I never used to pay a lot of attention to Memorial Day, but then we moved here into a community and discovered that it has a real meaning. No, really, I'm not making that up. Before moving to Muskegon and walking the journey with the people of our church, Memorial Day met relatively little to me. I knew that it was a day when there were parades and, often, fireworks, but the significance eluded me.
Now, of course, I have a group of individuals who are helping sharpen my understanding of the significance of days of remembering. Yesterday in services we remembered over 60 individuals who either have or are serving our country in the armed forces. After that we paid tribute to another fourteen people from our congregation who have passed away in the past year.
It was a very emotional service for me this year. I suspect that seeing Aaron's picture up there had something to do with that. Knowing so many of the fourteen who passed away made things hit closer to home, too. I realized once again that I have now been here longer than I have ever been anywhere. I have lived in this house longer than I have lived in any house. I have known these people nearly as long as I have known anyone--the except to this would be the folks in New York--I lived there until I was 14, but we moved twice during that time. This is as close as I have ever come to having roots, and when there are roots I suspect that there is a greater potential for pain.
Yesterday, as I saw pictures, I thought of the lives represented there and all the ways my life is now connected here. We have been through a lot together--births and deaths, marriages and divorces, successes and failures--it's been an interesting journey. I am now a part of this community where we gather for parades and take off our hats when the flag passes by. I am part of a group that applauds our veterans and cheers on our bands. I am part of a group watching our children become teenagers and our teenagers become adults and our adults age.
Perhaps I can now begin to authentically commemorate Memorial Day by doing something other than just stuffing my face full of food from the grill.
I hope this was a good Memorial Day for you, too.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Commencement
I just attended my first and only commencement exercise of the year. High School graduations are the places I go to hear all the well-known cliches I have not heard for the past year--"This is the first day of the rest of your life." "Life is not what you get but what you give." Speeches are given, and some of them are quite amusing, but many of them seem to have a real disconnect with "real life." By "real life" I mean the place where you and I live and love and hurt and deal with "stuff" and "people." And so, with that in mind, here is my commencement speech for this year:
Class of 2008: you are about to begin a new journey that is going to be more difficult than you can fully realize right now. You have achieved some notable accomplishments--your freshman year, going to homecoming dance alone, the writings of Shakespeare (and you're right, you probably will never read them again, but that doesn't mean they aren't important), and the public humiliation endured when everyone found out who you really liked and spread that information all over school. Each of these events is, in its own way, a right of passage. We have all looked back upon the humiliating memories of our middle school and high school years and hoped that the evidence of our existence during those times could be permanently buried and never see the light of day again.
This is one of the reasons I am grateful for the finality of the educational experience that occurs at graduation, because now one gets to move on to the next phase of life. That's an exciting prospect, because there is so much potential, but it is also quite frightening, for now is the time when you have to begin making decisions that really count for something. Do I go to college or do I get a job? Do I continue to live in my parents' basement or do I go on the road with my band? Do I begin a new relationship with someone I like knowing that it's only going to last the summer, or do I stay "single" and hope to find the love of my life in the fall?
But there's another element that's frightening about the future you will face--it's unknown. As one who has been through what you are experiencing right now, I can guarantee you this one thing abotu the future: you have NO IDEA what's going to happen. This year marks my 25th year since graduation from high school, and as I look back over my own life I realize only in hindsight that many, if not most of the dreams I had when I commenced into adulthood have been forgotten. This is not to say that life has been a disappointment, it's only to say that I have learned to live in such a way that I take life as it comes--the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Pure statistics tell us that a certain number of you are going to be dead in 25 years. Some of you will face illness and disease. Many will become parents. There will be divorce and job changes and moves both local and across country. How will you handle these changes? The mark of an individual who has truly commenced a life that is worth living is the ability to handle these changes without losing sight of who you are. For me, my sense of value and recognition of "who I am" comes from an external relationship with a God who knows me by name and who walks with me through each circumstance of life, no matter how painful it may be. Because my value comes from my relationship to Someone unchanging rather than from my own accomplishments or gains, there is an inherent ability to weather change more easily, for the "who I am" part of life remains constant even when everything around me is changing.
So commence into life, but find an anchor against which your life can be held sure, for there will be challenges and disappointments you cannot imagine, and the last thing I want is for you to be washed away.
Class of 2008: you are about to begin a new journey that is going to be more difficult than you can fully realize right now. You have achieved some notable accomplishments--your freshman year, going to homecoming dance alone, the writings of Shakespeare (and you're right, you probably will never read them again, but that doesn't mean they aren't important), and the public humiliation endured when everyone found out who you really liked and spread that information all over school. Each of these events is, in its own way, a right of passage. We have all looked back upon the humiliating memories of our middle school and high school years and hoped that the evidence of our existence during those times could be permanently buried and never see the light of day again.
This is one of the reasons I am grateful for the finality of the educational experience that occurs at graduation, because now one gets to move on to the next phase of life. That's an exciting prospect, because there is so much potential, but it is also quite frightening, for now is the time when you have to begin making decisions that really count for something. Do I go to college or do I get a job? Do I continue to live in my parents' basement or do I go on the road with my band? Do I begin a new relationship with someone I like knowing that it's only going to last the summer, or do I stay "single" and hope to find the love of my life in the fall?
But there's another element that's frightening about the future you will face--it's unknown. As one who has been through what you are experiencing right now, I can guarantee you this one thing abotu the future: you have NO IDEA what's going to happen. This year marks my 25th year since graduation from high school, and as I look back over my own life I realize only in hindsight that many, if not most of the dreams I had when I commenced into adulthood have been forgotten. This is not to say that life has been a disappointment, it's only to say that I have learned to live in such a way that I take life as it comes--the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Pure statistics tell us that a certain number of you are going to be dead in 25 years. Some of you will face illness and disease. Many will become parents. There will be divorce and job changes and moves both local and across country. How will you handle these changes? The mark of an individual who has truly commenced a life that is worth living is the ability to handle these changes without losing sight of who you are. For me, my sense of value and recognition of "who I am" comes from an external relationship with a God who knows me by name and who walks with me through each circumstance of life, no matter how painful it may be. Because my value comes from my relationship to Someone unchanging rather than from my own accomplishments or gains, there is an inherent ability to weather change more easily, for the "who I am" part of life remains constant even when everything around me is changing.
So commence into life, but find an anchor against which your life can be held sure, for there will be challenges and disappointments you cannot imagine, and the last thing I want is for you to be washed away.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Life without End
I buried Virginia today. Not the state--Tom's wife, mother of Philip and David, daughter of the Birds, sister and aunt and friend and teacher. Virginia actually passed away on December 21st, and her funeral was on December 24th, but because of our cold Michigan winters she was not placed into the ground until today.
Her ashes (the "professionals" now call them "cremaines"--how sterile!) were in a beautiful box, and I watched as her husband put the box down into the hole in the ground, lovingly laying his wife's ashes back in the dirt from which they originated. It seemed fitting for each of us to take a handful of dirt and spread them on top of the container--a reminder that we all come from the dust, and someday to the dust we shall all return.
From there we went to the elementary school where Virginia had been a teacher where a memorial tree was planted to honor Virginia's memory. I must admit that I found it amusing when the man digging the hole found the school's septic tank on the first try--I think that Virginia would have found a lot of humor in that. Finally a second hole was dug and the tree was planted. A plaque is being prepared, and there will be flowers and landscaping around the tree. After that it was time for the family to go and eat, and that was it.
Or was it? I still think about this family. Tom, the young widower who has lost the love of his life at such a young age. Two sons who are both in serious relationships trying to navigate adulthood without their mom (I still call my mom when I get sick--who will they call?). A mother (who will have surgery for her own cancer) and a father who are left to grieve over a daughter--an ever present reminder that parents aren't really supposed to bury their children.
And yet, in the midst of this, there is hope, for we are not a people who value life solely in terms of accomplishments and tasks. No, we value life for the relationships we build (both vertical and horizontal) that place us in a certain place at a certain time, thus giving a sense of "real-ness" to our presence. Virginia is more than a memory. Her presence is really here among us--I see her in her husband and her boys and her parents. I saw her in the kids at the school today. And I also see her when I look in the mirror, for she had a significant impact on me as well.
Perhaps we could call this an echo of Virginia that will live on as long as there is someone alive to relfect her personality and tell the story of her life. Oh yes, she has eternal life, and I am confident that she is in the Lord's presence right now; but I am just as confident that she is living on here on this earth as well, and I intend to help it stay that way.
Her ashes (the "professionals" now call them "cremaines"--how sterile!) were in a beautiful box, and I watched as her husband put the box down into the hole in the ground, lovingly laying his wife's ashes back in the dirt from which they originated. It seemed fitting for each of us to take a handful of dirt and spread them on top of the container--a reminder that we all come from the dust, and someday to the dust we shall all return.
