The afternoon of Christmas Eve our family was getting ready to head downtown for the 5:30 Christmas Pageant at First United Methodist. While some of the children in the pageant work hard to memorize lines, and the adult leaders have the young people amazingly well prepared, the whole thing is a rather chaotic, wild, rich, swirling, beautiful mess. (Which happens to draw hundreds of people...so that the sanctuary is, year after year, nearly full.)
As we were getting ready we asked four year old Ella and two year old Olivia if they wanted to be angels in the pageant. Olivia, who is a cute little brown-eyed thing, said, "No, I want to be a dragon."
Many of us have been reading stories for years about children wanting to play their own roles in Christmas pageants. Someone told me that a girl in the last year or two here at First wanted to be a dog at the manger! They had advertised roles as sheep, donkeys, cattle, wisemen, etc. but this young woman wanted to be a dog.
Livy said, "I want to be a dragon." It is hard to see this little girl as a dragon. She sure looks more like an angel to Grandpa but there must be a dragon in there wanting to get out!
The cool thing is that when we got to the church, where adults were helping children into costumes, Nicole heard that Olivia wanted to be a dragon and she smiled. She said, "Sure, she can be a dragon. Let's see what we can find..."
I like the idea that God welcomes not only donkeys, cattle, and sheep at the manger...but also dragons. Luke would have understood, I think. Luke makes a point of telling us that the first visitors to the manger were shepherds. And shepherds were considered dirty, ritually unclean, impulsive, and untrustworthy. There were, I once said in a sermon, the first century's version of traveling carnival workers.
We have a God who is big enough to make a place at the manger for dragons. Wild things. Untamed creatures. Who set fields and trees on fire when they sneeze. Whose appearance is unsettling...and whose scales are rough. But who, in their eyes, have the light of God's kingdom.
Showing posts with label grace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grace. Show all posts
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Thriller.
My first experience with the music of Michael Jackson was during college. When a lot of hard rock was screaming away, I would walk through the Student Union at IU and hear The Jackson Five singing "I'll Be There" or "ABC." The music certainly wasn't Cream or The Band or Chicago or Dylan, but it was good...made the world feel lighter. Brighter.
Now, as the stories of the pressure on young Michael to record one hit record after another come out, I realize the price he paid to be successful
- and please all those adults around him who kept pushing. And pushing. And pushing him.
His appearance began to change years ago. Later in life Michael did not resemble at all the handsome young black man who first came on the scene back in the late 60's and early 70's. I've heard speculation -there is plenty of that going around right now, isn't there?- that he had over fifty surgical procedures done to change his look
The more successful he became, the more bizarre his life choices seemed to get. Poor choices, bad investments, drug abuse...you name it. It was like watching a plane come apart, slowly, high in the air. We were left to wonder where the wreckage would land.
The more successful he became, the more unhappy he seemed to be.
The more people there were in his security detail, his retinue, the more lonely he appeared.
Everyone is saying he was the greatest. Certainly, the album "Thriller" is top selling LP/CD of all time. The greatest? I'm not so sure about that. It seems like we often use the word "greatest" to describe the latest celebrity or actor or musician to die.
I wonder what Michael wanted to look like -and why? I wonder why he seemed determined to erase every trace of the face he had as a young adult. Was it an attempt, as some say, to remove any connection -in terms of appearance- with the father who pushed him...and appears to have used him for his own financial gain? Was it an attempt to become "white?" Was it an attempt to copy someone he knew...admired...had seen in a crowd...or on the pages of some magazine? Who was he trying to be... what was he trying to hide?
Everyone talks about how many times Michael Jackson had doctors work on his face to change his look. The truth is we are all tempted to hide our faces, aren't we? More often than we want to admit we spend a good part of our lives trying to take on the face of the person we want to be. We do our very best to create a mask and live behind that mask.
Always in control.
Always okay.
Never a doubt in the world.
Strong always...never weak...never dependent on another human being.
Always happy.
Successful.
There are all these masks we slip on. The difference between us and Michael, though, is our desperate attempt to become someone else... hide the real us...isn't so obvious.
The sad thing about all of this is that when God made Michael Jackson, God made him beautiful. The psalmist in Psalm 139 remembers (:13) how God was doing something good when God made him: "You created every part of me; you put me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because you are to be feared; all you do is trange and wonderful. I know it with all my heart. When my bones were being formed, carefully put together in my mother's womb, when I was growing there in secret, you knew that I was there - you saw me before I was born."
Sometimes we try running from the man in the mirror.
Grace invites us to stop running. See us as God sees us. And be whole.
Now, as the stories of the pressure on young Michael to record one hit record after another come out, I realize the price he paid to be successful
- and please all those adults around him who kept pushing. And pushing. And pushing him.
His appearance began to change years ago. Later in life Michael did not resemble at all the handsome young black man who first came on the scene back in the late 60's and early 70's. I've heard speculation -there is plenty of that going around right now, isn't there?- that he had over fifty surgical procedures done to change his look
The more successful he became, the more bizarre his life choices seemed to get. Poor choices, bad investments, drug abuse...you name it. It was like watching a plane come apart, slowly, high in the air. We were left to wonder where the wreckage would land.
The more successful he became, the more unhappy he seemed to be.
The more people there were in his security detail, his retinue, the more lonely he appeared.
Everyone is saying he was the greatest. Certainly, the album "Thriller" is top selling LP/CD of all time. The greatest? I'm not so sure about that. It seems like we often use the word "greatest" to describe the latest celebrity or actor or musician to die.
I wonder what Michael wanted to look like -and why? I wonder why he seemed determined to erase every trace of the face he had as a young adult. Was it an attempt, as some say, to remove any connection -in terms of appearance- with the father who pushed him...and appears to have used him for his own financial gain? Was it an attempt to become "white?" Was it an attempt to copy someone he knew...admired...had seen in a crowd...or on the pages of some magazine? Who was he trying to be... what was he trying to hide?
Everyone talks about how many times Michael Jackson had doctors work on his face to change his look. The truth is we are all tempted to hide our faces, aren't we? More often than we want to admit we spend a good part of our lives trying to take on the face of the person we want to be. We do our very best to create a mask and live behind that mask.
