Finding the Balance

Turn the Page

2011-12-31T14:51:00.002-06:00

Some thoughts as 2011 has given way to 2012.

In many ways, more than I can safely articulate through this medium, 2011 has been as challenging a year as I can remember. My posts during most of this year reflect that. No need to rehash, except to say that I find myself now at a place with deeper perspective.

Wildernesses are hell. Always. But wildernesses journeyed through tend to bring focus and clarity where it is most needed. And what is "most needed?" Invariably, it's that of us too long enabled, or denied. It's that which perpetuates dis-ease. It's finally confronting the cumulative effect of going along to get along. It's wrestling with the failure to share the genuine self crippled by the fear that to do so is to jeopardize life as we know it. It is a spiritual death by a thousand little cuts.

I begin 2012 with a keener sense of liberation. My ministry partner these past many years is want to employ the phrase, "you get to pick" when it comes to the choices we make in life. And for all that I've ever believed or taught about free will being a sign of God's love and grace I'd found it difficult to make real in me when guided more by fear than the liberation that comes from living in grace.

It's one thing to say "I'm free." It's quite another to live freely. As it is with all expressions of freedom, there is an expectation of responsibility. But that responsibility is not to make sure everyone's happy. It is the responsibility that what is being lived out is true in me.

2011 was a significant year to draw that distinction into high relief.
It would be a lie to say I'm thankful for the wilderness. It sucked.

But 2011 brought with it some wonderful rites of passage -
A high school graduate and now college freshman whom I've so enjoyed watching taking the same field I did 30 years prior with the same trumpet I played and playing the same fight song. It's not that I'm living vicariously through him. Rather, I remember me when I was that age. I remember what I did and who I did it with, and that makes me smile.

I've got another teenage driver who could not believe that I was about to write a check for his car. How'd he think I was going to buy it? That car is him. My growth in the depth of my relationship with "L'il Bit" is among the things for which I am most thankful in the last year. He's quite a young man.

And then there's the 10 year old. He is my constant puzzle to figure out. None of my old tricks work with him. "He's not scared of you," I'm told. It's not that he sees me as his equal. I think he sees himself as my boss. And while I know you're supposed to encourage reasoning for decisions made to help the development of good choices...let's be honest, sometimes when you, the parent, says, "It's time for bed," the following 20 minutes should not be a debate. "Because I said so," sometimes needs to be enough.

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Pre"Occupy"ied - I've not commented on "Occupy" phenomenon except for a multi-threaded, at times heated, Facebook exchange. Here's where I am on this. What I hear is lament. Yes, there is anger at the clear abuse of power and privilege that is perpetuated by a manipulation of rules. Yes, there is anger that the political system either knowingly conspired to put the pieces in place for the 2008 financial crisis, or they were too inept to know the difference.

I hear lament in the manner of the people Israel exiled from their Promised Land crying out in anguish and anger that the chance to have the life they prayed for is gone and there's nothing to be done about it. The unthinkable for the people Israel was that they could ever lose the reality of that promise. And yet, there they were in Babylon crying out, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?"

Whatever you think about "The American Dream," there is a hue and cry from those who expected to have a fair shot at it finding that the rules of the game were changed by those in charge. It is the collapse of the American middle class. It is the unconscionable disparity of wealth in our country. And when that is acknowledged out loud critics call it "class warfare."

And they're right. It is class warfare...a war waged by stealth until the consequences could no longer be hidden. It began when those with most figured out how to get even more.

Pillars of the financial system weren't playing with house money...they were playing with yours. And, in the most audacious example of "heads I win, tails you lose," they bet against terrible risk clients that they would default while insuring themselves that if/when there was default they still got paid. Pretty sweet if you're in on that deal.

To label these folks as drum banging hippies is just too easy. It's one of the things we do. If we can put a label on someone that demeans and disparages, we really don't have to listen to what they say. Everything is filtered through our image of them.

The other critique too easily called upon is to compare how we have come to our station in life with theirs. Invariably, it is because they are lazy that they have no job, we'd say. The presupposition that each of us has the same shot at success just ain't so. So before we slip too much further into this new Gilded Age, we good Jesus people would do well to remember that it is the use, abuse and lust for money with all the implications thereto appertaining that Gospel writers have him speaking to most.

And then there's this - "Those to whom much is given, much is required." Just sayin.

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The "Hobby" - So, I found one this past year. Some might say I've found two, that walking is one of my hobbies. But it's not. Walking is for survival. I walk to live. I do it instead of taking meds. In fact, walking is a daily medication that must be taken. That's how I've made sense of it.

