Genesis 19:26 tells us Lot's wife looked back and was turned into a pillar of salt. Many other places in the Bible, though, tell us we are to remember. To tell yesterday's stories to our children and grandchildren. Deuteronomy 4 is all about remembering who God is and how God has been with us, and telling those stories to the kids.
Tonight the rain is coming down outside and I am looking back. I didn't intend to look back. I came into the office tonight to sort through files. (One of the things I try to do is leave a sparkling clean set of files for whoever follows me.) So I have been sorting...tossing...keeping... writing notes on files that need to be re-labeled.
I keep finding things. A wonderful Advent hymn a friend found on the United Methodist web site years ago. I look at the hymn and the words are a gift.
There is a file on The Green Room. Some of you may remember that TUMC got creative as we tried to reach out to young adults, and Trinity opened up a coffee shop in downtown Elkhart. As a place where young adults -and people of all ages- could gather. The coffee was good, the food was just fine, and the music was cool...but we closed it after a few years.
Fifteen years ago Trinity had three Sunday morning worship services. All were wonderful and all were essentially the same. We weren't reaching a new generation. So one of the files I came across is all about the creation of a "Contemporary Worship Task Force." Our leaders were putting that together as early as January of 1997. There are song lists. Some of them would embarrass us now, I suppose. And I remember that week after week, long after the "Celebration!" service was begun (bet you had forgotten that name!), our staff got headaches as we worked through the "bugs" in our primitive sound/projection system. We wanted our worship to glorify God and we wanted it to be excellent in every way...and some weeks it was!
There are names, too. Names of people I married. Names of friends, of saints, like June and John and Helen, whose funeral services I was privileged to lead. People whose faith and love and sense of humor and generosity has marked me forever.
So tonight I am looking back. And I don't feel salty at all. I feel blessed...thankful...gifted.
The words to that Advent hymn by a Jesus follower named Kilgore? They are in part these: I am here in the stars, in the dark of the night. I am always within you, and I am the light. I am who I am, sings the God of my soul. In your waiting and home I am making you whole.
Sometimes stopping and looking back is a very, very good thing, you know?
Monday, November 29, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
You Sure Have a Lot of Junk!
One of the best parts of Thanksgiving is having Ella and Olivia here. (Of course, it is very cool having their mom and dad, Joleen and Bryan, and our youngest son, Michael, here!) Ella came into my office here at the house the other night. She looked at the stacks of books on the floor. She noticed a Billy Bass sitting on the floor by the books, the Matchbox cars, the life-size cardboard cutout of Mr. Spock from Star Trek, and laughed, "You sure have a lot of junk, Grandpa!"
We began pushing the red button on the plaque holding Billy Bass, listened to the music, and both girls smiled...danced.
In the middle of the hard work of sorting, packing, and moving there is the opportunity to sort through your junk. Because we all have stuff we pick up along the way, don't we? Some of it may be old cassette tapes or books or Christmas gifts we never used or needed. Or it may be attitudes we were taught...picked up along the way.
I read an article today about a pastor who wanted to plant a church. Through interviews, personality inventories, and checking the pastor's past it turned out that he had an anger problem. When people tried to talk with him about this the man became furious. Confirmed the hunch of the interview team. So with that man the junk he carried with him was a tendency to let anger control.
Another friend lives with the voice of someone who told her, a long time ago, "You'll never do things right...or enough good stuff." So she carries this voice around in her head that is constantly critical.
What is your junk?
Jesus was always offering people the opportunity to accept the forgiveness of God and leave their junk behind. God forgives the messes of our past, and through the power of the Holy Spirit we are given a chance to do life differently in the future.
Ella -as I am writing this- just walked in my office and said, again, "You sure have a lot of junk, Grandpa!" As she stood looking at all this stuff (old photos, books, toy cars, etc.) she said, "Why do you have so much junk?"
Not a bad question to leave you with...
We began pushing the red button on the plaque holding Billy Bass, listened to the music, and both girls smiled...danced.
In the middle of the hard work of sorting, packing, and moving there is the opportunity to sort through your junk. Because we all have stuff we pick up along the way, don't we? Some of it may be old cassette tapes or books or Christmas gifts we never used or needed. Or it may be attitudes we were taught...picked up along the way.
I read an article today about a pastor who wanted to plant a church. Through interviews, personality inventories, and checking the pastor's past it turned out that he had an anger problem. When people tried to talk with him about this the man became furious. Confirmed the hunch of the interview team. So with that man the junk he carried with him was a tendency to let anger control.
Another friend lives with the voice of someone who told her, a long time ago, "You'll never do things right...or enough good stuff." So she carries this voice around in her head that is constantly critical.
What is your junk?
Jesus was always offering people the opportunity to accept the forgiveness of God and leave their junk behind. God forgives the messes of our past, and through the power of the Holy Spirit we are given a chance to do life differently in the future.
Ella -as I am writing this- just walked in my office and said, again, "You sure have a lot of junk, Grandpa!" As she stood looking at all this stuff (old photos, books, toy cars, etc.) she said, "Why do you have so much junk?"
Not a bad question to leave you with...
Thanks for the Little Moments.
Life has all sorts of surprises along the way, you know? God shows up and sends our lives off in unexpected directions.
So here we are. Two months ago I was heading back to Trinity for an expected new chapter of 2-4 (more?) years of ministry and life. A phone call came my way a month ago, and now I am sorting files in my office...doing ministry while getting ready to shift to a new place.
An old friend said when there is a pastoral change it is like a congregation is having a funeral while planning for a wedding. There are tears. There is grief. People say, "So soon?" (Of course there may be a few who shrug and say, "How did it take this long for this to happen?") Folks are talking about blessing us, saying goodbye, and at the same time leaders of the church are getting ready for a new chapter. Thinking about a new start with someone God will send our way.
My role is shifting. I can feel it happening as each day goes by. From teaching and guiding my role is shifting to preaching and blessing. Oh, the other day in staff I led our team in a conversation about coaching and leadership and teamwork. But those moments will now slow to trickle and I'll be doing two things: focusing on preaching and blessing people...and receiving blessings.
It's happening all the time. I am getting notes in my email each day. Sweet words. When I go to the Y or step into a coffee shop, people stop me...they talk...they bless me. So getting anywhere can be a slow process! I am intentionally lingering with people...soaking up every blessed moment. Looking people in the eyes.
Preaching, as it always have, will get the best investment of time and heart and soul I have to offer. I remember talking with a pastor, years ago, who in the month before retirement was preaching recycled sermons. That news broke my heart. I thought, "You have a chance to sum up what you believe...what this is all about...to bless your people as they step into a new future... and you are going through the motions." When time is short it isn't time to go on auto-pilot but to use each minute in the pulpit as faithfully and gracefully and honestly as you can.
Things seem lighter. My role is shifting. It's about those blessed little moments when God gives me chances to bless others and receive a blessing. To, as best we can, talk about what God has done in us and between us and through us. They are little moments...but they're not so little.
Ecclesiastes (4) says there is a time for everything. A time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to scatter and a time to gather, a time to embrace and a time to step back, a time to keep and a time to let go: these days are somehow a mixture of holding and letting go. I let go of the work, of the role I may have played, but I am holding onto people...savoring that...every word, every smile, every moment shared.
So here we are. Two months ago I was heading back to Trinity for an expected new chapter of 2-4 (more?) years of ministry and life. A phone call came my way a month ago, and now I am sorting files in my office...doing ministry while getting ready to shift to a new place.
An old friend said when there is a pastoral change it is like a congregation is having a funeral while planning for a wedding. There are tears. There is grief. People say, "So soon?" (Of course there may be a few who shrug and say, "How did it take this long for this to happen?") Folks are talking about blessing us, saying goodbye, and at the same time leaders of the church are getting ready for a new chapter. Thinking about a new start with someone God will send our way.
My role is shifting. I can feel it happening as each day goes by. From teaching and guiding my role is shifting to preaching and blessing. Oh, the other day in staff I led our team in a conversation about coaching and leadership and teamwork. But those moments will now slow to trickle and I'll be doing two things: focusing on preaching and blessing people...and receiving blessings.
It's happening all the time. I am getting notes in my email each day. Sweet words. When I go to the Y or step into a coffee shop, people stop me...they talk...they bless me. So getting anywhere can be a slow process! I am intentionally lingering with people...soaking up every blessed moment. Looking people in the eyes.
Preaching, as it always have, will get the best investment of time and heart and soul I have to offer. I remember talking with a pastor, years ago, who in the month before retirement was preaching recycled sermons. That news broke my heart. I thought, "You have a chance to sum up what you believe...what this is all about...to bless your people as they step into a new future... and you are going through the motions." When time is short it isn't time to go on auto-pilot but to use each minute in the pulpit as faithfully and gracefully and honestly as you can.
Things seem lighter. My role is shifting. It's about those blessed little moments when God gives me chances to bless others and receive a blessing. To, as best we can, talk about what God has done in us and between us and through us. They are little moments...but they're not so little.
Ecclesiastes (4) says there is a time for everything. A time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to scatter and a time to gather, a time to embrace and a time to step back, a time to keep and a time to let go: these days are somehow a mixture of holding and letting go. I let go of the work, of the role I may have played, but I am holding onto people...savoring that...every word, every smile, every moment shared.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Turn Down the Volume.
(The views I express on my blog are my own and they do not represent in any way the members of Trinity United Methodist Church or the United Methodist Church, okay?)
Our nation is in the middle of an "election cycle" (that is what the "talking heads" call it) and the volume just keeps getting louder and louder. Candidates from the fringe, or candidates who have grown desperate, are using their "outside voices" rather than their "inside voices" (these are phrases the mother of a 3-4 year old will understand). I think the rhetoric is dangerous.
During the last presidential election some people were questioning the patriotism of our current President. Which is a dangerous road to travel. Can't we disagree with someone on policy issues but respect the other person? Not take that next step and attempt to question their love for the republic or their character?
A local candidate for Congress has been accused, I saw in a banner ad on the internet last night, of promoting "anti-Christian causes." Billboards accuse him of promoting abortion. I know the man who is being attacked and he is a decent, hardworking man who is a Catholic Christian. And doesn't deserve to be "shamed" by billboards paid for by some Political Action Committee funded by folks we may never know. Down in Kentucky the Democratic candidate for Senator has brought up an incident that GOP-candidate Rand Paul was involved in as a college student more than 30 years ago, and the Democrat is suggesting Paul -a Presbyterian, I've been told- is somehow anti-Christian.
I worry for our country. Some politicans are deliberately playing to the fears and frustration of people. Much of that fear and frustration has been born of an economic recession that is severe. Policies at the national level, supported by both parties over multiple administrations, led up to the economic crash. As did personal decisions we all made to spend too much on the wrong things. But by pouring the gasoline of extreme rehetoric onto the fire of people's fears and anger and frustration politicans are damaging the country.
It is striking. In Exodus 16 the ex-slaves are marching across Sinai and they are scared. Don't see how they are going to be fed. So they turn on their leaders. They turn on Aaron and Moses. So it is. When people are scared they turn on their leaders. We want someone who can fix this -right now!