From there we went to the elementary school where Virginia had been a teacher where a memorial tree was planted to honor Virginia's memory. I must admit that I found it amusing when the man digging the hole found the school's septic tank on the first try--I think that Virginia would have found a lot of humor in that. Finally a second hole was dug and the tree was planted. A plaque is being prepared, and there will be flowers and landscaping around the tree. After that it was time for the family to go and eat, and that was it.
Or was it? I still think about this family. Tom, the young widower who has lost the love of his life at such a young age. Two sons who are both in serious relationships trying to navigate adulthood without their mom (I still call my mom when I get sick--who will they call?). A mother (who will have surgery for her own cancer) and a father who are left to grieve over a daughter--an ever present reminder that parents aren't really supposed to bury their children.
And yet, in the midst of this, there is hope, for we are not a people who value life solely in terms of accomplishments and tasks. No, we value life for the relationships we build (both vertical and horizontal) that place us in a certain place at a certain time, thus giving a sense of "real-ness" to our presence. Virginia is more than a memory. Her presence is really here among us--I see her in her husband and her boys and her parents. I saw her in the kids at the school today. And I also see her when I look in the mirror, for she had a significant impact on me as well.
Perhaps we could call this an echo of Virginia that will live on as long as there is someone alive to relfect her personality and tell the story of her life. Oh yes, she has eternal life, and I am confident that she is in the Lord's presence right now; but I am just as confident that she is living on here on this earth as well, and I intend to help it stay that way.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
sin
I think that many have the notion that Christians are against sin purely on a moral basis. We are thought of as repressive individuals with regressive angst that causes us to be oppressive toward the personal freedom of others. I suppose that some of us are exactly like that--certain fundamentalists come to mind, certainly.
Here is my take on sin. I understand that sin, all sin, causes a breach of relationship in one way or another. The primary broken relationship is between us and God. Trust and covenant are violated. Vows are broken. The relationship we could have is damaged. And as we continue in sin that relationship continues to be driven farther and farther apart. I could probably go on and on here about prevenient grace and how God chases after us to span the gulf that separates us, but that is not my purpose today.
Today my thoughts are on the human relationships that are broken because of sin. I think of the diseases that are caused because we live in a universally fallen state--things like cancer--that separate loved ones from one another, and my rage, well, it rages. I think of two individuals who are supposed to be brother and sister in the Lord who engage in what is a spiritually incestuous relationship and the consequences of that as it plays out in the lives of their spouses and children. There is the woman who is dishonest with her co-workers, creating a world of fantasy that makes her feel better about herself but that forces her to keep them at arm's length so that they do not find out who she really is. There is the grandfatherly man who gropes women and makes them feel objectified and violated and then the code of silence that keeps them from speaking out because it was "just a little touch." Children are neglected by parents who would rather spend $5/pack on cigarettes than provide adequate nutrition for their kids. Wealthy day traders drive up the price of oil so that it now costs an individual an excessive amount of money to travel even to the grocery store or to the job every day.
I could go on, but there is no need. These are the messes we have to deal with in the broken relationships of people all around us and even, perhaps, in ourselves; and it comes from living in such a self-centered world where everyone seems to feel the "right" to do whatever they please without considering the consequences. My anger toward sin is not toward the morality or lack thereof inherent in the "sinful" actions--my anger is toward the mess left behind in the wake of these things and the horrifyingly expensive cost extracted in human relationships because of it.
Hopefully those of us who are following Christ can avoid falling into the trap of sin, working with all our might to help people experience reconciliation with God and one another. It just might be that this is what Jesus meant when he said, "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another" (John 13:35.
Here is my take on sin. I understand that sin, all sin, causes a breach of relationship in one way or another. The primary broken relationship is between us and God. Trust and covenant are violated. Vows are broken. The relationship we could have is damaged. And as we continue in sin that relationship continues to be driven farther and farther apart. I could probably go on and on here about prevenient grace and how God chases after us to span the gulf that separates us, but that is not my purpose today.
Today my thoughts are on the human relationships that are broken because of sin. I think of the diseases that are caused because we live in a universally fallen state--things like cancer--that separate loved ones from one another, and my rage, well, it rages. I think of two individuals who are supposed to be brother and sister in the Lord who engage in what is a spiritually incestuous relationship and the consequences of that as it plays out in the lives of their spouses and children. There is the woman who is dishonest with her co-workers, creating a world of fantasy that makes her feel better about herself but that forces her to keep them at arm's length so that they do not find out who she really is. There is the grandfatherly man who gropes women and makes them feel objectified and violated and then the code of silence that keeps them from speaking out because it was "just a little touch." Children are neglected by parents who would rather spend $5/pack on cigarettes than provide adequate nutrition for their kids. Wealthy day traders drive up the price of oil so that it now costs an individual an excessive amount of money to travel even to the grocery store or to the job every day.
I could go on, but there is no need. These are the messes we have to deal with in the broken relationships of people all around us and even, perhaps, in ourselves; and it comes from living in such a self-centered world where everyone seems to feel the "right" to do whatever they please without considering the consequences. My anger toward sin is not toward the morality or lack thereof inherent in the "sinful" actions--my anger is toward the mess left behind in the wake of these things and the horrifyingly expensive cost extracted in human relationships because of it.
Hopefully those of us who are following Christ can avoid falling into the trap of sin, working with all our might to help people experience reconciliation with God and one another. It just might be that this is what Jesus meant when he said, "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another" (John 13:35.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Happy Mothers' Day
I've always struggled with where exactly the apostrophe should go, but I think I have it right....
Happy Mothers' Day to my mom, Catherine Marie (Osborne) Parks, born June 29, 1930, to Russell and Rhea Osborne of Upper Sandusky, Ohio. (Why does it already sound like I'm writing an obituary?) She met my dad during her junior year of high school, and for purely selfish reasons I'm grateful. They married in October of 1948, right after they had both graduated from high school, and by all accounts were deliriously happy together. In fact, that's all I've ever known them as--very, very happy to be together.
My mom was always "Catherine" when I was little. Sometime later, I think after we moved to North Carolina and I was in junior high, she became "Kay" and even "Kate." Lately, though, she is known as "Cathy." That's still odd to me, because she never really struck me as a "Cathy" but more as a "Catherine."
She is regal and, as far as I can tell, always together. She has endured colon cancer, 59 1/2 years of marriage, three kids, lots of grandchildren and even some great grandchildren. She has faced disappointment brought on by the decisions of others. She has loyally followed my father wherever his dreams or job took him. She has changed cultures easily and willingly--she's one of the most adaptable people I know.
Mostly, however, she has modeled Jesus to everyone. She's not a "wear your faith on your shirtsleeve" kind of person who protests at abortion clinics or spends hours trying to convert everyone to Christ. No, she's one of those genuine followers of Jesus who people seem to enjoy being around. She has won a lot of people to Christ without ever knowing the Roman Road or the Four Spiritual Laws. She has just, well, loved them like Jesus would love them.
And for that, I am most grateful. Thanks, mom, and Happy Mothers' Day!
Happy Mothers' Day to my mom, Catherine Marie (Osborne) Parks, born June 29, 1930, to Russell and Rhea Osborne of Upper Sandusky, Ohio. (Why does it already sound like I'm writing an obituary?) She met my dad during her junior year of high school, and for purely selfish reasons I'm grateful. They married in October of 1948, right after they had both graduated from high school, and by all accounts were deliriously happy together. In fact, that's all I've ever known them as--very, very happy to be together.
My mom was always "Catherine" when I was little. Sometime later, I think after we moved to North Carolina and I was in junior high, she became "Kay" and even "Kate." Lately, though, she is known as "Cathy." That's still odd to me, because she never really struck me as a "Cathy" but more as a "Catherine."
She is regal and, as far as I can tell, always together. She has endured colon cancer, 59 1/2 years of marriage, three kids, lots of grandchildren and even some great grandchildren. She has faced disappointment brought on by the decisions of others. She has loyally followed my father wherever his dreams or job took him. She has changed cultures easily and willingly--she's one of the most adaptable people I know.
Mostly, however, she has modeled Jesus to everyone. She's not a "wear your faith on your shirtsleeve" kind of person who protests at abortion clinics or spends hours trying to convert everyone to Christ. No, she's one of those genuine followers of Jesus who people seem to enjoy being around. She has won a lot of people to Christ without ever knowing the Roman Road or the Four Spiritual Laws. She has just, well, loved them like Jesus would love them.
And for that, I am most grateful. Thanks, mom, and Happy Mothers' Day!
Friday, May 9, 2008
And the word for today is....
