tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144386592024-03-07T02:26:33.625-06:00Finding the BalanceMusings, Diatribes, Wanderings & WonderingsJohnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.comBlogger425125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-15454321974628607362023-04-17T04:09:00.001-05:002023-04-21T23:22:17.115-05:0019April 17. <div><br></div><div>I always think about Jimmy on this day. But this year, there’s a more profound sense of miss. <div><br></div><div>I wish he were here to help with Dad. </div><div><br></div><div>I miss his physical presence because right now it is the thing most needed. We’re all determined to tend to Dad‘s daily needs as we seek to honor his request to stay at home with hospice until the end. We’re also decided to relieve Mom of some of the exhausting constancy of care. </div><div><br></div><div>Between my brother-in-law, nephew, and me, there’s someone with him 24hrs/a day. More than the necessary physicality and the utility of handling the daily needs of someone who can no longer do those things unassisted, I’m finding the 3 of us drawn closer to one another as we do this work. There’s a bonding that occurs for those who stand watch. </div><div><br></div><div>The thought of Jimmy participating in the sacred work of caring for our dad and mom would lighten the load for sure. It might also have been a thing, maybe the thing that would have drawn us closer. Here’s to the never-ending regret of relational work delayed for which time ran out. </div><div><br></div><div>So I feel the absence of his presence in a pretty profound way this year. When Dad talks about what it will be like on the other side, the first thing he always says is that he’s going to find Jimmy and get one of his big bear hugs. </div><div><br></div><div>Yeah, I could use one of those right now too. And God knows I’d do about anything to give him one. </div><div><br></div><div>Love you, brother, and miss you. </div><br> </div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-60672868080916407532022-12-25T18:12:00.001-06:002022-12-31T08:57:10.691-06:00A Christmas Homily With No Place to Go <div style="text-align: left;"><font face="Palatino" size="2"><i>If a retired preacher with no congregation writes a Christmas homily and there’s no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound? Let’s see:</i></font></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>“Since Christmas is on Sunday this year, are we still having Church?” earnestly asked my beloved lay leader whose absence I feel even to this day. </div><div><br></div><div>“Ahem, Barb? Really?”</div><div><br></div><div>It was seemingly a lifetime ago. I still giggle at that moment as we both did there and then. </div><div><br></div><div>It’s not an entirely unreasonable question. I mean we were just at Church the night before, birthing that baby, sealing it with Eucharist and topping it off with a candlelit “Silent Night.”</div><div><br></div><div>We did it already, didn’t we?</div><div><br></div><div>What do we do now? Oh, right, here come the carols of Christmas that we’ve been singing since Black Friday, even though the obstinate preacher said we can’t sing them in church until now. Fortunately, a well negotiated agreement was reached avoiding a full blown walk out allowing us to move from Advent hymns (like what the hell are those and why do they matter?) to some carols starting on the Sunday we light the pink (sorry, I’m told it’s rose) candle. The preacher spoke Latin, “Gaudete” I think it was, so some “joy-full” carols were allowed. </div><div><br></div><div>You know how it is when the preacher breaks out the little bit of Latin, Greek or Hebrew they know. Whatever it takes to be able to sing “Joy to the World” in mid-December. </div><div><br></div><div>Of all the things Christmas is, it feels awkward to think of it as inconvenient, and yet…</div><div><br></div><div>Christmas has always flirted with being inconvenient. </div><div><br></div><div>It’s as if the realization occurred to somebody in the latter decades of the 1st century of the Common Era, as the movement centered on the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth took hold and grew, and his imminent return was not so…imminent, that this powerful witness had no backstory. </div><div><br></div><div>Welp, we better get one. </div><div><br></div><div>It surely wasn’t a consideration for the writer of Mark. “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” at his baptism was a full throated claim in the face of the Empire. The earliest gospel has nary a word about “Sweet Little Jesus Boy.”</div><div><br></div><div>John, the last of the canonical gospels, has more cosmic considerations of Light overcoming the darkness, and of the pre-existent Christ who was in the beginning before there was one. Can’t have a birth narrative if you always were. </div><div><br></div><div>Leave it to Matthew and Luke. </div><div><br></div><div>Less birth narrative than the story of Joseph’s decency (which is a compelling story), Matthew opens with an Ancestry.com exposition of his lineage, with the story of Jesus’ arrival told in a scant 8 verses focusing on the theological pillar that in Jesus’ birth, God is with us. No small thing. </div><div><br></div><div>Matthew gives us star-following magi, getting there one way and going back by another (because of a brooding antagonist) with their interesting gifts who come to see Jesus much later than our crèches depict it. Their visit reminds us that Christmas is a season, not one day. And for the Western Church, I fully support anything that reclaims the significance of January 6. </div><div><br></div><div>Now Luke gives us a story. And boy howdy, it’s a doozy! We get prenatal leaping in the womb, governmental reasons compelling late term travel leading predictably to labor with no place to deliver, mangers, hay, donkeys, shepherds with their sheep, singing angels, and lots of treasuring and pondering. </div><div><br></div><div>Linus tells it in “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” it’s where we first hear of “swaddling clothes.”and being “sore afraid.” It’s a story worthy of how the gospel ends. It closes the loop for a movement becoming a religion. Whether or not it should have become a religion is a different conversation. </div><div><br></div><div>As an historical matter, any time a movement driven by mission and focused fervor becomes an established thing, over time sustaining the established thing becomes the priority, often at the expense of the mission. But I digress. </div><div><br></div><div>However these stories came to be and why they did there’s a resonance in what rises when we read them. </div><div><br></div><div>What is your backstory and how does it define you? </div><div><br></div><div>Like Joseph, what do you do in moments when harshness disguised as justice is warranted and grace is a choice? </div><div><br></div><div>“Peace on earth and goodwill upon those whom God’s favor rests” seems a far flung whim in a polarized world on fire. It’s arrogant presumption to think we’re among those upon whom God’s favor rests, isn’t it? </div><div><br></div><div>Who, exactly, might these people be? I know! Those pushed to the margins by the very people reading the same story believing that they are the ones God favors. Irony much?</div><div><br></div><div>What’s it mean to be told, in the moment of your greatest need, that there’s no room here for you? </div><div><br></div><div>What’s it mean when you no longer believe there’s a place for you?</div><div><br></div><div>The Christmas story asks its questions. </div><div><br></div><div>Only you can find the answers if you’re willing to take the journey. It can be humbling and fear making. It can also be redemptive and soul saving. </div><div><br></div><div>Where would you begin?</div><div><br></div><div>Let me suggest starting as a shepherd heeding the words of angels: “Don’t be afraid.” Good news and great joy are to be found for the willing. Nothing of meaning can happen in your journey until you “become willing.”</div><div><br></div><div>Don’t be afraid. </div><div><br></div><div>As the poet David Whyte suggests:</div><div>“Take the first step. The one you don’t want to take.”</div><div><br></div><div>Glory be. </div><div><br></div><div>Amen. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-21760582953636031272022-08-02T14:44:00.002-05:002022-08-19T11:23:23.458-05:00For Autura - "Fearless Leader"I've thought a lot about what I may say in reflection on Autura.
I've done some work to acknowledge the feelings I have about her death...her murder. <div>I’ve got some. And some are intense. </div><div>In my 58 years, and I believe I'm right about this, Autura is the first person I've known, </div><div>worked with, </div><div>loved, </div><div>been hugged and kissed by, </div><div>hugged and kissed back,</div><div>prayed with and for</div><div>travelled with, ........ </div><div>who is a victim of homicide. </div><div><br></div><div>Given how many people die by homicide all around me, maybe it's a wonder it hasn't happened sooner.
But that reality has contributed to the shock. </div><div>And the anger. </div><div><br></div><div>Well, it's anger now. It was rage. Baby steps. </div><div><br></div><div>I don't need to speak to all that Autura was to the community, to the church. That's been done and will continue to be. I just want to register a couple of things about my relationship with her. </div><div><br></div><div>I first encountered Autura as she was coming through the Board of Ordained Ministry. In those days, I led the theology group. At that time, to me she was a name on a file, one of several whose work I was charged to evaluate with my team for the purposes of examining her on the path to ordination. </div><div><br></div><div>She nailed it. Sound. Complete. </div><div><br></div><div>The star of the class that year. Which is not to say there weren't other very impressive and equally equipped candidates in front of us, but she demonstrated a charisma that was natural to her.
</div><div><br></div><div>Charisma. Χάρις. Grace.
Yeah, we'll come back to that.
