Love Means Showing Up.

When you're young you don't fully understand the gift of showing up. (Or at least I didn't.) We're invited to a wedding, or a graduation party, or we know someone who has lost a person they love, and we don't think it is that big of a deal if we show up -or not. They'll barely notice you stuck there in the middle of the crowd, right?

As our boys graduated from high school I noticed what it meant to us when people showed up. People drove a couple of hours, people carved out a good part of a day, and they showed up when Bryan, Nathan and Michael graduated. We noticed. It meant something. Somewhere down deep inside we felt the reality of friendship's blessing. We also, on the other hand, noticed good friends who didn't show up. Most of them had good reasons but some just hadn't learned that love means showing up.

I thought of this today as I drove north to Lebanon, Indiana for the funeral service of a colleague. David Patrick was a 46 year old United Methodist pastor who did great work mentoring young pastors and served on the Board of Ordained Ministry with me. I didn't know him well. He had served most of his ministry in the "old" South Indiana Conference, and I have always hovered around the Michigan state line. Until we came to Bloomington I had never served a congregation south of #30! So we didn't know one another all that well but David was a brother.

When you are a United Methodist pastor you are a part of something we call "the connection." As I write that it almost sounds mysterious. Or threatening (like the word is a synonym for organized crime!). Whether you like it or not, whether your theology or ministry style or political ideas match those of the pastor serving down the road in a nearby United Methodist Church, you not only belong to Christ but you belong to one another.

So I drove north on this beautiful morning with the top on the Miata down, the music of the Rolling Stones and then Joshua Bell playing on the stereo, with a cup of coffee in my hand. I sat in the back of a packed sanctuary. The family will never know I was there. I believe David noticed. I believe that love means showing up if there is anyway to do that.

Paul, in Romans 12, says if we are in Christ we are a part of one body. The apostle says love is to be genuine (not faked...not a going-through-the-motions type of love). He summarizes the commandments and then finally says love does no wrong to a neighbor (13:10) and that, in fact, love is "fulfilling of the law." In verse 15 he encourages us to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.

Love means showing up (if there is anyway to do that).

As Sun Approaches Water.

Some places we keep going back to. One of those places for me is Warren Dunes. It's not Hawaii. It's not the perfect beach you might find in Bora-Bora. But it is close by. I've been going up there since I was in high school. The sunsets can be spectacular, the beach is okay, and if you wait long enough into the summer the water is great for swimming.

What we like to do is go up late in the afternoon. When the heat of the day has crested and the air is beginning to cool. We throw a blanket down as everyone else is beginning to think of heading towards the exits. We swim...read...nap...eat a sandwich...maybe get a soft-serve ice cream cone...watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Then, we head for home...and watch the lightning bugs out in the fields as we make our way east and south.

We were there this afternoon. And that time produced the following few verses.

Grace,
Mark

As Sun Approaches Water.

The Sandbar.

There is a sandbar fifty yards or so offshore.

No doubt the sand has shifted, moved in or out, north or south,

But the sandbar has been there since

I can remember.

The lake bottom slopes down

Until I am barely able to touch,

But toes keep contact with sand and as water laps at my chin

I feel the sandbar beneath my feet and I am half out of water.

There are days when the bottom slopes down

Until we are barely able to touch,

But we keep moving through water that seems too deep

Until there is something sold beneath our feet and we are half out of water.

Slipping deeper into the water

I think of life,

Touching the sandbar that seems solid enough

I think of God and faith as the promise of things unseen.

_________________________________

______________________________

Visible Love.

It seems preposterous.

Beyond belief.

Too silly.

Embarassing to admit.

I stood at the Dunes.

And kissed a girl.

A kiss whose sweetness still lingers.

And I thought our kiss was a private thing.

I was eager.

Not believing my good fortune.

That a girl so lovely

Would allow me to be so close.

Somehow I thought

That the sand and wild grass

Would shelter us from other eyes

A sanctuary within a sanctuary, if you will.

Now I look around

And realize how open and public

Our moment of tenderness and timid passion

Actually was.

Modest piles of sand and wispy

Grass did not afford us the protection

We assumed God had provided

But our reaching out to one another was too visible.

