Reflections
The Last Enemy
Sat 22 Jan 2011
Most of the time I like getting mail, both e- and the snail variety. I’m not talking about spam and its junk mail predecessor, both of which should be banished to the pit. It’s real mail that I like; it keeps me in touch, even the bills. But in the last couple of days my mail, both e- and snail varieties, have brought painful news.
It began with a simple hand-addressed envelope from the mother of a California acquaintance. The envelope contained the memorial folder from her daughter’s funeral. I found and reread my friend’s Christmas letter (these annual epistles were the extent of our conversation) sent just a few weeks ago; there was no hint that death was around the corner of the new year. Then came the emailed news of a relative of Joan’s who had died after a painful experience of bone cancer. Her death was welcomed release. The same day came news of a former parishioner whose body is slowly giving up and who will likely be in the presence of the Lord within a week or two. Hard on the heels of that news came word of a friend just diagnosed with cancer.
The losses of others scrape against the scars of my own grief. Death, however it comes, is not to be feared, but it is undeniably the enemy. Death and disease leave pain in their wake. It was Paul who described death as the last enemy to be destroyed (1 Cor 15:26). The good news is that death has been defeated, the victory sealed with Easter’s empty tomb. One day, death will be destroyed as well.
The mail just arrived. I wonder if I should open it.
It began with a simple hand-addressed envelope from the mother of a California acquaintance. The envelope contained the memorial folder from her daughter’s funeral. I found and reread my friend’s Christmas letter (these annual epistles were the extent of our conversation) sent just a few weeks ago; there was no hint that death was around the corner of the new year. Then came the emailed news of a relative of Joan’s who had died after a painful experience of bone cancer. Her death was welcomed release. The same day came news of a former parishioner whose body is slowly giving up and who will likely be in the presence of the Lord within a week or two. Hard on the heels of that news came word of a friend just diagnosed with cancer.
The losses of others scrape against the scars of my own grief. Death, however it comes, is not to be feared, but it is undeniably the enemy. Death and disease leave pain in their wake. It was Paul who described death as the last enemy to be destroyed (1 Cor 15:26). The good news is that death has been defeated, the victory sealed with Easter’s empty tomb. One day, death will be destroyed as well.
The mail just arrived. I wonder if I should open it.
Comments
Whatever and the Web
Tue 18 Jan 2011
Having spent a good chunk of my life serving churches, I have a lot of church-involved friends who I am probably about to irritate. They may not like hearing me say that far too often, church technology stinks. (Have you looked at any church web sites recently?) There might be a nice way of saying that, but I’m not sure what it is. Sometimes the naked truth needs to be naked.
I suppose it has something to do with the reluctance with which many Christians approach the cutting edge of technology, fearful that it may cut them. I understand that. I consciously avoided texting for several years until it dawned on me that I was missing out on another way to tell my family I loved them. I continue to avoid jumping on the Twitter bandwagon. Blame it on my age if you want; I was born just before the baby boom, and as one who straddles two worlds, I sometimes embrace technology the way I would embrace a porcupine.
I was amused (but not surprised) to discover today that a church I know has a page on facebook, placed there, I would guess, by one of its members. However, nobody knows the page is there, and it contains no information at all beyond the church’s name. Worse yet, the page boldly declares “0 people like this.” Not even the person who created the page? I’m pretty sure that’s not the message this group of believers wants to convey. (Okay, I know you want to go check to see if it’s YOUR church. Go ahead; I’ll wait....)
I am blessed when I come across a church web site that is thoughtfully designed and communicates clearly. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I think the best church web site I have seen belongs to a little congregation of less than 50 people who don’t even have a building. But they know how to use contemporary technology to connect effectively. I used to wonder how (or if) Jesus would have used the web until I remembered that God created a web and called it the church.
Whatever you do - even technology? - do it all to the glory of God.
I suppose it has something to do with the reluctance with which many Christians approach the cutting edge of technology, fearful that it may cut them. I understand that. I consciously avoided texting for several years until it dawned on me that I was missing out on another way to tell my family I loved them. I continue to avoid jumping on the Twitter bandwagon. Blame it on my age if you want; I was born just before the baby boom, and as one who straddles two worlds, I sometimes embrace technology the way I would embrace a porcupine.
I was amused (but not surprised) to discover today that a church I know has a page on facebook, placed there, I would guess, by one of its members. However, nobody knows the page is there, and it contains no information at all beyond the church’s name. Worse yet, the page boldly declares “0 people like this.” Not even the person who created the page? I’m pretty sure that’s not the message this group of believers wants to convey. (Okay, I know you want to go check to see if it’s YOUR church. Go ahead; I’ll wait....)
I am blessed when I come across a church web site that is thoughtfully designed and communicates clearly. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I think the best church web site I have seen belongs to a little congregation of less than 50 people who don’t even have a building. But they know how to use contemporary technology to connect effectively. I used to wonder how (or if) Jesus would have used the web until I remembered that God created a web and called it the church.
Whatever you do - even technology? - do it all to the glory of God.
Sort of New
Tue 11 Jan 2011
Happy New Year (No, I’m not late. It’s still January, and when you’re retired, that’s close enough.) After a week and a half of mutual new year greetings, the analytical slice of my brain has started to examine those simple, oft-shared three words. My personal hope for 2011 is the same as my wish for Christmas: mellow. After the adventures of the last three years, I think mellow would be both happy and new. I’ll aim for mellow, but I can’t guarantee it; there is much that is beyond my ability to control.
I’ve noticed these past few days how easily the new can slip back into the old. I try to visit my friend the treadmill several times a week. The first Monday of the year, the gym was as crowded as I’ve seen it. Lots of people showed up to fulfill the newness of their resolution. Fast forward one week and the crowd has disappeared. Most of the cardio equipment sits unused, and I have my choice of treadmills. Could that many of my fellow new-year-exercisers have suddenly discovered the proverbial road to hell that is paved with good intentions?
The trouble with hanging on to the new is letting go of the old. Some old stuff is worth keeping. The changing of a year should not erase valued friendships or happy memories. Last week I came across a folder of Matt’s with old annual evaluations in it that had me laughing at his humor and weeping at his tenderness. Neither the journey of loss nor the journey of joy is interrupted by the edges of January.
How much of the old can I hang on to while still grasping the new? How much of the new can I grasp without letting go of the old? Perhaps January is a time for discernment.
Happy sort-of-new year.