So, if not walking, then what? Recording.

I first recorded with Glad River back in the mid 90's. What a wonderful time that was. Didn't have a clue what we were doing, and what I'd give to be able to go back in and redo project knowing what I know now....and yet, when people think of Glad River, that's the project they remember.

We did a little two song deal in the late 90's and then another CD in 2003.

John Kilzer and I did our Travelling Cokesburys CD in 2010.

I've always wanted to record material that I'd love to sing but would otherwise have no way of doing. I have musicians in our contemporary band who have recording equipment, and I thought I'd ask for help to record some love songs for Kristy when we had our anniversary last May. So I spent a couple of nights and put together a little 7 tune project just for her. It went so well it made me think of doing something more my mother, who always asked me to just sing something for her and give it to her for Christmas. Right.

Technology has come so far, though, that I started entertaining the thought of doing something that would suit my own expectations, that I could do myself in my own timing, and be fun to do.

You know, iPhone's are pretty versatile things. So here's what I did. Bought an adapter that allowed me to override the internal mic and plug in my EV N/D767a, my solo mic I use when I sing in public, and monitor through headphones. I downloaded the Vocalive app, a four channel recorder with vocal effects. I then went on an exhaustive search for the best and most authentic backing tracks to Standards from the American Songbook, and began to record, here and there, when I could. I began in June and finished 13 tracks in November. I burned them on a CD, had my buddy Mike take a pic for me, wrapped it up and put a bow on it. Mom opened a CD with me on the cover in black and white except for one thing - the title? "I've Got Blue Eyes, Too."

My love of the Standards is life long. I had more fun doing this than I could have imagined. The creative moment of working with a group or in an actual studio is unmatched. But because I was functioning as artist and engineer simultaneously, it was a bit of a rush.

I did -

"Days of Wine and Roses," "I Left My Heart in San Francisco," I'll Be Seeing You," "Lazy River," "Here's That Rainy Day," "My Funny Valentine" "The Way You Look Tonight," "Don't Worry About Me," "Moon River," "Embraceable You," "The Shadow of Your Smile," and "One For My Baby, and One More for the Road."

Mom has the one and only "official" copy. There is a ghost copy that exists that I shared with someone for "quality assurance." I'm not telling who it is, but he's my drummer.

As I finished up in November, Kristy said to me "You know, when your mother opens this, your sister is going to want it, too." But I really only wanted mom to have this. I decided to put something together for her that captured the music I remembered growing up with her starting in late 60s. So, with a quick turnaround and not as much time to perfect it, I did 10 tunes for my sister on a project titled "Sealed With a Kiss."

It's got the title song, "It's Not Unusual," "Bridge Over Troubled Water," Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me," "He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother," "Brandy" (You're a Fine Girl), "Precious and Few," "More Today than Yesterday," "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word," and in an intentional homage to Joe Cocker (and probably some Belushi doing Joe Cocker) I did, "With a Little Help From My Friends."

The thing about this that I take away, beyond the obvious fun and the hard work that went in to it, is that I've never been quite so willing to put myself out there like that. I'm long known as the one who's always running with shields up. This was an exercise in learning how to drop the shields and just be. It was good for me.

I did take note that after they had opened their presents and before than had even listened to them they asked for another one next year. Really?

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No, I'm not going to miss 2011. But I'm beginning to suspect that when I look back on it years on it will be what emerged from me in 2011 that helped give direction to life thereon.

We'll see.
But for now? It's time to turn the page.

24601

2011-10-03T15:59:00.001-05:00

The whispered conversation took place during a service of worship.

Words of support, love, solidarity and friendship were shared, as they had been many times over the past year even if I couldn't hear them. There came the observation that the spirit was noticeably freer, the countenance more joyful, the fog of the wilderness seeming to have cleared.

"I'm not sure when, how or what happened," I said.

He said, "Grace happened."

"Yeah, I guess so."

-------

We all like those clear as a bell, definitive moments. They serve as markers...boundaries from what was to what is. They help us make sense of things. If we can say when something happened and know why, then we retain the perception of control. At certain times in life they are remarkably identifiable. And then there are others that you happen in to and realize sometime after having crossed into something new that you are no longer where you were. You don't know when, how or what happened, you just know that Dorothy's line from "The Wizard of Oz" applies to you: "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore." Control? What control?

