When you're young you don't fully understand the gift of showing up. (Or at least I didn't.) We're invited to a wedding, or a graduation party, or we know someone who has lost a person they love, and we don't think it is that big of a deal if we show up -or not. They'll barely notice you stuck there in the middle of the crowd, right?
As our boys graduated from high school I noticed what it meant to us when people showed up. People drove a couple of hours, people carved out a good part of a day, and they showed up when Bryan, Nathan and Michael graduated. We noticed. It meant something. Somewhere down deep inside we felt the reality of friendship's blessing. We also, on the other hand, noticed good friends who didn't show up. Most of them had good reasons but some just hadn't learned that love means showing up.
I thought of this today as I drove north to Lebanon, Indiana for the funeral service of a colleague. David Patrick was a 46 year old United Methodist pastor who did great work mentoring young pastors and served on the Board of Ordained Ministry with me. I didn't know him well. He had served most of his ministry in the "old" South Indiana Conference, and I have always hovered around the Michigan state line. Until we came to Bloomington I had never served a congregation south of #30! So we didn't know one another all that well but David was a brother.
When you are a United Methodist pastor you are a part of something we call "the connection." As I write that it almost sounds mysterious. Or threatening (like the word is a synonym for organized crime!). Whether you like it or not, whether your theology or ministry style or political ideas match those of the pastor serving down the road in a nearby United Methodist Church, you not only belong to Christ but you belong to one another.
So I drove north on this beautiful morning with the top on the Miata down, the music of the Rolling Stones and then Joshua Bell playing on the stereo, with a cup of coffee in my hand. I sat in the back of a packed sanctuary. The family will never know I was there. I believe David noticed. I believe that love means showing up if there is anyway to do that.
Paul, in Romans 12, says if we are in Christ we are a part of one body. The apostle says love is to be genuine (not faked...not a going-through-the-motions type of love). He summarizes the commandments and then finally says love does no wrong to a neighbor (13:10) and that, in fact, love is "fulfilling of the law." In verse 15 he encourages us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.
Love means showing up (if there is anyway to do that).
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Saturday, August 27, 2011
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.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Just Being.
Thanksgiving was always a pretty big deal in our family. My dad, a physician, would make a big deal out of stuffing the turkey and sewing it up with some old surgical instruments. (I know - it sounds nuts.) My folks would work together to prepare the food.
Grandparents would usually be around. Siblings were all there around the table. At the end of the meal we would play a "fill in the blank" story game called "Benny and Becky's Just Right Thanksgiving." It first appeared in some national periodical back in the 30's, I think.
I've discovered that this week is my favorite holiday of the year. Oh, there's no question that Christmas and Easter are more important to us all in so many ways. They remind us of God's presence and saving power. They bring us face-to-face with a God whose power and love are breath-taking. Cosmos changing. And July 4th has its special charms. Time at the lake, maybe a round or two of skiing, fireworks over the water in the evening. But Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
Not because of the food. (Although Sharon is an amazing cook and always takes better care of us than we deserve.) Not because of the Macy's Parade. Not because we all get a chance to watch the Detroit Lions lose another game.
No, it is because our family gets the chance to just be together. Pastors, at both Easter and Christmas, are pretty focused on preaching and leading worship at those times of the year. We always seem to be coming and going. But the week of Thanksgiving, after preaching a brief word in the beautiful, simple, short Thanksgiving Eve service we have at Trinity, I just sort of stop. I hang out with our family. This week two of our grown sons returned home with their families. Our 16-month old granddaughter was around.
We hang out...eat...watch some football...maybe slip up to Chicago for a day...do dishes...maybe catch at movie on DVD here at home...read news headlines to one another as we sit at the kitchen table and look at The Elkhart Truth, South Bend Tribune, and New York Times. It's good. We just waste time together...share space...breathe the same air.
I love it. As good as it is I ache as the house begins to empty. My siblings head off late on Thanksgiving day. A few days later our kids go off. As Ella is carried to her car by her Mom she looks back at the house...at us. Is it my imagination or is she thinking, "Dang! Is the party over?"
There is a fire in the fireplace. I've just finished the NY Times. Caught some of Indiana's game with Cornell and watched some of the Jets' game with the Broncos. The house is quiet.
And I am so thankful. Which is right where I started this week: thankful.
Grandparents would usually be around. Siblings were all there around the table. At the end of the meal we would play a "fill in the blank" story game called "Benny and Becky's Just Right Thanksgiving." It first appeared in some national periodical back in the 30's, I think.