I’ve noticed these past few days how easily the new can slip back into the old. I try to visit my friend the treadmill several times a week. The first Monday of the year, the gym was as crowded as I’ve seen it. Lots of people showed up to fulfill the newness of their resolution. Fast forward one week and the crowd has disappeared. Most of the cardio equipment sits unused, and I have my choice of treadmills. Could that many of my fellow new-year-exercisers have suddenly discovered the proverbial road to hell that is paved with good intentions?
The trouble with hanging on to the new is letting go of the old. Some old stuff is worth keeping. The changing of a year should not erase valued friendships or happy memories. Last week I came across a folder of Matt’s with old annual evaluations in it that had me laughing at his humor and weeping at his tenderness. Neither the journey of loss nor the journey of joy is interrupted by the edges of January.
How much of the old can I hang on to while still grasping the new? How much of the new can I grasp without letting go of the old? Perhaps January is a time for discernment.
Happy sort-of-new year.
Who Cares?
Sun 12 Dec 2010
Christmas is just two weeks away. I know; you didn’t need the reminder. Black Friday and CyberMonday aside, I haven’t finished my shopping either. (Well, actually I haven’t started it.) But we are in the midst of the season for better or worse, and the chances are it has been better and it has been worse. It is for me a good time to be retired. If Christmas is busy and stressful for the average guy, it is more so for the pastor. In our culture everyone struggles a bit to maintain a proper focus on the meaning of Christmas; pastors, of course, get to help everyone else struggle as well.
I found myself thinking about pastoral Christmases while trying to find a late-night Christmas Eve service. It surprised me to discover how many churches have either no service or one only in the early evening. Before it became irritating, I remembered some of my own pastoral Christmas Eves where time with my own family was sacrificed for time with a congregation. We made that sacrifice willingly, joyfully and without resentment, but now I was glad for the pastors whose Christmas Eve schedule was a bit more relaxed.
They give a lot. And in our consumer-oriented culture, we take a lot (including, often, our pastors for granted) and we don’t much care. Perhaps we should. Your pastor doesn’t need much, but he could use your prayers and your encouragement. He could use them in January and February and beyond as well. This Christmas, how about giving the gift of caring for those who care for you?
I found myself thinking about pastoral Christmases while trying to find a late-night Christmas Eve service. It surprised me to discover how many churches have either no service or one only in the early evening. Before it became irritating, I remembered some of my own pastoral Christmas Eves where time with my own family was sacrificed for time with a congregation. We made that sacrifice willingly, joyfully and without resentment, but now I was glad for the pastors whose Christmas Eve schedule was a bit more relaxed.
They give a lot. And in our consumer-oriented culture, we take a lot (including, often, our pastors for granted) and we don’t much care. Perhaps we should. Your pastor doesn’t need much, but he could use your prayers and your encouragement. He could use them in January and February and beyond as well. This Christmas, how about giving the gift of caring for those who care for you?
The Tree and Me
Sun 05 Dec 2010
Somewhere in this 40 acres of trees is the right one. Somewhere there is a tree that will call out to us, “take me!” (well, not literally, but we will know). Last Friday was our annual find and cut a Christmas tree excursion. It was a good day for tree hunting, which is to say that it was December in Seattle and nothing wet was falling from the sky. Tree buying used to be easier and far less interesting: Find a local tree seller, pick something reasonably green and reasonably fresh (a tree, not a person), and take it home. A couple of years ago we started a new tradition by cutting our own from a 40 acre tree farm on the top of an Issaquah hill. It’s a good tradition, but you don’t want to know how many trees will fit in 40 acres.
It didn’t take us too long to find the perfect tree. It was a grand fir, the right height, attractive from every side, and pruned to a perfect shape. But it wasn’t calling loud enough. We noted its location and kept looking. Then we heard it; more accurately, Suzanne heard it first. It was a Fraser fir calling out to us. And it needed to be cut. It was encroaching on two adjacent baby frasers whose healthy growth would be threatened if it were not removed.
The tree farmer had put it on sale; marked for destruction, one way or another it had to go. It seemed a bit less than perfect - untrimmed, rough edges, lumpy, but with character - sort of like me. And so we left the perfect grand fir standing and chose the fraser.
Tonight Suzanne is decorating the tree. No longer for sale, it is ours, it is beautiful (and becoming more so), and we are glad. It stands in our living room as a silent reminder of the miraculous grace of Christmas. I am less than perfect; I was marked for destruction; and God, who had his choice, chose me.
It didn’t take us too long to find the perfect tree. It was a grand fir, the right height, attractive from every side, and pruned to a perfect shape. But it wasn’t calling loud enough. We noted its location and kept looking. Then we heard it; more accurately, Suzanne heard it first. It was a Fraser fir calling out to us. And it needed to be cut. It was encroaching on two adjacent baby frasers whose healthy growth would be threatened if it were not removed.
Tonight Suzanne is decorating the tree. No longer for sale, it is ours, it is beautiful (and becoming more so), and we are glad. It stands in our living room as a silent reminder of the miraculous grace of Christmas. I am less than perfect; I was marked for destruction; and God, who had his choice, chose me.
Thanks Giving
Thu 25 Nov 2010
We have so much to be thankful for. I have both heard and used those words countless times, but as I heard them again this morning, they carried a deeper than usual impact. They are, of course, true. The Giver of every good gift has given, and I have received. In abundance. But I was neither the speaker nor the subject of those words this time.
This Thanksgiving Day began with a phone call. I had officiated at her husband’s funeral two decades ago. I had tied the knot when she remarried. I had heard the stories of assorted family tragedies and walked through deep waters with her family whose waters seemed deeper than most. This morning she had called to tell me that her adult daughter had died early this morning. She asked me the obvious gut-wrenching question: Why did God take my daughter? I have asked the same question, but I cannot answer it. The only adequate answer to why is Who.
Her Thanksgiving Day had begun the same way my Fathers Day had ended, with news of the death of a child. How does one give thanks against the backdrop of such a loss? While the loss is raw and the pain is deep and the tears flow, can one give thanks? Sometimes thanks giving is easy, but not for her, not today. And yet the words are hers: We have so much to be thankful for. Such thanks are a costly gift, a gift that gives meaning to the phrase a sacrifice of praise.
I like Thanksgiving, and I like thanks giving. It is a time for counting blessings (as if they could be counted), and it is a time for counting losses. And it is a time to discover afresh the wonder that no matter how deep and painful the losses, they do not eclipse the thanks-prompting grace of God.
This Thanksgiving Day began with a phone call. I had officiated at her husband’s funeral two decades ago. I had tied the knot when she remarried. I had heard the stories of assorted family tragedies and walked through deep waters with her family whose waters seemed deeper than most. This morning she had called to tell me that her adult daughter had died early this morning. She asked me the obvious gut-wrenching question: Why did God take my daughter? I have asked the same question, but I cannot answer it. The only adequate answer to why is Who.