Always in control.
Always okay.
Never a doubt in the world.
Strong always...never weak...never dependent on another human being.
Always happy.
Successful.
There are all these masks we slip on. The difference between us and Michael, though, is our desperate attempt to become someone else... hide the real us...isn't so obvious.
The sad thing about all of this is that when God made Michael Jackson, God made him beautiful. The psalmist in Psalm 139 remembers (:13) how God was doing something good when God made him: "You created every part of me; you put me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because you are to be feared; all you do is trange and wonderful. I know it with all my heart. When my bones were being formed, carefully put together in my mother's womb, when I was growing there in secret, you knew that I was there - you saw me before I was born."
Sometimes we try running from the man in the mirror.
Grace invites us to stop running. See us as God sees us. And be whole.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Graced Filled Waffles.
They've always been places I drove by, those ubiquitous Waffle House restaurants along main highways and interstates. The last time I remember being in one, before this Spring, was the Fall of 1975 in Durham, North Carolina.
They just never were a place I wanted to stop.
A few weeks ago, though, I found myself in Buckhead, Georgia. Attending a conference of preachers. It was late enough the cool coffee shop down the road had closed up. So two friends and I found the only place open that might offer an inexpensive cup of coffee: a Waffle House.
Other than ourselves, there was only one other paying customer. Three employees were working the place. All African-Americans. They seemed glad to see us. Seemed thankful for the company. Stood nearby while we had our coffee and our raisin toast...our slice of pie...and talked with us. About the weather and traffic in Atlanta and the way folks from South Carolina talk. About the weather up north. One woman told us about her son, who is graduating from Oberlin College, and her youngest who is doing well in school...she sees to that! There was such a gracious spirit in that place!
Last night, here in Columbus, we didn't leave the hospital -where our second granddaughter had just been born the day before- until after 11. None of us had supper. Not many options at 11:20 at night if you are looking for something other than a hamburger. So I pulled into another Waffle House located across from a truck stop...and adjacent to I-670 West.
Ella, our 21-month old granddaughter, was a bit worn around the edges. Sharon rocked her. We ordered something to eat and then Sharon walked Ella outside. They stood there in the night air, under a nearly full moon, and the little girl found her second wind.
Our waitress was young. Doing her best. Working behind the counter. Unaware that her co-workers had taped a ragged piece of white paper to her back that said, KICK ME. When she forgot my decafe coffee she came over and apologized. Then, tried to finish a cheeseburger she had ordered, and which was growing cold on the plate sitting on the counter.
Sharon, Ella and I sat in the booth. Ella refused any food...but she did dip her finger in the syrup on my waffle and lick the sweetness off her finger! An older woman was sitting in a booth, by herself, about twelve feet away from us. She watched us...watched Ella. Sharon told her about Ella...how old she is.
Before we left the older woman, Agnes, approached our table. She bent down to talk with Ella. Asked her if she had a piggy bank. Ella looked perplexed. The woman opened her hand to reveal two quarters. "Put one in your piggy bank," she said quietly, "and put one in the piggy bank of your new, little sister."
The woman didn't look like she had two nickles to rub together -let alone quarters to give away.
I found myself thinking about the widow in the Jerusalem temple. Putting her last copper coins in the temple's offering box as a way of saying "thank you" to God. No one else noticed what she did, but Jesus had his eyes on her the whole time. And he told us about her.
I also found myself thinking of the Sermon on the Mount. Where Jesus says the poor and the humble and the seekers after God will be blessed.
Looking around, as I paid my bill, I had a hunch Jesus would have hung out in places like that...with people like that. We sing and talk a lot about God's grace in churches. Theologians write about that in journals and books too heavy to lift. Then, you pull into the parking lot of a Waffle House. The sound of tractor-trailers a non-musical backdrop to the scene. A nearly full moon adding a touch of beauty to such an ordinary setting. And you come face-to-face with grace.
It's surprising...which is a kind of judgement, you know? We talk about God's grace being loose in the world, and then we are surprised when we run into it.
Somehow, as I drive north and west tonight, towards home...I hunch that these places...glowing with their yellow lights late into the night...will not look the same to me.
They just never were a place I wanted to stop.
A few weeks ago, though, I found myself in Buckhead, Georgia. Attending a conference of preachers. It was late enough the cool coffee shop down the road had closed up. So two friends and I found the only place open that might offer an inexpensive cup of coffee: a Waffle House.
Other than ourselves, there was only one other paying customer. Three employees were working the place. All African-Americans. They seemed glad to see us. Seemed thankful for the company. Stood nearby while we had our coffee and our raisin toast...our slice of pie...and talked with us. About the weather and traffic in Atlanta and the way folks from South Carolina talk. About the weather up north. One woman told us about her son, who is graduating from Oberlin College, and her youngest who is doing well in school...she sees to that! There was such a gracious spirit in that place!
Last night, here in Columbus, we didn't leave the hospital -where our second granddaughter had just been born the day before- until after 11. None of us had supper. Not many options at 11:20 at night if you are looking for something other than a hamburger. So I pulled into another Waffle House located across from a truck stop...and adjacent to I-670 West.
Ella, our 21-month old granddaughter, was a bit worn around the edges. Sharon rocked her. We ordered something to eat and then Sharon walked Ella outside. They stood there in the night air, under a nearly full moon, and the little girl found her second wind.
Our waitress was young. Doing her best. Working behind the counter. Unaware that her co-workers had taped a ragged piece of white paper to her back that said, KICK ME. When she forgot my decafe coffee she came over and apologized. Then, tried to finish a cheeseburger she had ordered, and which was growing cold on the plate sitting on the counter.
Sharon, Ella and I sat in the booth. Ella refused any food...but she did dip her finger in the syrup on my waffle and lick the sweetness off her finger! An older woman was sitting in a booth, by herself, about twelve feet away from us. She watched us...watched Ella. Sharon told her about Ella...how old she is.
Before we left the older woman, Agnes, approached our table. She bent down to talk with Ella. Asked her if she had a piggy bank. Ella looked perplexed. The woman opened her hand to reveal two quarters. "Put one in your piggy bank," she said quietly, "and put one in the piggy bank of your new, little sister."