I've discovered that this week is my favorite holiday of the year. Oh, there's no question that Christmas and Easter are more important to us all in so many ways. They remind us of God's presence and saving power. They bring us face-to-face with a God whose power and love are breath-taking. Cosmos changing. And July 4th has its special charms. Time at the lake, maybe a round or two of skiing, fireworks over the water in the evening. But Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
Not because of the food. (Although Sharon is an amazing cook and always takes better care of us than we deserve.) Not because of the Macy's Parade. Not because we all get a chance to watch the Detroit Lions lose another game.
No, it is because our family gets the chance to just be together. Pastors, at both Easter and Christmas, are pretty focused on preaching and leading worship at those times of the year. We always seem to be coming and going. But the week of Thanksgiving, after preaching a brief word in the beautiful, simple, short Thanksgiving Eve service we have at Trinity, I just sort of stop. I hang out with our family. This week two of our grown sons returned home with their families. Our 16-month old granddaughter was around.
We hang out...eat...watch some football...maybe slip up to Chicago for a day...do dishes...maybe catch at movie on DVD here at home...read news headlines to one another as we sit at the kitchen table and look at The Elkhart Truth, South Bend Tribune, and New York Times. It's good. We just waste time together...share space...breathe the same air.
I love it. As good as it is I ache as the house begins to empty. My siblings head off late on Thanksgiving day. A few days later our kids go off. As Ella is carried to her car by her Mom she looks back at the house...at us. Is it my imagination or is she thinking, "Dang! Is the party over?"
There is a fire in the fireplace. I've just finished the NY Times. Caught some of Indiana's game with Cornell and watched some of the Jets' game with the Broncos. The house is quiet.
And I am so thankful. Which is right where I started this week: thankful.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Play It Where It Lays.
Family and friends.
I've been thinking about family and friends.
Not sure why that is. Maybe it is being in one church for more than 12 years, and getting to know...really know...a whole group of folks. Seeing their strong places, seeing their scared places, seeing their bruised places, seeing their hopeful places, and seeing their stuck places. You know...
stuck. Like a child who keeps tripping over the same toy. Or the football player who can't seem to remember to go left on a particular pass play and always heads in the wrong direction. You get to see people's stuck places. The issue or fear or obsession that keeps tripping them up. And, of course, they have gotten to know me so well they see all my places. They know I am -on some days- all together and some days I am a total mess. You get to know one another pretty well after twelve years.
Perhaps I've been thinking about family and friends because my siblings are getting ready to do some heart work. We're spread out, the five of us, from northwest Chicago to suburban Washington D.C. So getting together will be tough, but we are getting ready to do some heart work... some counseling work. It's been over eight years since our Mom died, and her absence has changed the landscape of the universe for us. So we're going to talk with someone and try to figure out how to move into the future in a loving, connected, healthy way.
One of the wisest words of advice for human relationships I heard on the golf course: "Play it where it lies." There might be an easier shot if the ball were three or four feet to the right, you might shoot a lower score if you didn't have to navigate your way around that stubborn maple tree standing between you and the hole, but you play the ball where it lies.
When we're young many of us expend an extraordinary amount of energy looking for people who aren't stuck...bruised...fearful. There are days when we want to wash our hands of the collection of characters that make up our family.
Wisdom is, though, learning to love people where they are. "Play it where it lies." I think about the buddy who stopped by the house this week. We sat on the patio, watched the fall leaves come down and the river flow by, and talked. Some of our stuff we've been kicking around for the better part of a decade. And I love him. He blesses my life. When he walks into a room the world is a better place. But he and are a both flawed, unfinished creatures. We accept that about one another. That acceptance allows our friendship to flourish.
Simon Peter was an impulsive, talk-first-and-then-think sort of guy. Jesus loved him. Never gave up on him. Even took time to give his friend fishing advice in John 21. And Paul, in 2nd Corinthians, says if we are in Christ we are being made into a new creation.
I'm thankful for the moments when God provides healing to our broken hearts, and moves us beyond our stuck places. I do believe people can change and grow and heal. Mercy and grace are also very good things, and I'm thankful for the wisdom that tells us to love and value people where they are.
"Play it where it lies."
I've been thinking about family and friends.