Her Thanksgiving Day had begun the same way my Fathers Day had ended, with news of the death of a child. How does one give thanks against the backdrop of such a loss? While the loss is raw and the pain is deep and the tears flow, can one give thanks? Sometimes thanks giving is easy, but not for her, not today. And yet the words are hers: We have so much to be thankful for. Such thanks are a costly gift, a gift that gives meaning to the phrase a sacrifice of praise.
I like Thanksgiving, and I like thanks giving. It is a time for counting blessings (as if they could be counted), and it is a time for counting losses. And it is a time to discover afresh the wonder that no matter how deep and painful the losses, they do not eclipse the thanks-prompting grace of God.
Remedial Trust
Tue 23 Nov 2010
Which was strange, given that the Sunday sermon we had both heard focused on Jesus’ gentle reminder, do not worry. She remembered and reminded me: “Remember Dad, ‘do not worry.’” I didn’t remember, and my answer had only honesty on its side: “I think it’s too late for that.” I was already well into worry.
Eventually two words on the refrigerator caught my eye. They were placed there three years ago (we don’t edit our refrigerator door very often) during Joan’s irreversible decline. We had prayed for God’s will and ours; ours was healing. God’s consistent reply was the two words I had put on the refrigerator door: Trust Me. My response - I can trust God for healing - was significantly narrower than God’s invitation: Trust Me. Seeing the words again stopped me in my tracks and sent me back to Sunday’s text.
Do not worry. Trust me. Do not be afraid. There were no limits other than the ones my untrust had imposed. There are two problems with untrust. First, it obscures the character and unchanging love of God. And second, it is easily learned - and difficult to unlearn. I’m pretty sure that Suzanne, Katy, and Bob didn’t need a six hour Seattle ice adventure. But God being God didn’t waste it; He gave me a six-hour course in remedial trust.
I wish I hadn’t needed it.
The Electric Life
Tue 16 Nov 2010
It shouldn’t surprise me, but it always does.
I was returning home last night from a Bible study, looking forward to enjoying late dinner, sending a couple of emails, and reading a few more chapters in the current library book. The house, however, looked a bit different as I approached it. It was dark. So was the street. And so were the other houses in the neighborhood. It turned out I was coming home to the first wind-whipped power outage of the season.
I have gotten used to the plugged-in life, and when the electricity ceases to flow, so do I. Late dinner options narrowed considerably: peanut butter? cold pizza? (I suppose I could try warming it over a candle.... Maybe not.) I was briefly grateful for my laptop’s fully charged battery until I realized that my modem required a power source. There was a time in my life when reading by flashlight or candlelight was a reasonable choice, but that time seems to have melted into my personal history. Almost everything I wanted to do required electricity. But it’s not all bad. There is a pleasant quietness to being disconnected. I was blessed by my daughter who had thoughtfully lighted my way with candles. And fortunately, prayer and sleep are possible without a plug.
Nine hours later the power is back on, and I am reconnected with the ordinary. I have a briefly freshened appreciation for power and a deepened desire to see the powers that be spend millions to underground the utilities for the sake of my convenience, but I am not hopeful that it will happen anytime soon. Or ever.
There will be more windstorms and more trees knocking out more power lines. There will be more days when I come home to darkness. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it will.
I was returning home last night from a Bible study, looking forward to enjoying late dinner, sending a couple of emails, and reading a few more chapters in the current library book. The house, however, looked a bit different as I approached it. It was dark. So was the street. And so were the other houses in the neighborhood. It turned out I was coming home to the first wind-whipped power outage of the season.
I have gotten used to the plugged-in life, and when the electricity ceases to flow, so do I. Late dinner options narrowed considerably: peanut butter? cold pizza? (I suppose I could try warming it over a candle.... Maybe not.) I was briefly grateful for my laptop’s fully charged battery until I realized that my modem required a power source. There was a time in my life when reading by flashlight or candlelight was a reasonable choice, but that time seems to have melted into my personal history. Almost everything I wanted to do required electricity. But it’s not all bad. There is a pleasant quietness to being disconnected. I was blessed by my daughter who had thoughtfully lighted my way with candles. And fortunately, prayer and sleep are possible without a plug.
Nine hours later the power is back on, and I am reconnected with the ordinary. I have a briefly freshened appreciation for power and a deepened desire to see the powers that be spend millions to underground the utilities for the sake of my convenience, but I am not hopeful that it will happen anytime soon. Or ever.
There will be more windstorms and more trees knocking out more power lines. There will be more days when I come home to darkness. It shouldn’t surprise me, but it will.
12 Words
Wed 03 Nov 2010
Someone called them the twelve most powerful words in the English language. Unquestionably they are words everyone wants to hear. But they are hard words to say because they are dangerous to a person’s own misplaced conviction of their own infallibility. They are words that make possible uniting the divided and healing the hurting. They are powerful words, and they are rare.
I was wrong. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. People have a hard time hearing the end if they haven’t heard the beginning. It strikes me today as I listen to the president’s response to yesterday’s election that what is so clearly true in human relationships is also true in the political realm. And I wonder about the power that might have been released if those twelve words had been included in today’s press conference.
Some of you read the title of this blog entry and hoped that I had finally learned to tweet, limiting myself to just a dozen words. I guess I misled you. I was wrong. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you.
I was wrong. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. People have a hard time hearing the end if they haven’t heard the beginning. It strikes me today as I listen to the president’s response to yesterday’s election that what is so clearly true in human relationships is also true in the political realm. And I wonder about the power that might have been released if those twelve words had been included in today’s press conference.
Some of you read the title of this blog entry and hoped that I had finally learned to tweet, limiting myself to just a dozen words. I guess I misled you. I was wrong. I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you.
Dino, Patty, and Jesus
Tue 02 Nov 2010
I can probably start answering the phone again, not that it will ring that much now that the campaign season is history. For the last several days, callers have had to put up with a message on my answering machine. My voice on the message is preceded by tones designed to signal automatic calling programs that my number has been disconnected. The automatic callers take the hint and hang up immediately. Political volunteers, on the other hand - the human kind - don’t; they hang on and leave a message, convinced that I am (or soon will be) one of them.