</div><div><br></div><div>She was very impressive and demonstrated a readiness to be deployed into the ministry field. I offered her words of affirmation and confirmation. </div><div><br></div><div>“Well coming from you that really means something," she said. </div><div>“Coming from me? What does that mean?” I asked. </div><div>“It means you have a reputation, but that's ok, I see you." </div><div><br></div><div>Now there's a lot to unpack here, and I'll not go into all of it.
I've been told I did (do?) have a reputation. I never understood it. But apparently, I was known as a hard ass bordering on perpetually angry if not mean. Unapproachable. There were a couple of souls possessing the gift of being "Johnny whisperers" who could interpret me to the world, and I'm grateful for that. </div><div><br></div><div>I've often said in most recent years that I'm aware of being talked about more than talked to.
Looks like that's long been the case. </div><div><br></div><div>With Autura, there was this fearlessness. "I see you."
Ask anybody who lives like they haven't been. </div><div><br></div><div>Being seen is a means of grace. </div><div><br></div><div>I suspect that was her gift, and that I was one of many often felt unseen that she just could. </div><div><br></div><div>Not long after being brought into full connection, she was put on the Board of Ordained Ministry, and in 2012, we were elected to be Chair and Vice-Chair. Being the Chair of that body is probably the most significant contribution I was able to make the connection beyond being pastor in a local church. </div><div><br></div><div>We kind of trained each other. Lots of meetings. </div><div><br></div><div>We had to do more than a few hard things. Almost immediately after being in our new roles, I was aware that whenever I called, or she'd call me, or we'd text, she had christened me with a new name-- "Fearless Leader."
Not sure where that came from, because some of what we had to do was fear inducing, even though it was absolutely the right thing. I wondered if she was a fan of the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon whose main antagonist carried that name. </div><div><br></div><div>Over time, I came to understand a different meaning to what she called me. It's not that she thought I was a fearless leader. She was encouraging me to lead fearlessly.
My last couple of years in that work were not my best. Life was falling apart. I was being crushed by much. We never talked about it, but she had to see it. Her support never wavered, neither did her charge to lead fearlessly. </div><div><br></div><div>Autura became chair after I stood down. She'd call on occasion for clarity and direction. I began to hear that she was discerning a run for the episcopacy. A year after retiring she called and we went for coffee. She wanted to know what I thought, and what I had experienced going through a campaign with Sky. I was moved that she wanted my input. Given the way I left, she could still see me. </div><div><br></div><div>Her death defines tragedy. </div><div><br></div><div>It is a trauma of unimaginable proportions, the impact of which will ripple for a lifetime. </div><div>For her family and friends. </div><div>For the Church. </div><div>For the perpetrators of the crime and their families. </div><div><br></div><div>If only those who killed her understood what it meant to be seen before they shot her. </div><div><br></div><div>My challenge is to try to see them as I know she would have if given the chance.
I'm not there yet. I'm not sure if I'll ever be. </div><div><br></div><div>But that's the point, isn't it? </div><div><br></div><div>If Χάρις doesn't apply now, when will it ever? </div><div><br></div><div>In my inner thoughts I hear her laugh….that laugh, uniquely hers, right?
And I hear her still challenging me to be what she always was—
Fearless Leader. </div><div><br></div><div>Rest easy, sister. </div><div>Well done.
</div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-23535411156356516142022-04-17T05:09:00.001-05:002022-04-17T06:17:25.784-05:0018Sometimes it’s hard to hold that two seemingly contradictory things simultaneously can be true. <div><br></div><div>But it’s a thing. If it wasn’t, would there even be a “mind blown” emoji for it? 🤯. So there you go. </div><div><br></div><div>I’m sitting in that space this morning. It’s April 17, you know what that means. Well, maybe you don’t, but I do, my family does. Life is marked by the impacts of trauma on it. Jimmy died 18 years ago. I don’t need to recall what happened, or what we went through in the seasons following it. My body, my very being knows the score. Turns out, the trauma of losing him wasn’t the first, and certainly hasn’t been the last that have left lasting craters in me. </div><div><br></div><div>I’m sure it won’t be the last. </div><div><br></div><div>Life is full of surprises. Some are wonderful. And others are the opposite of wonderful. Two things…</div><div><br></div><div>Each crater has a story. Learning that story, telling that story, not having that story be the sum of what defines you but rather the work of resilience through it, that’s the thing. </div><div><br></div><div>How’s that happen? Well the first and most important thing is to be willing to acknowledge that work doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and you can’t do it alone. You need somebody to hold space for you as the inner battle is joined to no longer let the trauma define you to make room for the story of how you endured it. </div><div><br></div><div>Please understand…I’m a continuing work in progress on these things. The pace of progress can be maddeningly slow. But it’s worth it. I bear witness. </div><div><br></div><div>Two things… right. It’s April 17. And this year it’s Easter. Resurrection. Oh, and I’m about to leave to drive to Mayfield, where I was a boy, where I was first told I’d be a preacher at the age of 8, and share a word of resurrection to the community of faith that confirmed me, a community of faith working to not let the trauma of a tornado define who they’ll be. And I haven’t preached in 2 years. Haven’t wanted to, and believed the church surely didn’t want to hear from me. </div><div><br></div><div>In so many ways today is 🤯. But today isn’t about what I think, what I believe or even what I can prove. If you can prove resurrection then faith isn’t necessary. </div><div><br></div><div>Jimmy. </div><div>Easter. </div><div>Mayfield. </div><div>Preaching. </div><div><br></div><div>Maybe the things that are seemingly simultaneously contradictory aren’t at all. On this side of Grace another emoji defines the day:</div><div><br></div><div>❤️</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-61324858109638340332021-07-30T13:09:00.003-05:002021-08-06T07:25:34.793-05:00Kyle<div style="text-align: left;">May 12 was my last text exchange with Kyle. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br><blockquote><i>K - "Hey bud! You crossed my mind. Checkin on ya. Don't take the new bridge!"<br>J - "To take the new bridge would mean I'd have to want to go to Arkansas. 😜! "</i></blockquote>That's what we did. Little doses of snark we'd throw at each other in loving fun. It's the kind of repartee you have with someone you've work alongside, fought together, fought with, yelled at, hugged, always respected, understood, loved. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">To him, I was "Boss."</div><div style="text-align: left;">To me, he was a force. </div><div style="text-align: left;">He was also a pain in my ass.</div><div style="text-align: left;">He was and remains the most gifted person I've ever worked with who was able to pull from people more than they ever thought they could give.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">He was a brother I chose. We each had family of origin brothers near the age of the other. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">News of his death has me revisiting once again that feeling of disbelief. My chest is constricted because to open up and take the deepest of cleansing breaths seems impossible. In this moment, I don't want to.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">I emailed the pastor of First UMC, Little Rock, yesterday to confer and share my sympathies. Twice I was Kyle's reference for that job. The first time, in 2009, they went with someone who had a degree he didn't. Several years later, when the job was open again, I told him they should have listened to me the first time. That was his dream gig. He got it. In my exchange with David, I reflected that he and I had something in common, we were among a very small club of people who understood the bandwidth necessary to work with him. In David's response to me he laughed and wrote "...you really did work with him!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the last day I've reflected on my time with Kyle doing the work we did together. In my 33 years of appointed ministry, my season with him, together with Lora Jean, with all of us at St. John's, was the most fruitful and dynamic time of any I served. And God bless LJ for the staff meetings she had to referee when Kyle and I had a "creative differences" discussion. You can't believe the number of times I "fired" him!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the occasions when Scott came across the street to grace us with his presence long enough to tell us what we were doing wrong, and before he'd take his leave, I'd see Kyle and LJ huddled together waiting with baited breath to see if punches were about to be thrown.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">They never were. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Probably should have been. </div><div style="text-align: left;">I know people would have bailed me out of jail.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">But even at that I credit Scott for working creatively with me to find a way to keep Kyle with us. That most fruitful season almost didn't happen at all, and had we not been able to collaborate with CHC, it wouldn't have.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">In those days the choir Kyle had built was among the best in the Conference. Full stop.</div><div style="text-align: left;">There was a dynamic energy "on the corner" of Peabody and Bellevue. Kyle hated "From the Corner" as the name of our newsletter. He thought it sounded like we were hookers soliciting a date.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Kyle's list of accomplishments at St. J. are many and all are worthy of celebration and reflection.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">For a season, we were in the fullest sense...fabulous.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Using the columns of the sanctuary as Advent candles...</div><div style="text-align: left;">The huge red Pentecost thing that hung down from the ceiling....</div><div style="text-align: left;">Butterflies coming from every light in the ceiling...</div><div style="text-align: left;">Broadway shows in the fellowship hall...</div><div style="text-align: left;">Magnificent seasonal music...</div><div style="text-align: left;">Recording CDs...</div><div style="text-align: left;">Carnegie Hall...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Freakin Fabulous all.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">The highlight for me was the year our choir had a concert at annual conference when it was held at Christ UMC. It was a moment ripe with meaning. Long sequestered to its Midtown island (and some of that we self imposed), St. J. was once again in the middle of the room, at the beginning of making a renewed witness about who we are and why we are. And to stand there in that sanctuary as a choir made up of people whom that congregation would not accept and some of whom had been turned away from that very church and its clergy and sing, sing, sing. It was a justice moment I've never forgotten.