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.
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