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.

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.

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.

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."

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.)

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:

1. Loves Jesus.
2. 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.
3. Has the heart of a servant.
4. Is coachable.
5. Has a commitment to ministry as a team.
6. Believes their role is equip the people of God to do the work of the church. Someone who builds teams.
7. Knows their stuff...whether that is music, youth ministry, etc.
8. Is gracious. Understands they are imperfect and the people they work with are imperfect.
9. Committed to excellence in everything they do.
10. 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.