It will be a while before we know whether Dino will replace Patty in the Senate. The vote counters will do their thing, and King County Elections will try to avoid yet another scandal. I just glad not to be getting calls from either campaign. It is axiomatic that politics and religion as conversation topics are bound to start an argument, and so for much of the year, civil people often seem to avoid those topics. Except, of course, during election season when it is fair game to urge everyone in sight (and thousands who aren’t in sight) to support the candidate or cause of one’s choosing.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the freedom we enjoy to engage in vigorous debate about politics, and I can be just as passionate about my views as others. Freedom is a precious thing. But I sometimes wonder if our passion is not misdirected. Maybe we need an election season for Jesus, a time when it is not politically incorrect to share one’s convictions and passionate support for the Lord. Maybe that season is now. Maybe it’s okay to risk disagreement.
I voted for Dino in spite of the woman who called three times to urge me to mail my ballot voting for Patty. If Dino loses, I’ll get by, and so, I hope, will the country. But I’m pretty sure I won’t make it without Jesus. And that’s worth a little passion.
It will be a while before we know whether Dino will replace Patty in the Senate. The vote counters will do their thing, and King County Elections will try to avoid yet another scandal. I just glad not to be getting calls from either campaign. It is axiomatic that politics and religion as conversation topics are bound to start an argument, and so for much of the year, civil people often seem to avoid those topics. Except, of course, during election season when it is fair game to urge everyone in sight (and thousands who aren’t in sight) to support the candidate or cause of one’s choosing.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the freedom we enjoy to engage in vigorous debate about politics, and I can be just as passionate about my views as others. Freedom is a precious thing. But I sometimes wonder if our passion is not misdirected. Maybe we need an election season for Jesus, a time when it is not politically incorrect to share one’s convictions and passionate support for the Lord. Maybe that season is now. Maybe it’s okay to risk disagreement.
I voted for Dino in spite of the woman who called three times to urge me to mail my ballot voting for Patty. If Dino loses, I’ll get by, and so, I hope, will the country. But I’m pretty sure I won’t make it without Jesus. And that’s worth a little passion.
Me and Monterey
Thu 28 Oct 2010
I hadn’t been there for years, but I recognized the scene. The rugged, rocky, cypress-dotted coast of the Monterey Peninsula has a unique beauty and powerful appeal. Later that afternoon before boarding the train in Salinas, I needed to drop off the convertible that Enterprise had confused with the compact I had reserved, but for a little while last Tuesday, I just wanted to enjoy the view.
Some scenes can captivate for a few moments, and then one is content to move on. But watching the waves is different. Though there is a clear familiarity about the scene, it is constantly changing, this wave breaking differently than the last, water meeting rock with a surprising splash or a curious calm. Mysteriously, each moment has its own beauty and appeal.
I have been thinking about the focus of this season in my life, and I think that the continually changing interaction of sea and shore and cypress has something to tell me. The scene is recognizable, but it is not static. An infinitely creative God moves the components of my life, sometimes with a surprising splash, sometimes with a curious calm. And I hope that what he creates in the process has an ever-changing beauty.
Welcome to Mount Hermon
Fri 22 Oct 2010
The conference is over now, and it is quiet here. Mount Hermon is again fulfilling its role as a personal retreat, a place to listen to God. Even for a retired guy, the busyness of life can easily drown out the quiet voice of the Lord, and listening is good. Listening, in fact, was one of the goals for this trip, and that goal is being met. These last three days of enjoying the worship, fellowship, and messages of the conference helped to sharpen my hearing as I enjoy some quiet hours with the Lord.
When they were kids, Matt and Suzanne used to watch eagerly for the “Welcome to Mount Hermon” sign on Conference Drive that told them we had arrived. The sign is still there, and I have sensed the welcome from the One who created the redwoods. It’s quiet, but He is here. And He is not silent.
Mussolini vs The Good Samaritan
Wed 13 Oct 2010
Yesterday’s northbound Coast Starlight was having problems that even Mussolini couldn’t fix. With a malfunctioning locomotive, it was 100 miles into its journey and six hours behind schedule. So it was that somewhere north of Santa Barbara, we stopped to dissolve both the dream of an early arrival and the nightmare of a stalled train. Those in the know disconnected one of our two locomotives, turned it around on a convenient Y, and hooked it up to the front of the stalled northbound train. A sacrificed hour later, both trains were on their way.
It would be a happy ending were it not for the muttered grumbles of a few passengers fretting over the possibility that they might miss a connecting train in Los Angeles. It seems to me that in the eternal scheme of things, an hour spent parked by the Pacific to help those more inconvenienced than me is not a bad thing. But there is this streak of selfishness that slithers through the soul, trying to convince us of our own importance. The next time I’m tempted to pass by a neighbor in need, someone needs to remind me of yesterday’s Coast Starlight and that not even Mussolini made the trains run on time.
Journeys Are Good
Sun 10 Oct 2010
I am on a journey, and journeys are good. The journey began yesterday at the rainy Tukwila Amtrak station, which is a nine-year-old temporary creation awaiting the birth of its permanent replacement that has been imagined but not yet built. Temporary is apparently a relative term; in the world of Amtrak stations, change can come slowly.
The journey is good, but getting ready for it is an irritating hassle. I hate packing. Anyone in my family can confirm that truth. Joan did the packing when we traveled, and now every trip is a reason to miss her afresh. I’m pretty sure I have packed too much stuff; I usually do. I’m also pretty sure I have left behind something I should have brought along; I usually do that, too. And before you ask, yes, I have a list, but I’m pretty sure it’s too long. I may have brought the wrong stuff, but fortunately Amtrak doesn’t charge me for baggage.
I like train travel. It avoids the hurry-up-and-wait, TSA-bedeviled atmosphere of today’s air travel and allows one time to reflect on and enjoy the journey. And I intend that this trip include time to reflect on my journey. Grief has a way of occupying the mind and narrowing one’s vision, and I need to be sure that my focus is neither too narrow nor misplaced. So I bring along the pieces of my life to listen to God; I hope I have not packed too much, but He doesn’t charge me for baggage.
I am on a journey, and journeys are good. In the world of Malcolm, change can come slowly.
The journey is good, but getting ready for it is an irritating hassle. I hate packing. Anyone in my family can confirm that truth. Joan did the packing when we traveled, and now every trip is a reason to miss her afresh. I’m pretty sure I have packed too much stuff; I usually do. I’m also pretty sure I have left behind something I should have brought along; I usually do that, too. And before you ask, yes, I have a list, but I’m pretty sure it’s too long. I may have brought the wrong stuff, but fortunately Amtrak doesn’t charge me for baggage.
I like train travel. It avoids the hurry-up-and-wait, TSA-bedeviled atmosphere of today’s air travel and allows one time to reflect on and enjoy the journey. And I intend that this trip include time to reflect on my journey. Grief has a way of occupying the mind and narrowing one’s vision, and I need to be sure that my focus is neither too narrow nor misplaced. So I bring along the pieces of my life to listen to God; I hope I have not packed too much, but He doesn’t charge me for baggage.