Love is something we often think

Is easily hidden from the eyes of others,

But the truth is love is visible to all

Despite our belief in the sheltering power of sand and grass.

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.

You Came Back for Me!

Christmas Eve is never a time when pastors can lounge with the family, take a deep breath, and just enjoy the season. We're working. We're like police officers at the Rose Bowl Parade. We can't spend much time looking at the floats because we have work to do.

Our three adult sons were here over Christmas. Which was just an amazing gift! There is something sweeter than words about having your children sleeping under the same roof, at home, you know? It's like things are back where they are supposed to be.

Our two young granddaughters arrived, with their parents, after I had left for church on Christmas Eve. Right before the 9 o'clock service Ella, the 27-month old, was walking through the lobby with her Grandma. Ella looked lovely and when she saw me she leaned her head over with quiet delight, and I nearly bounced off the carpet.

That night, after worship, the family headed home. I helped shut down the church and followed. When I came through the door, Ella came to me and said, "You came back for me! You came back for me!" I smiled. Said, "I will always come back for you."

Saturday morning, after Christmas, I led a funeral service. By the time that was over, and I had returned from Goshen where the burial service had been, most of the morning was gone. When I walked through the front door, Ella came running towards me with a smile. "You came back to me! You came back to me!"

Love means we come back.

The Christian faith talks about a God who comes back. Jesus appears in the garden outside the tomb where he has been buried. He slips into a room in Jerusalem, through locked doors, to visit with his friends and followers. The risen Christ is standing on the edge of the Sea of Galilee, in John 21, and has some fishing advice for his friends. The New Testament talks at length about the return of God to begin a new age on the earth. We call this "the second coming."

Ella says, "You came back to me." But we can't always come back. I think of that, on this first day of 2010, with the news of the deaths of service personnel and CIA officers in distant lands. There are men and women who won't come back to the ones they love, but that failure to return is not a sign that the love was imperfect or partial. Things happen to pull us away from the ones we love more than words can say.

There will be a day when I won't come back for Ella. I'll leave and not come back. Time and death will do that. They'll pull me away from her.

Paul, in 1st Corinthians 13, talks about love lasting forever. Faith, hope and love remain, he says. I take great comfort in that.

"You came back to me," she says. I'll keep doing that as long as I can. And when I can't come back to you, I hope you'll be on a first-name basis with the God whose love outlasts time.

The Fairy Engineer.

The other night our son called and turned his i-Phone over to our 27-month old granddaughter, Ella. She got on the phone and we had the longest phone conversation we've ever had. She chatted about coming to Elkhart for Christmas: "I going to the house. I going to the house." We talked about a slide she had been playing on.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a burst of conversation. Which ended with her breathlessly saying, "Hold on a second. I be right back!" Then, I would hear her walking around the house with the i-Phone on speakerphone...talking with Mommy and Daddy.

If I was quiet, when she came back on, she would rather sharply say, "GRANDPA!" I would reassure her that I was there. We'd talk some more and then she'd say, again, "Hold on a second. I be right back!" My son said, "How does it feel being put on hold by your 2-year old granddaughter?"

Late in the conversation I heard her ask her Mommy to help her put on her Tinkerbell outfit. With wings. Then, a minute or so later, she was sitting on the living room floor running a very simple Lionel train. The phone had been put down near the train, and the phone picked up the sound of the locomotive and rolling stock rounding the curves. I could hear the train coming... and the train going. Then, she blew the whistle on the train.

Kind of crazy, you know? She was sitting there in a green Tinkerbell outfit, with wings on her back, running a train. I don't know what kind of a world it is where a little girl wears a fairy outfit and runs a train, but I think it is pretty amazing...and cool. I pray that when she grows up and becomes reasonable, mature, she never loses the part of her that delights in wearing fairy wings and dreaming magical dreams.

A Hand Worth More Than $750,000.

A week ago Sharon and I did something very atypical: we took off and drove to Washington D.C. At the center of the trip was a Tuesday night concert by U-2 at FedEx Field just outside D.C. Along with that we got to hang out with Nathan and Westra, our kids in DC, and ride along with Bryan, Joleen, beautiful Ella, and lovely Olivia.

