the sun

blazes

for everyone just

so joyfully

as it rises

under the lashes

of my own eyes, and I thought

I am so many! What is my name? What is the name

of the deep breath I would take

over and over

for all of us? Call it

whatever you want, it is

happiness, it is another one

of the ways to enter fire.”

 

 

This Ancient Word is an old story – it’s an interesting story but it’s not really our story, is it?  Here we have the children of Israel, gathered on the Jordan’s bank, looking over into the land of promise.  They’ve gathered to hear the last words of their leader, Moses.  He has led them through 40 long years of wandering in the wilderness while they grumbled and complained, often looking longingly back to Egypt, wondering if they would ever come to this new place that God and Moses have promised them.  Now we find them on the verge of realizing the promise.  Their old leader will not join them as the promise is fulfilled.  They will journey forward without him.  He has hard words of warning for them as they move ahead.  If they fail to journey with God, they will journey alone and the consequences will be disastrous.

 

But in the comfort our lives, settled already in a land of promises fulfilled, experiencing wonders and blessings beyond our imagining, this is not our story.  We’ve got it made.  We’ve already arrived, haven’t we?  What more could we want or expect?

 

The way I tell the story, my father had a photographic memory.  As a preacher, he would study all week, reading and reflecting on his text; then on Sunday morning, he would get up early, scribble six words on the back of an envelope, enter the pulpit and preach for thirty-five minutes, a well-thought out, well-reasoned and eloquent sermon.  That is not my story.  I approach preaching differently, and I know those of you who already think my sermons are too long are glad that I don’t preach for thirty-five minutes.

 

When I was in Granville, the little town celebrated its 200 anniversary.  Founded in 1805 by pioneers who headed west from Granville, Massachusetts, Granville, Ohio, felt in many ways like a New England village.  At First Baptist Church, we decided we would do a historical service to celebrate the anniversary.  It was an historical mish-mash but we had a good time remembering the long legacy of the village and the church.  I wore a frock coat and top hat.  We sang gospel songs and hymns from the mid 19th century and I “preached” a sermon written by Charles Baldwin, who was the congregation’s longest tenured pastor, serving for over 35 years.

 

The reason I could use one of Reverend Baldwin’s sermons was that the entire collection of handwritten manuscripts had been bequeathed to the archives of the village historical society.  I was granted access to those manuscripts and spent some time looking through them.  The obvious problems were that the language, style and theology were quite dated, not exactly what Granville’s current congregation would want to hear.  Also, Reverend Baldwin’s sermons were pages and pages long, typically lasting 45 minutes or more.  The people in Granville in 2005 were no more interested in listening to me preach that long than you are.  I finally found a manuscript that was adaptable and I edited it to an appropriate length for the day and age.  It was good compromise for an occasion of historical remembrance, but Reverend Baldwin’s story was not mine, nor did his sermon speak directly to his old congregation 125 years after he first preached it.

 

What’s the point of these digressions?  Nothing profound, I guess, except this morning’s scripture comes at the end of what some scholars call a very long sermon.  This is Moses’s farewell exhortation of his people and it covers the first 30 chapters of Deuteronomy.  I’m quite sure you would not be comfortable listening to me proclaim the first 30 chapters of Deuteronomy.  Maybe, if Moses himself was here, we might tolerate it.  But it’s really not our style nor is it our story.  Or is it?  Is there more life in this ancient tale than appears on the surface?

 

The verses we read this morning are the final words of Moses’s sermon, the climax that includes the invitation.  And, by the way, both my father and Reverend Baldwin would have concluded their sermons with such a climax and invitation to make a critical choice.  They would have urged a decision for discipleship, for following God’s way by following Jesus Christ.  We’re not comfortable with that sort of invitation these days.  Many of us are not comfortable with forced choices of any sort.  We don’t so much like, “It’s this or that.  You must choose; now is the moment of decision.”  We see life as much more nuanced and ambiguous.  We find ourselves living with the questions.  Very often there are no clear or easy answers.  So this is not our story, is it?