My friend Philip and I declared yesterday to be "fry-day." That means that we borrowed a fryer, bought some oil, and prepared lots of things to fry. This is unusual for both of us, because we are both fairly healthy in our eating habits. I had some catfish in the freezer (thanks Rick Harper!) and I also bought some french fries. Philip brought over mushrooms, cheese sticks, and the fixins for S'mores. Trust me--the less said about that, the better!
Anyway, I had selected some beer-battered fries because, when it comes right down to it, I really like beer-battered fries. Philip looked at that, then he looked at me and said, "You're really an enigma, do you know that?" When I asked why he said it was because even though I don't consume any alcohol I still like beer-battered fries and even though I think that homosexuality is wrong one of my best friends is a homosexual and so on and so forth. Apparently when he describes me to his friends they get confused when they find out I'm a pastor.
I thought that was a fascinating thing for him to say.
Enigma: 1. a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation: His disappearance is an enigma that has given rise to much speculation.
2. a person of puzzling or contradictory character: To me he has always been an enigma, one minute completely insensitive, the next moved to tears.
3. a saying, question, picture, etc., containing a hidden meaning; riddle.
4. (initial capital letter) a German-built enciphering machine developed for commercial use in the early 1920s and later adapted and appropriated by German and other Axis powers for military use through World War II.
I'm guessing that when Philip said that I am an enigma he had definition number 2 in mind. Apparently I act in ways that are puzzling and contradictory. Okay, so I know that's true. I really don't do it for shock value or anything like that, though. It's just the way I am. I've decided that the masks of who I am "supposed" to be are not as important as my just being authentically who I am, whoever that is.
I think that if we could all learn to be authentic, instead of trying to fit into others' expectations of us, we might all be rather enigmatic. Of course, that would throw many of our worlds into chaos as we let loose of some of the boundaries that have been imposed on us by others.
As for me, I'm just trying my best to be authentically who I was created to be which, I suppose, makes me enigmatic.
I'd like to think that Jesus was an enigma to those he lived with, too.
Anyway, I had selected some beer-battered fries because, when it comes right down to it, I really like beer-battered fries. Philip looked at that, then he looked at me and said, "You're really an enigma, do you know that?" When I asked why he said it was because even though I don't consume any alcohol I still like beer-battered fries and even though I think that homosexuality is wrong one of my best friends is a homosexual and so on and so forth. Apparently when he describes me to his friends they get confused when they find out I'm a pastor.
I thought that was a fascinating thing for him to say.
Enigma: 1. a puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation: His disappearance is an enigma that has given rise to much speculation.
2. a person of puzzling or contradictory character: To me he has always been an enigma, one minute completely insensitive, the next moved to tears.
3. a saying, question, picture, etc., containing a hidden meaning; riddle.
4. (initial capital letter) a German-built enciphering machine developed for commercial use in the early 1920s and later adapted and appropriated by German and other Axis powers for military use through World War II.
I'm guessing that when Philip said that I am an enigma he had definition number 2 in mind. Apparently I act in ways that are puzzling and contradictory. Okay, so I know that's true. I really don't do it for shock value or anything like that, though. It's just the way I am. I've decided that the masks of who I am "supposed" to be are not as important as my just being authentically who I am, whoever that is.
I think that if we could all learn to be authentic, instead of trying to fit into others' expectations of us, we might all be rather enigmatic. Of course, that would throw many of our worlds into chaos as we let loose of some of the boundaries that have been imposed on us by others.
As for me, I'm just trying my best to be authentically who I was created to be which, I suppose, makes me enigmatic.
I'd like to think that Jesus was an enigma to those he lived with, too.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
On being disabled
We have a monthly service at our church for the developmentally disabled that we call "Sonshine Fellowship." It's an odd service, programmed for people with limited function and/or cognitive ability. They are a joy. I watch them as they come in and see their excitement at being here and it is humbling. I watch them sing, recognizing that many of them probably do not fully understand what exactly they are doing. Many simply do things that they see others doing, following so that they are not left out.
I look in their eyes, and in many of them I see pure and unadulterated joy. I look in the eyes of others, though, and I see shadows. I wonder what it would be like to be inside of their brains. Do they have an awareness that they are, well, disabled? That's the label we put on them as a society, but do they feel disabled? Do they view themselves that way? I'm sure that cognitive levels vary and so different individuals will have different levels of awareness of what they can and cannot do compared to others.
It makes me wonder, do we really recognize just how disabled we are? Do we see the stuff inside of us that locks us up and suspends us in a state of arrested development? I think of the emotional junk we all carry around, not to mention the "sinful nature" that plagues us (thanks Adam and Eve!!!), and I wonder if we could stand it if we ever really saw it all.
Of course, maybe those who are farthest on the journey are the ones who have seen themselves in their most disabled form, fallen into the loving arms of God, and been content to be counted among the needy. Perhaps they are the ones whose eyes glow with the greatest joy.
I look in their eyes, and in many of them I see pure and unadulterated joy. I look in the eyes of others, though, and I see shadows. I wonder what it would be like to be inside of their brains. Do they have an awareness that they are, well, disabled? That's the label we put on them as a society, but do they feel disabled? Do they view themselves that way? I'm sure that cognitive levels vary and so different individuals will have different levels of awareness of what they can and cannot do compared to others.
It makes me wonder, do we really recognize just how disabled we are? Do we see the stuff inside of us that locks us up and suspends us in a state of arrested development? I think of the emotional junk we all carry around, not to mention the "sinful nature" that plagues us (thanks Adam and Eve!!!), and I wonder if we could stand it if we ever really saw it all.
Of course, maybe those who are farthest on the journey are the ones who have seen themselves in their most disabled form, fallen into the loving arms of God, and been content to be counted among the needy. Perhaps they are the ones whose eyes glow with the greatest joy.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
A Mothers' Day Memory
I was talking with a friend today about Mothers' Day and was asked about how it was celebrated when I was a kid. I remember very little about the particulars of any celebrations, although I'm certain they all involved cards of affection and gifts galore, but I do remember one particular controversy in which I was heavily involved many years ago that surrounded this most holy day.
At the little church I attended as a child every year a contest was held to elect one mother to be mother of the year. The way the contest worked was that individuals would right letters to nominate someone to the position, and then some unnamed panel would read the letters and select a winner. In hindsight I suspect that the winners were actually selected on a rotating basis and that the entire racket was a ruse designed to get children to say nice things about their own mothers just in case they forgot to buy a card or perfume or some other nice gift for their moms.
I still remember very clearly the first and, as far as I recall, only time I wrote a letter for the contest. I was, I think, six or seven years old, and I constructed an eloquent and beautiful letter of nomination, enumerating all of the wonderful traits and characteristics that elevated the nominee to the status of sainthood. I waxed on about how much she cared for me and how she knew all my favorite snacks and what television programs I liked to watch and what time of the day I rode my bicycle and what kind of toothpaste I preferred and how she was always so very accommodating in meeting all the needs of my life. I thought it was a powerful and moving tribute that would surely bring the judges to tears to select my nominee as mother of the year.
I should probably tell you that I did not nominate my own mother. No, I nominated Zina Blowers (I swear to you that I am not making that name up, either), who was Nathan's mom. I used to stay at their house quite often whenever my parents would travel out of town and she truly was an extraordinary woman. Unfortunately, no one told me beforehand that it was bad form to nominate someone else's mother for mother of the year. No one bothered to explain that I was supposed to write a letter nominating my own mother. It wasn't that I didn't think she wasn't deserving, it's just that it seemed so un-Christian to nominate one's own mother for such an honor--that modesty and humility would indicate that one should nominate someone else's mother and that someone else would nominate my own.
Apparently this caused quite a bit of controversy. I remember being "talked to" ("talked at"?) by a lot of people, beginning with my bossy older sister and continuing right on up the food chain to the pastor. I never did quite fully understand what I did wrong, but then I'm the type of person who believes that in an election situation I shouldn't vote for myself, either.
And so, if I could do it all over again, I would probably comply and nominate my own mother. You see--we can be liberated from our pasts! I wonder if that's what the songwriter had in mind when he wrote, "Glorious Freedom"?
At the little church I attended as a child every year a contest was held to elect one mother to be mother of the year. The way the contest worked was that individuals would right letters to nominate someone to the position, and then some unnamed panel would read the letters and select a winner. In hindsight I suspect that the winners were actually selected on a rotating basis and that the entire racket was a ruse designed to get children to say nice things about their own mothers just in case they forgot to buy a card or perfume or some other nice gift for their moms.
I still remember very clearly the first and, as far as I recall, only time I wrote a letter for the contest. I was, I think, six or seven years old, and I constructed an eloquent and beautiful letter of nomination, enumerating all of the wonderful traits and characteristics that elevated the nominee to the status of sainthood. I waxed on about how much she cared for me and how she knew all my favorite snacks and what television programs I liked to watch and what time of the day I rode my bicycle and what kind of toothpaste I preferred and how she was always so very accommodating in meeting all the needs of my life. I thought it was a powerful and moving tribute that would surely bring the judges to tears to select my nominee as mother of the year.