Bryan, our oldest, and his wife, Joleen, rented a van in their hometown of Columbus, Ohio. We drove over there, loaded everyone in the van, and headed for DC.

Mom and Dad rode in the front of the van. Grandpa rode in one of the middle seats with Ella in her carseat to his right, in the other seat. Grandma and Olivia were in the back.

Rolling Stone magazine says the U-2 concert is the biggest ever. The massive stage filled most of the football field at FedEx Field. RS says it takes $750,000 to keep the touring going each day!

As cool and as impressive as all that is, as spectacular as the light show and music was, the best parts of the journey were just hanging out. I won't tell you about all the cool little moments, but I will tell you one.

Ella and I were riding along. Chatting. Handing toys back and forth. She would sleep. Then, Grandpa would doze off. Late in the evening, someplace near Cumberland, Maryland, she reached out and -without a word- took the index finger of my right hand in her left hand. Slept on while holding my finger. I guess it felt reassuring to this 2-year old to hold onto the hand of someone she knew who loved her...especially since we were driving through the dark and around mountains.

I sat there and smiled.

It was worth the trip.

Sometimes You Just Have to Tip-Toe In.

You rarely dive all the way under, in June, when you want to go swimming in Lake Michigan. You wade out a few feet. Let part of your body get used to the cold. And then you go all the way under.

There are all moments in life when that is true. I know people say it's better to pull a Band-Aid off all at once, but there are many moments when it takes us awhile to get our heads -and hearts- around some big change. Some big truth. There are times when gradual is better...easy does it.

That was never more apparent than during the last 24 hours. Our second granddaughter, Olivia Rose, was born yesterday around 2:50 p.m. It was late afternoon before Sharon and I brought Olivia's 21-month old big sister up to the hospital here in Columbus. Olivia was out of the room when we entered Joleen's room. Ella was unsettled by the sight of her Mommy in a hospital bed. She teared up when she say the IV's in her Mommy's arm. But she ended up sitting next to Mommy in the hospital bed. Watching a video on her Mommy's i-Phone.

When the nurse brought Olivia into the room, Ella looked up for a second, glanced at this little bundle that was placed in her Mommy's arms, and then went right back to her video. There was hardly a ripple of recognition that something was different....but you could tell she knew the universe was shifting.

Ella paid little attention to Olivia, and preferred to walk up and down the halls with Grandpa. Work the elevator. When I would say, "Do you want to go see Mommy?" Ella would respond with, "No...no way." Late in the evening, though, I held her as she looked through the glass into the Nursery. I pointed out Olivia to her, and a nurse brought Olivia to the windows. Ella studied her little sister and quietly said, "Baby sister."

Today when we went to the hospital, Daddy was holding Olivia. Ella sat down next to them. Reached out...carefully touched her little sister's feet. Bent over and kissed them...kissed Olivia's knees...and her lips. After about 20 minutes, though, she was ready to go...said, "Grandpa...elevator!"
So we left...headed to McDonald's and the Columbus Zoo.

It has been something watching the mixture of emotions in this 21-month old. It has been something to see her carefully taking in this big thing that has happened. Not trying to "get it" all at once. There is recognition... and then there is some time getting close...and then there will be more discoveries to come.

Life changes and we tip-toe up on the reality of what this means. I think that is just fine, you know? Sometimes, if you dive into the cold water all it once, it almost makes your heart stop. (And that's not a good thing!)

Jesus didn't, in the beginning, tell Simon Peter what he said three years later in John 21. "You're going to be taken where you don't want to go, and there going to put you away." No, Jesus said, "Come, follow me, and I'll show you how to catch people." The rest of it Peter -and the others- would learn along the way. Begin to understand along the way.

So one evening she glances over for a second, and then looks away. The next day she sits close, tenderly touches those small feet, and then is ready to run the halls. It will only be sometime later that she will fully understand what it means to share the world...the house...Mommy and Daddy...with someone who is your sister.

Love Multiplies.