Here is what I long for: I long for thoughtful leaders of both political parties who will work together to solve the serious challenges facing our country. I long for political leaders who will work together for the common good and not be driven by a blind desire to make the other party look bad so they can "win" the next "election cycle." We're going to have get honest about crumbling infrastructure (including bridges, highways, neighborhoods and broken, dysfunctional families) and try new and creative solutions to things like the crisis in education. We're going to have to get honest about the price we are paying in Afghanistan and in not setting appropriate limits on well-meaning entitlement programs. We're all going to have to sacrifice so America can be strong, can be great, again. There will be no long-term gain without short-term pain.
My Grandpa Owen was a Republican politican who spent most of his working life as Chief Deputy Treasurer in the Indiana Statehouse. Bill Owen worked for -and was friends with- Democratic governors and state treasurers. He was also a fan of two strong political parties.
And I hear stories about how Democrat Representative Tip O'Neil would battle with President Reagan over policy questions and legislation, and then they would sit down together as friends for a drink.
America has been -and can be- a strong republic where courageous men and women work together for the good of the earth. I am praying we'll all turn down the volume. Disagree with one another on policies or philosophy but still respect one another as fellow citizens of a great nation. Let's turn down the volume. Let's respect one another. And let's view the more extreme claims of some candidates with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Our nation is in the middle of an "election cycle" (that is what the "talking heads" call it) and the volume just keeps getting louder and louder. Candidates from the fringe, or candidates who have grown desperate, are using their "outside voices" rather than their "inside voices" (these are phrases the mother of a 3-4 year old will understand). I think the rhetoric is dangerous.
During the last presidential election some people were questioning the patriotism of our current President. Which is a dangerous road to travel. Can't we disagree with someone on policy issues but respect the other person? Not take that next step and attempt to question their love for the republic or their character?
A local candidate for Congress has been accused, I saw in a banner ad on the internet last night, of promoting "anti-Christian causes." Billboards accuse him of promoting abortion. I know the man who is being attacked and he is a decent, hardworking man who is a Catholic Christian. And doesn't deserve to be "shamed" by billboards paid for by some Political Action Committee funded by folks we may never know. Down in Kentucky the Democratic candidate for Senator has brought up an incident that GOP-candidate Rand Paul was involved in as a college student more than 30 years ago, and the Democrat is suggesting Paul -a Presbyterian, I've been told- is somehow anti-Christian.
I worry for our country. Some politicans are deliberately playing to the fears and frustration of people. Much of that fear and frustration has been born of an economic recession that is severe. Policies at the national level, supported by both parties over multiple administrations, led up to the economic crash. As did personal decisions we all made to spend too much on the wrong things. But by pouring the gasoline of extreme rehetoric onto the fire of people's fears and anger and frustration politicans are damaging the country.
It is striking. In Exodus 16 the ex-slaves are marching across Sinai and they are scared. Don't see how they are going to be fed. So they turn on their leaders. They turn on Aaron and Moses. So it is. When people are scared they turn on their leaders. We want someone who can fix this -right now!
Here is what I long for: I long for thoughtful leaders of both political parties who will work together to solve the serious challenges facing our country. I long for political leaders who will work together for the common good and not be driven by a blind desire to make the other party look bad so they can "win" the next "election cycle." We're going to have get honest about crumbling infrastructure (including bridges, highways, neighborhoods and broken, dysfunctional families) and try new and creative solutions to things like the crisis in education. We're going to have to get honest about the price we are paying in Afghanistan and in not setting appropriate limits on well-meaning entitlement programs. We're all going to have to sacrifice so America can be strong, can be great, again. There will be no long-term gain without short-term pain.
My Grandpa Owen was a Republican politican who spent most of his working life as Chief Deputy Treasurer in the Indiana Statehouse. Bill Owen worked for -and was friends with- Democratic governors and state treasurers. He was also a fan of two strong political parties.
And I hear stories about how Democrat Representative Tip O'Neil would battle with President Reagan over policy questions and legislation, and then they would sit down together as friends for a drink.
America has been -and can be- a strong republic where courageous men and women work together for the good of the earth. I am praying we'll all turn down the volume. Disagree with one another on policies or philosophy but still respect one another as fellow citizens of a great nation. Let's turn down the volume. Let's respect one another. And let's view the more extreme claims of some candidates with a healthy dose of skepticism.
Monday, October 18, 2010
So How Did the Time Away Change You?
Three months. Twelve weeks. Time in Elkhart and Michigan and Europe and on a ship and in Florida. Time alone. Time with Sharon. Time with the family and our granddaughters. What did it mean? What did I learn?
A friend who went on a sabbatical several years ago told that you really don't fully understand what God has done in you for several months or years after you have returned. I have this image of a sort of "time release" of truth and change that will keep going off for weeks and months.
Here are some things I noticed/learned:
Every morning I begin with this prayer: "Jesus, thank you for this morning and this breath. Give me a sweet and joyful spirit, a soft and compassionate heart, and the courage to say and be who you need me to be today."
A friend who went on a sabbatical several years ago told that you really don't fully understand what God has done in you for several months or years after you have returned. I have this image of a sort of "time release" of truth and change that will keep going off for weeks and months.
Here are some things I noticed/learned:
- Stopping is good. Many of us are on a treadmill that moves too fast and it is good to stop. My relationship with God grew and deepened when I stopped.
- I felt "lighter." I am someone who has been pretty serious. A problem solver. Thinking about the big challenges facing us. And I discovered it felt good not to be constantly thinking through how every big problem could be solved. I discovered I felt "lighter" the more I trusted God to handle the world. I realized it is okay to stop...to smile...to laugh... to play...and not to carry the responsibility of the world around on my shoulders 24/7.
- Joy is cool.
- One of the best gifts God has ever given us is ourselves. Sometimes we let the person God made us to be get covered up...papered over...and we need to be good stewards of our own heart and mind and body and soul.
So I've come back and as I do I think I will:
- Work hard to focus on a few essential tasks God needs for me to do here at Trinity.
- Do my best to "fit" into the way God has been at work in my absence. The staff and our leaders have developed a new rhythm while I have been away and I don't want to get in the way of the good that is happening!
- Do less and do it better.
- Love God and continue to make an extended time with God the first thing I do every morning.
- Don't even look at email until I am well into the day, and not do any work on-line in the evening unless it is absolutely necessary.
- Head home earlier. Remembering the lesson of our neighbor in Mishawaka. Carlton was a farmer and when it was time for supper he turned off the tractor and went home. Even if he was close to having a field planted or harvested. There was a time to stop because the work was never done.
- Listen to less news in the evening.
- Watch less tv.
- Spend time each week beginning the writing ministry our leaders have been nudging me to undertake.
- Do my best to finish writing the sermon on Wednesday so that every Friday I get a full day off.
Every morning I begin with this prayer: "Jesus, thank you for this morning and this breath. Give me a sweet and joyful spirit, a soft and compassionate heart, and the courage to say and be who you need me to be today."
"So Were There Any God Moments?"
That's the question a friend asked me at breakfast this morning. I've been away on a three-month Lilly Endowment-sponsored sabbatical and my colleague asked me, "So were there any God moments? Did God speak to you?"
A group of us was sitting at a table at Perkins and I stammered...searched for words. "Yes," I finally said, "there were a lot of God moments." All sorts of memories and moments and places ran through my head.
There was time on the beach at South Haven, Michigan. Right at the beginning of the clergy leave. Walking. Reading. Swimming. Spending the day on the beach. Taking a break for lunch and then going back. Until it was time for supper. And then returning to see the sunset and walk along the sand under the stars. Psalm 8 tells us that the glory of God taps us on the shoulder as we look up at the stars.
Shortly after that Sharon and I were at the Art Institute in Chicago. The room that stopped me was full of paintings by Monet. The artist had a way of catching the light. Finding the light. Even in a stormy seascape...there is light breaking out in the waves and sky.
We took several trips over and back to Columbus. Visiting Ella and Olivia. Going to a nearby park. Playing in the pink "Princess Castle" tent set up in the dining room. We spent some time at local lakes -Koontz and Webster- where we swam and I water-skied. All good. Both those little girls have a way of releasing my heart from whatever prison has locked it away.
There were eight days on a ship crossing the Atlantic. I was on my own...Sharon gets seasick. So I read and walked the deck and swam in the pool and attended a few lectures. Mainly, though, I looked at the water and sky. Journaled.
Sharon and I then spent the better part of a week with good friends in a small town 50 km from Stuttgart. We took the train to Florence where all three adults sons, and their wives and children, met us for a week outside the Tuscan city of Lucca. The house we had looked down on a small town...a river valley. We swam. We sat and talked. We made pizza in a wood-fired oven. (My attempts were a spectacular failures!)
One evening we took Olivia and Ella down to the piazza of a small town in the evening for gelatto. People in Italy come out of their homes for the evening. Old men on benches. Young couples on dates. Children riding bicycles in the plaza. All under a full moon. Another evening we went back and I ended up dancing with Ella outdoors as people did karaoke (which sounds about as bad in Italian as it does in English!). We danced and she laid her head on my shoulder.
There were two days in Rome with Michael while some of the family flew home and others
-including Sharon- went to Paris. The girls and us played in the city parks. The Eiffel Tower was three blocks away and was the first thing we saw when we opened the windows. Sharon and I walked into Notre Dame just as evening vespers began. Light was pouring through the windows of the great church and a beautiful soprano voice was calling God's people to prayer.
The last chapter of the sabbatical included a Miata trip south. The Spirit of God surrounded me, filled me, as I spent three days with Trappist monks in an abbey in central Kentucky. We worshipped in the middle of the night, early in the morning, the middle of the day, and in the evening. I walked...I journaled...and prayed. And God wouldn't let me step away from his presence...it was an experience of such holiness that I sometimes felt like my soul needed to shout, "Glory and enough!"
Right after that I spent several days in Nashville. Going to the string of country and western clubs on Broadway. Listening late into the night to all sorts of music. Surrounded by people who aren't the sort of people I usually hang out with. It was great! I laughed. There was this lightness, this playfulness, this delight in trusting God to take care of the world while I just enjoyed the music and the place, and it was good.
I drove on south towards Florida. Through Alabama on a moon lit night with the top down on the Miata. At the end we spent a few days in Fort Myers. Reading. Walking the beach. Eating grouper. And then we headed towards home. Through the mountains of north Georgia where we left the interstate and found a beautiful, winding river we might have otherwise missed.
There have been so many moments when God has been so close... One of the most powerful experiences with God, though, took place this weekend at Trinity. Being home. Being with you. Looking out and seeing your faces. Singing great songs. Seeing what Jesus has to say to us in Luke 12 about how we can move beyond worry and anxiety over money. God is here...the floor and walls and air hum with the Presence of the God who is Creator, Redeemer and Spirit. Jesus is all over this place!
It was good. Oh, there was a bump here and there, now and then, but it was good. I am so grateful you let me go. And I am so very glad you have loved me back!
A group of us was sitting at a table at Perkins and I stammered...searched for words. "Yes," I finally said, "there were a lot of God moments." All sorts of memories and moments and places ran through my head.
There was time on the beach at South Haven, Michigan. Right at the beginning of the clergy leave. Walking. Reading. Swimming. Spending the day on the beach. Taking a break for lunch and then going back. Until it was time for supper. And then returning to see the sunset and walk along the sand under the stars. Psalm 8 tells us that the glory of God taps us on the shoulder as we look up at the stars.