The woman didn't look like she had two nickles to rub together -let alone quarters to give away.
I found myself thinking about the widow in the Jerusalem temple. Putting her last copper coins in the temple's offering box as a way of saying "thank you" to God. No one else noticed what she did, but Jesus had his eyes on her the whole time. And he told us about her.
I also found myself thinking of the Sermon on the Mount. Where Jesus says the poor and the humble and the seekers after God will be blessed.
Looking around, as I paid my bill, I had a hunch Jesus would have hung out in places like that...with people like that. We sing and talk a lot about God's grace in churches. Theologians write about that in journals and books too heavy to lift. Then, you pull into the parking lot of a Waffle House. The sound of tractor-trailers a non-musical backdrop to the scene. A nearly full moon adding a touch of beauty to such an ordinary setting. And you come face-to-face with grace.
It's surprising...which is a kind of judgement, you know? We talk about God's grace being loose in the world, and then we are surprised when we run into it.
Somehow, as I drive north and west tonight, towards home...I hunch that these places...glowing with their yellow lights late into the night...will not look the same to me.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Love in the Ragged Places.
I enjoy being very active...working out, waterskiing, etc. But I also love to read. Over the last two weeks I have spent a lot of time reading. Some history, a silly detective/mystery novel by a Floridian, a wonderful account of the Beatles and their music...the culture of the 60's and 70's.
One book I savored was Will Allison's "What You Have Left." Never heard of Will, before, but he has some ties to Indiana and Ohio. The book is about a young girl in South Carolina whose mother is killed in a water skiing accident. Her father feels overwhelmed, and so he drops his daughter off at her Grandfather's. Says he'll come back for her in a day or two...and then disappears.
Her Grandpa loves her and cares for her (the cover of the book has a child falling out of the sky into the arms of a surprised looking middle-aged man). He hangs in there when she runs away...keeps loving her.
The girl, Holly, does okay. She says she has no expectation -or need- for her father, but there is this persistent desire to find him... re-connect with him...punish him for his abandonment. There are times when Holly is a mess. She drinks too much. She is loved by a young man who wants to marry her, but she has this way of taking the engagement ring off and throwing it when she is frustrated. Holly gambles thousands of dollars of their savings away, years after they are married.
Finally, near the end of the book, she finds her father. He is a mechanic in another town. Struggling with some health issues. And racing stock cars at a local track.
I finished the book as Sharon drove us towards home from the Indianapolis airport. When I closed the book I just sat and looked at the fields... the trees with their bright, green, new leaves...the redbuds in blossom back in the Hoosier woods. And I thought about how love is rarely simple...or easy. Love doesn't move in a straight line, but it takes off in a zag here and a zig there.
One of the life patterns I've bumped into, time and time again, is the life story of women being abandoned by their dads or grandpas. It's more common than you might think, and -tragically- more and more frequent. For some reason men step out of the lives of their daughters early on, and there is -despite the best efforts of the young women to heal and even fill their broken hearts with the love of God- always this aching, sad place in the women's lives. I'm not sure why men leave...I don't understand it. I'd like to ask men who have jumped ship, but perhaps they would all have a different story...different reasons.
So I thought about that, and I also thought about the way my Mom died just over eight years ago this Spring. She was an incredible woman. Amazing faith in God despite fearsome losses...a husband early on, multiple miscarriages, the death of two sons (one by Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and the other in a car accident), losing her home in Africa, and spending 4 1/2 years blessing and giving and surviving in northwest Alaska. My mom, Anita, spoke all over America to church groups. She was an eloquent spokeswoman for the Christian faith, and led weekend retreats from her to both coasts.
When she was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer (I remember the night...Notre Dame had played a home game in the NIT basketball tournament the day she received the test results...my Dad called late at night...and I knew that wasn't good), she pulled back. She pulled in. She pulled away from me...my siblings...and into a private world that none of us were allowed to visit.
So we never had "closure," as some experts call it. We never had a chance to say what we wanted to say...needed to say...to one another. Her funeral was a gathering of lay people and church leaders from across the state of Indiana. It was a big deal...but for those of us closest to her it felt like she had slipped out the side door just ahead of us. Without saying "goodbye."
Why do I say all of this? Well, I figure when you love people you love them on their terms. Each and every one of us is a work in progress. Each and every one of us has flaws...fears...and there are some dents in our psychic "bumper" that no soul "body man" is going to knock out and smooth off.
Holly meets up with her absent father, who has failed in all sorts of ways, but there is grace in the reunion. My Mom left this world in a way that just puzzled the heck out of those of us most close to her, but she was an amazing woman. A real case. Could put words together that would fill your heart with faith, and she was always late...ate Hostess Cupcakes while drinking Diet Tab...and had a "thing" for jewelery.
When you love someone, you love them.
Even when there are ragged places. I think that may be what Paul was trying to help us see in 1st Corinthians 13: "love is patient and kind... love bears all things."
One book I savored was Will Allison's "What You Have Left." Never heard of Will, before, but he has some ties to Indiana and Ohio. The book is about a young girl in South Carolina whose mother is killed in a water skiing accident. Her father feels overwhelmed, and so he drops his daughter off at her Grandfather's. Says he'll come back for her in a day or two...and then disappears.
Her Grandpa loves her and cares for her (the cover of the book has a child falling out of the sky into the arms of a surprised looking middle-aged man). He hangs in there when she runs away...keeps loving her.
The girl, Holly, does okay. She says she has no expectation -or need- for her father, but there is this persistent desire to find him... re-connect with him...punish him for his abandonment. There are times when Holly is a mess. She drinks too much. She is loved by a young man who wants to marry her, but she has this way of taking the engagement ring off and throwing it when she is frustrated. Holly gambles thousands of dollars of their savings away, years after they are married.
Finally, near the end of the book, she finds her father. He is a mechanic in another town. Struggling with some health issues. And racing stock cars at a local track.