Not sure why that is. Maybe it is being in one church for more than 12 years, and getting to know...really know...a whole group of folks. Seeing their strong places, seeing their scared places, seeing their bruised places, seeing their hopeful places, and seeing their stuck places. You know...
stuck. Like a child who keeps tripping over the same toy. Or the football player who can't seem to remember to go left on a particular pass play and always heads in the wrong direction. You get to see people's stuck places. The issue or fear or obsession that keeps tripping them up. And, of course, they have gotten to know me so well they see all my places. They know I am -on some days- all together and some days I am a total mess. You get to know one another pretty well after twelve years.
Perhaps I've been thinking about family and friends because my siblings are getting ready to do some heart work. We're spread out, the five of us, from northwest Chicago to suburban Washington D.C. So getting together will be tough, but we are getting ready to do some heart work... some counseling work. It's been over eight years since our Mom died, and her absence has changed the landscape of the universe for us. So we're going to talk with someone and try to figure out how to move into the future in a loving, connected, healthy way.
One of the wisest words of advice for human relationships I heard on the golf course: "Play it where it lies." There might be an easier shot if the ball were three or four feet to the right, you might shoot a lower score if you didn't have to navigate your way around that stubborn maple tree standing between you and the hole, but you play the ball where it lies.
When we're young many of us expend an extraordinary amount of energy looking for people who aren't stuck...bruised...fearful. There are days when we want to wash our hands of the collection of characters that make up our family.
Wisdom is, though, learning to love people where they are. "Play it where it lies." I think about the buddy who stopped by the house this week. We sat on the patio, watched the fall leaves come down and the river flow by, and talked. Some of our stuff we've been kicking around for the better part of a decade. And I love him. He blesses my life. When he walks into a room the world is a better place. But he and are a both flawed, unfinished creatures. We accept that about one another. That acceptance allows our friendship to flourish.
Simon Peter was an impulsive, talk-first-and-then-think sort of guy. Jesus loved him. Never gave up on him. Even took time to give his friend fishing advice in John 21. And Paul, in 2nd Corinthians, says if we are in Christ we are being made into a new creation.
I'm thankful for the moments when God provides healing to our broken hearts, and moves us beyond our stuck places. I do believe people can change and grow and heal. Mercy and grace are also very good things, and I'm thankful for the wisdom that tells us to love and value people where they are.
"Play it where it lies."
Sunday, October 19, 2008
When the Bride Dances.
I was more than a little surprised by the choice of songs. About one hundred of us were gathered in the reception area of an Indianapolis-area country club following a Christian wedding service.
It was the moment when the bride -she looked radiant!- was to dance with her father. The DJ announced that fact. The father was sitting next to me and as he stood up he whispered, "Pray for me." I told him I would be praying for him. The prayer had nothing to do with any dance steps, but with a father's ability to dance with his daughter and keep his full-to-overflowing heart in check. I was praying he could "hold it together."
Usually, at a wedding reception when the bride dances with her father, the song drives everyone in the room to tears. But this bride had chosen the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty Four." It sort of sounds like a bouncy, British pub song. Almost impossible to dance to. And we watched...listened... and many of us smiled.
Sitting there I was struck by the precision and predictability of the elements at a wedding party. There are the pictures following the service. There is the entrance of the wedding party and this is -according to current practices- done to music fit for a hockey game with the booming voice of the DJ naming each member of the group. There is the toast by the best man...the toast by the maid of honor. There is the throwing of the bouquet...often the tossing of a garter. There is the cutting of the cake. (Which often means either the bride or groom -or both- end up wearing much of the cake on their face.)
Then -and only then- it is time for the couple's first dance...then the bride's dance with her dad...the groom's dance with his mom.
One thing follows another. In wedding after wedding.
So I sat there listening to the Beatles, thinking about the power and necessity of ritual in our lives. We Americans like to make things up as we go. We don't want to be trapped by the customs of the past. Mega- churches are filled with worshippers who insist they are tired of the old rituals. People want "new." People want "different."
Then why, at weddings, do we want these same elements...in the same order?
You see I believe there is power in ritual. In knowing what comes next. We're relieved of the stress of having to come up with something new on our own. Knowing the DJ is going to announce the bride's dance with her father allows us to focus on the moment...settle into the moment...and enjoy it. Delight in the relationships...the people side of things.