Shortly after that Sharon and I were at the Art Institute in Chicago. The room that stopped me was full of paintings by Monet. The artist had a way of catching the light. Finding the light. Even in a stormy seascape...there is light breaking out in the waves and sky.
We took several trips over and back to Columbus. Visiting Ella and Olivia. Going to a nearby park. Playing in the pink "Princess Castle" tent set up in the dining room. We spent some time at local lakes -Koontz and Webster- where we swam and I water-skied. All good. Both those little girls have a way of releasing my heart from whatever prison has locked it away.
There were eight days on a ship crossing the Atlantic. I was on my own...Sharon gets seasick. So I read and walked the deck and swam in the pool and attended a few lectures. Mainly, though, I looked at the water and sky. Journaled.
Sharon and I then spent the better part of a week with good friends in a small town 50 km from Stuttgart. We took the train to Florence where all three adults sons, and their wives and children, met us for a week outside the Tuscan city of Lucca. The house we had looked down on a small town...a river valley. We swam. We sat and talked. We made pizza in a wood-fired oven. (My attempts were a spectacular failures!)
One evening we took Olivia and Ella down to the piazza of a small town in the evening for gelatto. People in Italy come out of their homes for the evening. Old men on benches. Young couples on dates. Children riding bicycles in the plaza. All under a full moon. Another evening we went back and I ended up dancing with Ella outdoors as people did karaoke (which sounds about as bad in Italian as it does in English!). We danced and she laid her head on my shoulder.
There were two days in Rome with Michael while some of the family flew home and others
-including Sharon- went to Paris. The girls and us played in the city parks. The Eiffel Tower was three blocks away and was the first thing we saw when we opened the windows. Sharon and I walked into Notre Dame just as evening vespers began. Light was pouring through the windows of the great church and a beautiful soprano voice was calling God's people to prayer.
The last chapter of the sabbatical included a Miata trip south. The Spirit of God surrounded me, filled me, as I spent three days with Trappist monks in an abbey in central Kentucky. We worshipped in the middle of the night, early in the morning, the middle of the day, and in the evening. I walked...I journaled...and prayed. And God wouldn't let me step away from his presence...it was an experience of such holiness that I sometimes felt like my soul needed to shout, "Glory and enough!"
Right after that I spent several days in Nashville. Going to the string of country and western clubs on Broadway. Listening late into the night to all sorts of music. Surrounded by people who aren't the sort of people I usually hang out with. It was great! I laughed. There was this lightness, this playfulness, this delight in trusting God to take care of the world while I just enjoyed the music and the place, and it was good.
I drove on south towards Florida. Through Alabama on a moon lit night with the top down on the Miata. At the end we spent a few days in Fort Myers. Reading. Walking the beach. Eating grouper. And then we headed towards home. Through the mountains of north Georgia where we left the interstate and found a beautiful, winding river we might have otherwise missed.
There have been so many moments when God has been so close... One of the most powerful experiences with God, though, took place this weekend at Trinity. Being home. Being with you. Looking out and seeing your faces. Singing great songs. Seeing what Jesus has to say to us in Luke 12 about how we can move beyond worry and anxiety over money. God is here...the floor and walls and air hum with the Presence of the God who is Creator, Redeemer and Spirit. Jesus is all over this place!
It was good. Oh, there was a bump here and there, now and then, but it was good. I am so grateful you let me go. And I am so very glad you have loved me back!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Lingering.
This is an interesting little journey, this 12-week sabbatical experience. It is, like so many chapters in life, one of those experiences where God works around the edges. Comes at us from a direction we didn't expect.
Last week we spent three and a half days at one of our favorite spots on the southwest coast of Michigan. South Haven is a town with a lovely marina, two beaches, some nice shops and simple restaurants, a river that divides the town, a section called North Beach that has many B & B's, and it all "works" as a getaway place. We soaked up the sun, enjoyed the water, watched some stunning sunsets, and walked out to a rather pedestrian lighthouse that sits at the end of the jetty/breakwater.
These last couple of days, though, I have been hanging out at home. Taking care of lots of small things. Phone calls, doing a little writing, running errands, and stopping at the grocery store a couple of times. Just ordinary, little stuff. Tuesday I worked out at the Y, headed to Mishawaka and visited a book store, bought a pair of good walking sandals at the mall, and had a late lunch at a BBQ joint. I've been "burning" CD's to synch with the new iPod player I bought three weeks ago.
Now here is the thing: I have noticed that I am lighter. Somehow, even though I keep moving, I am lighter. And I have noticed that I am lingering with people. Slowing down. For instance, I stopped at the barber shop this morning. (I know...it doesn't take long!) Instead of paying the bill and moving out the door, I lingered. I don't know whether the guys in the shop appreciated my hanging out for a few extra minutes, just chatting, but I have noticed that I am lingering more with people. Whether at the barber shop or talking with the woman standing behind me at the post office yesterday.
Something inside me is slowing down.
As I sorted through some things today, cleaning up my part of the house, I came across a devotional reading for Christmas someone had given me months ago. It's the story of a woman in an office who gives a man a couple of small gifts for Christmas. One is a very inexpensive calculator. There is another little thing to take camping. Finally, though, she gives him a wrapped present which he opens -only to find nothing inside.
There was nothing inside! The man held the empty box up. There was a long silence. Quietly, the woman said, "It's a pause. Use it anywhere. Anytime you need it. It will always be there." The woman smiled. "I know you've been busy," she said, "and I thought you could use a pause."
I like that story in Luke 10. Where Jesus shows up at the home of his friends, Mary and Martha. He lingers. And Mary lingers with him.
Somehow I think lingering is an important part of the art of life.
Last week we spent three and a half days at one of our favorite spots on the southwest coast of Michigan. South Haven is a town with a lovely marina, two beaches, some nice shops and simple restaurants, a river that divides the town, a section called North Beach that has many B & B's, and it all "works" as a getaway place. We soaked up the sun, enjoyed the water, watched some stunning sunsets, and walked out to a rather pedestrian lighthouse that sits at the end of the jetty/breakwater.
These last couple of days, though, I have been hanging out at home. Taking care of lots of small things. Phone calls, doing a little writing, running errands, and stopping at the grocery store a couple of times. Just ordinary, little stuff. Tuesday I worked out at the Y, headed to Mishawaka and visited a book store, bought a pair of good walking sandals at the mall, and had a late lunch at a BBQ joint. I've been "burning" CD's to synch with the new iPod player I bought three weeks ago.
Now here is the thing: I have noticed that I am lighter. Somehow, even though I keep moving, I am lighter. And I have noticed that I am lingering with people. Slowing down. For instance, I stopped at the barber shop this morning. (I know...it doesn't take long!) Instead of paying the bill and moving out the door, I lingered. I don't know whether the guys in the shop appreciated my hanging out for a few extra minutes, just chatting, but I have noticed that I am lingering more with people. Whether at the barber shop or talking with the woman standing behind me at the post office yesterday.
Something inside me is slowing down.
As I sorted through some things today, cleaning up my part of the house, I came across a devotional reading for Christmas someone had given me months ago. It's the story of a woman in an office who gives a man a couple of small gifts for Christmas. One is a very inexpensive calculator. There is another little thing to take camping. Finally, though, she gives him a wrapped present which he opens -only to find nothing inside.
There was nothing inside! The man held the empty box up. There was a long silence. Quietly, the woman said, "It's a pause. Use it anywhere. Anytime you need it. It will always be there." The woman smiled. "I know you've been busy," she said, "and I thought you could use a pause."
I like that story in Luke 10. Where Jesus shows up at the home of his friends, Mary and Martha. He lingers. And Mary lingers with him.
Somehow I think lingering is an important part of the art of life.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Opening the Window.
Opening the Window.
The flood kept coming, the words on the page tell us.
I have difficulty keeping track of the numbers.
Verse 12 says the water fell for forty days and forty nights.
Twelve verses later were told the water flooded the earth for a hundred
and fifty days.
The flood kept coming.
Which is what floods often do.
They keep coming until your ark is
Lifted high above the earth.
The rain stops falling and the water recedes.
Somehow a piece of rock, high up, catches the boat and holds it fast.
When the tops of the mountains can be seen
The old man opens a window and sends out a raven.
We open windows and send out birds,
don't we,
when we wonder what is ahead
and whether dry ground is to be found?
We open windows and send out words
like ravens and doves,
Whose wings beat against the air
Words looking down for an olive tree, green and growing.
The old man waits at his open window
For the birds to return with some evidence
That God has remembered
And the floodgates of heaven have been closed.
So we look out, looking for what we cannot see,
Wondering what is beyond the here and now,
The known flood,
Sending out words like doves to find a starting place.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
As Sun Approaches Water.
Some places we keep going back to. One of those places for me is Warren Dunes. It's not Hawaii. It's not the perfect beach you might find in Bora-Bora. But it is close by. I've been going up there since I was in high school. The sunsets can be spectacular, the beach is okay, and if you wait long enough into the summer the water is great for swimming.
What we like to do is go up late in the afternoon. When the heat of the day has crested and the air is beginning to cool. We throw a blanket down as everyone else is beginning to think of heading towards the exits. We swim...read...nap...eat a sandwich...maybe get a soft-serve ice cream cone...watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Then, we head for home...and watch the lightning bugs out in the fields as we make our way east and south.
We were there this afternoon. And that time produced the following few verses.
Grace,
Mark
What we like to do is go up late in the afternoon. When the heat of the day has crested and the air is beginning to cool. We throw a blanket down as everyone else is beginning to think of heading towards the exits. We swim...read...nap...eat a sandwich...maybe get a soft-serve ice cream cone...watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Then, we head for home...and watch the lightning bugs out in the fields as we make our way east and south.
We were there this afternoon. And that time produced the following few verses.
Grace,
Mark
As Sun Approaches Water.
The Sandbar.
There is a sandbar fifty yards or so offshore.
No doubt the sand has shifted, moved in or out, north or south,
But the sandbar has been there since
I can remember.
The lake bottom slopes down
Until I am barely able to touch,
But toes keep contact with sand and as water laps at my chin
I feel the sandbar beneath my feet and I am half out of water.
There are days when the bottom slopes down
Until we are barely able to touch,
But we keep moving through water that seems too deep
Until there is something sold beneath our feet and we are half out of water.
Slipping deeper into the water
I think of life,
Touching the sandbar that seems solid enough
I think of God and faith as the promise of things unseen.
_________________________________
______________________________
Visible Love.
It seems preposterous.
Beyond belief.
Too silly.
Embarassing to admit.
I stood at the Dunes.
And kissed a girl.
A kiss whose sweetness still lingers.
And I thought our kiss was a private thing.
I was eager.
Not believing my good fortune.
That a girl so lovely
Would allow me to be so close.
Somehow I thought
That the sand and wild grass
Would shelter us from other eyes
A sanctuary within a sanctuary, if you will.
Now I look around
And realize how open and public
Our moment of tenderness and timid passion
Actually was.
Modest piles of sand and wispy
Grass did not afford us the protection
We assumed God had provided
But our reaching out to one another was too visible.
Love is something we often think
Is easily hidden from the eyes of others,
But the truth is love is visible to all
Despite our belief in the sheltering power of sand and grass.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Reclaiming Holy Ground.