I finished the book as Sharon drove us towards home from the Indianapolis airport. When I closed the book I just sat and looked at the fields... the trees with their bright, green, new leaves...the redbuds in blossom back in the Hoosier woods. And I thought about how love is rarely simple...or easy. Love doesn't move in a straight line, but it takes off in a zag here and a zig there.
One of the life patterns I've bumped into, time and time again, is the life story of women being abandoned by their dads or grandpas. It's more common than you might think, and -tragically- more and more frequent. For some reason men step out of the lives of their daughters early on, and there is -despite the best efforts of the young women to heal and even fill their broken hearts with the love of God- always this aching, sad place in the women's lives. I'm not sure why men leave...I don't understand it. I'd like to ask men who have jumped ship, but perhaps they would all have a different story...different reasons.
So I thought about that, and I also thought about the way my Mom died just over eight years ago this Spring. She was an incredible woman. Amazing faith in God despite fearsome losses...a husband early on, multiple miscarriages, the death of two sons (one by Sudden Infant Death Syndrome and the other in a car accident), losing her home in Africa, and spending 4 1/2 years blessing and giving and surviving in northwest Alaska. My mom, Anita, spoke all over America to church groups. She was an eloquent spokeswoman for the Christian faith, and led weekend retreats from her to both coasts.
When she was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer (I remember the night...Notre Dame had played a home game in the NIT basketball tournament the day she received the test results...my Dad called late at night...and I knew that wasn't good), she pulled back. She pulled in. She pulled away from me...my siblings...and into a private world that none of us were allowed to visit.
So we never had "closure," as some experts call it. We never had a chance to say what we wanted to say...needed to say...to one another. Her funeral was a gathering of lay people and church leaders from across the state of Indiana. It was a big deal...but for those of us closest to her it felt like she had slipped out the side door just ahead of us. Without saying "goodbye."
Why do I say all of this? Well, I figure when you love people you love them on their terms. Each and every one of us is a work in progress. Each and every one of us has flaws...fears...and there are some dents in our psychic "bumper" that no soul "body man" is going to knock out and smooth off.
Holly meets up with her absent father, who has failed in all sorts of ways, but there is grace in the reunion. My Mom left this world in a way that just puzzled the heck out of those of us most close to her, but she was an amazing woman. A real case. Could put words together that would fill your heart with faith, and she was always late...ate Hostess Cupcakes while drinking Diet Tab...and had a "thing" for jewelery.
When you love someone, you love them.
Even when there are ragged places. I think that may be what Paul was trying to help us see in 1st Corinthians 13: "love is patient and kind... love bears all things."
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Losing a Sanctuary.
I've never been a drinker (of alcohol...poured a lot of diet pop and sweet tea down my throat, but not liquor). And I used to smile when I would hear the theme song to the hit comedy Cheers come on the tv. Everyone wants to go where "someone knows your name."
I've found, as life has carried me along, that everyone needs a place to go. For the last couple of years my place to go has been The Heavenly Brew. It's a coffee shop on East Jackson here in Elkhart. Sharon and Bill Wargo took a little house, that had been a florist shop, and turned it into a warm place with soft lighting, tables and booths, a wood floor, some art work...and great stuff to eat and drink. (I have had a particular affinity for their baked blueberry oatmeal, blueberry muffins, and Better Morning Muffins.) It was a place to go with my books and Bible and magazines. It was a place where I could stop, after working out at the Y, take a deep breath...look ahead to the day...and get centered.
The sweet thing is that Sharon and her staff got to know me. They knew what I would want. They could tell when I needed a tall glass of ice water to cool down after my workouts. They knew me...they were glad to see me...and they did their best to make sure everything was okay.
It's been my sanctuary. My place to go.
The retail food business is always tough, but the last couple of months have been a very rough climate in which to make a dollar. So today is Sharon's last day at The Heavenly Brew. They're closing. Keeping the place going has sort of swallowed up every hour of most days, for Sharon, and it's time to give thanks for this chapter and walk away.
I told her, oneday, that God has something out there...ahead...for her. I told her this has been great...and that she has done something really good. Given us all a good place to stop...to meet friends.
But I've lost a sanctuary and I'm not sure where to go next. I'm looking around.
You might pray for the place I choose. I used to hang out at Java Jungle out on #17 and they closed. Then, I would go to Sips & Scones on #20 for coffee and a place to outline sermons. They closed. Great place but they couldn't make a go of it. Now, The Heavenly Brew is shutting its doors. I feel like the Angel of Death for anyone running an independent coffee shop.
We all need a place, you know?
Wondering what my experience at The Heavenly Brew has to say to those of us Jesus followers who gather in places we call sanctuaries each week?
Jesus, Luke 11 tells us, went off to a "certain place" (TNIV) to pray. A certain place. Everyone needs a certain place.
I've found, as life has carried me along, that everyone needs a place to go. For the last couple of years my place to go has been The Heavenly Brew. It's a coffee shop on East Jackson here in Elkhart. Sharon and Bill Wargo took a little house, that had been a florist shop, and turned it into a warm place with soft lighting, tables and booths, a wood floor, some art work...and great stuff to eat and drink. (I have had a particular affinity for their baked blueberry oatmeal, blueberry muffins, and Better Morning Muffins.) It was a place to go with my books and Bible and magazines. It was a place where I could stop, after working out at the Y, take a deep breath...look ahead to the day...and get centered.
The sweet thing is that Sharon and her staff got to know me. They knew what I would want. They could tell when I needed a tall glass of ice water to cool down after my workouts. They knew me...they were glad to see me...and they did their best to make sure everything was okay.
It's been my sanctuary. My place to go.
The retail food business is always tough, but the last couple of months have been a very rough climate in which to make a dollar. So today is Sharon's last day at The Heavenly Brew. They're closing. Keeping the place going has sort of swallowed up every hour of most days, for Sharon, and it's time to give thanks for this chapter and walk away.
I told her, oneday, that God has something out there...ahead...for her. I told her this has been great...and that she has done something really good. Given us all a good place to stop...to meet friends.
But I've lost a sanctuary and I'm not sure where to go next. I'm looking around.