I should probably tell you that I did not nominate my own mother. No, I nominated Zina Blowers (I swear to you that I am not making that name up, either), who was Nathan's mom. I used to stay at their house quite often whenever my parents would travel out of town and she truly was an extraordinary woman. Unfortunately, no one told me beforehand that it was bad form to nominate someone else's mother for mother of the year. No one bothered to explain that I was supposed to write a letter nominating my own mother. It wasn't that I didn't think she wasn't deserving, it's just that it seemed so un-Christian to nominate one's own mother for such an honor--that modesty and humility would indicate that one should nominate someone else's mother and that someone else would nominate my own.
Apparently this caused quite a bit of controversy. I remember being "talked to" ("talked at"?) by a lot of people, beginning with my bossy older sister and continuing right on up the food chain to the pastor. I never did quite fully understand what I did wrong, but then I'm the type of person who believes that in an election situation I shouldn't vote for myself, either.
And so, if I could do it all over again, I would probably comply and nominate my own mother. You see--we can be liberated from our pasts! I wonder if that's what the songwriter had in mind when he wrote, "Glorious Freedom"?
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Drumming for Fun and Profit, part deux
Today is the last day of Oz, and for this I'm grateful. It's been a fun show but I'm generally tired (and specifically tired of all these Oz songs playing repeatedly in my head--seriously, do you know what it's like to be trying to fall to sleep with the sound of Munchkins singing in your head???).
Drumming has been one of the true delights of my life. I began playing when I was eight, and other than the years when we were on the road I have found opportunities to play everywhere we have been. For a long time I was convinced it was my destiny to be the drummer for Led Zeppelin. In high school I flirted with Christianity and then determined that what God wanted was for me to play drums with Petra. I know--that makes me very old.
I have enjoyed the opportunities opened up to me by playing in the pits of a lot of different shows--from Little Shop of Horros to A Chorus Line to Evita as well as many other shows, I have enjoyed the chance to play, meet different people, and be part of the creation of something that takes a lot of people to put together.
I am faced with a dilemma about this, however, for several reasons. First of all--every time I go and play it takes me away from other things, and I have to often sit back and evaluate whether or not this is a good thing. With my compulsive need to always be busy and my workaholic tendencies, I know that to be busy all the time is not a good thing. I also realize that ministry takes a LOT of my time already, taking me away from my family and many other pursuits because of its very nature. Can I really afford to have one more thing distract me? I have decided that, for now, drumming is my hobby. Some people play golf--I play my drums, and so I resolve this issue by seeing ways that drumming makes me more developed and well-rounded.
Then there is the issue of the morality of so many of the shows I have played. Needless to say, most of them have little resonance with my belief systems and some portray values that are antithetical to my own. And yet I have found that in every show I have played there has been something I have taken away from it that has given me a greater understanding of God, human nature, and redemption. I may not always like the way the lesson is conveyed, but it's always my hope and prayer that those who are at the show will see some of God's prevenient grace at work.
I think that ultimately, however, I play these shows becuase, for me, playing my drums is an act of worship, and that means that the pit is somewhere I can worship and use my talent for God's glory. I have finally realized that church is not the only place we use our talents to worship. Very few of the people I know get the opportunity I have to worship at church all the time--most of them worship at the shop or at the school or at the office. Those of us who follow the way of Jesus are called to worship all the time, which means that we have to find ways of using the talents and gifts and skills that God has given us wherever we are and whatever we are doing.
Drumming is good practice for me as I am learning how to worship all the time.
Drumming has been one of the true delights of my life. I began playing when I was eight, and other than the years when we were on the road I have found opportunities to play everywhere we have been. For a long time I was convinced it was my destiny to be the drummer for Led Zeppelin. In high school I flirted with Christianity and then determined that what God wanted was for me to play drums with Petra. I know--that makes me very old.
I have enjoyed the opportunities opened up to me by playing in the pits of a lot of different shows--from Little Shop of Horros to A Chorus Line to Evita as well as many other shows, I have enjoyed the chance to play, meet different people, and be part of the creation of something that takes a lot of people to put together.
I am faced with a dilemma about this, however, for several reasons. First of all--every time I go and play it takes me away from other things, and I have to often sit back and evaluate whether or not this is a good thing. With my compulsive need to always be busy and my workaholic tendencies, I know that to be busy all the time is not a good thing. I also realize that ministry takes a LOT of my time already, taking me away from my family and many other pursuits because of its very nature. Can I really afford to have one more thing distract me? I have decided that, for now, drumming is my hobby. Some people play golf--I play my drums, and so I resolve this issue by seeing ways that drumming makes me more developed and well-rounded.
Then there is the issue of the morality of so many of the shows I have played. Needless to say, most of them have little resonance with my belief systems and some portray values that are antithetical to my own. And yet I have found that in every show I have played there has been something I have taken away from it that has given me a greater understanding of God, human nature, and redemption. I may not always like the way the lesson is conveyed, but it's always my hope and prayer that those who are at the show will see some of God's prevenient grace at work.
I think that ultimately, however, I play these shows becuase, for me, playing my drums is an act of worship, and that means that the pit is somewhere I can worship and use my talent for God's glory. I have finally realized that church is not the only place we use our talents to worship. Very few of the people I know get the opportunity I have to worship at church all the time--most of them worship at the shop or at the school or at the office. Those of us who follow the way of Jesus are called to worship all the time, which means that we have to find ways of using the talents and gifts and skills that God has given us wherever we are and whatever we are doing.
Drumming is good practice for me as I am learning how to worship all the time.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Fasting Fridays
Today is the first of our "Fasting Fridays" here at the church, and I am eagerly anticipating what is going to happen. I feel very much like a father waiting expectantly for his brood to come home for a family gathering. Of course, I know that not everyone can be here today, nor will everyone be here at the same time. That's really okay. My prayer is that we are all fasting and praying in some form or another. It's been very cool to already see cars on the parking lot at various times of the past week--I even saw one in the front parking lot at 6:30 the other morning. These are people who are taking the call to prayer for our church quite seriously.
For my own part I am still trying to sort out the difference between fasting and not eating. I know that they are kinda sorta the same thing, but there has to be some difference. For example, I don't eat breakfast. If I eat breakfast one morning a week that's rare. So since I'm not eating breakfast this morning does that qualify it as fasting? I suspect that an attitude shift has to be in place, too, or else it's just skipping a meal.
As I was walking/running this morning, I found it difficult to get my mind centered on the notion of praying. I remember that I used to be able to do that, but this morning all I could find in my head were broken bits and pieces of tunes from Oz. It's frustrating to not be able to focus my mind on prayer. This is something I am going to have to overcome if I'm going to get my own heart and mind in the place where I can truly intercede for the church today. I want to be humbled before the Lord so that he has my absolutely undivided attention. I suspect that it's only at that point that it will truly be fasting and not just missing a meal.
Lord, teach me to pray....
For my own part I am still trying to sort out the difference between fasting and not eating. I know that they are kinda sorta the same thing, but there has to be some difference. For example, I don't eat breakfast. If I eat breakfast one morning a week that's rare. So since I'm not eating breakfast this morning does that qualify it as fasting? I suspect that an attitude shift has to be in place, too, or else it's just skipping a meal.
As I was walking/running this morning, I found it difficult to get my mind centered on the notion of praying. I remember that I used to be able to do that, but this morning all I could find in my head were broken bits and pieces of tunes from Oz. It's frustrating to not be able to focus my mind on prayer. This is something I am going to have to overcome if I'm going to get my own heart and mind in the place where I can truly intercede for the church today. I want to be humbled before the Lord so that he has my absolutely undivided attention. I suspect that it's only at that point that it will truly be fasting and not just missing a meal.
Lord, teach me to pray....
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Germy Christianity
The last two nights in a row I have had to go to the Emergency Room at Hackley Hospital immediately following Oz rehearsal. Two girls from the same family, one 17 and the other 2, were both there, one on Tuesday and the other on Wednesday, with high fevers and sore throats. The diagnosis--strep throat in both cases. The 17 year-old is going to have to have her tonsils out. The 2 year-old was treated early enough that there shouldn't be any more issues as long as she follows the routine of antibiotics she has been prescribed.
In this same household there is also a 4 year-old and an 18 year-old and a mom. The little ones and mom were at church last night, running everywhere in the building and crawling all over me (the little ones, not the mom!). (Let's see--not getting a lot of sleep because of Oz and ER visits, weather is getting gloomy and rainy--anyone want to lay odds on how long it is before I get this stuff?) It is predictable that at least someone else in that household is going to get this stuff before it's all said and done. That's the way germs work. We are now alerting the parents of children exposed to the 2 year-old last night to let them know what's going on, too, so that they can watch for signs of something similar going on in their own kids.