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">He wasn't perfect. He could manipulate with the best of 'em. And there was a cumulative toll exacted on the folks he worked with and the people who sang for him. He left St. John's later than he should have. In fact, before I moved in 2009, I was representing him to move to Little Rock where he would ultimately end up. I always hoped for him that he learned how to treat people better sometimes...that he grew up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">He and I understood the power of music in that sanctuary. In those days the room was far more alive acoustically. Before The Way, the room was tuned for spoken and choral music. As evangelism was part of Kyle's job for us, we struggled to get connected to visitors who often came through the front door and got out before anyone could say anything to them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">The choir had grown to the point that we had this great idea, at the end of the closing hymn, the choir would recess from the loft and surround the nave for the benediction. The choir most often sang Lutkin's "The Lord Bless You and Keep You” a capella. I'd give the spoken benediction, the choir would sing from the nave, and and oh how it reverberated in that space. At the Amen we'd have people positioned to welcome a wayward visitor and make sure they knew that we knew they were there. It made an impact. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">A cynical person might call that a Liturgical Dragnet.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll accept that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">And...it was so effective and exemplified a spirit in the room. Over time, the whole congregation would share in the singing. It was the most uplifting, spiritual "going forth" that I've encountered.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Years later when I came back to St. J., I tried to recapture the spirit of that time albeit with new people in leadership roles. We never did, and in retrospect it was unfair to expect that we could. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div>I'm going to miss the occasional "ding" on my phone with a "Hey Boss, checking in, I miss seeing your face."</div><div><br></div><div>I loved Kyle </div><div>And I know he loved me.</div><div><br></div><div>Among my greatest fears for him and all that he endured during his last months was that he knew how much he was loved. I pray he did. I pray he died knowing love. </div><div><br></div><div>And if he didn't, I know he does now.</div><div><br></div><div>And as for the choirs of angels? Look out. It’s about to get fabulous up in there!</div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br> </div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-8735192668950155182021-04-17T09:07:00.001-05:002021-04-17T09:07:37.991-05:0017Holding and honoring the passage of time for something over which you had no control or say is about the only way one can claim some level of agency. And yet, a year on into a global pandemic one is quickly reminded that the passage of time is not really a linear exercise at all. It’s more like a Star Trek: The Next Generation episode featuring Q (that’s Q as in John DeLancie’s character, not the secret source of Gospel material, and certainly not the ridiculously dangerous conspiratorial bullshit invading the body politic of the day). <div><br></div><div>To that end, I dreamt about Jimmy last night. Back when we were kids in Mayfield, on Heritage Drive. Where the hell did that come from? It’s almost as if after 17 years I’m given the keenest reminders that he’s never not around. Somehow, somewhere. </div><div><br></div><div>I miss deeply what we don’t have - time with him now as our lives have moved, shifted, changed. Through those transitions one thing would be constant - the force of his presence and all that entails. </div><div><br></div><div>Jimmy’s been gone half as long as he lived. That seems impossible and yet there it is. </div><div><br></div><div>So if you knew him, take a minute and remember Jimmy. As you do, look for him in your day. He’s around. </div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-1972500716478834882020-08-16T23:25:00.001-05:002020-08-18T08:47:07.643-05:00Remembering Steve <div><font face="Gill Sans">I’ve been thinking a good bit about Steve Montgomery in recent days. I’ve thought about his ministry, and how his life intersected mine. I’ve wondered about Idlewild and what it means for a flock to lose a spiritual leader, even one who had retired. I’m familiar with a loss like that, and while the context for my understanding is markedly different, the emptiness of loss never asks how it happened in order for it to be felt. Like a weighted blanket draped on the soul, it labors the capacity to breathe in the Spirit. </font></div><div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Long ago and oh so far away, I was introduced to Steve by Scott Morris. As is often the case, Scott had an idea, and this one was to bring together an ecumenical, interfaith cohort of progressively hearted clergy from the city for mutual support, the joining of voices as issues arose in the city, and for fellowship. For me, it was a profound gift to be in the room with these folks, and I’ll always thank Scott for the opportunity to be part of that. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Steve was one of the guys I met straight away, and I was taken instantly by his curiosity, his laugh, the prescience of his theological insight, and his genuine sense of presence when he engaged in conversation. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">He also had a lengthy friendship and history with Scott, which for me held hope that I might I gain some insight into the enigma that was my then Associate Minister. The enlightenment I gained was simply this - each held deep affection for the other. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Our group met monthly for several years. We ate in each other’s homes. We went to Israel together. We made a statement and facilitated a city-wide service in the wake of the Lester Street killings. We voiced support for public education in the city as surrounding municipalities were standing up their own school districts. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">After I returned to St. John’s in 2014, I didn’t see Steve very often, a few times here and there. The group had long since faded and reconstituted in other ways with other characters. I knew of Steve’s retirement and was so glad he had achieved that moment of clarity to do so when he did. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">A couple of weeks before we shut down from COVID, I was surprised to see Steve come in the front door of St. John’s. He looked great. I was so glad to see him. As announcements were being shared from the chancel, we stood in the narthex catching up. He said that in retirement, he enjoyed attending churches all over the city. “You’re my Methodist stop, Johnny.”</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">I shared with him the news that I was retiring from pastoral ministry and would welcome the chance to learn from him how it's done. We hugged (back when we did such things) as he was making his way to a pew. At that moment, it hit me, “Oh shit, I better be good today!” </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">I don’t know if I was any good, but I saw him taking notes. Steve Montgomery was taking notes on my sermon. Wow! After the service I saw him in the “enjoyed it, preacher” line. He smiled, pointed at his bulletin on which I saw his handwritten notes, and said, “Thank you, Johnny. A challenging word. Let’s talk before long about retirement.”</font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">“I’d love to.” I said. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">That was the last time I saw him or talked with him. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Whether or not I was at my best that day, Steve surely made me feel as if my work mattered, that it was a valuable contribution. </font><span style="font-family: "Gill Sans";">That’s what Steve did. That’s who he was. Always learning, always curious. He made us want to be more than we’ve been, more fully what our faith can bring out of us. </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Memphis lost a powerful voice at a time when it’s most needed. So we step in. We stand up. We carry that prophetic imagination on. </font></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">And I’m the better for having known him—a better witness to the faith, a better listener, a better person. </font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans"><br></font></div><div dir="ltr" style="font-size: 16px; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;"><font face="Gill Sans">Peace, my friend. </font></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-40910740338176281982020-07-03T11:47:00.003-05:002020-07-04T09:09:08.645-05:00Living Into the Retired Relationship<div>
So it's Day 3 of my retired relationship as a member of The Memphis Conference. Some things I've discovered along the way - as it happens, vocational changes during a global pandemic presents as an insurmountable challenge. Over time, however, I've come to see it as an opportunity to remain engaged in the world to offer care as I can. How that all gets worked out is still unfolding. </div>
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I've spent some time looking back over the last year and the journey leading to this step. I know some of my colleagues don't understand. Some have conveyed disappointment in me, that somehow I've abandoned post. Others just want me to be ok, and I feel that. While not the reason I made this change, I do take some comfort in being in the final retirement class of The Memphis Annual Conference. The Memphis Conference is the place from which I am hewn. I come from this ground. I am shaped and formed by the soul that lives between the waters of the Mississippi, Ohio, and Tennessee Rivers and of the Kentucky Lake. While I have some life in the Tennessee Conference as a child and as a student pastor, I'm not indigenous to the culture that resides there. </div>
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I affirm the move toward making the Nashville Episcopal Area one annual conference. I'd like to think my work at the conference level between 2012-2018 helped pave the way. Although the new conference name? I don't know. Not that I have a better one, but for some of us of a particular fandom, TWK will never mean the Tennessee Western Kentucky Conference. It'll always mean, "The Wrath of Khaaaaaaannnnnn!"</div>
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I have some time and energy now to reengage this medium and to expand upon it. I'll be doing that both through the written word and through the creation of a podcast that will carry the moniker of this blog. Just because I no longer have a pulpit doesn't mean I haven't things to say.</div>
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For now, I'm revisiting what led me to retire from active parish ministry. And I'm sharing it as an example of one who's work toward recovery and wholeness pushed me to consider me. As one who identifies as codependent, historically such a notion is as difficult as, say, maybe finding a job during a pandemic!</div>
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Sharing my process will not be linear. But one must start somewhere. The following is part of the congregational letter I shared to announce my intentions to retire. This seems a fitting beginning.</div>
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<i><b>January 14, 2020</b></i></div>