Our extended family has had a cottage at Lake Webster for more than 70 years. I have memories of going to the beach there, on the grounds of the United Methodist camp site known as Epworth Forest, as a young boy. I learned how to row a boat at Lake Webster. I learned how to catch bluegill (and one spectacular bass) at Lake Webster. I remember spending evenings on the sternwheeler -the Dixie- that would circle the lake picking up passengers.
Since we were missionaries we moved all around the world, it seemed. We seemed to always be on the go. But we would always come back to the cottage at Lake Webster. Then, I grew up (okay...maybe I didn't grow up but I got to the point in life where people expect you to have a job!) and our family moved around. As the family of a United Methodist pastor does. But we always came back to the cottage at Lake Webster.
Ten years ago this past spring my Mom died of pancreatic cancer. Since then I haven't enjoyed going to Lake Webster because the cottage reminds me of her absence.
Now, though, our two granddaughters have decided they love going to Lake Webster. We've just spend three days with them. Ella walked with me on the pier, last night, after a sunset trip around the lake on the ski boat. Both Grandpa and her Mommy went skiing. Ella said to me, "I have had so much fun at the cottage!"
So now the cottage is a good place to go, for me. The girls and their presence have reclaimed this holy ground for me. Their love fills the place. My Mom's picture is still on the door of the fridge. I still sometimes stop, as I swing in the hammock in the front yard, and say, "Oh, Mom..." Bryan, our oldest son, reminded me today as we swam down at the beach how my Mom would wear a rubber swimming cap and swim laps back and forth across the swimming area.
I miss my Mom. But Ella and Olivia have reclaimed this holy ground for me. They have blessed it. They have sanctified it with their gracious -and sometimes very loud!- presence.
Since we were missionaries we moved all around the world, it seemed. We seemed to always be on the go. But we would always come back to the cottage at Lake Webster. Then, I grew up (okay...maybe I didn't grow up but I got to the point in life where people expect you to have a job!) and our family moved around. As the family of a United Methodist pastor does. But we always came back to the cottage at Lake Webster.
Ten years ago this past spring my Mom died of pancreatic cancer. Since then I haven't enjoyed going to Lake Webster because the cottage reminds me of her absence.
Now, though, our two granddaughters have decided they love going to Lake Webster. We've just spend three days with them. Ella walked with me on the pier, last night, after a sunset trip around the lake on the ski boat. Both Grandpa and her Mommy went skiing. Ella said to me, "I have had so much fun at the cottage!"
So now the cottage is a good place to go, for me. The girls and their presence have reclaimed this holy ground for me. Their love fills the place. My Mom's picture is still on the door of the fridge. I still sometimes stop, as I swing in the hammock in the front yard, and say, "Oh, Mom..." Bryan, our oldest son, reminded me today as we swam down at the beach how my Mom would wear a rubber swimming cap and swim laps back and forth across the swimming area.
I miss my Mom. But Ella and Olivia have reclaimed this holy ground for me. They have blessed it. They have sanctified it with their gracious -and sometimes very loud!- presence.
The Technological Treadmill.
So the new iPhone is coming out. Articles on business pages talk about the number of people lining up to order/buy this latest version of the hot selling phone with the all amazing applications.
The cycle of innovation keeps speeding up, and what was cutting edge technology six months ago is now outdated. Left high and dry. Shiny new phones, computers, electronic reading devices, MP3 units, are taken home...we just figure them out...they just start to "work" for us. Then, something new is rolled out. The shiny new thing is now old. We turn them in. Spend more money. Lose more hours trying to figure out a new operating system. And so it goes.
An article in a Christian news magazine the other day (or was it the New York Times?) raised the whole question about the environmental impact of all these devices being built and then discarded. Are they being recycled? What about all the metal and plastic that is put into each unit?
At what point do we say, "Enough?" That may be an odd statement for me to make the week after I bought my first iPod. But at what point do we say this: "Enough. The phone I have makes phone calls, allows me to text and take pictures, and I think that is just fine. I don't want to spend more money for something that does more stuff I can't even figure out."
It is an environmental concern: the world does not have endless resources.
It is a stewardship concern: have you ever thought about all the stress in your life, and the time wasted, as you try to figure out that new computer, that new phone, that new MP3, that new GPS unit?
It is a spiritual concern: is it just possible that we think the next new shiny thing will make the deep ache inside go away...when only a relationship with the living God can do that?
Maybe the Hebrews weren't bowing and scraping to a golden calf out there in the wilderness of Sinai. Maybe they were actually standing in line waiting for the next cool phone.
The cycle of innovation keeps speeding up, and what was cutting edge technology six months ago is now outdated. Left high and dry. Shiny new phones, computers, electronic reading devices, MP3 units, are taken home...we just figure them out...they just start to "work" for us. Then, something new is rolled out. The shiny new thing is now old. We turn them in. Spend more money. Lose more hours trying to figure out a new operating system. And so it goes.
An article in a Christian news magazine the other day (or was it the New York Times?) raised the whole question about the environmental impact of all these devices being built and then discarded. Are they being recycled? What about all the metal and plastic that is put into each unit?
At what point do we say, "Enough?" That may be an odd statement for me to make the week after I bought my first iPod. But at what point do we say this: "Enough. The phone I have makes phone calls, allows me to text and take pictures, and I think that is just fine. I don't want to spend more money for something that does more stuff I can't even figure out."
It is an environmental concern: the world does not have endless resources.
It is a stewardship concern: have you ever thought about all the stress in your life, and the time wasted, as you try to figure out that new computer, that new phone, that new MP3, that new GPS unit?
It is a spiritual concern: is it just possible that we think the next new shiny thing will make the deep ache inside go away...when only a relationship with the living God can do that?
Maybe the Hebrews weren't bowing and scraping to a golden calf out there in the wilderness of Sinai. Maybe they were actually standing in line waiting for the next cool phone.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Space and Water.
A friend told me that going on a sabbatical was disorienting. The first week or so my friend said that he, after putting down his role as a pastor, had to work to discover again who he was -down deep. At a basic level. Apart from his role as pastor.
I'm not sure about that but it is going to take several days for my "motor" to slow down.
Honestly, I am curious about what God is going to do during the next three months. I already feel lighter. For the last three days I have been in a coastal town in southwest Michigan. It's one of our favorite places. A lovely beach, a simple bed & breakfast three blocks from North Beach, a picturesque marina with boats lined up along a river that divides the town, and water that has been stirred up by a steady west wind. I've been walking, reading, swimming, and stopping. I want to enjoy my new iPod but the music of the water keeps me from inserting those earbuds and shutting out the world with the music of Mariah Carey, Mark Knoffler, Vince Gill, Puccini, or Bering Strait. As good as the music may be I'd rather hear the waves meet the sand.
Tonight I twice walked out on the jetty that leads out to a navigation light. The waves were rolling along the steel plates along side the breakwater. I found myself thinking about all the times when, as a young boy in northwest Alaska, I would wander down to the shore of the Bering Sea. There was something about the water that drew me.
When I need to be renewed, when I need to step away, I often find myself either on or near water. Not sure why. So tonight I walked the beach -after taking the risk of swimming in water that was more than bracing. Here I am walking along, watching, and swimming in Lake Michigan. Later in this three month journey I'll be spending 8 days on the North Atlantic. And, near the end of the clergy leave, I'll be in Florida...walking those Gulf beaches. Swimming in those warmer waters. (Assuming swimming in the Gulf of Mexico is still something people are allowed to do!)
Maybe it has something to do with those words in Genesis when we are told that the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God brought light out of darkness, form out of chaos, dry ground out of water. It's interesting that when people in 1st century Palestine people wanted a new start with God they went out to the Jordan River to be immersed in those tea-colored waters. Baptism in the waters of the river were a place where people began a new chapter. I even find myself thinking of the time in the Old Testament when a great Syrian general, who was suffering from an incurable skin disease, showed up and a Jewish prophet told the man -Naaman- to go bath in the waters of the Jordan River. Plain old water didn't seem like something God could use to heal something so serious, the great general thought.
But water can heal. Water seems to provide me with a space...and in that space God works.
God is.
It has been a good day. A beautiful day. A peace-full day.
I'm not sure about that but it is going to take several days for my "motor" to slow down.
Honestly, I am curious about what God is going to do during the next three months. I already feel lighter. For the last three days I have been in a coastal town in southwest Michigan. It's one of our favorite places. A lovely beach, a simple bed & breakfast three blocks from North Beach, a picturesque marina with boats lined up along a river that divides the town, and water that has been stirred up by a steady west wind. I've been walking, reading, swimming, and stopping. I want to enjoy my new iPod but the music of the water keeps me from inserting those earbuds and shutting out the world with the music of Mariah Carey, Mark Knoffler, Vince Gill, Puccini, or Bering Strait. As good as the music may be I'd rather hear the waves meet the sand.
Tonight I twice walked out on the jetty that leads out to a navigation light. The waves were rolling along the steel plates along side the breakwater. I found myself thinking about all the times when, as a young boy in northwest Alaska, I would wander down to the shore of the Bering Sea. There was something about the water that drew me.
When I need to be renewed, when I need to step away, I often find myself either on or near water. Not sure why. So tonight I walked the beach -after taking the risk of swimming in water that was more than bracing. Here I am walking along, watching, and swimming in Lake Michigan. Later in this three month journey I'll be spending 8 days on the North Atlantic. And, near the end of the clergy leave, I'll be in Florida...walking those Gulf beaches. Swimming in those warmer waters. (Assuming swimming in the Gulf of Mexico is still something people are allowed to do!)
Maybe it has something to do with those words in Genesis when we are told that the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God brought light out of darkness, form out of chaos, dry ground out of water. It's interesting that when people in 1st century Palestine people wanted a new start with God they went out to the Jordan River to be immersed in those tea-colored waters. Baptism in the waters of the river were a place where people began a new chapter. I even find myself thinking of the time in the Old Testament when a great Syrian general, who was suffering from an incurable skin disease, showed up and a Jewish prophet told the man -Naaman- to go bath in the waters of the Jordan River. Plain old water didn't seem like something God could use to heal something so serious, the great general thought.
But water can heal. Water seems to provide me with a space...and in that space God works.
God is.
It has been a good day. A beautiful day. A peace-full day.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Turning Out (& Turning On) the Light Switches
In a week and a half I head off on a 12-week Clergy Leave/Sabbatical. Which the Lilly Endowment Inc. is helping to pay for. So over the last few weeks I have been doing my ministry stuff at TUMC while at the same time taking care of planning details for sabbatical.
Part of what is going on, you know, is sorting out what I should be doing...and what my essential role is here at Trinity. Over the last week or so I have felt like a hiker who is unloading his pack. Sorting through it. Deciding what needs to be carried along in the trail and what needs to be left behind -or handed to others.
The sabbatical is nudging me to ask some tough questions about what it is I do at Trinity. Am I doing the right things? Am I doing too much? Am I getting in the way of others when they could do a much better job than me at some ministry task?
So I have been sorting through my pack. More and more I have been saying "No."
A friend in the community asked if I could help raise $50,000 between now and next Friday for something in the community. I said I couldn't do that.
Another person asked me to make contacts regarding a multi-million dollar campaign to rebuild our Christian camping facilities at Epworth Forest. Between today and next Friday. I said I couldn't do that.
A third person, a pastor in Southern Indiana, asked if I could pull together some ideas about recruiting young Christians into the ministry. I said, "No, I can't do that between now and next Friday."