Maybe that's how grace operates. Despite my preference that it be so clear as to be unmistakeable, it comes, filling in the trenches - the lines of demarkation I've drawn - overflowing their banks. Life exempts no one from what is hard...what is bad...what is crisis of spirit making. But what grace seems to do is make it so that once you come to yourself (which is itself a work of grace), that you had to endure the hard thing is not the first thought. Rather, we are reminded that despite what may have seemed to be, we were never alone. That we endured what was is the thing. And those "agents of grace" dispatched along the way stand watch and hang on to us whether we want them to or not and declare "the darkness is not going to get you...not on my watch."

I know this to be true - I bear witness.

My own sense of self and vocation has been mired in the mucky question, "Who am I?"

It hasn't been an existential exercise so much. It's more like "who will I be?"

Maybe it's my age (although I do think there's more to it than the easy "mid-life crisis" crap). As I've wandered, I've wondered about where I am, how I got here, is this what I thought I would be and does it square with what, at some point way back when, I imagined.

It's been at times a dark place. Really dark.
Do I believe what I proclaim?
Is this whole church thing a game?
Is there something else, something more I could be doing...was I always to be a local church pastor?

Let's tick these off one at the time, shall we?

Do I believe what I proclaim? At the risk of sounding an apostate, the most honest answer I can give is "sometimes." When the way gets dark, it's easy to wonder what is, what isn't so, and what it all means. But as I've been reminded by wiser counsel than I can ever give, the older I get the less and less I'm convinced that certain things have only one answer, and the more and more comfortable I am with saying "I don't know." There is something to a Rilke-esque living of the questions not as an intellectual exercise, but as a journey of the spirit, that has integrity. Cast against the presupposed certitude that someone in my position is to exude--I've become comfortable with defying that expectation placed on me (I'm comfortable about defying that expectation in more ways than one!). As I've often repeated but now know in a very intimate way, "the opposite of faith isn't doubt, it's certainty."

Is this whole church thing a game? As dreamed and imagined? No, it's not at all. As lived out systemically? Abso-freakin'-lutley! I've never known "church" apart from a mainline denomination. The one I've known is one now desperate to survive. We cast before us as cautionary that which was perceived to be so by Mr. Wesley even before he died..."not that we cease to exist, but rather than we become a dead sect, having the form of religion without the power." And then there's that line attributed to Augustine: "The Church is a whore, and she's my mother." I understand the truth in both statements. Having now been "in the system" as either candidate or ordained for 30 years, having been in the church from birth, and having never lived as anything other than being a part of a clergy family, the wonder-eyed days of being United Methodist for the sake of being United Methodist have long since passed. And yet, it is because of her than I claimed faith in Jesus and through her that I sought to give myself to the Church for service beyond self.

The Church decries its leadership deficit as causal to the situation it finds itself. And it's right, but only to a point. It is right that there's a deficit in leadership, if the leadership it seeks is systemic maintenance. And even then it's misplaced. It points to the void of leaders now and what we are to do about it. It's the issue de jour to train up leaders. The irony is not lost on me. The ones insisting that my generation and the ones younger than me are ill equipped to handle the ever so important matters of church are of the generation that helped us get in the ditch in the first place (oh yes I did!). My own conference won't appoint from our ranks those positions deemed "crucial" because we don't believe we have leadership within to guide them. I'm not clear I can communicate adequately through this medium how condescendingly offensive that is. Truth is, I don't desire any of those appointments, but I know there are within the family of my sisters and brothers of this conference extraordinarily talented people who will never be given a chance because our very own treat their very own with an attitude not unlike Nathanael's when asked to follow Jesus from Nazareth. "Nazareth? Can anything good come from there?" (Jn 1.46) Maybe somebody needs to speak up as Philip did: "come and see."

Whatever is or isn't true about a void of leaders to direct the systemic church, nothing compares to the lack of leaders imbued with sufficient holy boldness to announce the Realm of God coming into being that demands we do what is just, love what is kind, while walking humbly with God. To walk with God is to do justice and love kindness. Why? Because that's where you'll find the One to whom we claimed we've given our lives.

When Jesus commanded that we "follow him," it wasn't rhetorical.

We need a helluva lot more prophets, pastors and priests than we do managers and CEOs. Nothing will "comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable" more than proclaiming the radical character of Gospel. You want to make disciples? Preach that. You want to make church members? Preach the other.