Interestingly enough, I was reading an article in the Johns Hopkins magazine earlier this week about the increasing issues scientists are having creating antibiotics that are able to battle against various infections, including strep throat. These germs are, apparently, quite intelligent and very adaptible. When they encounter resistance they adapt. And they not only adapt but they teach one another how to adapt, even across germ families. And so a germ that causes one type of staph infection is able to communicate with a germ that causes a type of viral infection and pass along information that helps that germ develop resistance to new antibiotics.
These are, in many cases, single-cell organisms.
I wish that we non-religious Christ-follower types could learn to be that adaptable and germ-like. We face all kinds of resistance to our faith and our belief systems. Often times people want to innoculate themselves against us (I suspect that's our fault as well). But what if we multi-cellular organisms could learn to adapt in such a way that we could get around their resistance and find ways of pointing them toward the Jesus who has transformed our lives? What if, instead of fighting the same battles against the same resistance, we could find another way?
It seems to me that Jesus pointed us in that direction when he said something about "love," but I might be mistaken about that.
In this same household there is also a 4 year-old and an 18 year-old and a mom. The little ones and mom were at church last night, running everywhere in the building and crawling all over me (the little ones, not the mom!). (Let's see--not getting a lot of sleep because of Oz and ER visits, weather is getting gloomy and rainy--anyone want to lay odds on how long it is before I get this stuff?) It is predictable that at least someone else in that household is going to get this stuff before it's all said and done. That's the way germs work. We are now alerting the parents of children exposed to the 2 year-old last night to let them know what's going on, too, so that they can watch for signs of something similar going on in their own kids.
Interestingly enough, I was reading an article in the Johns Hopkins magazine earlier this week about the increasing issues scientists are having creating antibiotics that are able to battle against various infections, including strep throat. These germs are, apparently, quite intelligent and very adaptible. When they encounter resistance they adapt. And they not only adapt but they teach one another how to adapt, even across germ families. And so a germ that causes one type of staph infection is able to communicate with a germ that causes a type of viral infection and pass along information that helps that germ develop resistance to new antibiotics.
These are, in many cases, single-cell organisms.
I wish that we non-religious Christ-follower types could learn to be that adaptable and germ-like. We face all kinds of resistance to our faith and our belief systems. Often times people want to innoculate themselves against us (I suspect that's our fault as well). But what if we multi-cellular organisms could learn to adapt in such a way that we could get around their resistance and find ways of pointing them toward the Jesus who has transformed our lives? What if, instead of fighting the same battles against the same resistance, we could find another way?
It seems to me that Jesus pointed us in that direction when he said something about "love," but I might be mistaken about that.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Yet another thought about time
For those interested and keeping score--Oz went well last night. We actually made it well into the second act before we had to stop and restart something. Tonight is the dress rehearsal, and I think we are in pretty good shape. I hear that the tech rehearsal went until nearly midnight.
This last weekend was an interesting one to mark the passing of time. Nicki--"the girl" of the family--brought home a male friend to meet dad. They had been up to Ludington to see their friend Dustin and on the way home Nicki, Mr. Marion ("that boy") and Maid Mariann (one of Nicki's roommates from Wheaton) stopped for dinner. I think there was an expectation that I was going to grill him and really drag him through the mud and, you know, make him dance naked in the middle of the street while flining flaming arrows tipped with hot burning oil at him. Apparently I was a disappointment because I, well, only had conversation with him. He's an adult. He's very fond of my daughter. And I can tell by the way she looks at him that she is very fond of him as well. That's enough for me.
Everett, the oldest son, was gone with his band all weekend. They played shows in Ludington and Alma and who knows where else. They had a great time and got to be involved in some significant times of ministry. They also had the requisite vehicle troubles that come with being an unsigned band of 20-somethings trying to make it on their own. Derek hit a deer with his van, and Everett's car wouldn't start so that they could come home on Sunday night. But they took care of it. No, really--they took care of it, making all the right calls and getting back safe and sound and acting like, well, adults. That was very cool, and it is nice to be able to sit back and look with pride upon good decisions being made.
Aaron, the youngest son and "killer Marine" is now apparently also involved in a relationship. I found out about it on Facebook. I found out that some of the teens here at church knew and were sworn to secrecy. I am forced to observe this relationship from afar with skant details and only the occasional picture on Facebook or MySpace or a sparse comment here or there in the same place upon which to obsess. He's a smart boy--he'll do well.
All of this goes with the passing of time, I know, but I was reading another friend's blog about his daughter learning to ride a bicycle, and it makes me realize that those days have passed and will never return. The same is true of today. This day will soon pass and will never return.
What shall we do about that?
This last weekend was an interesting one to mark the passing of time. Nicki--"the girl" of the family--brought home a male friend to meet dad. They had been up to Ludington to see their friend Dustin and on the way home Nicki, Mr. Marion ("that boy") and Maid Mariann (one of Nicki's roommates from Wheaton) stopped for dinner. I think there was an expectation that I was going to grill him and really drag him through the mud and, you know, make him dance naked in the middle of the street while flining flaming arrows tipped with hot burning oil at him. Apparently I was a disappointment because I, well, only had conversation with him. He's an adult. He's very fond of my daughter. And I can tell by the way she looks at him that she is very fond of him as well. That's enough for me.
Everett, the oldest son, was gone with his band all weekend. They played shows in Ludington and Alma and who knows where else. They had a great time and got to be involved in some significant times of ministry. They also had the requisite vehicle troubles that come with being an unsigned band of 20-somethings trying to make it on their own. Derek hit a deer with his van, and Everett's car wouldn't start so that they could come home on Sunday night. But they took care of it. No, really--they took care of it, making all the right calls and getting back safe and sound and acting like, well, adults. That was very cool, and it is nice to be able to sit back and look with pride upon good decisions being made.
Aaron, the youngest son and "killer Marine" is now apparently also involved in a relationship. I found out about it on Facebook. I found out that some of the teens here at church knew and were sworn to secrecy. I am forced to observe this relationship from afar with skant details and only the occasional picture on Facebook or MySpace or a sparse comment here or there in the same place upon which to obsess. He's a smart boy--he'll do well.
All of this goes with the passing of time, I know, but I was reading another friend's blog about his daughter learning to ride a bicycle, and it makes me realize that those days have passed and will never return. The same is true of today. This day will soon pass and will never return.
What shall we do about that?
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Tech Rehearsal at Oz
We had our first "tech" rehearsal for Oz last night, and it went exactly as would be expected. It was long. It was tedious. Large amounts of time were spent adjusting the set so that things were in the right place at the right time. We were supposed to be done at 10--I left at 11:15 and they were still only halfway through the second act.
I've been through this lots of times before so I find that I don't lose patience with the process, mostly because I understand what goes into all the behind the scenes work of mounting such a production. It takes a lot of people to coordinate everything that is happening--sound and lighting people, stage hands, pyrotechnicians (yes, folks, I said pyrotechnicians--they are the ones making all the smoke and fire on stage!!!!) and even people who help characters fly over the stage. The flying is what took the longest to get right last night. Characters have to be able to fly in at just the right height and angle to hit their marks on the stage, and this isn't something that is improvised. It is rehearsed over and over until everyone involved in the process knows exactly what to do so that the actors can land exactly in the right place at exactly the right time.
And so, down in the orchestra pit (and pit is really too kind of a word here) we sat. And we waited. And we played a little bit. And then we sat and waited some more. But because we knew that we were just a part of something and not the "point" of the entire thing we waited patiently. We know that we are supporting players. Most people will never see our faces or even take the time to read our names in the program. Dorothy and the witch and the scarecrow, tin man, and lion and all the other people on stage--they will get the standing ovations. We in the pit, along with all the other behind the scenes folks, will do what we do to the best of our abilities to help the on stage folks shine. No one is any more or less important in the scheme of things, but not all of us get the same level of recognition for what we are doing.
I suspect that I have a harder time being patient in the Kingdom because I can't always get my brain wrapped around everything that God is doing. I don't often know if I'm playing a bit part or if I'm on the stage in a leading role. I can't always figure out if I'm operating a light for someone else or singing in the chorus backstage. I'm not even sure whether I'm on stage or in the audience, prompting or following (thanks to Kierkegaard for that one).
I suppose this goes back top the whole journey thing--I want to see us all walking together, holding hands and singing "Kum-ba-ya" as we travel toward a clearly marked destination with obviously defined objectives. I really want us all at the same point in the journey so that I know no one is getting left behind. I want everyone to realize how significant they are to the process and how important what they do is, no matter how small the role may seem in their own minds.
The ambiguity--it gets to me sometimes, and these are the times I lose patience.