This is a big week. On Friday afternoon our second granddaughter, Olivia Rose, is to be born at 2:30 p.m. in Columbus, Ohio. (Being an IU grad and having your granddaughters born in the heart of Ohio State country is really tough...I feel like a rabbi whose kids have moved to Teheran!)

Those of you who know me, know how crazy I am about Beautiful Ella. Being a Grandpa has surprised me...this 21-month old has my heart. She tells me she misses me over the phone. She squeals and jumps into my arms when her Mom comes her way to change her diaper or give her a bath. When we watch basketball on tv she even imitates my muttered, "Oh, come on!" when the refs don't make the call.

So Olivia is on the way. I wonder how I can feel the same kind of delight...and yet I know I will.

Love has this way of multiplying...the heart has this way of expanding. When there are more people to love, God gives us the gift of more love. There is always enough.

I've been in a conversation with a friend who is thrilled with her small group at Trinity. She and her friends are so delighted that they hesitate to divide the group and help grow some new groups with that same kind of gracious, loving, Jesus-centered DNA. I tell her God will multiply the love.

Sometimes, when I talk with people in churches where there is a proposal to go from one weekly worship service to two, or two to three, I hear them say, "We won't know everyone." I tell them, "Yes, you're right. If we need to know everyone in the church then the church is going to have to stay really small. Which means we turn our backs on all sorts of folks who want to know Jesus...know God...experience grace-filled community." I tell people it is okay...God will multiply the love.

Paul, the tough, old rabbi turned Christian preacher, is writing to the early Christians in 1st Thessalonians 2:7b, uses the image of a nursing mother to describe his relationship as pastor. He talks about how much he loves them and has worked among them. Truth is, though, he says the same thing to Christians in other early churches. He loves them...all. God multiplies the love. There is always enough to go around when we hang out with Jesus.

Olivia Rose.

I think I'll call her, Lovely Olivia.

I'm ready to welcome you and love you, Olivia. And we'll make sure Ella doesn't get lost in the celebration...there will be enough love to go around.

When Whatever You Say is Wrong.

Have you ever been in a relationship or meeting or class where whatever you said was wrong?

I'm in one of those places with someone I have known a long time...and loved for a long time.

The person is hurting. Feeling cut-off. And whatever I say turns out to be wrong.

Words I mean to be gracious are experienced as judgemental.

Words I mean to be empathetic are interpreted as critical.

It's a helpless feeling for me. There is the intent of the heart, but the words are proving inadequate. Like telephone lines that have been knocked to the ground by strong winds and falling limbs, my words are sent out but the message of the heart gets lost.

And I know it is a helpless feeling for her. She is feeling desperate, cut off, isolated, and in need of support - and whatever I offer feels like another weight. Another indication that she doesn't have anyone she can turn to.

So what do you do? Paul, in Romans 1st Corinthians 14:1, says "follow the way of love."

Here is what I have been reduced to doing:

1. Saying that I love her. That's it. Anything more somehow goes off in the wrong direction. Like a driver whose car is on ice, and no matter which direction he turns the steering wheel, the car ends up clipping the pole and ending up in the ditch. So I just keep saying, "I love you."

2. Praying for her. I am giving her to God. Maybe God can sort things out. Maybe God can help her hear the love behind my words. Maybe God can help me learn to use words that "get through." In the 1st chapter of 2nd Corinthians, Paul says (:9) he not relying on himself but on God "who raises the dead." Sometimes God gets through when we can't. Sometimes God sends someone else who can get over the defensive walls another person has constructed so carefully. I am giving this person to God. (I do that with people in the church who only seem to be irritated by my best efforts to lead and to love.)

3. Keeping the door open. I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Writing other people off once and forever. Jesus, in Luke 18, has a conversation with a rich man who refuses to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. The man fails the invitation to be free and healthy in God, but Jesus doesn't write him off forever. Doesn't tell him never to come back. So I do my best to keep the door open...allow for the possibility that the relationship may recover. Grow. Head off in a more healthy direction. Some people say "I'll never send any more cards" or "I won't call that person until they call me first." Not me. I'll keep calling (now and then). I'll keep sending cards. I'll keep letting her know I love her. But I'll not force her to deal with me. The door is open.