You might pray for the place I choose. I used to hang out at Java Jungle out on #17 and they closed. Then, I would go to Sips & Scones on #20 for coffee and a place to outline sermons. They closed. Great place but they couldn't make a go of it. Now, The Heavenly Brew is shutting its doors. I feel like the Angel of Death for anyone running an independent coffee shop.
We all need a place, you know?
Wondering what my experience at The Heavenly Brew has to say to those of us Jesus followers who gather in places we call sanctuaries each week?
Jesus, Luke 11 tells us, went off to a "certain place" (TNIV) to pray. A certain place. Everyone needs a certain place.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
2 Strikes and You're Out?
After reading the story in today's local paper about Elkhart Memorial High School's basketball coach, Mark Barnhizer, I find myself wondering if we haven't changed the rules of the game. I'm wondering if, in this era when every failure and mistake is amplified, if we haven't gone to "2 strikes and you're out."
Here is what the paper said. The coach was driving home and changed lanes in an erratic manner. A police officer stopped him. Mark's blood alcohol was okay but a test revealed the presence of some kind of drug in his system. (He said it was a painkiller for his feet.) When the officer discovered the coach's driver's license was suspended, Barnhizer was put in jail. And not released until sometime in the afternoon on the following day.
He made it to the IHSAA regional game, where the Chargers were playing Valporaiso, late in the 4th quarter. He apologized to his players after the game. He told them, "I let you down." The team, with one voice, responded, "No you didn't, coach!" They told Mark they loved him.
Apparently, the coach has had his license suspended several times. So I don't know what that is all about, but I would "coach" him to get that part of his life straightened out.
People say he is a good coach. His players love and respect. The sportswriter in the article today cautions people not to lose perspective.
I'm not sure how this will end, but I see us tossing people overboard when they do something foolish or stupid. One strike or two and you're out! I know there are people like Madoff who keep doing the wrong thing over and over and over again. Who have no shame and participate in one criminal act after the other. But it seems to me that we haven't pretty quick to write people off.
As I finished the newspaper article, I remember a day when I was on a muscle relaxant for a herniated disk. I was very young. An associate pastor at Trinity. I decided to get out of bed and go visit the parishioners who were in the hospital. As I walked through the kitchen to get to the garage, Sharon said, "Where are you going?" I told her I was going to visit folks in the hospital, and I would be right back. I would be very careful. "You're not supposed to drive when you are taking that," she said. "It'll be okay."
I backed out of the garage and ran into my mother-in-law's car. Feeling like an idiot, I pulled back into the garage, turned off the car, walked back through the house, and got back into bed. It wasn't headline stuff because it happened in my driveway, and I was an associate pastor. Not the coach of a team in the regionals.
Just wondering if we have changed the rules.
Here is what the paper said. The coach was driving home and changed lanes in an erratic manner. A police officer stopped him. Mark's blood alcohol was okay but a test revealed the presence of some kind of drug in his system. (He said it was a painkiller for his feet.) When the officer discovered the coach's driver's license was suspended, Barnhizer was put in jail. And not released until sometime in the afternoon on the following day.
He made it to the IHSAA regional game, where the Chargers were playing Valporaiso, late in the 4th quarter. He apologized to his players after the game. He told them, "I let you down." The team, with one voice, responded, "No you didn't, coach!" They told Mark they loved him.
Apparently, the coach has had his license suspended several times. So I don't know what that is all about, but I would "coach" him to get that part of his life straightened out.
People say he is a good coach. His players love and respect. The sportswriter in the article today cautions people not to lose perspective.
I'm not sure how this will end, but I see us tossing people overboard when they do something foolish or stupid. One strike or two and you're out! I know there are people like Madoff who keep doing the wrong thing over and over and over again. Who have no shame and participate in one criminal act after the other. But it seems to me that we haven't pretty quick to write people off.
As I finished the newspaper article, I remember a day when I was on a muscle relaxant for a herniated disk. I was very young. An associate pastor at Trinity. I decided to get out of bed and go visit the parishioners who were in the hospital. As I walked through the kitchen to get to the garage, Sharon said, "Where are you going?" I told her I was going to visit folks in the hospital, and I would be right back. I would be very careful. "You're not supposed to drive when you are taking that," she said. "It'll be okay."
I backed out of the garage and ran into my mother-in-law's car. Feeling like an idiot, I pulled back into the garage, turned off the car, walked back through the house, and got back into bed. It wasn't headline stuff because it happened in my driveway, and I was an associate pastor. Not the coach of a team in the regionals.
Just wondering if we have changed the rules.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Do Distracted, Tired Angels Still Sing?
If you look up the word angel in the dictionary you're certainly not going to see my picture. I'm not sure I'm qualified to do certified, angel-type work.
I'm sure the shepherds, in Luke's account of the birth of Jesus, probably felt the same way. They were sort of among the "untouchables" of Palestinian society. Their work kept them dirty and prevented them from keeping Jewish kosher laws and observing many of the religious rituals. The closest thing to shepherds in modern-day life in the Midwest might be carnival workers. That interesting tribe of folks who move from town to town and set up the rides.
Even though I'm not qualified to be an angel, God asks me to show up every Christmas and tell the story. Explain to a room full of people what the birth of Jesus means. Some of the folks are half-asleep, still trying to recover from that second slice of pie at dinner. Some are grouchy because they have been dragged to church against their will. A few are intoxicated. And there are a few who are leaning forward on their chair, longing to hear a word from God.
This Christmas I was fighting a cold. I was tired and distracted. If I were a pitcher -and I suppose every preacher is a pitcher- this Christmas I would have told my "manager", "I don't think I have good stuff, Skipper."
So I felt off my game. Wooden. The music was astounding...beautiful... inspiring. The dancers were a delight. The Christmas video was just right. And I felt tired. Wooden. The words tumbling out of my mouth and falling to the ground. Instead of soaring what I had to say seemed to fall to the ground...nearly lifeless.
The good news, of course, is that Jesus is still born. Despite what I may feel like or the quality of my work. Jesus is still born. God still comes. Salvation has to do with the grace of an all-powerful love and is not dependent on my ability to be always "up." Always "on." Always able to bring the 90-mile fastball.
Sometimes God calls unlikely characters to carry a message. I wonder if any of the shepherds were distracted or tired. I wonder if they were feeling the cold or worrying about the sheep that had been left behind.