And, sometimes, the element or ritual was developed for a good reason by people years...decades...ago. Weddings are a swirl of stuff. It'd be easy for a daughter and her dad, in all the racing around and the people to greet, to slip away from one another at the end of the day without really looking one another in the eyes. Remembering. But having that dance, insisted on by the DJ, brings those two together. No wedding coordinators asking questions of the bride, no friends from work trying tell a joke to the dad: just the two of them. Holding onto one another. Moving to the music of that old Beatles' song. Looking one another over. Thinking. Remembering. Getting ready for some kind of new distance between them. Thanking. Forgiving the other for the occasional rough spot. Blessing. They may not say it but there is an unspoken blessing between them.
Someone before us thought about this, and so we have the dance. So there is this ritual.
Leviticus 7 goes into great detail about how the people are to remember God's goodness and offer their sacrifices (explaining the kind of sacrifice required and in what order it is to be given). Life among early Jesus followers is described in Acts 2:43-ff. They attended the temple together, broke bread (whether a communion meal or just sandwiches from Subway), and told one another about the good stuff God was doing in their lives and communities. Participated in a time of praise. There was a pattern.
We say we want new. And new can be such a good thing. But sometimes we seem to exhaust ourselves coming up with the next, cool thing.
Isn't it nice to know what's coming at a wedding party? Isn't it nice not having to re-invent it all every time we're together? Isn't it nice that I can lean back and watch my friend dance with his daughter, and remember when she much younger...and think about the way ahead?
It was the moment when the bride -she looked radiant!- was to dance with her father. The DJ announced that fact. The father was sitting next to me and as he stood up he whispered, "Pray for me." I told him I would be praying for him. The prayer had nothing to do with any dance steps, but with a father's ability to dance with his daughter and keep his full-to-overflowing heart in check. I was praying he could "hold it together."
Usually, at a wedding reception when the bride dances with her father, the song drives everyone in the room to tears. But this bride had chosen the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty Four." It sort of sounds like a bouncy, British pub song. Almost impossible to dance to. And we watched...listened... and many of us smiled.
Sitting there I was struck by the precision and predictability of the elements at a wedding party. There are the pictures following the service. There is the entrance of the wedding party and this is -according to current practices- done to music fit for a hockey game with the booming voice of the DJ naming each member of the group. There is the toast by the best man...the toast by the maid of honor. There is the throwing of the bouquet...often the tossing of a garter. There is the cutting of the cake. (Which often means either the bride or groom -or both- end up wearing much of the cake on their face.)
Then -and only then- it is time for the couple's first dance...then the bride's dance with her dad...the groom's dance with his mom.
One thing follows another. In wedding after wedding.
So I sat there listening to the Beatles, thinking about the power and necessity of ritual in our lives. We Americans like to make things up as we go. We don't want to be trapped by the customs of the past. Mega- churches are filled with worshippers who insist they are tired of the old rituals. People want "new." People want "different."
Then why, at weddings, do we want these same elements...in the same order?
You see I believe there is power in ritual. In knowing what comes next. We're relieved of the stress of having to come up with something new on our own. Knowing the DJ is going to announce the bride's dance with her father allows us to focus on the moment...settle into the moment...and enjoy it. Delight in the relationships...the people side of things.
And, sometimes, the element or ritual was developed for a good reason by people years...decades...ago. Weddings are a swirl of stuff. It'd be easy for a daughter and her dad, in all the racing around and the people to greet, to slip away from one another at the end of the day without really looking one another in the eyes. Remembering. But having that dance, insisted on by the DJ, brings those two together. No wedding coordinators asking questions of the bride, no friends from work trying tell a joke to the dad: just the two of them. Holding onto one another. Moving to the music of that old Beatles' song. Looking one another over. Thinking. Remembering. Getting ready for some kind of new distance between them. Thanking. Forgiving the other for the occasional rough spot. Blessing. They may not say it but there is an unspoken blessing between them.
Someone before us thought about this, and so we have the dance. So there is this ritual.
Leviticus 7 goes into great detail about how the people are to remember God's goodness and offer their sacrifices (explaining the kind of sacrifice required and in what order it is to be given). Life among early Jesus followers is described in Acts 2:43-ff. They attended the temple together, broke bread (whether a communion meal or just sandwiches from Subway), and told one another about the good stuff God was doing in their lives and communities. Participated in a time of praise. There was a pattern.
We say we want new. And new can be such a good thing. But sometimes we seem to exhaust ourselves coming up with the next, cool thing.
Isn't it nice to know what's coming at a wedding party? Isn't it nice not having to re-invent it all every time we're together? Isn't it nice that I can lean back and watch my friend dance with his daughter, and remember when she much younger...and think about the way ahead?
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