So I am saying "No" a lot. Sorting things out. Putting things down. Handing things off. Or simply realizing that something isn't mine to deal with...worry about.
I told someone what I am doing is going around turning off switches. He responded, "When you get back think twice before you turn the switches back on. Ask yourself if you want to start doing what you were doing before you went away." It was good advice: I want to do ministry differently when I return in three months. Because sometimes I think I am working hard at good stuff while neglecting even more essential kingdom work.
Jesus talks about seeking first the kingdom. Which involves sorting. Making some decisions about life and priorities and time and energy.
I am turning out the light switches. And I will pray before starting to turn them on when I return.
Part of what is going on, you know, is sorting out what I should be doing...and what my essential role is here at Trinity. Over the last week or so I have felt like a hiker who is unloading his pack. Sorting through it. Deciding what needs to be carried along in the trail and what needs to be left behind -or handed to others.
The sabbatical is nudging me to ask some tough questions about what it is I do at Trinity. Am I doing the right things? Am I doing too much? Am I getting in the way of others when they could do a much better job than me at some ministry task?
So I have been sorting through my pack. More and more I have been saying "No."
A friend in the community asked if I could help raise $50,000 between now and next Friday for something in the community. I said I couldn't do that.
Another person asked me to make contacts regarding a multi-million dollar campaign to rebuild our Christian camping facilities at Epworth Forest. Between today and next Friday. I said I couldn't do that.
A third person, a pastor in Southern Indiana, asked if I could pull together some ideas about recruiting young Christians into the ministry. I said, "No, I can't do that between now and next Friday."
So I am saying "No" a lot. Sorting things out. Putting things down. Handing things off. Or simply realizing that something isn't mine to deal with...worry about.
I told someone what I am doing is going around turning off switches. He responded, "When you get back think twice before you turn the switches back on. Ask yourself if you want to start doing what you were doing before you went away." It was good advice: I want to do ministry differently when I return in three months. Because sometimes I think I am working hard at good stuff while neglecting even more essential kingdom work.
Jesus talks about seeking first the kingdom. Which involves sorting. Making some decisions about life and priorities and time and energy.
I am turning out the light switches. And I will pray before starting to turn them on when I return.
Words and Wells.
I've been quiet for a long while. Not in real life, so much. Although there have been some days this late Spring and early Summer when I have just been quiet. Which makes people nervous. They don't know what to do when words aren't falling out of my mouth.
"Are you okay?" they ask.
"Yes," I tell them. "I'm just thinking. I just feel like being quiet."
I've been quiet for a long while -at least in terms of the blog. Which is okay. Because words are, I think, like water. Whatever it is in the heart that leads to the putting of words together is sort of like a well Sometimes the well may run low or even go dry. That happened one hot, dry Summer in North Carolina. The well nearly went dry. And we needed to let it replenish itself. Stop pumping so much out. So sometimes being quiet is a good thing. Because when you keep talking and writing even though the interior well is dry, the words that come out are generally flat and uninspiring. Lifeless.
So I've been quiet. And it's okay.
"Are you okay?" they ask.
"Yes," I tell them. "I'm just thinking. I just feel like being quiet."
I've been quiet for a long while -at least in terms of the blog. Which is okay. Because words are, I think, like water. Whatever it is in the heart that leads to the putting of words together is sort of like a well Sometimes the well may run low or even go dry. That happened one hot, dry Summer in North Carolina. The well nearly went dry. And we needed to let it replenish itself. Stop pumping so much out. So sometimes being quiet is a good thing. Because when you keep talking and writing even though the interior well is dry, the words that come out are generally flat and uninspiring. Lifeless.
So I've been quiet. And it's okay.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Can You Get Thrown Out of a Place You've Already Left?
A young adult surprised me in a local funeral home today. I was there for a funeral visitation. Somehow I had gotten confused and showed up an hour early so I was the only one in the room. Until the young woman caught me and asked if I was related to Trinity United Methodist Church.
When I said I was one of the pastors, she turned to me and said, "I need to ask you a question? Why did your church throw me out when I was off at school and still keep as members people who are in prison?"
I was surprised. I've been here for fourteen years, you see, and I had never seen the young woman in worship.
I commented that my own sons had their names removed from the membership list at the United Methodist Church they attended in high school. I explained that when we become members we promise to support the church by our prayers, presence, gifts and service. And that when we stop coming, when we disappear, when we walk away from our promises, then the church will remove our name because we've gone away.
That didn't soften her anger...still bubbling over after having been gone from Trinity for more than ten years.
"Have you been in worship at any point in the last fourteen years?" I asked.
"Why would I want to go there," she snapped, "since my family left. And how can you have terrible people who have done terrible things as members?"
"Do you know about our faith?" I asked. "Do you understand what Jesus does with those who sin, who fail, who make a mess of things? Our faith says God doesn't give up on us even when everyone else does."
She was still seething. "I don't get how you could throw me out of church!"
"We didn't throw you out," I said. "You walked out. You left us."
"Whatever!" she said with a toss of her head and she disappeared down the hall of the funeral home.
It was an interesting moment. Which raised all kinds of questions for me.
Did I take seriously her anger and sense of having been hurt? Did I go on the defensive too quickly?
And, Why does church membership matter to some people only when it is taken away? I sometimes hunch that for some people church membership is God's "seal of approval." It is evidence that they are okay with God. A sort of eternal insurance policy. They don't really seem to be pursuing a relationship with God but when their membership is removed it feels like even God has rejected them.
Or, Can you get thrown out of a place when you have already walked out the door?
Or, Did I miss an opportunity to say "Are you telling me you would like to be a part of a Jesus community? Are you missing something...and do you know the door is always open?"
We live in a culture where the promises we make to God seem easily ignored. And we're shocked when the Jesus community, in the most gracious way possible, holds us accountable. We're not used to having people say, "Do you remember the promises you made to God?"
It was an interesting...surprising...unsettling conversation. Walking away I thought again about the importance of telling young people the Jesus way isn't easy. The Jesus way is going to demand their best...everything they have. The Jesus way involves a cross. And if you aren't serious about this then don't sign up. Don't treat becoming a Jesus follower as some kind of rite of passage...like getting your driver's license or going on Spring Break with your friends for the first time at eighteen.
So this was one of the moments in my day.
And I find myself tonight thinking about the story of the lost sheep. It's in Luke 15. You can look it up.
When I said I was one of the pastors, she turned to me and said, "I need to ask you a question? Why did your church throw me out when I was off at school and still keep as members people who are in prison?"
I was surprised. I've been here for fourteen years, you see, and I had never seen the young woman in worship.
I commented that my own sons had their names removed from the membership list at the United Methodist Church they attended in high school. I explained that when we become members we promise to support the church by our prayers, presence, gifts and service. And that when we stop coming, when we disappear, when we walk away from our promises, then the church will remove our name because we've gone away.
That didn't soften her anger...still bubbling over after having been gone from Trinity for more than ten years.
"Have you been in worship at any point in the last fourteen years?" I asked.
"Why would I want to go there," she snapped, "since my family left. And how can you have terrible people who have done terrible things as members?"
"Do you know about our faith?" I asked. "Do you understand what Jesus does with those who sin, who fail, who make a mess of things? Our faith says God doesn't give up on us even when everyone else does."
She was still seething. "I don't get how you could throw me out of church!"
"We didn't throw you out," I said. "You walked out. You left us."
"Whatever!" she said with a toss of her head and she disappeared down the hall of the funeral home.
It was an interesting moment. Which raised all kinds of questions for me.
Did I take seriously her anger and sense of having been hurt? Did I go on the defensive too quickly?
And, Why does church membership matter to some people only when it is taken away? I sometimes hunch that for some people church membership is God's "seal of approval." It is evidence that they are okay with God. A sort of eternal insurance policy. They don't really seem to be pursuing a relationship with God but when their membership is removed it feels like even God has rejected them.
Or, Can you get thrown out of a place when you have already walked out the door?
Or, Did I miss an opportunity to say "Are you telling me you would like to be a part of a Jesus community? Are you missing something...and do you know the door is always open?"
We live in a culture where the promises we make to God seem easily ignored. And we're shocked when the Jesus community, in the most gracious way possible, holds us accountable. We're not used to having people say, "Do you remember the promises you made to God?"
It was an interesting...surprising...unsettling conversation. Walking away I thought again about the importance of telling young people the Jesus way isn't easy. The Jesus way is going to demand their best...everything they have. The Jesus way involves a cross. And if you aren't serious about this then don't sign up. Don't treat becoming a Jesus follower as some kind of rite of passage...like getting your driver's license or going on Spring Break with your friends for the first time at eighteen.
So this was one of the moments in my day.
And I find myself tonight thinking about the story of the lost sheep. It's in Luke 15. You can look it up.
Psalm 8 Moments.
There are good philosophical arguments against the idea that there is a God. I bumped into those in my philosophy classes in college.
Bright people have worked hard to construct solid reasons why the very idea of God seems far fetched. And there are several rather articulate atheists whose books are on the best seller lists right now.
I know that.
And then there are moments like the last two mornings. If you've been up early enough, you have seen a full moon in the sky. It's been breath-taking.
When I went out to get the morning papers at 5:30 yesterday morning, I looked up and the beauty over my head stopped me in my tracks. I stood there flat-footed with amazement. A few minutes later I was in the car, heading west and south, and the moon continued to move towards the west. Glowing with the sun's light. Reflecting the light from the sun back down on these prairie fields of early Spring.
I am not good at memorizing scripture. Standing there with the newspapers in my hands, and then later driving down the road, the words of Psalm 8 did come to mind: When I look at the sky, which you have made, at the moon and the stars, which you set in their places- what are human beings, that you think of them; mere mortals, that you care for them?
Later that morning, in Franklin, Indiana, I sat with two good friends at the funeral service for the mother of another buddy. The woman had died after years of being a near invalid, but she had lived with joy. "Help people as you can," was her favorite phrase. From the stories I heard not only was Dave's Mom a woman of deep faith who loved her family but she loved strangers. She had a way of listening to people that they recognized as a great gift. And she had a wicked, delightful, Irish-tinted sense of humor.
Where does the beauty and the goodness in the world come from? The stars and the moon above our heads in the stillness of an early Spring morning. Or the life of a woman who had every reason to pull in, retreat into self-pity, but who continued to love, give and listen. Where does it all come from?
I know there are all sorts of reasons people give for doubting the existence of God. But I think the moon and stars above my head, and one woman's life well lived, say something else.
Bright people have worked hard to construct solid reasons why the very idea of God seems far fetched. And there are several rather articulate atheists whose books are on the best seller lists right now.
I know that.
And then there are moments like the last two mornings. If you've been up early enough, you have seen a full moon in the sky. It's been breath-taking.
When I went out to get the morning papers at 5:30 yesterday morning, I looked up and the beauty over my head stopped me in my tracks. I stood there flat-footed with amazement. A few minutes later I was in the car, heading west and south, and the moon continued to move towards the west. Glowing with the sun's light. Reflecting the light from the sun back down on these prairie fields of early Spring.
I am not good at memorizing scripture. Standing there with the newspapers in my hands, and then later driving down the road, the words of Psalm 8 did come to mind: When I look at the sky, which you have made, at the moon and the stars, which you set in their places- what are human beings, that you think of them; mere mortals, that you care for them?