I am on a journey, and journeys are good. In the world of Malcolm, change can come slowly.
Some Sheep are Stupid
Tue 28 Sep 2010
I’ve heard some interesting stories in the last few weeks. One of the enjoyable aspects of being a retired pastor is getting to listen to some of my not-yet-retired brothers. Their stories are unfailingly interesting and occasionally painful - and no, I’m not going to share them here.
It strikes me that the challenging privilege of a shepherd is to love some truly stupid sheep. I used to believe the lie that when an unwise and intellectually challenged pagan became a Christian, somehow God made them smarter. Usually it is not so. When a stupid pagan becomes a Christian, it is a wonderful thing, but the result most often is a stupid Christian with an acute but sometimes unrecognized need to rely on the Holy Spirit. And those who shepherd such sheep get to love them through all of their messy stupidity.
Sometimes it is a challenge. I never cease to be amazed at how blissfully unaware some folk can be of the damage they stupidly leave in their wake. I was reminded of that again recently in talking to a man who remains clueless about his own self-created chaos. It seems to me that the Christian life lived in a sinful world can be messy enough without other Christians making it messier.
Pastors, of course, are not perfect. I remember several years ago being part of a group that invited our district superintendent to speak to district pastors and wives on the topic, “Don’t Be Stupid.” It was a tongue-in-cheek suggestion, but he took it seriously, and I suppose it is a message all of us need to hear.
The hope in this picture is that stupidity carries with it the potential to understand and experience grace. And I suppose that the stupider we are, the deeper the grace. To be stupid and miss grace is tragic indeed!
It occurs to me that some who read this will wonder if it was prompted by a conversation with their pastor. Don’t go there. Some sheep are, at least occasionally, stupid, and you might be one of them. So might I. If you feel the need to ask, then do something to correct the stupidity and bask in the grace of your Shepherd and your shepherd.
It strikes me that the challenging privilege of a shepherd is to love some truly stupid sheep. I used to believe the lie that when an unwise and intellectually challenged pagan became a Christian, somehow God made them smarter. Usually it is not so. When a stupid pagan becomes a Christian, it is a wonderful thing, but the result most often is a stupid Christian with an acute but sometimes unrecognized need to rely on the Holy Spirit. And those who shepherd such sheep get to love them through all of their messy stupidity.
Sometimes it is a challenge. I never cease to be amazed at how blissfully unaware some folk can be of the damage they stupidly leave in their wake. I was reminded of that again recently in talking to a man who remains clueless about his own self-created chaos. It seems to me that the Christian life lived in a sinful world can be messy enough without other Christians making it messier.
Pastors, of course, are not perfect. I remember several years ago being part of a group that invited our district superintendent to speak to district pastors and wives on the topic, “Don’t Be Stupid.” It was a tongue-in-cheek suggestion, but he took it seriously, and I suppose it is a message all of us need to hear.
The hope in this picture is that stupidity carries with it the potential to understand and experience grace. And I suppose that the stupider we are, the deeper the grace. To be stupid and miss grace is tragic indeed!
It occurs to me that some who read this will wonder if it was prompted by a conversation with their pastor. Don’t go there. Some sheep are, at least occasionally, stupid, and you might be one of them. So might I. If you feel the need to ask, then do something to correct the stupidity and bask in the grace of your Shepherd and your shepherd.
The Chaos of In Between
Tue 14 Sep 2010
It turns out that it is impossible to replace carpeting that has stuff on it. We have much stuff, and since the law of gravity has not been repealed, a lot of the stuff is on the carpet. Or was. And it had to be moved; at least that’s what Rob the carpet-layer said. I take him at his word since he and his son moved most of the heavy stuff. But it’s the little stuff that makes me wonder. What is this? Why did I keep this? Remember when...?
I have a fearsome tendency to packrat-ism, and I am not alone. Getting rid of stuff is time-consuming work, and I have better things to do. Besides the disease has almost no symptoms - until it comes time to replace the carpets. Lumpy rugs are no good; the stuff needs to be moved.
I live in between, and stuff is a link to what was, but it crowds the corners of my life that could be occupied with better things. Stuff is for in between, and in between is not forever. Most stuff eventually becomes burdensome; Thoreau (great writer, lousy theologian) rightly observed that men have become the tools of their tools, an observation that is even more true in the 21st century than it was in the 19th. In between living carries with it the promise of a destination, and I will make it to heaven without my stuff and without missing it. Neither Joan nor Matt miss the stuff I hang on to. But I still live in the midst of this in between stuff, some of which, at least while I’m in between, is good. It takes wisdom to know what to release, and when. For better or worse, when Rob and his son are done later today, most of my stuff will still be here.
I live in the chaos of in between. But only for a while.
Grief vs Grief
Fri 10 Sep 2010
I was asked an interesting question yesterday that continues to tickle my brain. The essence of the question focused on the differences between experiencing a sudden and unexpected loss of a loved one (Matt) as opposed to the loss of a loved one for whom I had cared and for whom there was the opportunity to anticipate the possibility of death (Joan). It is an interesting question, but for me it is a difficult one to answer.
There are, I suppose, some evident generic differences between those two kinds of loss. When one deals with the visible decline in the health of a loved one, grief begins before death because loss begins before death. However, stretching grief beyond the boundaries of death doesn’t necessarily make it shorter or shallower. On the other hand, the added element of shock when the death of a loved one is completely unexpected can be both a blessing of sorts and a curse as it provides both a degree of temporary anesthesia as well as an additional source of pain. But the reality of the loss and the challenge of adjustment remain. And when it is a son or daughter that has died, the loss is particularly painful.
For a couple of reasons I have difficulty answering the question. While generalizations are possible, it seems to me that grief is an intensely individual experience. Because of that, my grief journey and that of someone else who is experiencing almost identical circumstances may be markedly different. And those individual differences can be greater than the generic differences that could be noted between different kinds of loss. Those who do not recognize this truth are prone to place expectations on those who grieve and then wonder why those expectations are not met. (S)he should get over it or (s)he is handling that well can be equally inaccurate assumptions.
Additionally, I recognize that I am in the midst of processing these losses. I cannot be wholly objective in describing the journey; I can only be honest. Were objectivity possible, I’m not sure it would be either interesting or helpful. To describe the journey while one is in the maze of grief may be interesting to those outside the maze, but their own experience may be quite different. And so I am less concerned with telling others exactly where to turn left or right than with suggesting who it is they need to follow. The constant that makes joy possible in either kind of grief is knowing the unchanging, loving God of the maze. I cannot fathom how painful it must be for those who try to navigate grief, whatever kind it is, alone.