 

But perhaps there are moments in our lives when we need to step out in space and make a choice.  Might there be points at which we decide, placing our trust in God and God’s promises?  We may not be moving toward a literal land of promise but is there a symbolic land of promise for us, a place, a time, a state in which we would know more light, more love, more life if we were to make a clear choice, if we were to answer “yes”?  Brian Jones writes of our ancient word that “The choice is laid out bluntly. It is yes or no. The options presented do not include ‘maybe’ or ‘I’ll have to think about it’ or ‘I’ll give it a try.’”  Quoting from Star Wars, he reminds us, “As Yoda famously tells Luke Skywalker who has half-heartedly promised to ‘try’ to do as Yoda asks, ‘No. Try not. Do. Or do not. There is no try’” (Brian C. Jones, “Commentary on Deuteronomy 30:15-20,” 9-18-2013, workingpreacher.org).

 

Moses and his people had been wandering together for 40 years.  They had been freed from captivity in Egypt but they had not found the place God had for them.  Now it was in sight, so close they could smell it across the river, but, before they entered, Moses had a last word for them.  See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity…I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses.”  There it was all laid out before them.  Sometimes God does put it to us in just such a fashion.  Here is the opportunity, now is the moment, how will you decide?  As you can see, the decision you make, the direction you choose will have consequences.  Are you willing to take the chance?

 

There are problems with this ancient text.  It can certainly be seen to support a prosperity gospel, though I believe that is a misreading.  It can be read as presenting God as a harsh and punitive parent, though again that’s not how I read the conditions.  And, because, for the original Israelites, claiming the land of promise meant occupying a literal land, often through bloody, genocidal means, the metaphor of promised land can be tainted for many of us.

 

Still, I see a promise of more life here and a challenge for us to claim it for ourselves and all creation.  Let us ask ourselves what God has set before us – what dimensions of life and death, of blessing and curse, of happiness and distress, of fulfillment and disappointment.  Then, what would it mean for us to choose life, blessing, happiness, fulfillment of God’s promises for us? 

 

Thelma Parodi is responsible for the title of this sermon.  She brought it to us at Bible study on Tuesday – “You want to be happy?”  She was clear it’s not a statement.  It comes with a big question mark.  Do you want to be happy?  I don’t think she meant smiley faces with giggles and facile laughter.  Do you want to be happy?  To be blessed? To feel fulfilled?  To know deep joy and peace that passes understanding?  Then you need to choose God, thereby choosing life in its richest, fullest sense.   Carolyn Sharp argues that in “[t]his deeply moving text… Moses is urging his people to commit, heart and soul and body, to a vibrant relationship with the God in whom they live and move and have their being.”  You want to be happy?  There it is.  Love God with your whole being and your neighbor as yourself.

 

If we want to be happy, to know the joy of the promise fulfilled, then we must turn to God, we must center ourselves in God, we must commit ourselves to following God’s ways, we must turn ourselves over to life-giving relationship with the Giver of all life.  It is not conditional in any obligatory sense.  The great irony is that God does not wish to punish us ever. God wants only the best for all us and all creation.  It is our self-centeredness, our selfishness, that does us in.  We think we’re in charge or we can do it by ourselves.  The awful consequences of not walking with God are the inevitable consequences of being outside that life-giving relationship.  It is in the very nature of choosing life that we find light and love.  The alternative is to choose death and to lose both light and love.

 

In today’s Words of Preparation, William Sloane Coffins speaks eloquently of what it is like to choose life.  He says, “For joy is to escape from the prison of selfhood [where we often encounter obfuscation, apathy and death when left to our own devices] and to enter by love into union with the life that dwells and sings within the essence of every other thing and in the core of our own souls.  Joy is to feel the doors of the self fly open into a wealth that is endless because none of it is ours and yet it all belongs to us” (William Sloane Coffin, Credo, p.  123).  When we choose life, this is our “land of promise,” if you will – to be in concert with the Creator and all creation, to dwell with the riches of infinite blessing.  Even in the midst of our most difficult times and most painful struggles, this is the promise to which we assent.  This is the life to which we utter our inextinguishable “yes.”  You want to be happy?  Choose life.  More life, O God, more life.  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:””;
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:”Times New Roman”,”serif”;}