It's cool that they still showed up, isn't it?
I'm sure the shepherds, in Luke's account of the birth of Jesus, probably felt the same way. They were sort of among the "untouchables" of Palestinian society. Their work kept them dirty and prevented them from keeping Jewish kosher laws and observing many of the religious rituals. The closest thing to shepherds in modern-day life in the Midwest might be carnival workers. That interesting tribe of folks who move from town to town and set up the rides.
Even though I'm not qualified to be an angel, God asks me to show up every Christmas and tell the story. Explain to a room full of people what the birth of Jesus means. Some of the folks are half-asleep, still trying to recover from that second slice of pie at dinner. Some are grouchy because they have been dragged to church against their will. A few are intoxicated. And there are a few who are leaning forward on their chair, longing to hear a word from God.
This Christmas I was fighting a cold. I was tired and distracted. If I were a pitcher -and I suppose every preacher is a pitcher- this Christmas I would have told my "manager", "I don't think I have good stuff, Skipper."
So I felt off my game. Wooden. The music was astounding...beautiful... inspiring. The dancers were a delight. The Christmas video was just right. And I felt tired. Wooden. The words tumbling out of my mouth and falling to the ground. Instead of soaring what I had to say seemed to fall to the ground...nearly lifeless.
The good news, of course, is that Jesus is still born. Despite what I may feel like or the quality of my work. Jesus is still born. God still comes. Salvation has to do with the grace of an all-powerful love and is not dependent on my ability to be always "up." Always "on." Always able to bring the 90-mile fastball.
Sometimes God calls unlikely characters to carry a message. I wonder if any of the shepherds were distracted or tired. I wonder if they were feeling the cold or worrying about the sheep that had been left behind.
It's cool that they still showed up, isn't it?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Falling Apart - Gracefully.
Health is something I have never taken for granted. The ability to get out of a chair, run across the yard, study the snow filtering down past the pale, pink light of the streetlight across the way: all of it is a miracle.
A friend of mine told me that at 50 everything seems to fall apart. I smiled when he said that. As someone who gets to the Y to workout three or four times a week, and looks surprisingly young (!), I knew the "everything seems to fall apart" statement just didn't apply to me.
My 57 must be 50 in "preacher years." About a year my eyes started giving me fits. The doctor couldn't figure it out. Things just get blurry now and then. Then, things clear up!
Late this summer I pointed out a bump on the top of my head that looked suspicious. Two weeks ago I had a second small bit of surgery on that...turned out to be a skin cancer. Nothing to write home about but still... (I did ask the doctor if he would take enough that the results would be an "on the cheap" face lift. He just smiles at my stupid jokes!)
Then, about 9 weeks ago I was skiing with friends at Hamilton Lake, and my buddy pushed the throttle forward on his high-powered boat. I was in the water, on skis, and I could feel something tear in my right hand. There have been occasional periods of numbness in my right hand and so I went to see the doctor today - and he is sending me to a hand surgeon.
Told Dr. Yoder I want the right arm in great shape by the time summer rolls around. There is another season of skiing just around the corner!
So I guess I am mortal. That isn't a bad thing to remember.
Even when things break or fall off or wear out, you know, God has blessed us with these bodies. Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we have been fearfully and wonderfully made.
I still don't take every blessed day for granted. It's all a miracle.
Falling apart -physically- is a part of life. My goal is do that gracefully! Honestly, I've got no complaints...not really.
A friend of mine told me that at 50 everything seems to fall apart. I smiled when he said that. As someone who gets to the Y to workout three or four times a week, and looks surprisingly young (!), I knew the "everything seems to fall apart" statement just didn't apply to me.
My 57 must be 50 in "preacher years." About a year my eyes started giving me fits. The doctor couldn't figure it out. Things just get blurry now and then. Then, things clear up!
Late this summer I pointed out a bump on the top of my head that looked suspicious. Two weeks ago I had a second small bit of surgery on that...turned out to be a skin cancer. Nothing to write home about but still... (I did ask the doctor if he would take enough that the results would be an "on the cheap" face lift. He just smiles at my stupid jokes!)
Then, about 9 weeks ago I was skiing with friends at Hamilton Lake, and my buddy pushed the throttle forward on his high-powered boat. I was in the water, on skis, and I could feel something tear in my right hand. There have been occasional periods of numbness in my right hand and so I went to see the doctor today - and he is sending me to a hand surgeon.
Told Dr. Yoder I want the right arm in great shape by the time summer rolls around. There is another season of skiing just around the corner!
So I guess I am mortal. That isn't a bad thing to remember.
Even when things break or fall off or wear out, you know, God has blessed us with these bodies. Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we have been fearfully and wonderfully made.
I still don't take every blessed day for granted. It's all a miracle.
Falling apart -physically- is a part of life. My goal is do that gracefully! Honestly, I've got no complaints...not really.
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 12, 2008
Leaning Back.
Funny how a granddaughter can change your life.
I never expected this.
But I have been knocked out by the joy Ella has brought into my life.
There are a lot of things that just "get me" about her. The way she walks as she holds onto the finger of an adult. Her legs reaching out in a wide arc. Her bare feet feel the ground or surface ahead... almost like another set of hands.
There is the way she hears someone digging in the freezer in the kitchen, and she motors in on all fours saying, "Ice...ice."
There is the way, when she hears music, she begins to move her hands as if she were conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra...only not in an obvious way. With more subtlety.
There is even the way she, when she gets frustrated, puffs up with rage and looks like she is going to blow a gasket. The other night at a barbecue place in Columbus she lost it. The only thing on the table in front of her was a small, stuffed penguin we had bought during a visit to the Zoo that afternoon. Ella rose up, and swept her arm across the table knocking the penguin into the air. Almost as if she was saying, "Okay...the penguin's going to get it...and one of you could be next."
It's all cool.
But the thing that gets me is the way she comes up and leans back against me. She just settles into me. Stretches her arms, tilts her head back over my side as I lie on the floor, and throws her arms around my neck.
Her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, but I think what she would say in those moments is, "I feel safe. I feel safe with you...and we're sort of one."