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<i><b>To the “People Called Methodists” at St. John’s,</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Grace to you and peace. I’m so thankful for who you are as people of faith. I’m grateful for your </b></i><i><b>unrelenting witness for the inclusion of all God’s children in the Church, for your lived-out </b></i><i><b>hospitality in welcoming all who come to you, and for your thirst for God’s justice in the world </b></i><i><b>expressed in servant ministry. I’m stirred and shaped by the care shown those seeking to live in </b></i><i><b>recovery. We all have a “God-sized hole” in our hearts. I’m ever more aware of mine.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>I’m honored and amazed to know that our lives have been intertwined since 2001.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>I write to you today in gratitude and with a surprising peace as I share news about me and my future. </b></i><i><b>In short, I am in my final months with you as your lead pastor. Upon the submission of a letter to </b></i><i><b>the Bishop, I am requesting the retired relationship with the Memphis Annual Conference.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>I’ve worked in the Church since 1983. </b></i><i><b>I’ve served under appointment since 1987. On July 1, 2020, </b></i><i><b>I will have accrued 31 years of service for pension purposes.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>The decision to retire has its beginnings last summer in the New Mexico desert when I was asked if </b></i><i><b>I’d ever thought about doing anything else in my vocational life. The truthful answer was no. It </b></i><i><b>was not that I didn’t want to, I’d just never permitted myself to consider a life beyond the </b></i><i><b>system and structure to which I’ve am bound. So, I gave myself permission, and it has been at </b></i><i><b>the heart of my discernment since. I’ve consulted with trusted mentors, and I’ve listened to their </b></i><i><b>counsel. The root wisdom I’ve received was to do that, which gave my heart joy.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Since my reappointment to you in 2019, I’ve known this would be my final year at St. John’s. That, </b></i><i><b>together with the question of what I would do next, led me to a decision that’s at the heart of how </b></i><i><b>my vocation is practiced. That is, I no longer desire to be bound by the itineracy. My entire life </b></i><i><b>has been subject to the itineracy and the submission of my future each year to the discernment of </b></i><i><b>my bishop and cabinet. I grew up in a parsonage. I took on that mantle myself.</b></i></div>
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<i><b>The itineracy is a fundamental principle for United Methodist elders. I affirm that. And I’ve </b></i><i><b>lived it or have been impacted by it for 55 years. I seek to be free of it for the last chapters </b></i><i><b>of my active work life. There are other ways to engage the world, to try to make a difference. If </b></i><i><b>it’s true that “for everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven,” then </b></i><i><b>for this season of my life, I’ve come to clarity that this is the most needful thing for me.</b></i></div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-38812343446848609372020-06-11T21:08:00.003-05:002020-06-11T21:21:30.506-05:00Stop. Look. Listen. Learn. Understand<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Thus says the </span><span class="small-caps" style="font-size: 16px; font-variant-caps: small-caps; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">:</span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><i><span class="text Jer-31-15" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
A voice is heard in Ramah,</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Jer-31-15" style="position: relative;">lamentation and bitter weeping.</span></div>
</span><span class="text Jer-31-15" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; position: relative;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Rachel is weeping for her children;</div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Jer-31-15" style="position: relative;">she refuses to be comforted for her children,</span></div>
</span><span class="indent-1" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Jer-31-15" style="position: relative;">because they are no more. Jeremiah 31.15</span></div>
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Since George Floyd was murdered, days of protest have accrued into weeks. There is a cumulative anguishing cry of a people demanding that something be different. As Sam Cooke sang "A Change Is Gonna Come." It has to. It must.<br />
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There are efforts by some to categorize and demonize those protesting in the streets. That is done only for one purpose, to further marginalize their voices so as to perpetuate the status quo. There's a different energy in the air these days. Unprecedented events in unprecedented times call for unprecedented outcomes.<br />
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The number of people who look like me now able to proclaim that Black Lives Matter indicates the beginnings of a change of some import. It's a change whose time has come, but a change that wouldn't have were it not for video cameras on mobile devices. <br />
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There's something about observing someone with his knee on someone's neck that does a thing. That's especially so when the one doing it has his hands in his pockets as life is pinched off. <div><br /></div><div>So yeah, there's the beginning of a change. To be sure, it's not the whole of a paradigm shift, but it is the beginning.<br />
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Of this be clear, the principalities and powers that have built a system of racism and bias will not go quietly into that good night. Persistence is key. Simon Sinek's quote has resonance:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #14171a; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><i>"Fight against something and we focus on the thing we hate. Fight for something and we focus on the thing we love."</i></span></span></blockquote>
For folks like me, white folks, what is our place? What's our role? What do we do? How do we engage in something we may not fully understand. What are we willing to fight for?<br />
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Quite simply, before engaging in the fight for change, we white folks need some training. We need a whole lot of understanding. We are in no position to determine what needs to happen. <br />
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Those whose lives are at risk are our teachers. Are you willing to learn? To understand? Are you willing to be confronted with things that will make you uncomfortable? Can you resist the temptation to be defensive?<br />
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This learning is not merely an intellectual exercise. It was in the academy that I first learned from James Cone's writings that white folks are in no position to drive the train. So let's not try.<br />
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Let's Stop. Look. Listen. Learn. Understand.<br />
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You may have seen this video. I commend it as a point of beginning for white folks. It's Emmanuel Acho's "Uncomfortable Conversations With a Black Man." It's real. It's honest. It addresses questions that you may have asked. You may not like the answers to the questions, but we can no longer fain ignorance. It's powerful. <div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/h8jUA7JBkF4" width="320" youtube-src-id="h8jUA7JBkF4"></iframe></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Follow this guy. Ask your questions. </div><div><br /></div><div>For all the names we are asked to remember, to remember not to forget, let's learn and come to understand that what we're fighting for is something/someone we love. Let us refuse to be comforted with what's happening in the world as well as what's happening inside each of us as we allow ourselves to be confronted.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-40027736601459164032020-06-02T08:55:00.000-05:002020-06-02T08:55:09.407-05:00Say Their Names<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s one of the signs carried in protest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It’s one of the chants rising from the righteously indignant
voices screaming to be heard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Say His Name.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">George.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The exposure of power imbalances right there in our faces is
jarring. Systemic racism, pernicious and insidious, is a daily reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only when something is recorded that we
can’t not see it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For every
discomforting video of an unarmed person of color being killed, can you imagine
the number of lives whose last moments are memorialized only in the fleeting
breath of the dying?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Say Their Names.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Breonna. Eric. Michael. Alteria. Antwon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What do we do with this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What is the Church’s response?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
question is one we always seem to raise in the face of what’s happening in the
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m beginning to wonder if
the more pressing question is this – What do you want to do?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Say Their Names.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Walter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alonzo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Philando.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What do you want to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do you want to ignore it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Act
like it’s no big deal?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does what you
know of the Kingdom of Heaven as described by Jesus align with what we’re
seeing happen now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do Black Lives
Matter?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">“Say Their Names.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tyree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Miguel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Willie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">St. John’s has talked about all this before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve had guest speakers and powerful
sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve talked about how badly
we want things to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here we
are again watching the world burn and wondering what does the Church do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What does my church do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do I do?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Let me suggest the first, most pressing opportunity is to be
clear about being an ally for those crying in the streets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand with. March alongside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But mostly, listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><a href="https://www.dismantlecollective.org/resources/" target="_blank">Here </a>are </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">resources</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> just for folks, and mostly white folks, who want to learn
what it is to be an ally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To learn why
the injustice is real as is white privilege.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Go there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be willing to be led by those seeking change
so that we no longer need to be reminded to say their names.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">La’Vantee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Janet. Ahmaud.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Christ, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-90643528066952606362020-04-17T15:13:00.001-05:002020-04-22T12:06:17.972-05:0016Remembering today in light of what the world’s enduring isn’t hard, but there is a sense of preoccupation with the unknowns residing in the unprecedented. <br />
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And yet, the calendar always finds us in moments of reflection for those we remember. </div>
