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.

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.)

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.

Hanging in There.

Dave and I got to know one another, just slightly, when we were both students in seminary back in the late 70's. We didn't have all that much in common...we just happened to cross paths at Duke.

Herb and I first really hung out together at a National UM Youth Workers' Conference in Estes Park, Colorado, back around 1980. We climbed over boulders, looked down at the valley and up at the mountains, and thought about what the future could be in ministry. In life.

This week the three of us have been in Atlanta for a national preaching festival. Not as preachers or presenters. Nope. We are journeymen preachers but not special enough to merit much attention. With about one thousand others we have been gathering in the new, massive, Gothic-like sanctuary at Peachtree Road United Methodist.

We've heard some great preaching...and lectures. We just finished having lunch with Bishop Woodie White who -retired- lives and teaches here.

In a few hours we head back north.

Here is what I want you to know: hanging in there has its rewards.

There have been times when each one of us was so busy with our own challenges and agendas that it was tough even seeing one another. Contacts were more sporadic. Plans to get away for sermon planning or a continuing education event fell apart and we each kept working in our churches...or dealing with our families.

We hung in there, though. We didn't give up. Friendship is many things, but one of the things it certainly is is hanging in there.

Paul, in Romans 15, prays that God will give the people of Jesus "endurance and encouragmement." He prays they will have unity. And then, in verse 7, he prays that they will accept one another.

The three of us -and our buddy, Steve- work on one another. Coach one another. Confront one another. Along with the days and moments when we just listen and affirm and accept one another.

Our friendship has shown endurance. And that is something good.

Roster Changes.

Today we blessed a pastor named Tom Thews who has been on our pastoral staff here at church for the last three and a half years. He is a tall man. With a kind and loving heart. Cares for people and loves Jesus. Tom loves food and photography and his Triumph sports car.

So we had people contribute to a love gift. We invited the congregation to come together today for a noon catered meal. Paula Dill had balloons and cool signs all over the Fellowship Hall where the meal was held. People went into the Sanctuary for a blessing time. We sang a couple of hymns, people said some things, we gave them a gift, and then people gathered around Tom and Linda to pray for them...bless them.

As the lead pastor here I do everything I can to help our congregation thank the pastors who have loved us and served Jesus with us.

I love Tom. He is going to be nearby in a South Bend parish. We'll stay in touch and I expect to see a lot of him.

Still, I felt some sadness. God is going to use Tom and Linda in the new place. Trinity has good things ahead. God is good...God is generous. But I still felt sadness watching people approach Tom and Linda...talk with him... hug them.

A friend tells me grief is cumulative. And I have said "goodbye" to a lot of good friends who have been in ministry with me. I left the staff at Trinity years ago, when I was an associate pastor, and said goodbye to my senior pastor, Mark Blaising. As a lead pastor I have said goodbye to people like Milly McCann, Ted Jansen, Kurt Nichols, Kerry O'Brien, Toni Carmer, and now Tom. I feel every departure. Most of the people I have served with have become dear friends.

I work hard to keep my game face in place. To keep leading. Do my best to see that our church is leaning forward. Moving on. But inside my heart sags a little.

It isn't just a roster change: a friend has stepped out and moved on. They're not walking these halls. They're not on the other side of the wall where I can talk to them, easily. Ask questions. Work together to solve a problem. Laugh at the nuttiness of life.

It isn't just a roster change. Something has changed. For me. For us as a church. A piece of us will be missing because God has tapped Tom on the shoulder and said, "I need you in a new place."

The cool thing, of course, is each one of these people has left something of themselves with us. There is more joy and kindness in our life at Trinity because of Tom. He leaves that with us as a gift.

Disconnected Prayers.

People this time of year joke about Christmas letters and fruitcake. Folks roll their eyes and grumble about both. Okay - I'll grant you that there are some bad Christmas letters. Full of so much boasting and bragging that you can barely make your way to the end of the note. And there are some bad fruitcakes. Still, I like them both...Christmas letters and holiday fruitcakes.

So I've been reading notes from friends. It's been fun -mostly- hearing what they're up to. How life is going for them. There have been a few stories of pain and loss, too.