Later that morning, in Franklin, Indiana, I sat with two good friends at the funeral service for the mother of another buddy. The woman had died after years of being a near invalid, but she had lived with joy. "Help people as you can," was her favorite phrase. From the stories I heard not only was Dave's Mom a woman of deep faith who loved her family but she loved strangers. She had a way of listening to people that they recognized as a great gift. And she had a wicked, delightful, Irish-tinted sense of humor.
Where does the beauty and the goodness in the world come from? The stars and the moon above our heads in the stillness of an early Spring morning. Or the life of a woman who had every reason to pull in, retreat into self-pity, but who continued to love, give and listen. Where does it all come from?
I know there are all sorts of reasons people give for doubting the existence of God. But I think the moon and stars above my head, and one woman's life well lived, say something else.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Hands on the Back of the Bike.
Do you remember when you learned to ride a bicycle? Do you remember how your Dad or a big brother or your Mom or your Grandpa ran along behind you, with their hand on the back of the seat...steadying you...pushing you along...until you got the rhythm of the pedals and mastered the art of balancing a two-wheeler?
I was thinking of that as I watched Sharon holding Olivia, our 8-month old granddaughter. The two are pretty close. Olivia is a dark-eyed little girl with a sweet, almost shy smile. Who just loves to be held as she falls asleep and then enjoys falling asleep on Grandma. (And Grandma enjoys napping with Olivia on her chest!)
It all got me to thinking about how one of the gifts we give one another is to help the next generation along. We bless them. We put our hand on the back of the seat, or square in the middle of their backs, as they get started in life. Or head into a major, new stage. We encourage them. Help get them started.
Olivia will probably never remember those afternoons when she was held, rocked to sleep, and then cradled as she napped through the afternoon. She'll not remember those words of affection and love whispered in her ears. The games of "How big is Olivia?" (the answer is "SO BIG!") or "Where is Olivia?" (as she pulls a small blanket up over her face and then drops it with a delighted look so she can see you again). None of it may rise to the surface of her conscious mind but it will all be there...helping her move forward...step into the rest of her life.
We help the next generation along.
We dance at the weddings of young people and surround them with our prayers and funny stories as they begin the mysterious journey we call marriage.
Friends gather for a baby shower when someone they know is embarking on the challenging adventure we call parenthood.
And when someone we care about is dying, their bodies wasting away as their souls get ready for God's new thing (thank you, Jesus!), we stop by and visit...tell stories...tell the person how we love them...promise we'll look them up in heaven...and then we go to the funeral. Make small talk. Listen to the words of scripture. Sing a hymn of faith. Offer hugs. Go over to the house and have cold cut sandwiches and dip into the potato salad. We hold the members of the family up with our love. A widow, for example, is surrounded by women who have gone through this loss. They tell her there will be life on the other side of the grief. They tell her they play cards every other Thursday night, and are in a Christian small group on the first Monday of every month, and sometimes like to go to Branson, Missouri or to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival.
All along the way, we bless one another. Encourage one another. So a new generation can step courageously into the middle of whatever is next.
The New Testament says we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. That is who we are to one another in this world. A cloud of witnesses, encouraging one another, blessing one another, so we can go on...live...step into the next big thing life has for us.
I was thinking of that as I watched Sharon holding Olivia, our 8-month old granddaughter. The two are pretty close. Olivia is a dark-eyed little girl with a sweet, almost shy smile. Who just loves to be held as she falls asleep and then enjoys falling asleep on Grandma. (And Grandma enjoys napping with Olivia on her chest!)
It all got me to thinking about how one of the gifts we give one another is to help the next generation along. We bless them. We put our hand on the back of the seat, or square in the middle of their backs, as they get started in life. Or head into a major, new stage. We encourage them. Help get them started.
Olivia will probably never remember those afternoons when she was held, rocked to sleep, and then cradled as she napped through the afternoon. She'll not remember those words of affection and love whispered in her ears. The games of "How big is Olivia?" (the answer is "SO BIG!") or "Where is Olivia?" (as she pulls a small blanket up over her face and then drops it with a delighted look so she can see you again). None of it may rise to the surface of her conscious mind but it will all be there...helping her move forward...step into the rest of her life.
We help the next generation along.
We dance at the weddings of young people and surround them with our prayers and funny stories as they begin the mysterious journey we call marriage.
Friends gather for a baby shower when someone they know is embarking on the challenging adventure we call parenthood.
And when someone we care about is dying, their bodies wasting away as their souls get ready for God's new thing (thank you, Jesus!), we stop by and visit...tell stories...tell the person how we love them...promise we'll look them up in heaven...and then we go to the funeral. Make small talk. Listen to the words of scripture. Sing a hymn of faith. Offer hugs. Go over to the house and have cold cut sandwiches and dip into the potato salad. We hold the members of the family up with our love. A widow, for example, is surrounded by women who have gone through this loss. They tell her there will be life on the other side of the grief. They tell her they play cards every other Thursday night, and are in a Christian small group on the first Monday of every month, and sometimes like to go to Branson, Missouri or to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival.
All along the way, we bless one another. Encourage one another. So a new generation can step courageously into the middle of whatever is next.
The New Testament says we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. That is who we are to one another in this world. A cloud of witnesses, encouraging one another, blessing one another, so we can go on...live...step into the next big thing life has for us.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
You Show Me Around, OK?
I have a friend who is dying.
Ron wouldn't mind me saying that.
We sat together late this afternoon and talked about living and dying. He's weaker than he was last week when I stopped by. But still Ron. Full of courage. (Not surprising to find in an ex-Marine. Who was airlifted out of Vietnam several times after having been wounded.) Full of faith.
He told me he had called the funeral home to make sure things were in order. Checked with the cemetery to see that the plots were all paid for. Ron said he wanted to talk with me soon about the service. He wondered if it would be okay to have his combat boots on display at the church. I said, "Sure!"
And, of course, he asked about my day. How things were going. Told me he knew I was too busy.
Ron is quite a guy. Decent. Not perfect. But decent and strong and courageous and positive and full of faith.
We prayed. I got up to leave. As I approached their front door I turned and told he and his wife, "You're doing this just right. Crying and laughing and living every hour of the life God has given you here."
Ron, who was sitting in a recliner, nodded. "And when your life here is done," I said, "you'll have another life with God."
"I know it," Ron said.
"When you get up there look around," I said, "check things out. Because when I get there you can show me around, okay?"
"I'll do it," Ron said with a smile.
"I've got a feeling you and I could cause some trouble," I said grinning as I opened the door to head out into the late afternoon sunshine.
"I think we could, too," Ron said with a smile.
The door closed behind me.
Jesus says, in John 7:48-51: I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that a man may eaqt of it and not die. I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh.
"When I get there you can show me around, okay?"
"I'll do it."
Ron wouldn't mind me saying that.
We sat together late this afternoon and talked about living and dying. He's weaker than he was last week when I stopped by. But still Ron. Full of courage. (Not surprising to find in an ex-Marine. Who was airlifted out of Vietnam several times after having been wounded.) Full of faith.
He told me he had called the funeral home to make sure things were in order. Checked with the cemetery to see that the plots were all paid for. Ron said he wanted to talk with me soon about the service. He wondered if it would be okay to have his combat boots on display at the church. I said, "Sure!"
And, of course, he asked about my day. How things were going. Told me he knew I was too busy.
Ron is quite a guy. Decent. Not perfect. But decent and strong and courageous and positive and full of faith.
We prayed. I got up to leave. As I approached their front door I turned and told he and his wife, "You're doing this just right. Crying and laughing and living every hour of the life God has given you here."
Ron, who was sitting in a recliner, nodded. "And when your life here is done," I said, "you'll have another life with God."
"I know it," Ron said.
"When you get up there look around," I said, "check things out. Because when I get there you can show me around, okay?"
"I'll do it," Ron said with a smile.
"I've got a feeling you and I could cause some trouble," I said grinning as I opened the door to head out into the late afternoon sunshine.
"I think we could, too," Ron said with a smile.
The door closed behind me.
Jesus says, in John 7:48-51: I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that a man may eaqt of it and not die. I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh.
"When I get there you can show me around, okay?"
"I'll do it."
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Scones and Love.
If you are able to get on my Facebook page you'll see that a couple of guys have been giving me all kinds of grief about eating the occasional scone with my cup of coffee in the morning.
They're shocked that I would admit this kind of behavior to the world, I guess. Maybe they would prefer I live by the "don't ask - don't tell" principle.
And they insist that a scone is a sissy thing to eat in the morning. A real man will eat a breakfast that basically, if I understand this, is a plate piled high with eggs, hashbrowns, gravey, and some kind of creative melted cheese combination. The sort of meal that would immediately send a calorie counter or fat gram-o-meter into overload...blow the circuits.
A friend at work -a male friend- has been turning up his nose at my enjoyment of scones for weeks. Yesterday on Facebook the whole thing got way out of control. Lots and lots of trash talking directed my way.
Which brings us to Chris Ballard's article in the March 15th issue of Sports Illustrated. The article in SI is titled "The Metaphysical Significance, Staggering Ubiquity and Sheer Joy of High Fives." The sub-sub title (is there such a thing?) is "The low five, the high 10, the low 10, the forearm bash, the fist bump, the flying chest bump, the shug, the leaping shoulder carom, the ass slap, the pound, the man hug, the dap, the volleyballer's smack-'em high and smack-'em low, the gimme-skin slider, the helmet head butt, the soul shake, the body slam and the grip-and rip."
Whew. Oh, my...
Now here's the thing: Professor Mark T. Morman of Baylor University has "spent years analyzing male-to-male communication." He says all this high fiving and chest bumping is a sign of love in male friendships. "Punching somebody in the arm or punching somebody in the chest, that doesn't look very affectionate, mainly because we tend to frame affection in very feminine ways - hugging, kissing, soft touching. So when a guy punches another guy or pushes or shoves him or wrestles him to the ground, it's covert affection, but it's real."
I've been saying this for years. Visitors to Trinity will hear me and my friends verbally "high fiving" or "chest bumping" one another. We talk trash to one another. Give each other such a hard time. And it almost always a sign of affection. Hassling one another is how men show love.
Years ago a newcomer to Trinity observed an exchange between me and a man in the church. When I walked down the hall, the newcomer turned to the TUMC member and said, "What is going on with you and Fenstermacher? How come you and he are fighting?" The man looked surprised and laughed. "Oh, there's nothing wrong: we're just really good friends."
So if you log on to my Facebook page, you'll see a page full of crazy little barbs about "how can a real man eat scones?" I smiled when I read those comments. Because I know I have some great buddies.
Think I'll get a cup of hazelnut coffee and a wild blueberry scone. (Deal with it, boys.)
They're shocked that I would admit this kind of behavior to the world, I guess. Maybe they would prefer I live by the "don't ask - don't tell" principle.
And they insist that a scone is a sissy thing to eat in the morning. A real man will eat a breakfast that basically, if I understand this, is a plate piled high with eggs, hashbrowns, gravey, and some kind of creative melted cheese combination. The sort of meal that would immediately send a calorie counter or fat gram-o-meter into overload...blow the circuits.
A friend at work -a male friend- has been turning up his nose at my enjoyment of scones for weeks. Yesterday on Facebook the whole thing got way out of control. Lots and lots of trash talking directed my way.