Sometimes whatever you say is wrong.

And all I am left with are the words, "I love you."

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."

The More You're Loved, the Farther You Go.

Slipped away to Columbus, Ohio this past weekend. Trinity was hopping with great worship, a big-time food drive, and a packed Upward Basketball/ Cheerleading celebration in the afternoon. But we needed to go. So we did.

There is a playground on the back yard of an elementary school in the Westgate area of Columbus. We headed down there several times, with our 18-month granddaughter, during the weekend. She is just learning her way to navigate around a playground...across the uneven surface of a grass yard.

Two things I noticed.

First, she has gotten pretty comfortable very quickly. What that means is instead of waiting for us to walk by her side, Ella goes on ahead of us. There have been times when she would walk 4-8 feet ahead of us, but that is lengthening out. Now, she will go off 20-30 yards. She looks independent. Like she could conquer the world. If you watch carefully, though, you'll notice she turns her head half-way to the side to catch the occasional glimpse of us. Just to make sure we are behind her. Just to make sure she isn't alone.

She looks back. She sees us. Then, she faces forward and goes!

She is a little girl who is so well loved by every adult in her life? Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, her babysitter, and adult friends at Columbus Vineyard...she is well loved.

Love gives us the confidence to go on...walk ahead...go further. Without love we are always afraid, always clinging, but when we are well loved we have the confidence to move ahead...go out...explore the world.

I John 4:18 says perfect love drives fear out of our lives. I see that in her.

There is a second thing I noticed: she doesn't need to hold onto my hand when we walk across the yard. The uneven grass is a challenge for a little girl, but when I offered her my hand Sunday morning she pulled her hand back and shook her head, "No."

I smiled. Watched her navigate her way across the grass of late winter. It's an interesting moment, isn't it? We love, hold onto the next generation, and then they need to let go...make their own way across the terrain of this world.

Loves gives itself away so that the other can be independent...so that the other person can walk their own path.

Love, as I commented to someone the other day, means holding on...and letting go.

And when you love well the other person experiences the freedom and confidence to let go.

Those People Love!

I have a place.

It's a little coffee shop on East Jackson. Another coffee shop out on highway 120 used to be my place to sit, outline a sermon, have a cup of coffee and breathe. But the old place closed up. The new shop is called Heavenly Brew. It's in a little, old house that used to be a florist shop.

HB is just right. Safe. Cozy. They know my name...and they know I like warmed-up 2% milk with my baked oatmeal.

I have a place.

This morning I noticed a woman noticing me. She was sitting with her college-age daughter, having a conversation, and as they got up to go she approached me. Held out her hand. Said, "Don't I know you...you're the pastor at the church?" I nodded and introduced myself. Told her, yes, that I was down the street at Trinity United Methodist.

She told me she lives a few blocks from Trinity. The woman belongs to a small church in Goshen. But she has slipped into Trinity a couple of times for worship or a class or a women's ministry thing.

Her face lit up. "Oh, that church!" she said. "There is great stuff going on, and the people are so welcoming...so loving! As soon as I walked in I could tell they cared...loved one another. And I felt so welcome."

Before the woman left the shop we shook hands. She threw her arms open wide and said, "Those people know how to love!"

I'll tell our people that, this weekend. Remind them about what others see and we may take for granted.

I have a place.

I think everyone wants to have a place -and often they are looking to the church to be just that place.

Reminders of the Presence.

There is a stick about 8 inches long lying on the floor of our car. It's up front on the passenger's side. And, if you look in the back seat, you'll find a yellowing ginko leaf.

Every time I get in the car I see these two small things, which appear to be so out of place, and I smile.

Two weeks ago we were in Columbus, Ohio. We had four days with our 16-month old granddaughter, Ella. (Aka "Beautiful Ella.") We walked her to a nearby park where she picked up the stick and began hitting different pieces of playground equipment with it. She would rap it on the metal slide and hear one sound. She'd hit it against the plastic steps and hear another sound. She would whack it against the trunk of a tree and hear something very different.

Sort of simple. But a delight nontheless.