One note nearly dropped me on the floor, though. It's from a friend I have known for over twenty years. She is a pedal-to-the-floor Jesus follower. She talks a lot about the Holy Spirit. Some might say she's a Pentecostal Christian in Methodist clothing. My friend is more conservative, theologically, than me.

She has been a tremendous blessing to me. She has offered words of encouragement to me in my life and ministry. She has prayed for me and with me. She has loved me better than I deserve.

Last year, in her Christmas letter, she said she wasn't sure their church's new pastor was going to get the job done. Because he was so unlike his predecessor. I sent her back a note and reminded her that God wires us all differently, and that every pastor -no matter how much we may love and respect them- has weaknesses. One pastor goes and another pastor arrives - the strengths of one complementing the weaknesses of the other.

So this year I open up my friend's Christmas letter and she says something like this: "I meet with Pastor Devon and Pastor Sandy every Sunday between services and pray for them. Still haven't made up my mind but continue to support him."

Okay. Does this strike you as odd? Should I be thankful that my friend, despite her reservations about the lead pastor at their church, is still praying with him...and for him? Or should I be bothered by the disconnect of a person who prays with a pastor, week after week, but is still leaning back, withholding judgment, and not sure?

The New Testament -1st John- says people will know we belong to God by the way we love one another. Jesus says the same thing in John's gospel. Praying for one another, tossing around the Holy Spirit's name, and then waiting to say, "Naw, you don't meet the qualifications I have for a (fill-in-the-blank) just right friend...neighbor... teacher...counselor...youth director...choir director...pastor...Jesus-follower" strikes me as evidence of a critical spirit and love that is conditional to the extreme.

Love doesn't mean we don't hold one another accountable. Christian love doesn't mean we shut off that part of our mind that utilizes wisdom to evaluate people and situations.

But to show up, week after week, praying for someone while inside we are still gathering information, still weighing the evidence, still seeing whether they match up with the list of qualifications we have put together for a parent, friend, coach, teacher, or pastor -there is a disconnect here.

I'm going out on some thin ice, here, but I think my friend's prayers are shallow. Only half-real. It would be more loving, more courageous, more faithful, and more prayerful if my friend would ask to sit down with her pastor. Talk honestly with him about her struggles...her concerns...and risk some honest communication. Take a risk and get to know his heart...how the world looks from where he sits. Now that would be a prayer.

When you pray for people, when you tell them you're pulling for them, when you say they can count on you, are you telling the truth? Or are you just settling for the appearance of prayer...friendship...support?

To support someone is to risk honesty.

That's where it has to start.

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."

Tracing the Source of Tears.

People come into our lives. People leave our lives.

I learned this at an early age. As missionaries our family moved around a lot. I went through first grade in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Second and third grade were in Brussels, Belguim. Fourth and fifth grade were in a public school off 16th street/Emerson on the east side of Indianapolis. I remember, the Friday afternoon before Easter break, saying goodbye to my classmates. Walking my "girl friend" to the corner. We had all been handed a bag of popcorn by our teacher as a "spring break" treat. I handed my bag of popcorn to the girl. She walked straight at the light and I turned right. So I finished 5th grade in Nome, Alaska. And that is where I stayed until the summer before my sophomore year in high school. Then, it was south to the Midwest...to Walkerton, Indiana. The last three years of high school were there.

People come and people go.

There have been other losses. My Dad died on the mission field, in Africa. Before I was four year's old. My brother, Eric, was killed in a car accident on his 5th birthday when I was off at 1st grade. More drama and loss than you'd expect to find in a life so young, right?

So Wednesday evening of this past week I am meeting with lay leaders. They ask me how I am doing...how the church is doing. I tell them. I also tell them I am going -in just a few minutes- to be presenting a Bible to a young boy named Taylor. Other children will get their Bibles on Sunday morning later in October, but I'll be walking over into the church gym in a few minutes and handing Taylor his Bible.

A friend asks, "Are you giving him his Bible tonight because he is moving away with his Dad?"

Suddenly, I can't speak. My eyes fill with tears. I nod. Taylor is a great young young man. He refers to me as "Sermon Mark." Just a few weeks ago he led our 9:15 congregation in the Lord's Prayer. The tears are a puzzle... I wipe them away and go present the Bible. It is a good moment. I tell Taylor God is good and God is going to give him a whole group of new friends. "I know it!" he says in a matter-of-fact way.