Is there something else, something more I should be doing..was I always to be a local church pastor? When I was at Vandy, I was the envy of so many of my friends. They came to divinity school in search of a vocation. I walked in the door knowing mine. Declared at 17, certified at 18....it was the next step in the long journey. They were stunned that I served churches while going to school. They couldn't imagine it (by the way, none of them were United Methodists...they were Disciples of Christ, UCC, and Presbys). I told them then that I couldn't imagine doing this work for all of my life. It was an integral part to who I was and what I was to be, but it wasn't the only thing. And while that "what else?" was undefined then, it was as it is now, a very unsettling thing that still seeks an answer. In the last couple of years it has been screaming at me...causing me to panic. It has been the catalyst for much of my wanderings of late. Being "trapped in life" is not good thing. Despite what may seem to be so, it's an issue that lives independent of my pastoral context. It was starting to rise up in me even before I left midtown.

So what is it? Beyond my fantasies (you know, be a rock star), I've thought about writing and teaching. I don't live apart from music, so that's in there by necessity. Do I have to leave the local church to fulfill that? My wilderness journey has finally provided an answer to that question. I don't have to leave it, but I may. That sounds like splitting hairs, but let me tell you, it's a clarifying answer that I've wrestled angels through the night to gain. If it is possible to fulfill what I believe I'm made to be within the local church, then I embrace that opportunity. If not, then there must be other avenues for me to pursue. It's hard to articulate how big it is to just give myself permission to say that out loud.

In the meantime, I've found contentment in the instruction of Jesus to his disciples,"where ever you enter a house, stay there until you leave." (Mk. 6.10) For this season, I am where I am. I will serve as completely as my gifts allow. And when this season has reached its end, I will lean forward into what comes.
What I do leave behind me is the expectation for what I'm supposed to be in this Conference, what I'm supposed to do, and where I'm supposed to go. I embrace the opportunity to pursue downward mobility (with all due deference for Fr. Nouwen).

Another friend looked into my eyes a few days ago. Having not seen me since I was very much in the mess, she noted, "You're better."

"Is that a question or a statement?" I asked.
"A statement," she said.
"Yes, I am."

I don't know exactly what, how and when the emergence occurred. It's been over the Summer. Often, we think that whatever fix comes to our plight, it comes from outside of us to directly influence what's inside of us. But it doesn't work that way so much. We all may want a Damascus Road experience, but they don't come around everyday. For me, there is a direct correlation between where I am now and certain decisions made in the Summer.

I've known the joy of reaching out and reconnecting with friends of long ago.
I decided that I could no longer abide the impact my dark season was having on my health. The thought of it killing me was real. So, back on the wagon. Bring a little health to the body, and the spirit finally starts seeing the edge of the wilderness. It's amazing what walking at least 4/mi. a day can do for your outlook.
Find a hobby and enjoy it. I have, and I can't talk about it. Yet.

So who am I? What can I proclaim as true about me? Like Jean Valjean in hiding behind the title of mayor only to reveal his truth indelibly marked as a number upon his chest, I no longer hide behind the title Reverend. And yet, I embrace what I believe I'm made to be:

Pastor who seeks to listen, to comfort and to guide.
Preacher called to proclaim gospel in places where it's easy and (gulp) where it's not.
Teacher to open hearts and minds to something of the nature of God.
Singer whose spirit goes to another place when I get to cut loose.

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So after the mention of grace and my confirming words, "Yeah, I guess so," I said, "You know, this whole thing we've been doing this last year or so, your guidance and care have saved my life."

There was a nod of acknowledgment, and a smile as we stood up and took our places. The unmistakable sounds of Memphis reverberated throughout the sanctuary as John struck the strings and sang verse one. I took verse two:
"When my way grows drear, precious Lord, linger near,
when my life is almost gone,
hear my cry, hear my call,
hold my hand, lest I fall:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home."

Harmon's Whispering in My Ear

2011-09-21T17:41:00.003-05:00

If you've ever had a mentor...someone who helped give shape and direction to the raw material that's you, you get it.
The imprint of their counsel on you is not confined to time and space. It's not like you had them in your life for a finite time and the benefit of their lives intersecting yours is subject only to your memory's recall.
Like the voice of Obi-Wan (the Sir Alec Guinness version, please) that seems to come to Luke in the moment of greatest import offering the guidance so sorely needed, the mentors of our lives continue to speak to us even when they are no longer physically in our presence.
I've been hearing the voice of one of mine the past couple of days--my friend, Harmon.
I written about my relationship with Harmon previously - click here for those posts.
I think it started during one of the recent debates for the Republican candidate for the presidency. It's the one than when the moderator, as preface for a question to the candidate who is the current governor of Texas, commented about the 230 some odd executions that have occurred during his tenure as the executive of the state. The opportunity for the moderator to actually ask the question was interrupted by applause from the crowd at the mention of the number death orders this governor has signed. Even more perplexing was the claim by most in that hall that they were disciples of Jesus.
I heard Harmon whisper, "Jesus was once asked for his position on the death penalty. He said, 'Let the one of you who is without sin cast the first stone.'"
I've heard him again today as the state of Georgia prepares to execute Troy Davis, a man convicted of killing a Savannah police officer. In a case in which:

the vast majority of witnesses have recanted their testimony,
most of the witnesses commented that they were coerced by police hell bent to pin this horrible crime on someone, because, by God, somebody had to pay,
the former head of the FBI has commented at how "pervasive and persistent" were his doubts about Davis' guilt,
a former US President and the Pontiff have called for a stay,
several jurors have commented that they would have voted differently,
the state board of appeals proceeded with their blood lust, which they mistakenly call "justice," and barring a stay from the US Supreme Court, Troy will die today.

I hear Harmon whisper, "his guilt or innocence isn't even the issue, the state taking upon itself the role of final arbiter of who lives and who dies is beyond what any should have. For the state to kill in my name lessens us all and makes us culpable for it."

That there is a strong case to be made for Davis' innocence, I mean, really do I really have to spell out how screwed up this whole thing is if they're going to kill him anyway?

I hear Harmon whisper, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth is not license to kill, rather it is a code of reprisal that punishment cannot exceed the crime, but that the biblical standard is always to show mercy."

He would remind me, "the Bible says that 'vengeance belongs to God alone, not to humanity.' and that "regardless of what the state says 'justice' is, the biblical standard for what is just is not retribution, but it does always look for restoration and reconciliation."

The wisdom mentors whisper in our ears is not something we've never heard before. No, it's the words spoken by them in our past that ring so true that their impact cannot be overlooked and will not be ignored. Our mentors whisper in our ears what we need to be shouting.

This execution of Troy Davis is wrong. The execution of even the worst of us is wrong. We are better than the most base temptations we each have to get even and mistake that for justice.

When the sentence is given for a capital case, the judge offers words as a buffer between the sentence spoken and the removal of the convicted to death row. It's usually something like, "and may God have mercy on your soul."

I'm here to tell you, the soul of the convicted is not the soul we need to be worried about.

I know this to be true, Harmon whispered it to me.

Testify or Objectify

2011-09-06T13:09:00.002-05:00

PREFACE - I've not pushed "Publish" in quite some time. I've written a good bit, but have kept several posts to myself in the "Draft" section. Don't know why. I've developed a good case of ambivalence about many things. Whether or not to write. Whether or not I want other people to read what I've written. Whether or not to....even care.

Anyway, prompted in part by friends who matter to me, I'm digging into the draft file and pushing "Publish" today. Here's one that sat there for a couple of months. It is what it is.

I never got an A from David Buttrick.

It wasn't for lack of trying. I did get a hard earned A- and you'd a thought I received highest honors!

I followed his method (still do, for the most part). I learned about homiletical moves and how their construction and sequencing, if done well, can spark the consciousness of the gathered people.

My problem with Buttrick, or better stated, his problem with me, was that I found it difficult to proclaim Gospel absent the context of the lives I knew, including my own. Any homiletics professor will tell you that making yourself the storied example for your sermons is too easy. Too often we do it when we've not done the due diligence to find resonant stories in the world in which we live that transcend the particular to reach the universal.

The other danger of placing self as the prime example of too many stories is that after a while it makes the listener wonder if there's anything or anyone more important in the preacher's life than the preacher---and how good he or she looks by having told on themselves or how heroic they are after having yet again come to save the day, in Jesus' name, of course. Or, the other end of the spectrum is making one's self the butt of every joke, the case study of what not to do and who not to be, the perpetual martyr.

Don't let the pretense of modesty fool you....preachers can be and often are driven far more by ego strokes than living the sacramental life. (Oops...was that too much?)

And then there's the other danger about stories told. It's the story you tell that's not yours to share. Contrary to what many may think (including and especially preachers), not every story you hear or over hear is yours for the taking--or better stated, for the stealing. Not every story we could tell we should. Not every story is in the public domain, and there are very good reasons for that.

And yet, at the core of our common life and mutual commission is "story." And it's a doosey! It's one we are to tell, one we are to live. It is the very thing that informs every story we tell and just as every story we tell is to inform it.

So, when I observe the objectification of a story, ostensibly to magnify "the" story to which we've pledged our lives..it offends me to no end. Because to tell someone else's story as if it's there's to tell is to be less than truthful. It lacks integrity, and it harms "the" story we're supposed to tell.