I've been through this lots of times before so I find that I don't lose patience with the process, mostly because I understand what goes into all the behind the scenes work of mounting such a production. It takes a lot of people to coordinate everything that is happening--sound and lighting people, stage hands, pyrotechnicians (yes, folks, I said pyrotechnicians--they are the ones making all the smoke and fire on stage!!!!) and even people who help characters fly over the stage. The flying is what took the longest to get right last night. Characters have to be able to fly in at just the right height and angle to hit their marks on the stage, and this isn't something that is improvised. It is rehearsed over and over until everyone involved in the process knows exactly what to do so that the actors can land exactly in the right place at exactly the right time.
And so, down in the orchestra pit (and pit is really too kind of a word here) we sat. And we waited. And we played a little bit. And then we sat and waited some more. But because we knew that we were just a part of something and not the "point" of the entire thing we waited patiently. We know that we are supporting players. Most people will never see our faces or even take the time to read our names in the program. Dorothy and the witch and the scarecrow, tin man, and lion and all the other people on stage--they will get the standing ovations. We in the pit, along with all the other behind the scenes folks, will do what we do to the best of our abilities to help the on stage folks shine. No one is any more or less important in the scheme of things, but not all of us get the same level of recognition for what we are doing.
I suspect that I have a harder time being patient in the Kingdom because I can't always get my brain wrapped around everything that God is doing. I don't often know if I'm playing a bit part or if I'm on the stage in a leading role. I can't always figure out if I'm operating a light for someone else or singing in the chorus backstage. I'm not even sure whether I'm on stage or in the audience, prompting or following (thanks to Kierkegaard for that one).
I suppose this goes back top the whole journey thing--I want to see us all walking together, holding hands and singing "Kum-ba-ya" as we travel toward a clearly marked destination with obviously defined objectives. I really want us all at the same point in the journey so that I know no one is getting left behind. I want everyone to realize how significant they are to the process and how important what they do is, no matter how small the role may seem in their own minds.
The ambiguity--it gets to me sometimes, and these are the times I lose patience.
Monday, April 28, 2008
sunday...SUNday...SUNDAY!!!
Okay, so the title probably only makes sense if you read it out loud in a gravelly voice that announces commercials for places that sell cheap furniture....
So Gayle resigned her church yesterday, and now she is beginning to experience all the emotions that come along with such a thing. Some people are excited for her future. Some are angry. Some just walked out without saying a thing. It's tough. Of course, I say that like I know. I have resigned as an associate, but I have never left a church I was pastoring. It sounds awful, but she is doing what God is leading her to do, and she has peace and relief. I am proud of her but still praying for her church.
As for my place, the reactions yesterday were fascinating. Many clearly understood the emphasis on fasting and prayer. I received a couple of wonderful e-mails from individuals who expressed the thought that there is something waiting in the wings--something great that God wants to do here. Others, however, may have not quite gotten the point. There were several who expressed concern over me and how I must be feeling overloaded and overwhelmed and overworked and couldn't they do more to help me. The response is, of course, YES! Fast and pray! That will come. We are all at different points on the journey, and some will naturally be a bit farther down this road than others.
And so now we embark on this new journey as a community, seeking God's favor and attention. I just hope that, when he shows up, he grants us his mercy.
So Gayle resigned her church yesterday, and now she is beginning to experience all the emotions that come along with such a thing. Some people are excited for her future. Some are angry. Some just walked out without saying a thing. It's tough. Of course, I say that like I know. I have resigned as an associate, but I have never left a church I was pastoring. It sounds awful, but she is doing what God is leading her to do, and she has peace and relief. I am proud of her but still praying for her church.
As for my place, the reactions yesterday were fascinating. Many clearly understood the emphasis on fasting and prayer. I received a couple of wonderful e-mails from individuals who expressed the thought that there is something waiting in the wings--something great that God wants to do here. Others, however, may have not quite gotten the point. There were several who expressed concern over me and how I must be feeling overloaded and overwhelmed and overworked and couldn't they do more to help me. The response is, of course, YES! Fast and pray! That will come. We are all at different points on the journey, and some will naturally be a bit farther down this road than others.
And so now we embark on this new journey as a community, seeking God's favor and attention. I just hope that, when he shows up, he grants us his mercy.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
A Request or two
For those of you out there who are Christ-followers and believe that there actually is a God who cares about such things, I have a couple of requests for prayer, and I would be deeply honored if you would join me in praying about some stuff.
First of all, my very good friend, Gayle, is going to be resigning from her church in Duluth, MN tomorrow morning. Gayle and her husband Jason started this church from scratch nine years ago, and it has been an incredible run. Gayle is a short, soft-spoken Korean pastoring a church in a transitioning neighborhood that is running over with homelessness, violence, and despair, and she has done AMAZING things wiht God's help. This move is not a "running away" but simply a move of obedience into the next phase of her life. She is not going to another church, but she and Jason will, in all likelihood, be moving soon to a new city. None of us knows the future God has for them, but I am confident it will be great!
Secondly, I am preaching a message tomorrow morning that may very well be the most significant message I have ever preached to my church. I have been here nearly eight years (as of May 4), and my best guess is that I have preached nearly 1500 times to this church during that time period. Tomorrow's message is different, though, because it is intensely personal. I am preaching on the subject of fasting and prayer, and I'm using Ezra 8:21-23 as my text. The call is going to be for us, as a church, to come together to fast and pray every Friday for, well, I don't know for how long. We're not coming together to ask God to prosper us or bless us. We are going to come together to confess and to beg God to make us as individuals and as a church truly holy so that he can use us as he really wants to use us. For many of the people who attend here this will be the first time they have ever heard such a call, and I am desperate in my prayers for the understanding that can only come with the help of the Spirit.
Why is this so significant? It's been interesting, but this message fought me on being written. Then, one morning, I woke up EARLY and was able to write the message in @45 minutes. As it was finished I knew I had something both significant and DANGEROUS sitting on my computer screen. I immediatley e-mailed the draft to several friends for their comments, and to a person every single person wrote back and said something along these lines: "You know, God woke me up last night and told me to get ready for something significant happening soon at church, and that if it was going to happen I needed to be prepared to fast and pray." (Insert goosebumps here)
And so, if you are inclined toward such things, would you please pray for me, for my church, and for this message. I still don't know where it's going, but that's okay--I don't need to!
First of all, my very good friend, Gayle, is going to be resigning from her church in Duluth, MN tomorrow morning. Gayle and her husband Jason started this church from scratch nine years ago, and it has been an incredible run. Gayle is a short, soft-spoken Korean pastoring a church in a transitioning neighborhood that is running over with homelessness, violence, and despair, and she has done AMAZING things wiht God's help. This move is not a "running away" but simply a move of obedience into the next phase of her life. She is not going to another church, but she and Jason will, in all likelihood, be moving soon to a new city. None of us knows the future God has for them, but I am confident it will be great!
Secondly, I am preaching a message tomorrow morning that may very well be the most significant message I have ever preached to my church. I have been here nearly eight years (as of May 4), and my best guess is that I have preached nearly 1500 times to this church during that time period. Tomorrow's message is different, though, because it is intensely personal. I am preaching on the subject of fasting and prayer, and I'm using Ezra 8:21-23 as my text. The call is going to be for us, as a church, to come together to fast and pray every Friday for, well, I don't know for how long. We're not coming together to ask God to prosper us or bless us. We are going to come together to confess and to beg God to make us as individuals and as a church truly holy so that he can use us as he really wants to use us. For many of the people who attend here this will be the first time they have ever heard such a call, and I am desperate in my prayers for the understanding that can only come with the help of the Spirit.
Why is this so significant? It's been interesting, but this message fought me on being written. Then, one morning, I woke up EARLY and was able to write the message in @45 minutes. As it was finished I knew I had something both significant and DANGEROUS sitting on my computer screen. I immediatley e-mailed the draft to several friends for their comments, and to a person every single person wrote back and said something along these lines: "You know, God woke me up last night and told me to get ready for something significant happening soon at church, and that if it was going to happen I needed to be prepared to fast and pray." (Insert goosebumps here)
And so, if you are inclined toward such things, would you please pray for me, for my church, and for this message. I still don't know where it's going, but that's okay--I don't need to!
Friday, April 25, 2008
And now a Word from our sponsor
I read this in the Daily Offices today: "For this purpose he called you through our proclamation of the good news, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ" (2 Thessalonians 2:14 NRSV).
Oh to truly live with the glory of Christ and to see it reflected in every person who would identify themselves as a follower of his. Think of the possibilities....
Oh to truly live with the glory of Christ and to see it reflected in every person who would identify themselves as a follower of his. Think of the possibilities....
Another bicycle ride
It has been unseasonably warm here in West Michigan, and it has been fun to see everyone out and about enjoying SPRING!!! Of course, we knew it was too good to last, and so now we are shivering with anticipation at a forecast for next week that shows highs in the 40's. Uggh....