I walk out the door. Express to a friend my puzzlement over my tears. She says, "Well, you've had a lot of people walk out of your life. Those losses build up and you don't want to see someone else you love leave."

In worship today I tell the story of Taylor...the Bible...my tears. After our last service of the morning the sanctuary is nearly empty. Children are playing in the worship area. Adults are chatting. Tech people are shutting down the computers and sound system.

A friend named Chris comes up to me. We hug and watch his young grandson crawl around the communion rail. "I think I know what your tears were about," he says. I wait. "You were crying for yourself. You remembered the young boy who moved so much...all the times you had to adjust...and you know the tough work ahead of Taylor."

"Never occurred to me," I think to myself. Really...never thought of that. We stand there quietly. "The truth is," he adds, "many of the tears we cry we cry for ourselves." I don't know quite to say...but it sure feels like Jesus has tip-toed up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "I think I know what those tears were about."

In Psalm 34 the psalmist says (:18, TNIV), "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Funny how God shows up, sometimes, when the sanctuary has emptied out. And you are nearly alone...but not quite. A friend is standing there...beside you.

"How Are You Doing?" Takes Time.

One of regular parts of life for me is the daily trip to the local YMCA. (Okay, let's be honest: It's a time I make about four or five times a week... not daily!)

After awhile you begin to notice the other "regulars." There is Betty, the woman who sits at the registration desk and "buzzes" us through the locked doors. It took me awhile to win her over with my enthusiastic "Good morning, Betty" greeting. But after a few months she started smiling and making sure I had the best towel in the stack to use after my shower. There is Dick, the retiree, who monitors the Cybex (light weights) room and the cardio area (stairclimbers and treadmills and other cool stuff). There is Ernie, the ex-Navy guy who is in his mid 70's and steps carefully, painfully, onto and off of the machines.

And there is another guy. I'll call him "Thomas." Thomas runs the laundry at the Y. He picks up the towels from the locker rooms. He replaces soap in the dispensers in the showers. He cleans out the drains when they're clogged.

I've been going to the Elkhart Y for more than 12 years, and it wasn't until about 8 months ago that I learned Thomas' name. When I would see him I would say, "Good morning, Thomas." Or I would thank him for what he does, "Thanks for taking care of the towels and the shower room, Thomas." And when I would be on my way out I'd say, "Have a good day, Thomas."

What did I get back? Nothing. Maybe a grunt. But usually nothing.

Then, a week ago, he walked up behind me and said, "How are you doing?" I didn't say anything because I thought he was talking to another guy standing nearby. Then, I realized he was talking to me!

For the last week every time he sees me, Thomas says, "Good morning." Or, "How are you doing?" Or, "Have a good day."

I am sort of surprised. I didn't think our relationship was ever going to move off a grunt. Not get to this place.

I've been thinking about this all day. Since this morning when Thomas asked, again, how I was doing.

It's a reminder, I think, that sometimes "How are you doing?" takes time. Relationships require patience. You just keep plugging away.

Sort of like putting out a humming bird feeder. You get it all set out, just right, but nothing happens. You keep cleaning the feeder, mixing the sugar and water, filling it up, and watching...waiting. It seems like a silly, hopeless thing to do. Then, oneday, you notice this small bird hovering, darting, moving, feeding.

In my line of work we encourage people to reach out to other people. Take the initiative in showing care and interest. Listening to the other person's life. In my line of work -as a pastor- we nudge people to build relationships, and invite others to swing by our church and give our donuts and coffee, our love and heart, our groups and worship, a try. "Go make disciples," we say quoting Matthew 28. "Go tell others."

I know it can be a frustrating thing. You mention to your lunch buddy, every year in November, the possibility of coming to Christmas Eve worship with you. You talk to kid on the soccer team about youth fellowship or summer camp. Nothing. Nada. (Is that how you spell that?) You feel like you are in a rowboat and you are nudging an iceberg the size of Texas.

Maybe it never moves. Maybe nothing changes.

Or, maybe, oneday you turn around and Thomas is saying, "How are you doing?"