There are, I suppose, some evident generic differences between those two kinds of loss. When one deals with the visible decline in the health of a loved one, grief begins before death because loss begins before death. However, stretching grief beyond the boundaries of death doesn’t necessarily make it shorter or shallower. On the other hand, the added element of shock when the death of a loved one is completely unexpected can be both a blessing of sorts and a curse as it provides both a degree of temporary anesthesia as well as an additional source of pain. But the reality of the loss and the challenge of adjustment remain. And when it is a son or daughter that has died, the loss is particularly painful.
For a couple of reasons I have difficulty answering the question. While generalizations are possible, it seems to me that grief is an intensely individual experience. Because of that, my grief journey and that of someone else who is experiencing almost identical circumstances may be markedly different. And those individual differences can be greater than the generic differences that could be noted between different kinds of loss. Those who do not recognize this truth are prone to place expectations on those who grieve and then wonder why those expectations are not met. (S)he should get over it or (s)he is handling that well can be equally inaccurate assumptions.
Additionally, I recognize that I am in the midst of processing these losses. I cannot be wholly objective in describing the journey; I can only be honest. Were objectivity possible, I’m not sure it would be either interesting or helpful. To describe the journey while one is in the maze of grief may be interesting to those outside the maze, but their own experience may be quite different. And so I am less concerned with telling others exactly where to turn left or right than with suggesting who it is they need to follow. The constant that makes joy possible in either kind of grief is knowing the unchanging, loving God of the maze. I cannot fathom how painful it must be for those who try to navigate grief, whatever kind it is, alone.
Glenn Beck and a Donkey
Mon 30 Aug 2010
But for this Christian, the rhetoric was interesting. I take pleasure in hearing a powerful call for Americans to return to God. That the source of that call was a self-avowed Mormon nudges me to figure out what to make of that. Most Mormons I know consider themselves Christians; most Christians I know consider Mormons non-Christians. So I am left with a question: Is it possible for a Mormon to incite genuine spiritual renewal among Christians?
It’s a question worth asking. And it reminds me of the Old Testament’s most famous donkey. Balaam’s ass was not only not one of the chosen people, it wasn’t a person at all. Yet it became an instrument of God and spokes-beast (seems more appropriate than spokesperson) for God in moving its ungodly master to act for God. God, after all, wastes nothing, not even a donkey. So I suspect that He won’t waste Saturday’s rally either. What do you think?
The Other Johnny
Wed 25 Aug 2010
We were not friends. We traveled in different circles and had different interests. He was a greaser who must have gone through a bottle of hair oil every week. The large economy size. He obviously took issue with Brylcreem’s claim that “a little dab’ll do ya.” The jingle went on to say, “The gals will all pursue ya; they’ll love to run their fingers through your hair.” Johnny obviously figured that a big dab of the stuff would attract even more gals. He was not what I would call an academic success. As I remember, he gained the distinction of being named the student least likely to succeed.
That, of course, is the trouble with drawing conclusions too soon. Making final judgments before things are final is dangerous business. The reason I ran across Johnny’s name the other day is that he has become one of the richest men in America. He ultimately turned what some of us regarded as a hair fetish into a wildly successful business developing and marketing Paul Mitchell hair products. (Would anyone have bought Johnny DeJoria hair products??)
I thought of the other Johnny again this morning as I had breakfast with a friend who reminded me that the fruit of Matt’s ministry would continue to blossom in the years ahead. He is right. I doubt if any of the kids with whom Matt worked will become as financially rich as the other Johnny, but I’m blessed to have seen and heard already the evidence of growing spiritual riches in young lives. And I’m reminded of how foolish it is to hang a loser label on those the Lord loves before He is done.
Getting There
Sat 14 Aug 2010
There was time in my life when the journey was as good as the destination, particularly if it involved traveling. When I was a kid, I mastered public transportation not so much to go somewhere as for the joy of the journey; where was almost irrelevant. But now four hour drives are less fun than they used to be. The body gets stiff and the bladder gets full. There (wherever there might be) has become more important that getting there.
I’m not sure that that is all good. The destination is important; Paul had something to say about that (I press on toward the goal....) But the journey is also valuable. And this journey had some wonderful moments. Because the Christian life is a relationship with Christ, whatever I experience on the journey I experience with Him. And in the process of the journey, before I arrive, I get to know Him better.
It is a reality that is important as I walk through the adjustments of grief. Matt is there and so is Joan. Suzanne and I are still getting. While it may occasionally be difficult, the journey is marked by joy.
Drawing Near
Fri 06 Aug 2010
Reality is much too good to settle for phoniness. In spite of that truth, I have encountered a lot of phonies along the way. And sometimes I have even been one.
I’m not talking here about the kind of recreational misdirection that can inject some unexpected fun into life. I am occasionally guilty of that kind of phoniness. The other day, for example, I called up a friend who was seeking new tenants, disguised my voice, and pretended to be something that I am not: I need to rent a condo, but I don’t have no money. I could pay you with food stamps. I don’t need food; I can shoot squirrels and other small animals to barbecue. Are there dogs and cats in the neighborhood? You get the drift. It was an interesting conversation, but after a couple of minutes, I had to tell the truth: It’s Malcolm, and I’m messing with your mind.
A couple of minutes of phony might be tolerable. A lifetime of phony is tragic. One of the characteristics of my family for which I am thankful is a lack of phoniness. I was reminded of that again sorting through some of Matt’s old papers. He had the family wysiwyg characteristic; what you see is what you get. And I was reminded of it again in Hebrews 10: Let us draw near with sincere hearts.
One simply cannot draw near to God while being a phony. I am what I am and He knows it and loves me anyway. His character demands that the masks come off, and his grace gently sees through them. I don’t understand people who try to develop a relationship with God while practicing phoniness. The reality of drawing near is much too good to settle for less.
I’m not talking here about the kind of recreational misdirection that can inject some unexpected fun into life. I am occasionally guilty of that kind of phoniness. The other day, for example, I called up a friend who was seeking new tenants, disguised my voice, and pretended to be something that I am not: I need to rent a condo, but I don’t have no money. I could pay you with food stamps. I don’t need food; I can shoot squirrels and other small animals to barbecue. Are there dogs and cats in the neighborhood? You get the drift. It was an interesting conversation, but after a couple of minutes, I had to tell the truth: It’s Malcolm, and I’m messing with your mind.