John Wesley, who founded the Methodist renewal movement, talked a lot about the "assurance" of salvation. What he meant by that, I hunch, is we know when we lean back into the grace of God we are going to be okay. The love of Jesus is going to catch us.
There is a Christian song that talks about "leaning on the everlasting arms." It doesn't talk about leaning on the shoulder of God...or leaning on the tummy of God...or throwing our arms around the neck of God.
But I think you get the idea.
And so does Ella.
I never expected this.
But I have been knocked out by the joy Ella has brought into my life.
There are a lot of things that just "get me" about her. The way she walks as she holds onto the finger of an adult. Her legs reaching out in a wide arc. Her bare feet feel the ground or surface ahead... almost like another set of hands.
There is the way she hears someone digging in the freezer in the kitchen, and she motors in on all fours saying, "Ice...ice."
There is the way, when she hears music, she begins to move her hands as if she were conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra...only not in an obvious way. With more subtlety.
There is even the way she, when she gets frustrated, puffs up with rage and looks like she is going to blow a gasket. The other night at a barbecue place in Columbus she lost it. The only thing on the table in front of her was a small, stuffed penguin we had bought during a visit to the Zoo that afternoon. Ella rose up, and swept her arm across the table knocking the penguin into the air. Almost as if she was saying, "Okay...the penguin's going to get it...and one of you could be next."
It's all cool.
But the thing that gets me is the way she comes up and leans back against me. She just settles into me. Stretches her arms, tilts her head back over my side as I lie on the floor, and throws her arms around my neck.
Her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, but I think what she would say in those moments is, "I feel safe. I feel safe with you...and we're sort of one."
John Wesley, who founded the Methodist renewal movement, talked a lot about the "assurance" of salvation. What he meant by that, I hunch, is we know when we lean back into the grace of God we are going to be okay. The love of Jesus is going to catch us.
There is a Christian song that talks about "leaning on the everlasting arms." It doesn't talk about leaning on the shoulder of God...or leaning on the tummy of God...or throwing our arms around the neck of God.
But I think you get the idea.
And so does Ella.
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.
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.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
It's a Kinship Thing: New Day for United Methodists in Indiana.
Nothing remains the same. Change is one of the constants in life.
I thought of that yesterday as some 1,600 Hoosier United Methodists gathered in one of the buildings of the Indiana State Fairgrounds. We were there to vote to finalize our decision to go from two annual conferences to one. (An annual conference, for those of you non-Wesleyans out there, is the body in Methodism that ordains pastors, connects churches to one another, coordinates camping, and assigns preachers to congregations.)
During the gathering I found myself remembering the people...faces...who made up our North Indiana Conference. It felt strange not to have my Mom, Anita, there for this big moment...she was there for so many big moments in earlier years as Lay Leader. I missed Don LaSuer's smile and Virgil Bjork's quiet reason.
We're not supposed to use the word "merger" for this. Because this is not a "merger" but a new thing. It's a mix, though. It's a merger. It's a blending of two predecessor conferences...structures...all of that. But it is a new thing, too.
Beneath the loud praise songs and the talk of a new conference really organized around the mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation for the world (wasn't that the purpose of the old North Indiana Conference and the South Indiana Conferences, after all?), a part of why we are doing this is we have been growing smaller and older for the last 30 years. We've not done a good job of reaching out to, speaking the language, of new generations and new communities. We've got too many churches that are going through the motions. They appear to be religious museums. And we have too many pastors who lack passion and courage. Still, across Indiana, there are these outposts of new life and growth and renewal.
The whole thing is messy. Our Bishop and leaders are doing their best, but this new thing is messy and ragged. Sort of like working on a jet airliner while it is in the air!
Three thoughts came to mind as I got in the car, at the end of the afternoon, and headed north: It's about relationships. Rambling around in the big building, yesterday, I bumped into Paul Fulp, Ted Blosser, and Kent Millard...all friends from South Indiana. We hugged, talked trash, loved on one another, and agreed it would be good to be together. Whatever that invisible line that ran east to west across central Indiana, and separated us from one another, I am glad it's gone!
The second thought was this: Jesus saves. Not a new structure or a new mission statement. Jesus saves. The grace of God in Jesus can heal and save the world...one life at a time. It's worth remembering. Worth giving our lives to.
A friend, Don LaSuer, would say to me that we always had this way of turning salvation by grace into salvation by works. "We do our best to make grace something we do or earn," he'd say to me.
We do our best to capture, focus, this grace within the framework of an ecclesiastical structure. If we could only get the right conference structure, the right kind of mission statement, every church leader to read that book about five fruitful practices, then things will go well. But our structures are imperfect...never complete. (See 1 Corinthians 13.)
Third, we've got to take the risk of surrendering to this love in a new and radical way. Taking the good news to people in their own language with a kind of passion that will make the world think we've dipped into the wine cellar early in the day (see Acts). If we aren't going to be reckless and bold with the grace of God, getting to know and love the "strangers" down the street, loving and serving them before we ever dare to share the Gospel in words...then all of this new stuff will have been a waste.
I see how I have been an obstacle to growth for the Kingdom of God. Forgive me, Lord. Set my heart on fire with a new love for you, and teach me to let go of the old and familiar so I can receive the new and the unlearned.
I thought of that yesterday as some 1,600 Hoosier United Methodists gathered in one of the buildings of the Indiana State Fairgrounds. We were there to vote to finalize our decision to go from two annual conferences to one. (An annual conference, for those of you non-Wesleyans out there, is the body in Methodism that ordains pastors, connects churches to one another, coordinates camping, and assigns preachers to congregations.)
During the gathering I found myself remembering the people...faces...who made up our North Indiana Conference. It felt strange not to have my Mom, Anita, there for this big moment...she was there for so many big moments in earlier years as Lay Leader. I missed Don LaSuer's smile and Virgil Bjork's quiet reason.
We're not supposed to use the word "merger" for this. Because this is not a "merger" but a new thing. It's a mix, though. It's a merger. It's a blending of two predecessor conferences...structures...all of that. But it is a new thing, too.