Which brings us to Chris Ballard's article in the March 15th issue of Sports Illustrated. The article in SI is titled "The Metaphysical Significance, Staggering Ubiquity and Sheer Joy of High Fives." The sub-sub title (is there such a thing?) is "The low five, the high 10, the low 10, the forearm bash, the fist bump, the flying chest bump, the shug, the leaping shoulder carom, the ass slap, the pound, the man hug, the dap, the volleyballer's smack-'em high and smack-'em low, the gimme-skin slider, the helmet head butt, the soul shake, the body slam and the grip-and rip."
Whew. Oh, my...
Now here's the thing: Professor Mark T. Morman of Baylor University has "spent years analyzing male-to-male communication." He says all this high fiving and chest bumping is a sign of love in male friendships. "Punching somebody in the arm or punching somebody in the chest, that doesn't look very affectionate, mainly because we tend to frame affection in very feminine ways - hugging, kissing, soft touching. So when a guy punches another guy or pushes or shoves him or wrestles him to the ground, it's covert affection, but it's real."
I've been saying this for years. Visitors to Trinity will hear me and my friends verbally "high fiving" or "chest bumping" one another. We talk trash to one another. Give each other such a hard time. And it almost always a sign of affection. Hassling one another is how men show love.
Years ago a newcomer to Trinity observed an exchange between me and a man in the church. When I walked down the hall, the newcomer turned to the TUMC member and said, "What is going on with you and Fenstermacher? How come you and he are fighting?" The man looked surprised and laughed. "Oh, there's nothing wrong: we're just really good friends."
So if you log on to my Facebook page, you'll see a page full of crazy little barbs about "how can a real man eat scones?" I smiled when I read those comments. Because I know I have some great buddies.
Think I'll get a cup of hazelnut coffee and a wild blueberry scone. (Deal with it, boys.)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Things -and People- Change.
When you're young (if you're like me) you assume you'll put the world together in a certain way, just the way you like it, and things will stay that way. The right network of friends. The right spouse. The right children. The right job. The right house. Put everything together and then it will stay, right?
The truth is life is always changing.
I've been thinking about that a lot as our church staff goes through some changes.
Chris Lantz, a great young guy who has been our Trinity Life Center Director (and helped out with our visitation ministry to older adults), has moved on to be a seminary student and the student pastor at Cedar Lake UMC. Those folks are going to love Chris!
A wonderful young woman named Lori Grasty is coming in to lead our Upward Ministries (basketball and cheerleading) next season.
A wonderful couple, Steve and Sue Price, are going to step in and help lead our visitation ministries with older adults. Steve is also going to help us with pastoral visits to older adults.
Another wonderful TUMC member, Deb Smith, is stepping in to take over the part-time position of Director of Adult Discipleship & Small Groups.
Our Staff Parish Relations Committee was getting ready to look for a new leader of our Praise Team since Jacob Kisor will be leaving the area after getting married this coming summer when we learned that our Director of Music & Worship Ministries, Kristen Senne, will be leaving at the end of May.
So things change.
People change.
People come and go.
I don't like change. I don't like the work that goes into finding the right person for a position on our church ministry staff.
Except...except...God has a way of being able to work for good through times of change. As much as I hate to see good people, faithful people, live our team I also know that God is giving us a new opportunity to grow. In some new ways. In some new directions.
You never replace a person: I know that. People aren't parts in a machine where you can pull one out and replace it with an identical part. You don't replace people with a perfect copy of the preceding leader, but you go out to find someone who will do the job...in a new way. Someone who is gifted in their way. One person will never be their predecessor.
When there is change on our staff, we are looking for someone who:
The truth is life is always changing.
I've been thinking about that a lot as our church staff goes through some changes.
Chris Lantz, a great young guy who has been our Trinity Life Center Director (and helped out with our visitation ministry to older adults), has moved on to be a seminary student and the student pastor at Cedar Lake UMC. Those folks are going to love Chris!
A wonderful young woman named Lori Grasty is coming in to lead our Upward Ministries (basketball and cheerleading) next season.
A wonderful couple, Steve and Sue Price, are going to step in and help lead our visitation ministries with older adults. Steve is also going to help us with pastoral visits to older adults.
Another wonderful TUMC member, Deb Smith, is stepping in to take over the part-time position of Director of Adult Discipleship & Small Groups.
Our Staff Parish Relations Committee was getting ready to look for a new leader of our Praise Team since Jacob Kisor will be leaving the area after getting married this coming summer when we learned that our Director of Music & Worship Ministries, Kristen Senne, will be leaving at the end of May.
So things change.
People change.
People come and go.
I don't like change. I don't like the work that goes into finding the right person for a position on our church ministry staff.
Except...except...God has a way of being able to work for good through times of change. As much as I hate to see good people, faithful people, live our team I also know that God is giving us a new opportunity to grow. In some new ways. In some new directions.
You never replace a person: I know that. People aren't parts in a machine where you can pull one out and replace it with an identical part. You don't replace people with a perfect copy of the preceding leader, but you go out to find someone who will do the job...in a new way. Someone who is gifted in their way. One person will never be their predecessor.
When there is change on our staff, we are looking for someone who:
- Loves Jesus.
- Loves the imperfect community that is the Christian church (because Jesus died to give the church life), and loves the mission and ministry of Trinity United Methodist Church.
- Has the heart of a servant.
- Is coachable.
- Has a commitment to ministry as a team.
- Believes their role is equip the people of God to do the work of the church. Someone who builds teams.
- Knows their stuff...whether that is music, youth ministry, etc.
- Is gracious. Understands they are imperfect and the people they work with are imperfect.
- Committed to excellence in everything they do.
- Good work habits and the ability to follow through.
So we are in a season of change on our church staff. Not because there is some new, grand staffing plan. Not because of any crisis. It's just that things change. People come and go. You know?
So my heart aches for the friends who leave our place...step out of being a part of our everyday lives. And another part of my heart is eager to see the people God will bring to us...and how God's church will grow and bear new fruit.
Taking the Time.
There is always a reason not to do what we know we ought to do.
Elva Balluff is a woman who was a dear friend of my Mom's. Our paths crossed in Nome, Alaska in the mid 60's. A tall Canadian who was married to an electronics expert for the FAA, Elva brought a measure of kindness, faith, and beauty to our small, tough town on the edge of the Bering Sea.
One of the enduring memories of my life is the Christmas Eve when Elva sang the carol "Lo, 'Er a Rose is Blooming" in our small church. It was so beautiful it caused me to sit perfectly still as I rested my chin on the edge of the church balcony.
Elva and her husband, Bunny, moved to the lower 48' shortly after we came to Indiana. Elva has lived in the Aurora, Illinois area for almost 40 years. A time or two over the last twenty-five years we've seen each other.
This past Christmas I received a card from Elva's daughter and her husband. Kim and Dan said Elva had fallen, broken her hip, and was in a rehab center in Aurora. I knew I needed to go.
Last week I got away to work on sermons, and I made my way down to Aurora. I took a wrong turn and made a slow, stop-and-go trip through Naperville. Finally, I got where I needed to be.
When I walked around the corner and entered her room, Elva looked up and gave me a big smile. "You have no idea what it means to me that you've come!" she said. Elva asked if we could go down to the lounge on the first floor to talk. So we went down there and spent about an hour. Talking about the families. Remembering old stories.
I pushed her wheelchair to the elevator and we went back to her room. We prayed together and she gave me a big hug.
I said, "I'll be back to visit."
She answered, "Don't say that unless you mean it. Because you shouldn't say something if you aren't going to do it."
We hugged again. I waved and disappeared around the corner. Before the Friday night rush hour traffic got to the truly serious stage, I was east of Chicago...Hammond.
There are people whose presence defines our lives. The time we have shared leaves a lasting impression on our heart...our soul.
I'm glad I went.
Finally.
Elva Balluff is a woman who was a dear friend of my Mom's. Our paths crossed in Nome, Alaska in the mid 60's. A tall Canadian who was married to an electronics expert for the FAA, Elva brought a measure of kindness, faith, and beauty to our small, tough town on the edge of the Bering Sea.
One of the enduring memories of my life is the Christmas Eve when Elva sang the carol "Lo, 'Er a Rose is Blooming" in our small church. It was so beautiful it caused me to sit perfectly still as I rested my chin on the edge of the church balcony.
Elva and her husband, Bunny, moved to the lower 48' shortly after we came to Indiana. Elva has lived in the Aurora, Illinois area for almost 40 years. A time or two over the last twenty-five years we've seen each other.
This past Christmas I received a card from Elva's daughter and her husband. Kim and Dan said Elva had fallen, broken her hip, and was in a rehab center in Aurora. I knew I needed to go.
Last week I got away to work on sermons, and I made my way down to Aurora. I took a wrong turn and made a slow, stop-and-go trip through Naperville. Finally, I got where I needed to be.
When I walked around the corner and entered her room, Elva looked up and gave me a big smile. "You have no idea what it means to me that you've come!" she said. Elva asked if we could go down to the lounge on the first floor to talk. So we went down there and spent about an hour. Talking about the families. Remembering old stories.
I pushed her wheelchair to the elevator and we went back to her room. We prayed together and she gave me a big hug.
I said, "I'll be back to visit."
She answered, "Don't say that unless you mean it. Because you shouldn't say something if you aren't going to do it."
We hugged again. I waved and disappeared around the corner. Before the Friday night rush hour traffic got to the truly serious stage, I was east of Chicago...Hammond.
There are people whose presence defines our lives. The time we have shared leaves a lasting impression on our heart...our soul.
I'm glad I went.
Finally.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Haiti - A Time for Doing.
The news out of Haiti is shocking. There is part of us that stands in shocked fascination, in horror, and another part of us that wants to run and hide. Pull the covers up. Watch "American Idol" and eat a bag of popcorn or go shopping or read Sports Illustrated.
But there is a deeper part: a part of us that is eager to help. To do something. That is what the people of our church -and many churches- will be doing this weekend: receiving an offering.
I am confident that we, with others, will send a mission team. Right now, though, experts say the worst thing we can is rush down there. Experts are assessing what needs to happen first. Laying out a plan. Governments and non-governmental organizations (NGO's) like United Methodist Committee on Relief, Church World Service, the Red Cross, Lutheran Relief, Doctors without Borders, will play their part.
Two things trouble me. First, is the comment by another UM pastor dismissing the great work of United Methodist Committee on Relief...he and his church have another, better way of helping. He says. That kind of attitude is sad.
Second, are the comments by "Christian" tv personality Pat Robertson. Explaining the misery of Haiti is due to their being cursed. Because they made a pact with the devil in their desire to be free of the French. This is stomach-churning stuff. These are the kinds of comments that turn the world off to Christianity. The friends of Job, in the Old Testament, showed up with an explanation for his suffering and their comments caused more damage than helped.
Today, this week, is a time to use few words and to act. We will be doing more in the months and years to come because this nation to our south may need to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Pray.
Give.
Use few words.
But there is a deeper part: a part of us that is eager to help. To do something. That is what the people of our church -and many churches- will be doing this weekend: receiving an offering.
I am confident that we, with others, will send a mission team. Right now, though, experts say the worst thing we can is rush down there. Experts are assessing what needs to happen first. Laying out a plan. Governments and non-governmental organizations (NGO's) like United Methodist Committee on Relief, Church World Service, the Red Cross, Lutheran Relief, Doctors without Borders, will play their part.