A couple of minutes of phony might be tolerable. A lifetime of phony is tragic. One of the characteristics of my family for which I am thankful is a lack of phoniness. I was reminded of that again sorting through some of Matt’s old papers. He had the family wysiwyg characteristic; what you see is what you get. And I was reminded of it again in Hebrews 10: Let us draw near with sincere hearts.
One simply cannot draw near to God while being a phony. I am what I am and He knows it and loves me anyway. His character demands that the masks come off, and his grace gently sees through them. I don’t understand people who try to develop a relationship with God while practicing phoniness. The reality of drawing near is much too good to settle for less.
Matt's Testimony
Fri 30 Jul 2010
Cross-cultural mission involvement has impacted every member of our family. For Matt, that involvement included leading two outreach English camp teams to Hong Kong and leading a group of teens on a Youthbuilders adventure in Poland. I was along on the first Hong Kong trip in 1994, a dad privileged to follow the leadership of his son. Each evening of the camp included a fun program into which were woven testimonies of us “foreign tutors.” For some of these, Matt had interviewed the participants; on the final evening he shared his own story. The testimonies needed to be simple, brief, and easily translated; to avoid misunderstanding they were translated.
About a week ago I was surprised and blessed to come across a written version of the testimony Matt shared in Hong Kong. He had kept it along with a longer (and later) outline version of his testimony that focused on God’s grace. Twenty-four Chinese students were present. That night six of them indicated they were making a first-time commitment to Jesus Christ; another twelve indicated some other significant spiritual decision. The simple truth from transparent lives makes a powerful impact. There is for me something wonderful about hearing his testimony again, as it were, from heaven. Here is what Matt shared sixteen years ago with students in Hong Kong, and, by the grace of God, with me again last week:
Tonight you have learned a lot about the foreign tutors. I would also like to talk to you.
In high school and at university, I worked on a school newspaper writing stories about politicians, professional athletes, and university officials. Like last night, I would sit and talk with them to learn more about these important people.
Many years ago before I worked on the newspapers, I met someone who was more important than any other famous person I have talked to. His name is Jesus, and he changed my life. When I was younger, two men came to my church and shared about God. They told me that God loves me, but that I was separated from him by sin - doing things that are not right. There was a gap between God and myself. Jesus is the way to cross that gap. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one can go to the Father except by me.”
That night I invited Jesus into my life, and that changed me forever. Now when someone asks me if I have ever talked to or written about an important person, I say, “Yes – his name is Jesus, and he changed my life.”
About a week ago I was surprised and blessed to come across a written version of the testimony Matt shared in Hong Kong. He had kept it along with a longer (and later) outline version of his testimony that focused on God’s grace. Twenty-four Chinese students were present. That night six of them indicated they were making a first-time commitment to Jesus Christ; another twelve indicated some other significant spiritual decision. The simple truth from transparent lives makes a powerful impact. There is for me something wonderful about hearing his testimony again, as it were, from heaven. Here is what Matt shared sixteen years ago with students in Hong Kong, and, by the grace of God, with me again last week:
Tonight you have learned a lot about the foreign tutors. I would also like to talk to you.
In high school and at university, I worked on a school newspaper writing stories about politicians, professional athletes, and university officials. Like last night, I would sit and talk with them to learn more about these important people.
Many years ago before I worked on the newspapers, I met someone who was more important than any other famous person I have talked to. His name is Jesus, and he changed my life. When I was younger, two men came to my church and shared about God. They told me that God loves me, but that I was separated from him by sin - doing things that are not right. There was a gap between God and myself. Jesus is the way to cross that gap. Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one can go to the Father except by me.”
That night I invited Jesus into my life, and that changed me forever. Now when someone asks me if I have ever talked to or written about an important person, I say, “Yes – his name is Jesus, and he changed my life.”
The Mountain
Sun 25 Jul 2010
I was reminded of both its impressive beauty and its constancy listening to an old Dottie Rambo song that asks the question, Where do I go when the storms of life are threatening? The faith-affirming answer in the title of the song says I go to the rock of my salvation, I go to the stone that the builders rejected; I run to the mountain, and the mountain stands by me. When the earth all around me is sinking sand, on Christ the solid Rock I stand....
When it’s stormy around here (which it isn’t today), the mountain may seem to go into hiding, but it is there whether I see it or not. And if I get close enough, I’ll see it. The mountain is out, and I’m going to the Rock.
I Go the the Rock
Hidden Treasures
Tue 20 Jul 2010
As we were walking by, we caught a glimpse of what looked like an old fire engine through the windows in the doors. We peered through the window and discovered it was one of several vintage fire engines inside. We eventually found a door (locked) that identified the Last Resort Fire Department, a Seattle Fire Department museum that opens for a few hours on Wednesdays and Thursdays. It was Monday, and we were out of luck. Or so we thought until a fire department official took pity on us and graciously offered to let us in for a private viewing. It is a fascinating display and an unexpected blessing.
Hidden treasures like the Last Resort Fire Department seem an appropriate metaphor for the last several days as we marked Matt’s passing with a graveside service and a barbecue. I have been blessed to hear wonderful stories of Matt’s impact. Some have brought laughter, some have brought tears; all have brought joy and made me hungry to hear more. Like a gracious fire department official who got out of his vehicle and unlocked a door, friends have opened their memories and let me in to see hidden Matt treasures worth sharing. Thank you!
Mysteries
Sun 11 Jul 2010
For example, I don’t understand how it is that I can miss so deeply and constantly someone whom I only saw for a few weeks each year. Thirty months ago when Joan passed away, I was suddenly separated from someone with whom I had shared everything; the depth of loss was no mystery. But for the last decade, Matt has lived and ministered almost a thousand miles away. We were, at least theoretically, independent. Email and cell phones made communication easy, but days often passed without our talking or needing to. It makes no rational sense that I should miss him constantly. Love, of course, is not moderated by miles or contained by reason; still, it is a mystery that I experience without needing to understand.
The seemingly oxymoronic coexistence of sorrow and joy in our lives these days is another mystery. This one I think I can explain - at least I have tried on other occasions to explain it. But even though I know that both sorrow and joy are appropriate, sorrow because of loss and joy because of my relationship with Christ, their coexistence feels counterintuitive. It is a mystery in which I live.
I am exploring yet another mystery. Paul expresses his desire to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and fellowship of his sufferings. It seems to me that there is a mysterious connection between experiencing loss and knowing God. Perhaps it is simply a reflection of a loving God’s unwillingness to waste anything in my life; however, that grief should become a catalyst for growth is a mystery that I’m not sure I like.