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So today I remember Jimmy, not so much for who he was (which is the stuff of legend and tall tales, some of which are kinda true), but for the man I could have discovered as integral in my life during the last few years, which have been replete with transitions, failures, self-discovery, trauma, and loss. </div>
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Most of my adult life with Jimmy, the question I lived with was what kind of brother I was or wasn’t to him. </div>
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I’ve lived in the regret of the failure to hold that in the sanctity it deserves. </div>
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And yet at some level, I always felt we understood each other, and that one day we’d come to embrace the gift that brotherhood is. </div>
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Part of my work of rediscovery and recovery is to come to peace about what wasn’t and what can never be. Let me tell you, it’s hard f’n work. And it’s work worth doing. </div>
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He’d be 50 this year. Since I’m more than halfway to 60, my zeal to rub that in is tempered. </div>
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I find myself wondering not what kind of brother I would be to him right now. Instead, I wonder what kind of brother he’d be for me as I walk into the chasm of the unknown. </div>
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And I think I know. I know I do. </div>
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We shared this trait, sometimes to our detriment...to stand with, to stand in front of if need be (nothing’s going to get you today, not on my watch). </div>
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That’s what he’d do. Without thinking, almost instinctively, he’d stand a post to overwatch me. It was his way, it’s mine, too. </div>
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“I got you.”</div>
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To have my little brother be my big brother these days would have been fine by me. </div>
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For a while, at least. </div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-18461596538653543362019-04-17T06:13:00.001-05:002019-05-02T10:04:06.841-05:0015How is it possible it’s been 15 years?<div><br></div><div>This year there’s a particular sense of the unresolved, the resurfacing of stuff buried, and it’s haunting me. </div><div><br></div><div>Something about suddenly losing a brother I chose has done something to me as I recall my own brother and the suddenness of losing him. </div><div><br></div><div>When a current trauma triggers feelings of an older one, the shock to the system is compounded. </div><div><br></div><div>So I’m pensive. I feel sadness, anger, and confusion like I did 15 years ago. </div><div><br></div><div>How the hell did this happen?</div><div>What happened?</div><div>Why?</div><div><br></div><div>What could I have done differently? </div><div>What should I have said?</div><div><br></div><div>I couldn’t speak at Jimmy’s service.</div><div>Didn’t want to. I was too angry to pray. </div><div><br></div><div>I didn’t have that luxury for John’s. I was front and center for the whole thing. </div><div><br></div><div>Put your head down and grind it out. </div><div><br></div><div> “You’re so strong, Johnny. I’m amazed at how much you just take on yourself and keep going.”</div><div><br></div><div>Yeah, let me tell you. At one time I thought of that as a virtue, maybe even one of my superpowers. But there’s a backside to every blessing. It doesn’t matter how much any of us can take, there comes a time when one more thing is one thing too many, and what you could once carry crushes you. </div><div><br></div><div>I’m crushed. Probably crazy. Definitely not awesome. </div><div><br></div><div>As I live in present grief, that which is residual and unresolved reminds me that it never left. </div><div><br></div><div>It weighs heavily on my shoulders. </div><div><br></div><div>I can’t take off the old cloak so that I can wear the new one. </div><div><br></div><div>I wear them both these days. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-37505493924509170112019-03-21T14:49:00.001-05:002020-12-26T12:31:53.905-06:00Eulogy for The Brother I Chose<div><i>Several people have asked for my words at John’s memorial service. I didn’t have a manuscript but some thoughts scribbled down. I’m thankful for the gift of a transcript. I’ve deleted the impromptu comments I made and augmented some thoughts with what I meant to say but left on the page. </i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div><i>Rest easy, brother. </i></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Hi. My name is Johnny and I love John.</div><div><br></div><div>Colleague, friend, brother I chose. </div><div><br></div><div>I’ve lived in that reality in the last days and it occurs to me that a lot of you chose John, too. So, the family is gathered this morning to talk about a homegoing. </div><div><br></div><div>And yet in the eternal promises that we know and hold so dear there is that sense of what happened? How are we even here today? </div><div><br></div><div>Part of a reading from John O’Donohue “For Grief” hit me this week, and I keep living with these words: </div><div><br></div><div><i>When you lose someone you love,</i></div><div><i>Your life becomes strange,</i></div><div><i>The ground beneath you becomes fragile,</i></div><div><i>Your thoughts make your eyes unsure;</i></div><div><i>And some dead echo drags your voice down</i></div><div><i>Where words have no confidence</i></div><div><i>Your heart has grown heavy with loss;</i></div><div><i>And though this loss has wounded others too,</i></div><div><i>No one knows what has been taken from you</i></div><div><i>When the silence of absence deepens.</i></div><div><i>Flickers of guilt kindle regret</i></div><div><i>For all that was left unsaid or undone.</i></div><div><br></div><div>We all have John stories. </div><div>We all know what a John hug feels like. </div><div>We all know what it’s like to hear those words of greeting, that for me were either in person, sometimes on the phone, but more often a text after I’ve tried to reach him on the phone.</div><div><br></div><div>Hey buddy. </div><div>Hey pal. </div><div>Hey bro. </div><div><br></div><div>Those were the names we shared with one another. I’m not sure I can remember when we ever called each other by our given names. But there was always that feeling that there was a whole lot more that I was trying to share with him than he was willing to share in return. That his interest in my life while genuine was a way to keep him from fully sharing his with me. </div><div><br></div><div>And at times that’s frustrating, that’s maddening. And given where we are this morning, I’m mad as hell about that. </div><div><br></div><div>This one, this brother I chose, who stood tall. For the life of me I could never understand why a man who stood that tall would choose to wear a tall hat. I mean, the Stetson company must be really sad about the market share they’re losing from John alone. </div><div> </div><div>But here’s where I am this morning: I say this because I’m trying to convince myself that it’s true for me: <b>“We are not a glum lot. No, we are not.”</b></div><div><br></div><div>John’s life, John’s ministry, life in ministry, while it belonged to the whole of the city, it emerged from this room. There’s no other place we could do this service today right except here. </div><div><br></div><div>This is the place where he welcomed people. This is the place where he asked if it was your first time and people would raise their hands and he’d say, “you’re already part of the family.” </div><div><br></div><div>This is the place where he would say, “if you didn’t get fed, it’s your own fault because Mama Way had plenty of food.” This is the place that became sanctuary for those who in the vulnerable places of recovery aren’t sure what’s safe anymore, but this was safe. And this is going to continue to be safe space. </div><div><br></div><div>So, Friday night, 6:00. Right here. We’re going to welcome people, we’re going to feed their bodies, and we’re going to give a message that feeds their souls. And we’re going to talk about the steps we’re taking to lead us into a sober life, and we’re going to sing, and play music and we’re going to hear the words that matter more than ever before: that “<b>We’re gonna love ya and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”</b></div><div><br></div><div>A week ago yesterday, I accompanied John on a plane to Minneapolis, hoping and believing that the light hasn’t been extinguished, it was just dimmed a bit. </div><div><br></div><div>I told him over and over “There was no shame in relapse. It’s okay, we’re back to step one, we’re all powerless man, it’s okay.” He was consumed with overwhelming shame. He asked me “Are you gonna fire me as your recovery minister?”</div><div><br></div><div>“Are you kidding? No!”</div><div> </div><div>Here’s what I’m learning. You never know the pain someone seated next to you is carrying. But you best assume that it’s something. And if we suspect that the ones next to us are hurting, even as we’re trying to figure out how to live with our own pain, maybe we ought to start treating each other a little kinder. Maybe we ought to start demonstrating love a little more freely. </div><div><br></div><div>Among the last things I said to John was to remind him of what he said countless times to those just starting to find their way in recovery. It’s theological tenet we built The Way on, and it applied to him, too, he just wasn’t able to receive it. </div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes those of us who lead...it’s not that we don’t believe what we’ve preached anymore, but it’s that when we’ve forgotten to keep doing the work of recovery, our spirits can be blinded to the truth. And the truth I so desperately wanted John to know was that even in relapse, especially in relapse, that you were going to love John and there was nothing he can do about it. </div><div><br></div><div>So this morning, in the face of deep pain, but with conviction and assurance and of all I am and all I believe, within the heavenly hosts this day, there is a distinctly Memphis groove going on. And the One to whom he vowed his life, for whom he lived in ministry, is going to figure out how to hug him. And he’s going to say “John, I love you and there is nothing, nothing, nothing, there is NOTHING you can do about it. </div><div><br></div><div>The apostle Paul said- </div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything [ANYTHING] else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”</i></span></div><div><br></div><div>My name is Johnny, I love John. </div><div><br></div><div>I’m a brother to him, a brother I chose. And I’m looking at all my siblings in the room and we’ve got to carry on. Together. </div><div><br></div><div>Thanks be to God. </div><div><br></div> Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-505954712438314512019-03-16T10:31:00.000-05:002019-03-16T11:14:53.790-05:00Heart-Shaped Bread<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBM0gOk_0dMZ09mr4n0EJ9YepoF5gSni8xTPkiSCzglcwY-8ylrBrFEHoK52Zc7MyV26JChvGd7WwS-XHtCd1kRBr6NqqGkaZQ0SylZrTCnz3F_A1GoquNxFkwKnRZLG5xyt8s/s1600/JK1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBM0gOk_0dMZ09mr4n0EJ9YepoF5gSni8xTPkiSCzglcwY-8ylrBrFEHoK52Zc7MyV26JChvGd7WwS-XHtCd1kRBr6NqqGkaZQ0SylZrTCnz3F_A1GoquNxFkwKnRZLG5xyt8s/s320/JK1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We started celebrating the Eucharist every Sunday a few years ago (if you want to transform the spirit of your community of faith you "people called Methodists," stop messing around and embrace "The Duty of Constant Communion," now!)</div>
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The sacrament defines our community. </div>
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The table around which we gather is an outward and visible sign of who the St. John's community is while casting the vision and challenge of who we are to become.</div>
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As we moved toward weekly observance, I asked my ministry partner, John, to compose a Great Thanksgiving for the St. John's community of faith. John's way with words, being the lyricist that he is, left me confident that the product of his work would be a gift to St. John's for years to come.</div>