Two things trouble me. First, is the comment by another UM pastor dismissing the great work of United Methodist Committee on Relief...he and his church have another, better way of helping. He says. That kind of attitude is sad.
Second, are the comments by "Christian" tv personality Pat Robertson. Explaining the misery of Haiti is due to their being cursed. Because they made a pact with the devil in their desire to be free of the French. This is stomach-churning stuff. These are the kinds of comments that turn the world off to Christianity. The friends of Job, in the Old Testament, showed up with an explanation for his suffering and their comments caused more damage than helped.
Today, this week, is a time to use few words and to act. We will be doing more in the months and years to come because this nation to our south may need to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Pray.
Give.
Use few words.
Friday, January 1, 2010
The Sky is Falling Approach to Church.
Money is always an interesting part of church life. People tell me they get tired of us, in the church, talking about money...faithfulness with that stuff in our wallets and 401.k accounts. Truth is I have never -that I know of- had a tither (someone who gives at least 10% of their income/monetary resources to God) ever make that complaint! Givers don't mind being encouraged to give because they find joy in giving.
I remind them Jesus talked about money a lot. Because you'll find our heart where our treasure is. I'm told Martin Luther said the last part of a Christian to get wet, when they are baptized, is their wallet. If Luther didn't say it, he should have!
The week before Christmas and the week after Christmas I came across two email messages from pastors of mega-churches to their congregations. Both messages were rather strident challenges for people to give generously at the end of the year. Rick Warren, a really extraordinary pastor of a great church, sent a note to their people at Saddleback saying the weekend after Christmas the offerings were down and the church was $900,000 in the red.
I don't know all the details (I know...then stop before you say another word!), but something feels very wrong when the church runs close enough to financial disaster that one bad weekend can shove the whole operation into the red.
Jesus talks about counting the cost before we begin a construction project. In the book of Genesis Joseph helps the leader of Egypt anticipate the seven years of famine that will follow seven years of above-average harvests.
Churches shouldn't be financial storehouses. Piling up every dollar they can get their hands on. i tell our people that God wants them to give, and the church should spend nearly every dollar it can on ministry and mission outreach. However, I think maybe church leaders should plan more carefully. Not be pushing the financial "red line" -even when God is doing great and creative stuff.
Things work best when church leaders are faithful and reasonable in their planning. And when the people of God are faithful in their giving.
Oh, by the way, the weather report for this weekend looks scary. Attendance could be down in our services. Which means giving drops. So I'm just saying...
I remind them Jesus talked about money a lot. Because you'll find our heart where our treasure is. I'm told Martin Luther said the last part of a Christian to get wet, when they are baptized, is their wallet. If Luther didn't say it, he should have!
The week before Christmas and the week after Christmas I came across two email messages from pastors of mega-churches to their congregations. Both messages were rather strident challenges for people to give generously at the end of the year. Rick Warren, a really extraordinary pastor of a great church, sent a note to their people at Saddleback saying the weekend after Christmas the offerings were down and the church was $900,000 in the red.
I don't know all the details (I know...then stop before you say another word!), but something feels very wrong when the church runs close enough to financial disaster that one bad weekend can shove the whole operation into the red.
Jesus talks about counting the cost before we begin a construction project. In the book of Genesis Joseph helps the leader of Egypt anticipate the seven years of famine that will follow seven years of above-average harvests.
Churches shouldn't be financial storehouses. Piling up every dollar they can get their hands on. i tell our people that God wants them to give, and the church should spend nearly every dollar it can on ministry and mission outreach. However, I think maybe church leaders should plan more carefully. Not be pushing the financial "red line" -even when God is doing great and creative stuff.
Things work best when church leaders are faithful and reasonable in their planning. And when the people of God are faithful in their giving.
Oh, by the way, the weather report for this weekend looks scary. Attendance could be down in our services. Which means giving drops. So I'm just saying...
You Came Back for Me!
Christmas Eve is never a time when pastors can lounge with the family, take a deep breath, and just enjoy the season. We're working. We're like police officers at the Rose Bowl Parade. We can't spend much time looking at the floats because we have work to do.
Our three adult sons were here over Christmas. Which was just an amazing gift! There is something sweeter than words about having your children sleeping under the same roof, at home, you know? It's like things are back where they are supposed to be.
Our two young granddaughters arrived, with their parents, after I had left for church on Christmas Eve. Right before the 9 o'clock service Ella, the 27-month old, was walking through the lobby with her Grandma. Ella looked lovely and when she saw me she leaned her head over with quiet delight, and I nearly bounced off the carpet.
That night, after worship, the family headed home. I helped shut down the church and followed. When I came through the door, Ella came to me and said, "You came back for me! You came back for me!" I smiled. Said, "I will always come back for you."
Saturday morning, after Christmas, I led a funeral service. By the time that was over, and I had returned from Goshen where the burial service had been, most of the morning was gone. When I walked through the front door, Ella came running towards me with a smile. "You came back to me! You came back to me!"
Love means we come back.
The Christian faith talks about a God who comes back. Jesus appears in the garden outside the tomb where he has been buried. He slips into a room in Jerusalem, through locked doors, to visit with his friends and followers. The risen Christ is standing on the edge of the Sea of Galilee, in John 21, and has some fishing advice for his friends. The New Testament talks at length about the return of God to begin a new age on the earth. We call this "the second coming."
Ella says, "You came back to me." But we can't always come back. I think of that, on this first day of 2010, with the news of the deaths of service personnel and CIA officers in distant lands. There are men and women who won't come back to the ones they love, but that failure to return is not a sign that the love was imperfect or partial. Things happen to pull us away from the ones we love more than words can say.
There will be a day when I won't come back for Ella. I'll leave and not come back. Time and death will do that. They'll pull me away from her.
Paul, in 1st Corinthians 13, talks about love lasting forever. Faith, hope and love remain, he says. I take great comfort in that.
"You came back to me," she says. I'll keep doing that as long as I can. And when I can't come back to you, I hope you'll be on a first-name basis with the God whose love outlasts time.
Our three adult sons were here over Christmas. Which was just an amazing gift! There is something sweeter than words about having your children sleeping under the same roof, at home, you know? It's like things are back where they are supposed to be.
Our two young granddaughters arrived, with their parents, after I had left for church on Christmas Eve. Right before the 9 o'clock service Ella, the 27-month old, was walking through the lobby with her Grandma. Ella looked lovely and when she saw me she leaned her head over with quiet delight, and I nearly bounced off the carpet.
That night, after worship, the family headed home. I helped shut down the church and followed. When I came through the door, Ella came to me and said, "You came back for me! You came back for me!" I smiled. Said, "I will always come back for you."
Saturday morning, after Christmas, I led a funeral service. By the time that was over, and I had returned from Goshen where the burial service had been, most of the morning was gone. When I walked through the front door, Ella came running towards me with a smile. "You came back to me! You came back to me!"
Love means we come back.
The Christian faith talks about a God who comes back. Jesus appears in the garden outside the tomb where he has been buried. He slips into a room in Jerusalem, through locked doors, to visit with his friends and followers. The risen Christ is standing on the edge of the Sea of Galilee, in John 21, and has some fishing advice for his friends. The New Testament talks at length about the return of God to begin a new age on the earth. We call this "the second coming."
Ella says, "You came back to me." But we can't always come back. I think of that, on this first day of 2010, with the news of the deaths of service personnel and CIA officers in distant lands. There are men and women who won't come back to the ones they love, but that failure to return is not a sign that the love was imperfect or partial. Things happen to pull us away from the ones we love more than words can say.
There will be a day when I won't come back for Ella. I'll leave and not come back. Time and death will do that. They'll pull me away from her.
Paul, in 1st Corinthians 13, talks about love lasting forever. Faith, hope and love remain, he says. I take great comfort in that.
"You came back to me," she says. I'll keep doing that as long as I can. And when I can't come back to you, I hope you'll be on a first-name basis with the God whose love outlasts time.
What's New?
The act of opening up a new calendar brings with it this hope...that things will be different.
Not everything.
We -most of us- don't want everything to be different. Because there are some pretty cool parts of life. Even when the stock market was tanking, even when people were being laid off, even when people were panicking over H1N1, there has been good in 2009. So we don't want everything to change...to be different.
But there is something about opening that new calendar, looking at that white space on each day of January 2010, and for just a few moments our hearts beat a little faster with the prospect that we can overcome some self-destructive fear or addiction. For just a moment we think about starting over in a friendship or bringing new energy and passion to our marriage. Or with God.
Here's the thing: opening a new calendar doesn't mean a thing if we don't do life differently. And that will involve risk. I think about the short tax collector named Zacchaeus. We meet him in the New Testament. He has a reputation as a tool of the hated Roman Empire. He does their dirty work for them -draining tax dollars out of his Jewish neighbors and friends. And, my hunch tells me, he -like most tax collectors- bent the truth to get a little extra. Because everything extra went straight into the tax collector's pocket! So Jesus shows up, hangs out with Zacchaeus, and the man changes. Becomes a giver.
I wonder what people in that town thought when they heard Zacchaeus talking about giving back way more than he ever took from people unfairly. I wonder if people laughed. If they smiled when Zacchaeus talked about changing and said, "Yeah. Right. I'll believe it when I see it."
Sometimes we don't make it easy for people to change. We keep rubbing their noses in their past. Who they have been.
"What will you say 'no' to so that you can devote your life to the things that really count most?" I asked a friend the other day. I know it is a tough thing to do - and I am fearful that I won't have the courage to make the changes I know God needs for me to make in 2010.
A new calendar won't mean a thing if we don't make some different decisions.
Not everything.
We -most of us- don't want everything to be different. Because there are some pretty cool parts of life. Even when the stock market was tanking, even when people were being laid off, even when people were panicking over H1N1, there has been good in 2009. So we don't want everything to change...to be different.
But there is something about opening that new calendar, looking at that white space on each day of January 2010, and for just a few moments our hearts beat a little faster with the prospect that we can overcome some self-destructive fear or addiction. For just a moment we think about starting over in a friendship or bringing new energy and passion to our marriage. Or with God.
Here's the thing: opening a new calendar doesn't mean a thing if we don't do life differently. And that will involve risk. I think about the short tax collector named Zacchaeus. We meet him in the New Testament. He has a reputation as a tool of the hated Roman Empire. He does their dirty work for them -draining tax dollars out of his Jewish neighbors and friends. And, my hunch tells me, he -like most tax collectors- bent the truth to get a little extra. Because everything extra went straight into the tax collector's pocket! So Jesus shows up, hangs out with Zacchaeus, and the man changes. Becomes a giver.
I wonder what people in that town thought when they heard Zacchaeus talking about giving back way more than he ever took from people unfairly. I wonder if people laughed. If they smiled when Zacchaeus talked about changing and said, "Yeah. Right. I'll believe it when I see it."
Sometimes we don't make it easy for people to change. We keep rubbing their noses in their past. Who they have been.
"What will you say 'no' to so that you can devote your life to the things that really count most?" I asked a friend the other day. I know it is a tough thing to do - and I am fearful that I won't have the courage to make the changes I know God needs for me to make in 2010.
A new calendar won't mean a thing if we don't make some different decisions.
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