Small People
Mon 05 Jul 2010
Carl-Henric Svanberg became famous the wrong way. He is the chairman of BP who a couple of weeks ago tripped over language and culture in saying that BP cared about the small people of the Gulf Coast. Fortunately, Svanberg is not God. I was reminded of his gaffe reading a letter written by a relative to someone else that was shared with me today. It focuses on one of the Bible’s small people:
There are way too many times in my life that I feel small and insignificant. A mere speck in the grand scheme of things, with no reason as to why I’m here, or what mark, if any, I’ll leave.
But whenever these feelings overpower me I try to remember
one of my favorite bible characters, Zacchaeus.
As the story goes this little man, Zacchaeus,
who had made himself into more than he really was,
was eager to see Jesus as he rode into Jericho.
So eager that he climbed up into a tree for a better look.
While this may have given him a birds eye view,
it probably actually hid him from Jesus as he passed.
And here’s the part of the story that I really like,
Jesus sees him,
knows who he is,
calls him by name,
and wants him
to have dinner with him.
This just blows me away every time I think of it.
So much so that
I have that phrase in the back cover of my favorite bible,
And every time I’m down (way too often),
I just flip to the back and see…
HE SEES ME,
HE KNOWS ME,
HE CALLS ME,
HE WANTS ME!
It’s great to be loved
by the one who taught us
all about it.
God doesn’t have to tell me He cares about the small people. When I think I’m small, He gently corrects me with His love. And there is indeed nothing like being loved by the God of the universe who doesn’t think you are small!
Hands
Sun 04 Jul 2010
It was the right place to be, but I almost didn’t go. Did I want to expose the fresh wounds of grief? (Not particularly.) Could I experience the words and music of worship without creating a puddle of tears? (Probably not. Thank God for Kleenex in every row; I have trouble making it through communion dry-eyed even when life is normal.) Did I want to worship? (More strongly than usual; I wanted to do what Matt was doing.) So I went to church this morning even though I didn’t have to. And I’m glad I did.
God is worthy of whatever worship I can give Him, and my fellow-worshipers help me handle the handicap of grief. It was not just handshakes and hugs before and after the service, it was hands during the service as well. Amazing grace... my heart was too full to sing aloud, and my leaking eyes were closed in prayer when I felt the hands of others on my shoulders. I’ll take your burden, you take My grace... There are times when I need to be alone; this morning was not one of them. Their hands said what my heart needed to hear.
It is of grace that God should delight in what broken worshipers can offer. This morning, this broken worshiper was blessed to be helped by the hands of others.
God is worthy of whatever worship I can give Him, and my fellow-worshipers help me handle the handicap of grief. It was not just handshakes and hugs before and after the service, it was hands during the service as well. Amazing grace... my heart was too full to sing aloud, and my leaking eyes were closed in prayer when I felt the hands of others on my shoulders. I’ll take your burden, you take My grace... There are times when I need to be alone; this morning was not one of them. Their hands said what my heart needed to hear.
It is of grace that God should delight in what broken worshipers can offer. This morning, this broken worshiper was blessed to be helped by the hands of others.
I Know...
Mon 21 Jun 2010
I know Matt is now freer than he has ever been. I know his wonder at God’s grace is growing in God’s presence. I know his pastoral heart that wept with those who weep is weeping no more. I know that his outrageous sense of humor has blossomed into unfettered joy. I know that his Redeemer and mine lives. I know that the Lord he loves has welcomed him home.
And I know that what I know, and what I don’t know, doesn’t erase the pain now that will become joy then.
Because He's Worth It
Sun 06 Jun 2010
Driving through this morning’s random drips on the way to church, I found myself idly wondering why I am doing this - “this” being going to church. It’s a habit, and I live in culture where most people aren’t in the habit of going to church. There was no resentment to my question; I simply hadn’t bothered asking myself why lately.
Lots of people have given up on church. They used to go, but they discovered their church was less than perfect - sometimes a lot less. I understand that. I have been in a lot of imperfect churches and even pastored a couple of them. People do stupid things. They become consumed with the organization; they treat it like a club; God gets lost; people get hurt and leave and don’t come back.
I’ve seen all of that, but I’m still a habitual church attender, and in this morning’s drizzle I pondered why. I love the people, but it is more than social need that keeps the habit alive. The relationship with Christ that began six decades ago gets fed when I worship, and worship is best done in community. Simply stated, I am doing this because He is worth it.
Lots of people have given up on church. They used to go, but they discovered their church was less than perfect - sometimes a lot less. I understand that. I have been in a lot of imperfect churches and even pastored a couple of them. People do stupid things. They become consumed with the organization; they treat it like a club; God gets lost; people get hurt and leave and don’t come back.
I’ve seen all of that, but I’m still a habitual church attender, and in this morning’s drizzle I pondered why. I love the people, but it is more than social need that keeps the habit alive. The relationship with Christ that began six decades ago gets fed when I worship, and worship is best done in community. Simply stated, I am doing this because He is worth it.
A Happy Birthday
Fri 28 May 2010
I continue to enjoy living out the discovery that sorrow and joy are not mutually exclusive. It is a good thing to be able to experience the reality of loss without letting go of the joy and the hope that are an integral part of a relationship with Christ. I’m pretty sure Joan is joyfully celebrating today as well, but I don’t think her birthday has much to do with it.
Would Thoreau have used a cell phone?
Wed 26 May 2010
Maybe it’s a generational thing, but it seems to me that sometimes unconnected is good. And sometimes face to face is better than cell tower to cell tower. Technology, after all, is not exempt from the effects of the fall. Remember when spam was food and junk mail was limited to what the mailman brought six times a week? Maybe Thoreau was right:
Men have become the tools of their tools.
Men have become the tools of their tools.
I Wonder Where It Went
Fri 14 May 2010
Some words are not worth saving; others seem valuable, but only for the moment. Six months of blogging disappeared this afternoon into the mystery of cyberspace. I wonder where it went. I lost it somewhere in the process of a software upgrade, proving once again that newer isn’t necessarily better. My brother mistakenly thinks I’m a computer expert. I’m guessing that after he finds out that I inadvertently made six months of blogging disappear and don’t have a clue how I did it, he won’t let me near one of his computers again.
So I’m starting over beginning with yesterday’s entry that I managed to save. Starting over is good, and it is a reminder that there is still grace in my world.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for paper after all.
So I’m starting over beginning with yesterday’s entry that I managed to save. Starting over is good, and it is a reminder that there is still grace in my world.
Perhaps there’s something to be said for paper after all.
Sometimes It's Spring
Thu 13 May 2010