Beneath the loud praise songs and the talk of a new conference really organized around the mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation for the world (wasn't that the purpose of the old North Indiana Conference and the South Indiana Conferences, after all?), a part of why we are doing this is we have been growing smaller and older for the last 30 years. We've not done a good job of reaching out to, speaking the language, of new generations and new communities. We've got too many churches that are going through the motions. They appear to be religious museums. And we have too many pastors who lack passion and courage. Still, across Indiana, there are these outposts of new life and growth and renewal.
The whole thing is messy. Our Bishop and leaders are doing their best, but this new thing is messy and ragged. Sort of like working on a jet airliner while it is in the air!
Three thoughts came to mind as I got in the car, at the end of the afternoon, and headed north: It's about relationships. Rambling around in the big building, yesterday, I bumped into Paul Fulp, Ted Blosser, and Kent Millard...all friends from South Indiana. We hugged, talked trash, loved on one another, and agreed it would be good to be together. Whatever that invisible line that ran east to west across central Indiana, and separated us from one another, I am glad it's gone!
The second thought was this: Jesus saves. Not a new structure or a new mission statement. Jesus saves. The grace of God in Jesus can heal and save the world...one life at a time. It's worth remembering. Worth giving our lives to.
A friend, Don LaSuer, would say to me that we always had this way of turning salvation by grace into salvation by works. "We do our best to make grace something we do or earn," he'd say to me.
We do our best to capture, focus, this grace within the framework of an ecclesiastical structure. If we could only get the right conference structure, the right kind of mission statement, every church leader to read that book about five fruitful practices, then things will go well. But our structures are imperfect...never complete. (See 1 Corinthians 13.)
Third, we've got to take the risk of surrendering to this love in a new and radical way. Taking the good news to people in their own language with a kind of passion that will make the world think we've dipped into the wine cellar early in the day (see Acts). If we aren't going to be reckless and bold with the grace of God, getting to know and love the "strangers" down the street, loving and serving them before we ever dare to share the Gospel in words...then all of this new stuff will have been a waste.
I see how I have been an obstacle to growth for the Kingdom of God. Forgive me, Lord. Set my heart on fire with a new love for you, and teach me to let go of the old and familiar so I can receive the new and the unlearned.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Grace as Credit.
One of the short detours in my life took place during college. My Grandpa Owen had connections in the banking business, and somehow he got me hired -for the summer- by a South Bend bank. They figured that if I was Bill Owen's grandson I must have something on the ball when it came to numbers and finance, and they foolishly put me in their "officer trainee program." The bank survived two summers' of my well meaning but inept performance, and then they decided never to have me back.
So numbers...finance...banking...is not my thing.
The current financial crisis in the United States, right now, seems to be profound. I wouldn't pretend to understand what has caused it and what the details of the government "bail out" should be. As near as I can figure the real critical moment was the drying up of the credit markets.
One financial expert said that credit is to the economy what oil is to an internal combustion engine: it keeps everything moving. So the credit market tightened to the point where no one was going to be able to do anything...build buildings, hire new workers, buy land.
I've been thinking about the role that credit (appropriate, responsible credit - not out of control "anything goes" kind of credit) plays in the economy, and wondering if there might be some parallels with the Christian notion of grace. Forgiveness...unmerited love, that's what grace is about. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 13, talks about a kind of love that doesn't keep track of wrongs but rejoices in the right. That doesn't rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the right.
Grace is the oil that keeps relationships going...that helps us hang in there with one another over the long haul. We are well into my 13th year as senior pastor at Trinity Church, and I find myself remarking -now and then- "We've been together long enough that I have given you all sorts of reasons to write me off." Give someone like me long enough, and I am going to stumble...make bad calls...until my humanness becomes almost more than anyone can bear.
We won't make it together if we don't extend the relational credit -grace- to one another. Grace "primes the pump" for a new chapter. Except that with grace there is no compounding interest we have to pay back.
One of the opportunities I have, as a Christian pastor, is to meet with engaged couples. They often tell me that they want to be passionately in love with one another after 50 years. They tell me that they want to be holding hands when they are 80. They tell me that they want their kisses to be tender and passionate decades after the day of their wedding.
A key to that is living by grace. Forgetting the junk of yesterday, giving the other person another chance, and moving on. Because when the credit market we know as "grace" dries up then everything stops. The relationship, like earth dried by the merciless sun, cracks wide open and blows away.
So numbers...finance...banking...is not my thing.
The current financial crisis in the United States, right now, seems to be profound. I wouldn't pretend to understand what has caused it and what the details of the government "bail out" should be. As near as I can figure the real critical moment was the drying up of the credit markets.
One financial expert said that credit is to the economy what oil is to an internal combustion engine: it keeps everything moving. So the credit market tightened to the point where no one was going to be able to do anything...build buildings, hire new workers, buy land.
I've been thinking about the role that credit (appropriate, responsible credit - not out of control "anything goes" kind of credit) plays in the economy, and wondering if there might be some parallels with the Christian notion of grace. Forgiveness...unmerited love, that's what grace is about. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 13, talks about a kind of love that doesn't keep track of wrongs but rejoices in the right. That doesn't rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the right.
Grace is the oil that keeps relationships going...that helps us hang in there with one another over the long haul. We are well into my 13th year as senior pastor at Trinity Church, and I find myself remarking -now and then- "We've been together long enough that I have given you all sorts of reasons to write me off." Give someone like me long enough, and I am going to stumble...make bad calls...until my humanness becomes almost more than anyone can bear.
We won't make it together if we don't extend the relational credit -grace- to one another. Grace "primes the pump" for a new chapter. Except that with grace there is no compounding interest we have to pay back.
One of the opportunities I have, as a Christian pastor, is to meet with engaged couples. They often tell me that they want to be passionately in love with one another after 50 years. They tell me that they want to be holding hands when they are 80. They tell me that they want their kisses to be tender and passionate decades after the day of their wedding.
A key to that is living by grace. Forgetting the junk of yesterday, giving the other person another chance, and moving on. Because when the credit market we know as "grace" dries up then everything stops. The relationship, like earth dried by the merciless sun, cracks wide open and blows away.
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