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And so it is. This eucharistic prayer is purely John as it is Wesleyan. As such it cannot belong to St. John's alone, it belongs to all of us who gather around the table of Grace.</div>
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So here it is. I invite my clergy family to embrace this setting and use it as you preside the Table in your communities of faith.</div>
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Thank you John. </div>
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Thank you God for John.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Heart-shaped Bread</b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Rev'd Dr. John Kilzer, Minister of Recovery Ministries</b></div>
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<b>St. John’s United Methodist Church, Memphis, Tennessee</b></div>
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Peace be with you.</div>
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<b>And also with you.</b></div>
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What? with our hearts?</div>
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<b>We lift them up to the Lord.</b></div>
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Why?</div>
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<b>It is right to give our thanks and praise.</b></div>
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It is right, and wrapped in joy, </div>
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God of this moment in eternity,</div>
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to offer our hearts to you in thanksgiving, </div>
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hearts carved in your image and beating with the breath of life. </div>
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We tried to run: we tried to hide. </div>
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But everywhere we turned you were there. </div>
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We were restless till we rested in you, </div>
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God of covenant and grace, </div>
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of prophetic fire, </div>
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wind and water. </div>
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We are yours. </div>
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What else can we do now </div>
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other than join your company of heaven in their unending hymn</div>
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<b>Holy holy holy Lord, God of power and might.</b></div>
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<b>Heaven and earth are full of your glory, Hosanna in the highest!</b></div>
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<b>Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord.</b></div>
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<b>Hosanna in the highest!</b></div>
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Lord what we know of holiness we find in your blessed Son Jesus Christ, </div>
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upon whom lighted your love-shaped dove. </div>
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He fed the poor: he led the captive free. He said to the blind: "See!" </div>
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He was at home with sinners. </div>
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His suffering, death and resurrection birthed your church, </div>
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offering us asylum from sin and death </div>
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and promising us a home in the mansion of your heart.</div>
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On the night it all happened, </div>
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with one hand touching his heart, </div>
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the other offering bread, </div>
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He gave himself to his disciples saying:</div>
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“Partake of this: remember me eternally: </div>
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put me back together as the church.”</div>
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Afterward, He took the cup and said; </div>
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“Drink: I am the wine of remembrance. </div>
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What flows from me now flows through you.” </div>
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So: Remember, </div>
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give thanks always, </div>
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praise, and pray, </div>
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as we proclaim the mystery of faith:</div>
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<b>Christ has died; Christ is risen; Christ will come again. </b></div>
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Breathe on us God. </div>
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Make these bones and blood be the church, </div>
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Christ’s body in the world.</div>
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And as you are Three in One, </div>
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Make us one in the world, </div>
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as we tabernacle with those </div>
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whose hearts are hardened, </div>
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that our love may leaven the loaves at your heavenly banquet.</div>
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With You, through You, from You to You, </div>
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God of glory, worthy to be praised, </div>
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now and through eternity, </div>
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we all, with one heart, one voice, one spirit, and one love, say</div>
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<b>Amen.</b></div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-24352860097315960352019-02-28T08:41:00.001-06:002019-03-04T09:03:17.462-06:00Indelible <div>
To the Reconciling Community of the Memphis Conference,</div>
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The events of the Special Session of the General Conference have concluded, but the impact left is indelible. Like many of you, no doubt, I’ve wondered what this all means, and what do we do next.<br />
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What I want to convey to you in this short message is that the indelible impact will not be the pain and the tears. There is new fire and conviction that the actions of the Church will not prevail, and that a Methodist expression of a church for all people shall not be deterred.</div>
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I attended a worship service the morning after General Confernce led by Mark Miller and The Love Thy Neighbor Coalition. While I went expecting rage and lament, there was praise and holy boldness that this is our church and we aren’t leaving. Rev’d David Meredith spoke and announced that something died in St. Louis. It was a powerful witness. In the end, though, what died was the hope and belief that The United Methodist Church will change as it is now. What is being resurrected is the conviction that those of us who long for a church for all people will create the change we seek. We will resist. We will fight for change, including systemic change that allows for the existence of such an expression.</div>
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Despite the temptation to the contrary, let us hold on. Do not succumb to despair. On the eve of Lent, I’m reminded of Jesus’ temptations in the desert. While we may not be able to relate to his temptations, I do believe one we all can relate to is to succumb the to temptation that things are as they are and that there’s nothing we can do about it.</div>
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I’m here to tell you there is. </div>
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After everyone gets back to their places of ministry, where the REAL church is, new conversations will begin. As lead pastor of the only Reconciling Congregation in our Conference, let me invite you to a time of gathering for conversation, discernment and prayer going forward. Details will be forthcoming including a HOLD DATE. My intent is for us to meet well before the end of March.</div>
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Remember the tears you’ve shed and the pain you feel in this moment. And do not let it be the last thing you feel. </div>
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Choose love.</div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-22168643727343259612019-02-26T21:27:00.001-06:002019-02-26T21:51:12.564-06:00A Foretaste of Glory Divine(St. Louis) I’m not going to even attempt to explain what happened today. You saw it, read about it.<br>
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What happened is what was going to happen. It was baked in the cake by the nature of the delegates present (yes, it matters who we elect to be delegates). The WCA had the numbers, was organized and cared only about one thing—winning, and they did everything (and I mean everything to achieve their aim) to do it. Unrelated (or is it?) I hope the Microsoft Corporation gave somebody bulk pricing for all the new Surface Tablets that some of our delegates unboxed and walked around with on the floor. </div>
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And for now they were successful. </div>
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The truth is the Traditional Plan was, is and will be declared unconstitutional, and the body voted for it anyway. </div>
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But that’s what was. Through the pain and tears in St. Louis there is a family coming together. A family the color of the rainbow that will not be deterred. It’s a family that will love God and all that God loves. </div>
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It’s a family that will love justice, do kindness and walk humbly with God. </div>
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This family will love one another as it loves those who can’t find a way to be in fellowship with it. </div>
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Wanna know what it’s gonna look like? </div>
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The benediction of the Special Session was not what was spoken on the stage. It’s what was sung in the vestibule surrounded by St. Louis police for fear of rioting. </div>
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And it was a riot. One of grace. This is the foretaste of glory Divine. I leave General Conference as I arrived. Yes, that’s Mark Miller leading the singing. </div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-73093181097005773512019-02-25T21:53:00.001-06:002019-02-25T22:11:53.658-06:00Hearts of Stone(St. Louis) Today was a rough day. I knew it would be, which didn’t make it hurt less. <div><br></div><div>Going into the last day tomorrow where things will be voted on the likelihood is that either nothing changes or if it does it will be the more restrictive language, neither of which is tenable. </div><div><br></div><div>How do you appeal to hearts of stone? Turns out, you can’t. Between a misplaced religious zealotry, a pervasive spirit of xenophobia and puppet masters who direct the action from above through texts and secure loyalty through the provision of many brib...I mean “gifts” (yes I said it), the Methodist concept of Christian conferencing is a sham. </div><div><br></div><div>But what is emerging as a result, if it’s clear The United Methodist Church won’t live into a church for all God’s children, is that there are some of us across the connection who have and will. </div><div><br></div><div>As the session closed today I was needy of a word. The benediction I sometimes use to end worship rose up in my spirit. It’s framed from the words of the Liberal Lion of the 40 years ago and hero of mine, William Sloane Coffin. Maybe they’ll help you too as we discern the new thing God is doing whether the UMC votes for it or not:</div><div><div><br></div><div><b><i>“God give you the grace never to sell yourself short - </i></b></div><div><b><i>Courage to risk something big for something good - </i></b></div><div><b><i>And to remember that the world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.”</i></b></div><div><br></div><div>And so it is.</div></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-2911966833091717262019-02-24T21:54:00.000-06:002019-02-24T21:54:11.650-06:00Priorities, Priorities(St. Louis) Short version. Long day.<br />