Then, on the way back home from the park, I pushed her little, pink car (she has a steering wheel and everything) over to the side of the street where piles of leaves had gathered. (I think it was some kind of leaf conference or reunion...) I picked up the ginko leaf and handed it to Ella. She didn't let go of it when we put here in the car seat.

It's been two weeks. The stick is still on the floor of our car. And the leaf is still on the back seat.

I open the door of the car, even on this snowy day, see the leaf and the stick - and smile.

They are reminders of the presence. Of one who is loved. And whose very existence makes everything else different...and better.

The other day I looked down, noticed the stick, and thought of the scene described in Luke 22:19 (RSV): "And he took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body.'"

A reminder of the presence.

When the Bride Dances.

I was more than a little surprised by the choice of songs. About one hundred of us were gathered in the reception area of an Indianapolis-area country club following a Christian wedding service.

It was the moment when the bride -she looked radiant!- was to dance with her father. The DJ announced that fact. The father was sitting next to me and as he stood up he whispered, "Pray for me." I told him I would be praying for him. The prayer had nothing to do with any dance steps, but with a father's ability to dance with his daughter and keep his full-to-overflowing heart in check. I was praying he could "hold it together."

Usually, at a wedding reception when the bride dances with her father, the song drives everyone in the room to tears. But this bride had chosen the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty Four." It sort of sounds like a bouncy, British pub song. Almost impossible to dance to. And we watched...listened... and many of us smiled.

Sitting there I was struck by the precision and predictability of the elements at a wedding party. There are the pictures following the service. There is the entrance of the wedding party and this is -according to current practices- done to music fit for a hockey game with the booming voice of the DJ naming each member of the group. There is the toast by the best man...the toast by the maid of honor. There is the throwing of the bouquet...often the tossing of a garter. There is the cutting of the cake. (Which often means either the bride or groom -or both- end up wearing much of the cake on their face.)

Then -and only then- it is time for the couple's first dance...then the bride's dance with her dad...the groom's dance with his mom.

One thing follows another. In wedding after wedding.

So I sat there listening to the Beatles, thinking about the power and necessity of ritual in our lives. We Americans like to make things up as we go. We don't want to be trapped by the customs of the past. Mega- churches are filled with worshippers who insist they are tired of the old rituals. People want "new." People want "different."

Then why, at weddings, do we want these same elements...in the same order?

You see I believe there is power in ritual. In knowing what comes next. We're relieved of the stress of having to come up with something new on our own. Knowing the DJ is going to announce the bride's dance with her father allows us to focus on the moment...settle into the moment...and enjoy it. Delight in the relationships...the people side of things.

And, sometimes, the element or ritual was developed for a good reason by people years...decades...ago. Weddings are a swirl of stuff. It'd be easy for a daughter and her dad, in all the racing around and the people to greet, to slip away from one another at the end of the day without really looking one another in the eyes. Remembering. But having that dance, insisted on by the DJ, brings those two together. No wedding coordinators asking questions of the bride, no friends from work trying tell a joke to the dad: just the two of them. Holding onto one another. Moving to the music of that old Beatles' song. Looking one another over. Thinking. Remembering. Getting ready for some kind of new distance between them. Thanking. Forgiving the other for the occasional rough spot. Blessing. They may not say it but there is an unspoken blessing between them.

Someone before us thought about this, and so we have the dance. So there is this ritual.

Leviticus 7 goes into great detail about how the people are to remember God's goodness and offer their sacrifices (explaining the kind of sacrifice required and in what order it is to be given). Life among early Jesus followers is described in Acts 2:43-ff. They attended the temple together, broke bread (whether a communion meal or just sandwiches from Subway), and told one another about the good stuff God was doing in their lives and communities. Participated in a time of praise. There was a pattern.

We say we want new. And new can be such a good thing. But sometimes we seem to exhaust ourselves coming up with the next, cool thing.

Isn't it nice to know what's coming at a wedding party? Isn't it nice not having to re-invent it all every time we're together? Isn't it nice that I can lean back and watch my friend dance with his daughter, and remember when she much younger...and think about the way ahead?

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.