That is then, however, and this is now, and so now, while it is nice, we must do things! This calls for another bicycle ride. The Musketawa Trail crosses my road about a mile from where I live. This is a "rails to trails" initiative that produced a trail 24 miles long, beginning here in Muskegon and ending in Marne. I have only ridden the length of the trail one time, last summer, right before Aaron headed off to boot camp, and I decided that yesterday, since it was my day off, this would be a good day to go.
I was especially excited about the 10-15 mph winds that had been blowing from the west all week, since I was heading east. Imagine my disappointment yesterday morning to get on my bike and find that they had shifted and were now blowing at 15-20 mph from the EAST!!!! It was slow going, to say the least, and I did not make it to Marne. I rode as far as Ravenna, the halfway point, and then turned around to head for home.
The ride to Ravenna was ROUGH. The ride back was a BLAST!
Now I know I've already written about bicycle rides and winds and the Holy Spirit and all that stuff, but as I was riding yesterday I couldn't help think about things like perseverance, stubbornness, persistence, tenacity, etc. As my right knee was screaming in pain as I pushed against the wind I found myself speculating about the difference between stubbornness that produces growth and stubbornness that produces harm. There is a discipline that helps strengthen us to battle against obstacles, but then there are obstacles that are put before us to keep us from harming ourselves.
I'm not sure that, spiritually, I am always able to tell the difference, between the obstacles I'm supposed to overcome and the obstacles I'm supposed to avoid.
That is then, however, and this is now, and so now, while it is nice, we must do things! This calls for another bicycle ride. The Musketawa Trail crosses my road about a mile from where I live. This is a "rails to trails" initiative that produced a trail 24 miles long, beginning here in Muskegon and ending in Marne. I have only ridden the length of the trail one time, last summer, right before Aaron headed off to boot camp, and I decided that yesterday, since it was my day off, this would be a good day to go.
I was especially excited about the 10-15 mph winds that had been blowing from the west all week, since I was heading east. Imagine my disappointment yesterday morning to get on my bike and find that they had shifted and were now blowing at 15-20 mph from the EAST!!!! It was slow going, to say the least, and I did not make it to Marne. I rode as far as Ravenna, the halfway point, and then turned around to head for home.
The ride to Ravenna was ROUGH. The ride back was a BLAST!
Now I know I've already written about bicycle rides and winds and the Holy Spirit and all that stuff, but as I was riding yesterday I couldn't help think about things like perseverance, stubbornness, persistence, tenacity, etc. As my right knee was screaming in pain as I pushed against the wind I found myself speculating about the difference between stubbornness that produces growth and stubbornness that produces harm. There is a discipline that helps strengthen us to battle against obstacles, but then there are obstacles that are put before us to keep us from harming ourselves.
I'm not sure that, spiritually, I am always able to tell the difference, between the obstacles I'm supposed to overcome and the obstacles I'm supposed to avoid.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Time
I believe that God has given me the gift of cynicism. Dictionary.com, that great repository of intelectual data, says this by way of definition:
1. An attitude of scornful or jaded negativity, especially a general distrust of the integrity or professed motives of others: the public cynicism aroused by governmental scandals.
2. A scornfully or jadedly negative comment or act: "She arrived at a philosophy of her own, all made up of her private notations and cynicisms" (Henry James).
I was at a meeting today that only served to notch up my cynicism a bit more, and a well-intentioned friend, who was himself feeling a bit cynical, said that cynicism could not be a spiritual gift. The spiritual gift, according to my friend, is discernment, and cynicism is what happens when that discernment is perverted in a negative way.
Perhaps....
One of the areas I become most cynical (see definition #1 above) is when I feel like my time is being wasted. Time is such a precious commodity, and it's one I will gladly give to those things I am passionate about (like the people I serve and love so much). But when I find that time is being taken away from me to be given to things I don't believe in or don't care much about well, then, I shift into cynical mode.
Because of this I try to be very sensitive to the time of individuals in the church where I serve. And so I am constantly asking, what is a reasonable amount of time to expect individuals to commit to the building of the Kingdom? On the one hand, I realize that all of our time is to be sacred/holy/Kingdom time, but being the pragmatic midwestern American that I am I cannot help but try to find a number to assign a value as a solution to this equation.
What do you think? How much of a commitment should we expect of ourselves? And what kind of activities count in that time? I really would like to know....
1. An attitude of scornful or jaded negativity, especially a general distrust of the integrity or professed motives of others: the public cynicism aroused by governmental scandals.
2. A scornfully or jadedly negative comment or act: "She arrived at a philosophy of her own, all made up of her private notations and cynicisms" (Henry James).
I was at a meeting today that only served to notch up my cynicism a bit more, and a well-intentioned friend, who was himself feeling a bit cynical, said that cynicism could not be a spiritual gift. The spiritual gift, according to my friend, is discernment, and cynicism is what happens when that discernment is perverted in a negative way.
Perhaps....
One of the areas I become most cynical (see definition #1 above) is when I feel like my time is being wasted. Time is such a precious commodity, and it's one I will gladly give to those things I am passionate about (like the people I serve and love so much). But when I find that time is being taken away from me to be given to things I don't believe in or don't care much about well, then, I shift into cynical mode.
Because of this I try to be very sensitive to the time of individuals in the church where I serve. And so I am constantly asking, what is a reasonable amount of time to expect individuals to commit to the building of the Kingdom? On the one hand, I realize that all of our time is to be sacred/holy/Kingdom time, but being the pragmatic midwestern American that I am I cannot help but try to find a number to assign a value as a solution to this equation.
What do you think? How much of a commitment should we expect of ourselves? And what kind of activities count in that time? I really would like to know....
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Imperfect Church
A good friend of mine is wounded and bleeding right now. He was wrong. The church was wrong. And now there is nothing left but the wounds inflicted by well-meaning people who were all trying to do the right thing.
There is no mistaking this fact--we as the church--the ecclesia--the "called-out" ones, are a mess. We're trying so hard to be the Kingdom in this already/not yet world; trying to be the Body in an incarnational fashion but trying so hard to avoid the wounds; knowing that we should be open and vulnerable but cut down whenever we are.
"It's hard, so hard; you know it's hard to be like Jesus." (Rich Mullins was nothing if not a prophet)
We are truly on a journey together, bumbling and stumbling together. Sometimes we appear to have it together, but most of the time we are like tennis shoes thrown in the dryer, "full of sound and fury signifying nothing." I want to be more than that. I want the Church to be more than that. The potential is there, for success as well as for failure.
May God have mercy on us in the midst of our failures as he empowers us to be what He knows we can be.
There is no mistaking this fact--we as the church--the ecclesia--the "called-out" ones, are a mess. We're trying so hard to be the Kingdom in this already/not yet world; trying to be the Body in an incarnational fashion but trying so hard to avoid the wounds; knowing that we should be open and vulnerable but cut down whenever we are.
"It's hard, so hard; you know it's hard to be like Jesus." (Rich Mullins was nothing if not a prophet)
We are truly on a journey together, bumbling and stumbling together. Sometimes we appear to have it together, but most of the time we are like tennis shoes thrown in the dryer, "full of sound and fury signifying nothing." I want to be more than that. I want the Church to be more than that. The potential is there, for success as well as for failure.
May God have mercy on us in the midst of our failures as he empowers us to be what He knows we can be.
Monday, April 21, 2008
The "overweight" part
So lots of you have already commented on the "overweight" part of my self-description. You don't think I'm overweight. You think I look fine. You don't see any problem with my weight.
You also don't have to button my pants.
Yesterday morning I wore a pair of pants I purchased recently, and let's just say there's a reason I chose a shirt with a tail to be worn on the outside of the pants rather than the inside of the pants. Last night I tried to put on a pair of shorts and could not get them fastened.
I celebrated by eating a strawberry-rhubarb pie that someone left in my garage yesterday. Thank you to whoever that was--it was just what I needed yesterday.
Today I got up and began running again. I used to do this. Last December I was up to running nearly three miles a day when I got sick with the flu, and I have not been back to the running since. This morning I ran and walked alternating 1/4 mile laps, and I both ran and walked one mile each.
This is more than just being heavy. This is about being a good steward of my body. How can I have any credibility to chastise the diabetics in my congregation who do not watch their diets when I am just getting larger and larger? How can I stand beside someone in my congregation who is trying to overcome addictive behavior when all I do is eat to relieve stress?
And so here we go. What's the goal? It's nothing numerical--it's just to be faithful and obedient to the God who has entrusted me to care for this body in a way that honors him.
You also don't have to button my pants.
Yesterday morning I wore a pair of pants I purchased recently, and let's just say there's a reason I chose a shirt with a tail to be worn on the outside of the pants rather than the inside of the pants. Last night I tried to put on a pair of shorts and could not get them fastened.