Prioritizing legislation.<br />
Top priority was Wespath (clergy pensions, seriously, that was the top priority).<br />
Traditional Plan and Modified Traditional Plan deemed unconstitutional in a declaratory decision by the Judicial Council.<br />
Yet the Tradition Plan was prioritized ahead of One Church Plan.<br />
Lots of confusion with voting devices.<br />
The mechanisms of unwieldy systems trying to work on display.<br />
Yet we prayed for the Holy Spirit, still.<br />
The prayer for the leading of the Holy Spirit was constant.<br />
Tomorrow is going to be one for the books. Stay tuned.<br />
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Oh, one more thing. You pray for the Holy Spirit to come, watch out, it just might. And when She does, wild, crazy God-sized uncontrollable things happen, to which I pray:<br />
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Let it be.Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-33077530039883943472019-02-23T19:35:00.001-06:002019-02-23T19:35:17.682-06:00Teach Me How to Pray<div>(St. Louis). The Dome, the place where “The Greatest Show on Turf” once played (led in no small part by the Tigers’ Isaac Bruce), is cavernous. It makes no sense for a gathering of our size to meet in a facility that holds almost 70K people. </div><div><br></div><div>It’s hard to see everything’s that’s happening even with view screens. </div><div><br></div><div>But there we were. </div><div><br></div>The first day of gathered delegates and onlookers was a one of prayer and worship. Many languages were spoken highlighting the global nature of the Church. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> I had the honor of being anointed by Bishop Bruce Ough, whose nonanxious presence during the most pressure filled moments in Portland a few years ago, modeled a style of leadership to which I aspire. </span><div><br></div><div>We spent the afternoon talking about the rules we’d follow to conduct our business. </div><div><br></div><div>In the corridors caucuses strategized what to do once we ”got down to business.” Rumors swirled about who’s doing what and when. </div><div><br></div><div>And still we prayed. We worshipped. We communed. We were anointed.</div><div><br></div><div>It’s a snapshot of who we are - the faithful who long for the Spirit’s leading to transform us into something hopeful, while others believe the Spirit is meant to lead us into a more rigid version of what is. </div><div><br></div><div>And all the while there’s murmuring in the corridors. </div><div><br></div><div>We start at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow. </div><div><br></div><div>Veni Sancte Spiritus. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-40223006274146130802019-02-22T15:47:00.001-06:002019-02-22T17:15:28.895-06:00You Will Not Die(St. Louis) There’s an unease in the air as you walk into the registration area for the General Conference. As I arrived this afternoon to secure my badge I noticed some folks I knew from across the Connection. I ran into some of our fellow delegates with pleasantries about our travel, our lodging, and the weather. All looks say what our words don’t - “Well, here we are, what’s about to happen? <div><br></div><div>On a blustery, gloomy day, with the threat of rain and cold on the horizon, it’s easy to live into the fear and foreboding of what may be. The Conference opens tomorrow with worship and prayer. Lots of worship and prayer. Nothing wrong with that. It’s needed. </div><div><br></div><div>But the wisest words I’ve received today originated from a communicator from the PC (USA): </div><div><br></div><div><b><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Get in the boat<br>Go across the lake<br>There will be a storm<br></i></b><div><b><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You will not die.</i></b></div></div><div><b><i style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></i></b></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Wise words, indeed. It takes courage to get into the boat<b style="font-style: italic;">. </b>For The United Methodist Church, it’s time to board. </span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><blockquote><br></blockquote>Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-56488994519286127772019-02-18T17:46:00.000-06:002019-02-19T15:05:31.034-06:00I Choose Love<div class="MsoNormal">
The anthem sung by our choir last Sunday was stunning. It’s a lyric written by Lindy Thompson with music composed by Mark A. Miller. You know Mark Miller’s music even if you’re not sure you do. His is the musical setting for communion we sing. He wrote “Roll Down, Justice,” which served as a theme for our Lenten series back in 2017. He’s one of United Methodism’s most gifted composers for the current age. He also happens to be gay. Mark has served the Church with his remarkable God-given gifts for many years, and the Church has received his gifts gladly even as it will not receive him in the fullness into which he was created.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m thinking about Mark and this particular anthem as I prepare to go to St. Louis for the Called Session of the General Conference of The United Methodist Church. I’m thinking about parishioners I’ve served over the years who came to me in the sanctity of my office to share with me the burden of being gay but not able to claim it within their family and certainly not within their church family, and the shame they felt for living a lie. I can recall the looks of pain, see the tears, and hear the fear in their voices of being found out, of being judged. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m thinking about my beloved St. John’s family of women and men, those who are of the LGBTQ community and those of us who ally ourselves with them and their quest to be fully included in the Church they love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think about St. John’s journey, which is not completely unlike my own where the conviction that everyone belongs is assured, but the realization that such a conviction conflicts with the rule of the Church to which we’ve vowed our lives created a conflict of conscience. So, many of us equivocated that conflict of conscience by living within the ambiguity of “don’t ask, don’t tell.” And maybe some of us thought that was a forward-living way to make sense of it all, or at least we thought it bought us some time hoping that something would change only to realize the change was that the harm done from not fully standing with the excluded was greater and the pain grew deeper.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But living among, serving alongside and loving those not fully welcomed judges “don’t ask, don’t tell.” Some of us needed to be ministered to by those whom the Church will not ordain to help us see that it takes courage to have courage. It takes a “choose this day whom you shall serve” moment to see clearly what we’ve worked so hard to obscure, that at the end of the day what it all boils down to is something as simple as this – our marching orders do not come from <u>The Book of Discipline</u>. They come from the commands of Jesus who tells us to “love God and all that God loves.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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With it comes the realization that if the question of full inclusion is ultimately one of justice, then there is no middle way. We either choose love or we don’t. We either love people not regardless of who they are but precisely because of who they are no differently than any of us seeks to be loved, or we don't. The choice to love is not dependent on those who agree with me. The power of love, God’s love, is that agreement has nothing to do with it because if it did, it wouldn’t be love at all. Love is to be given. Love is to be received, freely and without reservation or condition.<o:p></o:p><br />
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And I’m freely and unreservedly willing to love the whole of the Church, including those within it who would rather label me than know me and sneer as they say the word “liberal,” as if that’s a bad thing. I’m willing to live with and among the very people who prefer to purge me and mine from the Church as if to do so is some purification rite. </div>
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So Mark’s melody and Lindy’s lyric resonate in me today. Written in response to the violence done by a young white man in the sacred space of Mother Emanuel AME Church to Jesus loving disciples:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>In the midst of pain, I choose love.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>In the midst of pain, sorrow falling down like rain,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I await the sun again, I choose love.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>In the midst of war, I choose peace.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>In the midst of war, hate and anger keeping score,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I will seek the good once more, I choose peace.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>When my world falls down, I will rise.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>When my world falls down, explanations can’t be found,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I will climb to holy ground, I will rise.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>In the midst of pain, I choose love.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>In the midst of pain, sorrow falling down like rain,<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I await the sun again, I choose love.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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I’ve been braced for this moment in St. Louis since it was announced. It was the ground of my hope coming out of Portland in 2016 that there could be a way out of no way. Over the last year, I’ve been all over the place – on the cusp of hope and the precipice of despair. In the end, though, unless I’m choosing love, choosing peace and believing we will rise, I’m entering the proceedings with a heart of war, not of peace. I’ve found an abiding peace that comes from the knowledge that “perfect love casts out fear.” So, I’m not afraid, anymore. I am persuaded that the balance of my life in ministry will be spent in the Light, where God’s grace is amazing and God’s love is real, where All means All, where we Let Love Lead. What happens in St. Louis has nothing to do with whether or not I live in the “ethic of love," but hearing the call of Jesus and listening to voices like Mark's will.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-67275983525789138212018-04-17T04:14:00.002-05:002018-04-18T11:31:27.899-05:0014As if on cue my sleep is stirred to consciousness in the wee small hours of the morning.<br />
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There’s several things that wakes a middle aged man in the night!<br />
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The aches and pains that normally cause some level of discomfort are present, to be sure, but they are muted by the ache that accompanies a memory.<br />
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This night. This hour. This shock.<br />