And it's done way too often by those who know better.

Anybody in Paducah last June? There you go.

It matters not if the one telling it carries the label of Rev'd, Lay Leader, cool Guest Preacher wearing indigenous attire, or Bishop. If in the telling of a story the person being talked about is referred to less as a person and more as object of the life they've lived, then you have a clue.

Drug pusher. Crack whore. Drunk.

Might as well call them tax collectors, prostitutes and sinners.

And yet I'm reminded of how Jesus related to those folks...not as objects, but as people.

The ones telling stories that are not theirs to tell often reveal way too much of themselves unaware.

It happened often at Annual Conference. Sometimes the person being objectified was someone I didn't know. Once it happened and the person was someone I did...someone I call "friend."

It's one thing if the person who is the subject of the story seeks to bear witness to that in their lives from which the grace of God liberated and is liberating them. It's quite another if someone else does it without foreknowledge or permission. It could be argued that the story was so compelling it just needed to be told because people got so much out of it. But whether or not the masses liked the story is no excuse for telling that which is not yours to tell, especially when the one being objectified is in the damn room. What is popular and what is right are not the same.

To witness something so "violent" under the auspices of the "holy" shocked me. It's not the first time I've heard it done. Truth is, I've probably done it myself. I suspect my sensitivity to such things is higher than it's been in the past. But what I came away with from that experience was that the chasm between where the Church thinks it needs to be, and is out of systemic desperation "calling us to action" to abide, and what I believe I'm called to bring to it is ever widening.

The transition from "relevant" to "relic" is not nearly so far as one might think.

Hmm, relic...an object esteemed and venerated, no; a remnant left after decay, perhaps; a trace of some past or outmoded practice---there it is, that's the ticket.

The Month that Was

2011-06-15T16:45:00.032-05:00

It's been over a month since my last, and what a month it's been:

THE GRADUATE
I'm the father of a graduate. It was a time of great celebration and pride. Not having done this before, it was my first as a father to help orchestrate how we'd celebrate.
"Where you want to have your family celebration dinner son?" "Texas de Brazil."
Gasp...."ok." (a party of 16--largest check I've ever paid....exponentially more)

"How about with your friends? How about a cookout at the house and you can have your friends over?"
"Sure, sounds great!"
"Is there anything in particular you'd like to have at the party?"
"Could you get us a moonbounce?"
"Ok."

So Andrew and friends bounced, played and relished in the moment of such a profound transition for them. And it is rather profound. It was gratifying for me to see him celebrate so deeply in relationships formed in the 10 years of school he spent with these people. It gives me joy.
And now Andrew has taken off the Red and White of Germantown. It's time to put on the Blue and Grey! Go Tigers!

TIES ACROSS THE YEARS
It is something of great import for me to give to my children something I didn't have. I've written much about my compartmentalized childhood. I blame no one for it. It was what it was. The impact of it on my life is something I'm only coming to recognize in recent years. Much of my soul work of the past several years has been spent understanding what of me was left in those sequestered chapters of the past, as well as what leaving those chapters beyond my choosing has done to make me who I am, for good and especially for ill - the points of correlation are unmistakable.

And I'm convinced that while who I am now, with all the self loathing traits I carry - the more authentic parts of me are trapped in the "me" who lived in Mayfield, and to a lesser degree in Malesus, and to a lesser degree still in Memphis. And I'm trying like hell to find that Johnny and reacquaint myself with him again.

This past year has been an extraordinary one to do just that. It began last fall as I ended up in Baltimore at a conference and there found Elaine, a childhood schoolmate from Mayfield. No longer the stuff of distant memory, there she was...a manifest expression of life...of a friend from another time and place. I wrote about that encounter here.

I attended Annual Conference last week in Paducah, the city of my birth.
Much more on that later, but in short - the objectification of another's pain as a means to score self aggrandizing points is repulsive, right Jorge and Dick?--how's that for a teaser?

KENNY

For two nights running, I skipped the evening gatherings of Annual Conference to visit with recently reconnected friends from Mayfield. Kenny and I enjoyed some "table fellowship" and caught up further on our lives having reconnected for the first time in almost 30 years last March. Kenny and I went to church and school together, were teammates on The Longfellow Tigers football team. I have my clergy brother, Sky, to thank for this reunion. Sky served as his pastor at Reidland, and somewhere along the line they mutually discovered they had "me" in common.