I celebrated by eating a strawberry-rhubarb pie that someone left in my garage yesterday. Thank you to whoever that was--it was just what I needed yesterday.
Today I got up and began running again. I used to do this. Last December I was up to running nearly three miles a day when I got sick with the flu, and I have not been back to the running since. This morning I ran and walked alternating 1/4 mile laps, and I both ran and walked one mile each.
This is more than just being heavy. This is about being a good steward of my body. How can I have any credibility to chastise the diabetics in my congregation who do not watch their diets when I am just getting larger and larger? How can I stand beside someone in my congregation who is trying to overcome addictive behavior when all I do is eat to relieve stress?
And so here we go. What's the goal? It's nothing numerical--it's just to be faithful and obedient to the God who has entrusted me to care for this body in a way that honors him.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Drumming for Fun and Profit
I have been given several opportunities to play around the area this spring. In February I performed "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" with the Central Park Players in Grand Haven. Then, after that, I played "Bye, Bye Birdie" with the Mona Shores Allegros. Currently I'm in rehearsals for performances of "The Wizard of Oz" with Muskegon Civic Theatre.
One of the things I enjoy about being able to play musicals is the interaction that happens not only within the pit orchestra but also between the orchestra and the singers/actors on stage. We in the pit are the accompaniast, and we are charged with the task of following the whims of the singers, no matter where they may take us. This means that every show is different, no matter what is on the printed page. Of course, we are still expected to perform in a manner that is faithful to the notes in front of us, and so we must strike a balance between being literally accurate and, simultaneously, flexible enough to serve the desires of the performers on stage.
I find that I also like getting paid for playing, but that's another thought.
I am finding that my Trinitarian theology is demanding similar things of me. I have the notes in front of me. I can open the Word and see what I am supposed to do. But then there is that whole "inspired imagination" (thank you, Dick Thompson)that is led by the Spirit to live out those notes in a way that is, well, flexible. For me, that ambiguity is welcome. I like improv. For many of my friends, though, this can be problematic, for they seem more interested in rigidity than flexibility.
The winds of the Spirit are still blowing; and they will blow where they blow.
One of the things I enjoy about being able to play musicals is the interaction that happens not only within the pit orchestra but also between the orchestra and the singers/actors on stage. We in the pit are the accompaniast, and we are charged with the task of following the whims of the singers, no matter where they may take us. This means that every show is different, no matter what is on the printed page. Of course, we are still expected to perform in a manner that is faithful to the notes in front of us, and so we must strike a balance between being literally accurate and, simultaneously, flexible enough to serve the desires of the performers on stage.
I find that I also like getting paid for playing, but that's another thought.
I am finding that my Trinitarian theology is demanding similar things of me. I have the notes in front of me. I can open the Word and see what I am supposed to do. But then there is that whole "inspired imagination" (thank you, Dick Thompson)that is led by the Spirit to live out those notes in a way that is, well, flexible. For me, that ambiguity is welcome. I like improv. For many of my friends, though, this can be problematic, for they seem more interested in rigidity than flexibility.
The winds of the Spirit are still blowing; and they will blow where they blow.
Another Bike Ride
I have now officially ridden TWO DAYS IN A ROW!!!! That's a big deal for a big white guy like me! Yesterday afternoon my good friend Philip called to say, "It's a nice day outside...." I knew immediately what he meant, and so we made arrangements to ride the beautiful lakeshore trail, winding around Muskegon Lake.
To just clear the air on one thing--yes, it was windy....
I first started riding a year ago. It was my wife's fault--she determined that we buy bicycles for my birthday. It was really a brilliant idea, and I've been hooked ever since. Philip rode with me one time and he was also hooked, and he and I have enjoyed riding together, although I must confess that he rides a LOT more than I do.
Philip is 20 years younger than I am, and so any time we ride together it is with a great deal of trepidation. What if I can't keep up? What if his young legs will go farther than me? He also weighs a lot less than I do, which means less resistance, if you know what I mean.
As we were riding yesterday, I finally mustered the nerve to tell him this. His response was delightful: "Well, since this is the awkward part of the date, let me tell you that I was a bit nervous about keeping up with you, too." As it turns out, the pace we were riding seemed to be nearly perfect for both of us. We were able to ride and enjoy one another's company, challenging one another to do just a little bit better.
And becuase of this, I'm a bit stronger today than I was yesterday.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
To just clear the air on one thing--yes, it was windy....
I first started riding a year ago. It was my wife's fault--she determined that we buy bicycles for my birthday. It was really a brilliant idea, and I've been hooked ever since. Philip rode with me one time and he was also hooked, and he and I have enjoyed riding together, although I must confess that he rides a LOT more than I do.
Philip is 20 years younger than I am, and so any time we ride together it is with a great deal of trepidation. What if I can't keep up? What if his young legs will go farther than me? He also weighs a lot less than I do, which means less resistance, if you know what I mean.
As we were riding yesterday, I finally mustered the nerve to tell him this. His response was delightful: "Well, since this is the awkward part of the date, let me tell you that I was a bit nervous about keeping up with you, too." As it turns out, the pace we were riding seemed to be nearly perfect for both of us. We were able to ride and enjoy one another's company, challenging one another to do just a little bit better.
And becuase of this, I'm a bit stronger today than I was yesterday.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Friday, April 18, 2008
I Smell Spring!
Living in Michigan, I have come to appreciate the significance of this annual event we call, "SPRING." The change in the smell of the air, the warming of the temperatures, the greening of the grass, and even the watering that comes to my eyes because of allergies all serve notice that things have changed. Winter is gone. Spring has come.
I suppose it's natural to think about things like new birth and hopefulness and all that stuff that sounds nice and fluffy for Christ-followers, but this spring has brought about a new ritual. Last year my wife, Becky, and I purchased bicycles. Neither of us are terribly athletic, and so this seemed like a nice opportunity for us to have something physical to do that would get us outside. And so we rode quite a bit last year until the seasons changed and we were forced to put the bikes aside for the snow and cold of winter.
Today I took my first real bicycle ride of the season. I suppose that common sense would dictate warming up at the beginning of the season by taking several short rides, but in my town spring calls us to the beach and shoreline of Lake Michigan. Anxious to see water I took off for the fourteen mile ride to the beach. The wind was not terribly strong but was awfully consistent and, naturally, blowing from all directions simultaneously, and I fought it during the entire 2 1/2 hour ride. Well, okay, maybe not for the entire ride.
There was one section of the ride where I realized that the wind was perfectly square to my back. The noise of the wind stopped, and I was able to pedal easily. There was no traffic on the road at that particular time and I made great time until I had to turn around and head face on directly back into the wind again.
I feel like I should make an observation about the Holy Spirit here, but the observation would be trite and inconsistent with my own life experience. I want the Holy Spirit to always be blowing easily at my back, propelling me forward in my journey, but I realize that often times the Holy Spirit blows against me, and not always because I'm heading the wrong direction. Sometimes it's just really hard to, well, live, and it can feel like the Spirit is slowing us down. What I have come to realize, though, is that my legs get a LOT stronger from riding into the wind then they do when the wind is at my back.
Now excuse me while I go put some Ben-Gay all over my body.
I suppose it's natural to think about things like new birth and hopefulness and all that stuff that sounds nice and fluffy for Christ-followers, but this spring has brought about a new ritual. Last year my wife, Becky, and I purchased bicycles. Neither of us are terribly athletic, and so this seemed like a nice opportunity for us to have something physical to do that would get us outside. And so we rode quite a bit last year until the seasons changed and we were forced to put the bikes aside for the snow and cold of winter.
Today I took my first real bicycle ride of the season. I suppose that common sense would dictate warming up at the beginning of the season by taking several short rides, but in my town spring calls us to the beach and shoreline of Lake Michigan. Anxious to see water I took off for the fourteen mile ride to the beach. The wind was not terribly strong but was awfully consistent and, naturally, blowing from all directions simultaneously, and I fought it during the entire 2 1/2 hour ride. Well, okay, maybe not for the entire ride.
There was one section of the ride where I realized that the wind was perfectly square to my back. The noise of the wind stopped, and I was able to pedal easily. There was no traffic on the road at that particular time and I made great time until I had to turn around and head face on directly back into the wind again.
I feel like I should make an observation about the Holy Spirit here, but the observation would be trite and inconsistent with my own life experience. I want the Holy Spirit to always be blowing easily at my back, propelling me forward in my journey, but I realize that often times the Holy Spirit blows against me, and not always because I'm heading the wrong direction. Sometimes it's just really hard to, well, live, and it can feel like the Spirit is slowing us down. What I have come to realize, though, is that my legs get a LOT stronger from riding into the wind then they do when the wind is at my back.
Now excuse me while I go put some Ben-Gay all over my body.
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