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No less than the moments of profound joy, the moment a wound to the soul occurs leaves an indelible mark.<br />
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Over the course of time the wound has healed over, yet the scar remains.<br />
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Scars are often roughly textured, never pretty. Some are hard to look at. Some we work so hard to hide. Others evoke curiosity, “How’d that happen?”<br />
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Every scar tells a story - the pain it caused, the path to recovery from when it was incurred to now.<br />
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I broke my ankle when I was 14. <br />
40 years later, every now and again when the weather changes abruptly, I feel an ache there even though it has long since healed over. It’s just my body’s reminder that something happened.<br />
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So ache's echo awakens me this morning to remind me that 14 years ago my family suffered the soul wound of losing Jimmy, one who possessed so much of the family’s energy. It’s a loss that left us staggered. Yet somehow we still stand, scarred but not broken.<br />
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Is that Grace?<br />
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I feel the loss palpably some years more than others, and this year I feel it.<br />
I don’t know why, maybe a strong soul cold front is blowing through.<br />
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It aches enough to awaken me. So I’ll sit with it for awhile.<br />
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I’ll remember what I could never forget.<br />
I’ll wonder what could have been.<br />
I’ll give regret for things unsaid no room because I’ve battled those demons and prevailed.<br />
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But mostly I’ll be glad for what was, this bolt of lightning I had in a brother. And if you were struck by him, on this day, you understand.<br />
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James Eric Jeffords.<br />
Jimmy.<br />
To the glory of God.<br />
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<br />Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-3739744197596378292017-04-17T07:39:00.002-05:002017-04-17T08:27:08.888-05:0013I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning. It's not that I wasn't tired from the weekend, or yesterday in particular. Oh I was. And I got 5.5 hours of good, deep sleep. And it's not like I don't have to get up in the night...the older I get...am I right, fellas?<br />
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It was 4 a.m. 13 years ago that my phone rang.<br />
Jimmy was gone.<br />
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There's something about the echoes of spiritual circadian rhythms from traumatic moments. It's not a conscious choice to be aware, although one surely could be intentional about them. No, there's something in us calling us to remember what was or what happened.<br />
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So while there's something about him I remember any day, everyday, today I bring my attention to his life and energy. And I'm glad.<br />
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With all the family together yesterday sitting outside on a beautiful Easter afternoon, one of my children who has a penchant for hyperbole drew a reminiscent comment from several of us - "Hello, Jimmy!"<br />
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Love you, brother.Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-63919834336645363022016-11-09T15:09:00.001-06:002016-11-09T17:00:20.508-06:00Exorcised FearSo this morning the sun rose, as it does, and with my first deep breaths by the light of a new day I was reminded that the 3rd rock from the sun still orbits her Mother Star (Thank you, Copernicus--science, the more you know). <br />
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The outcome of the previous late night is now projecting its impact on our common future. It's more than realizing that we are a 50/50 divided electorate (of those of us who voted...the other 45%..what's your deal?), or that we've endured as ugly and endless an election cycle as anyone should have to bear, or knowing we've been made pawns of media who profit by fomenting antipathy among its citizenry, and dark money PACs who expend millions to craft the narrative of their choice as truth without accountability.</div>
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It's more than swallowing hard in the recognition that the candidate who garnered my vote didn't win...Lord knows I'm used to that. Shoot, the candidate I voted for didn't win the primary! I've voted in 9 presidential elections... I'm 5-4...actually I'd argue I'm 6-3, but Florida, right?</div>
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Elections are supposed to be contests of ideas. The presupposition is that with the winner comes the implementation of the ideas that framed the platform on which they ran because they won. Elections have consequences. </div>
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And that's just it, right? </div>
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Recognizing that our system of government has checks and balances, when all branches fall under the control of one party, we should take pause at what the implications of that mean.</div>
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I serve as pastor of a church who is open to all, we sees the inherent value as children of God in each soul we serve, to each who comes to be part of our community. </div>
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I pastor a church blessed by the presence, discipleship and leadership of members who are part of the LGBTQ community who must now worry that their rights to marry, to do business and to adopt will fall away. </div>
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Whatever it is I thought of the Affordable Care Act (hated it, but not for the reasons those who will repeal it do), there are millions of citizens who have received the security of health care for the first time who are anxious. Or what about adult children (like mine) who have been allowed to remain on their parent's insurance as a means of security during the years they're figuring out their lives? Or what about those with pre-existing conditions?</div>
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What about the anger and venom spewed during this campaign and seemingly sanctioned by the campaign toward those of the Muslim faith, or the none too subtle anti-Semitic rhetoric, or Latinos, or those who are African American...basically those who aren't white? </div>
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There was a day when misogyny lived in the secret places of work and home. Not any more, it's been on full display and accepted as the way things are. I think about the world my granddaughter will live in and wonder if she'll be allowed to reach her fullest potential without her gender being made a reason why she can't?</div>
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If the platform on which the President-elect ran is to be believed, then what then does that mean? </div>
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As a citizen, I have to figure that out.</div>
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As a pastor, as a person of faith, I must as well. Because the measure of all we say we believe about God, Jesus, and the Church is not gauged when all is right in our worlds, but precisely when it isn't. So what then shall I do:</div>
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I cannot do less but more--</div>
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in my advocacy for equality for all God's children that "liberty and justice for all" is realized.</div>
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I cannot live in fear, but in hope.</div>
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I can be discouraged, but I cannot yield to despair.</div>
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I can be angry, but I cannot allow anger to do harm, only to bring intensified focus to bring about </div>
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good, the goodness of God and the common good of my fellow citizens.</div>
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I cannot be less graceful, but more graceful than I've ever known.</div>
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I cannot be less welcoming, but open wide the doors of my heart and my church for those seeking </div>
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sanctuary.</div>
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I cannot be less loving, but must let "Love Reign O'er Me".</div>
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I must pray for God's wisdom </div>
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for all who were elected and for those who celebrate on the day I'm left gobsmacked</div>
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for the unity of citizenry.</div>
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I must claim with deepest conviction that "Perfect Love Casts Out Fear."</div>
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1 John 4 - from The Message</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 14.4px; line-height: 21.6px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="text 1John-4-17-1John-4-18" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">God is love. When we take up permanent residence in a life of love, we live in God and God lives in us. This way, love has the run of the house, becomes at home and mature in us, so that we’re free of worry on Judgment Day—our standing in the world is identical with Christ’s. There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling, a fearful life—fear of death, fear of judgment—is one not yet fully formed in love.</span><span class="text 1John-4-19" id="en-MSG-12922" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. He loved us first.</span><span class="text 1John-4-20-1John-4-21" id="en-MSG-12923" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">If anyone boasts, “I love God,” and goes right on hating his brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, he is a liar. If he won’t love the person he can see, how can he love the God he can’t see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You’ve got to love both.</span></span></i></blockquote>
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"You've got to love both." Why? For the sake of the Gospel? Maybe. </div>
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But far more likely it is for the sake of my own soul.</div>
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The power of Christ compels it.</div>
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Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14438659.post-30538783181716936732016-05-18T00:13:00.002-05:002016-05-18T00:13:25.317-05:00Dispatch from Portland 3 A short post....<br />
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As I write this tonight, 9:18 pm. PST, the Council of Bishops remain in session. The General Conference has asked the Bishops to convene to offer a way forward how we might transcend the impasse on human sexuality. They bring that word to us tomorrow.<br />
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Bishops have no binding authority on the General Conference, and yet the General Conference is pleading for leadership.<br />
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I'll report and reflect tomorrow on what they bring, and all that has occurred during the sessions this week. <br />
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Pray for our Bishops tonight. Pray for those who have been harmed by our decades of inaction. Pray for the unity of the Church.<br />
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<br />Johnny Jeffordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04988818509667483600noreply@blogger.com0