When we were together in March at Kenlake, it was a moment of immediate ease. I was in the company of a friend of almost 40 years, whom I hadn't seen in almost 30, and at the same time we were in the company of his pastor, my friend since college days, and Brad and Rob, friends of 20 years. Watching Rob and Brad watch me reacquaint with Kenny was an interesting thing. They later reflected on how they had not seen me like that before. We all went to dinner together in Murray. That's when the stories started. There's one in particular that hasn't been discussed by me really to anyone in 30 years.

After laughter and small talk, I jumped right in---

"So, uh, I guess it's time to talk about it, right?" I asked.
"I was wondering what was taking you so long." he responded.

So, I opened the vault on a story of long ago.
And watching my clergy brothers' faces as it unfolded was priceless.

Our two visits in March and now June have been great. Kenny and I were buds back in the day. Looks like we still are.

LIZ
And then there's Liz. She was my best friend from the ages of 6-12. Liz, Kenny and I were confirmed in the same confirmation class, in 1975, by the Rev'ds Dr. Jerry Carr and Jeffords, as formidable a ministry team as the Conference has ever produced.

Liz's family was among several others with whom our parents regularly socialized. We traveled together. My first trip to Florida, when I was in the 4th grade, happened with our little cadre of families.

We never called each other boyfriend or girlfriend, but I loved her. She was my friend.

After moving away our paths rarely crossed again. The itineracy...stiff upper lip and all that.

She went on to live her life as I did mine.

I would keep up with her through her parents who were, for many years, lay delegates to the Annual Conference from their Church. She and her husband came to our wedding, but that day was such a blur, it's hard to recall that. The last meaningful time I had with her, along with the youth choir from Mayfield, was 1981, when they came to Underwood to sing on a Sunday morning in our worship, a weekend that was not my finest hour. PGA punch'll do that to ya...can I get a witness?!

Because of Facebook, we had reconnected. We shared the occasional Facebook comment. Knowing I was going to be in Paducah, I asked if she'd be open to a visit and I was thrilled by her willingness.

She, her husband and daughter (God bless her, she had to wonder who this weirdo was) and I met for dinner. It was a wonderful time to talk, reconnect and reminisce. Almost instantly, I felt home. Right there in the dining room of your Paducah Fazoli's. Not unlike what I had encountered with Kenny and Elaine, it was an altering experience. Her husband took a picture, I knew my mom would want one, and we went our way (ironically to see her again only a few days later in Memphis at the golf tournament--twice in a week after nothing in 22 years, bizarre).

I'm not sure if the visit was what was so great, as much as how I felt in the midst of it. What I'm coming to realize is that the reconnections of the week were greater in scope than merely reconnecting with friends of long ago. Because in them I'm reconnecting with a "me" I'd long since left behind.

It's not the "little boy" inside of me. Although I could see where one would come to that conclusion. No, it's the me that saw life differently, more hopefully. The me without without walls of skepticism and cynicism that are both shield in times of yellow alert and a full blown weapon when I'm at red alert. It's the me around which a fortress of self protection has been built over the years...a fortress that allows me only to share so much of myself, to trust, to love, to care ...but only as much as it won't expose me to any pain, because I've known that before.

The next day at Annual Conference I showed the picture to Lora Jean, my ministry partner, who can read me pretty well (which is really unfortunate because there are times I wished she couldn't. However, I read her, too--and I'm sure she wishes I couldn't as well). Immediately, she blurted out in a voice that indicated surprise -
"Look at your eyes!"

"What about them?" I asked.
"They're free, happy!"
"Really?" I asked.
Now LJ and I are both INFPs (makes for an interesting ministry team, we feel and perceive EVERYTHING!). So I guess I have to trust she's seeing something.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then maybe mine are revealing something more than I know, beyond that which I'm consciously aware.

But as I continue to wrestle with who I am, what I am, why I am, and what I'll be, I cannot help but think that within the narrative that is my story, each of these seemingly disparate episodes are not nearly so much as it may appear at first glance.

In the last month, I had a front row seat at my son's rite of passage and pride doesn't quite capture it. Pride in who he is, who he's becoming. Pride under girded with thankfulness for him that he was able to take this long journey with the same group of people even though his father's current vocation is by definition itinerant. Now, I'm not the first parent proud of a son, but this one is mine - and it's a cherished gift.

And in the last month I've transitioned from wallowing in the ontological muck of my life's direction to an intentional time of finding answers, so much of which I'm discovering has clues found in my past. The benefit of reconnecting with my life in Mayfield is wonderful. But the gem that informs my future is finding the "me" I was then and integrate him into the "me" that is now.

This metaphysical dance is a means of grace--I think. I hope. I pray.

Divergence

2011-05-02T23:31:00.010-05:00

"Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you." ---Jesus of Nazareth
"Sometimes you just have to put your religion in the drawer and fry the bastards." --- a person speaking in a church forum on the death penalty
"Vengeance is mine," says the Lord.--the prophet Isaiah
"Justice was done." President Barack Obama

So, Osama bin Laden is dead.

He was killed with precision in a covert mission by Navy Seals.

Upon the President's announcement there was dancing in the streets. Literally.
At the White House, Ground Zero, on college campuses, military academies....

A palpable sense of national pride matched with relief rose up. Curiosity of the who, what, where, when and how gave way to bewilderment coming from the realization that something we never thought would happen, did.

The word "justice" was spoken. "Closure" was uttered.

And within me there was relief...gladness...pride in the courage and valor of those who do things in real life that I only watch dramatized on TV. The gathering of people celebrating across political lines was wonderful to observe because I'm so fatigued of rank partisanship.

Yeah, I felt those things, too.

And yet, as a Companion of Jesus, I found it a feeling hardly satisfying. For like it was almost 10 years ago, I found myself placed in a position of having to grapple with what it means to be a citizen of a country, and citizen of the Realm of God. And what do I do if those two things seems to be, at least for me, on divergent trajectories?

Too much of our country's civil religion co-opts Christianity as impetus to justify any action taken. This is not new. It's just manifest destiny of another kind. There's "cover" in that belief system. It's the cover and justification that comes from believing that your country can do no wrong and that to execute "justice" in this world, as we understand it, or at least as that which benefits us, is doing "God's work."

We talk about "God and country." Reality shows that the way too many Christians live with the order reversed.

We allow ourselves to believe that to live under the banner of the Christian flag (a strange thing that's been around only for about 100 years created by a Sunday School Superintendent) is to live under the banner of the American flag. The two take prominent place in many of our sanctuaries (whether or not there should be flags in our sanctuaries is a conversation for another time, but the short answer is no, I don't think there should be....the narthex? maybe, but the sanctuary? not so much).

As citizen of a country, one attacked...one that suffered mightily as a result of that attack, one that lives every day with new realities we must attend because of what happened then, the feeling of making a horrific wrong right seems more than justified. Geopolitically speaking, it is the only response that makes sense.

But is it the response that would make the One I call "Lord," inclined to say "well done, good and faithful servant?"

Does Jesus say to us, "You killed a guy. Great job!"

Does the One who comforts us in our grief, celebrate with us in our vengeance realized?

Do we really not know the answer to that question?

While it is our joy to proclaim Jesus as Lord....it is another thing altogether to let him be the Lord of who we are, what we do, what we think, and how we respond when the other things to which we pledge allegiance at least gives us pause to reflect upon whether or not the two things square.

I'm not one who can react to what has happened without a tug of war in my spirit. That this story is one of such global import places it in high relief. But the truth is there's something everyday that challenges the priority of the varied citizenships we hold.

Bin Laden's death is but one of the daily challenges for we who are people of faith. And it is far better to live into the tension of inner conflict than the blind certainty that there is none whatsoever.

But there's this unavoidable truth to which we must all come to some resolution---in the end, there's room for only one loyalty above all.

"Choose this day whom you will serve." Joshua
"You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you're gonna have to serve somebody." -- Bob Dylan
"The Lord our God is one, and you shall love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind and strength." -- the Shema

Easter 2011 - "Amazed and Confused"

2011-04-22T16:27:00.005-05:00

Here's my sermon for Easter. It's based upon Luke's account. I first wrote this seven years ago. Six days before my brother died. I've not really lived with it since, but kept gravitating to it this year. My own journeying this Lent had me in a place that I just didn't have it in me to write something new. But I did find some life in these words and some clarifying of points was helpful. After having done this work for so long, I've come to believe that inasmuch as we preachers scoff at those who only return to previous work, or chronically "borrow" someone else's, to be too prideful not to take another look at something that has been preached before to see if the words still have life is more about ego than it is integrity. If proclamations had not been repeated over time...then there would be no account of Jesus or the resurrection from which to proclaim kerygma...right?

“Amazed and Confused”
Luke 24.l-12 EasterRev’d Dr. Jonathan L. Jeffords, OSL, April 11, 2004
Revised April 24, 2011

“But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened. Luke 24.11.12

What is this day about? What does it mean?

Isn’t that at least some of what lives in us at Easter?

Children are bombarded with influences and understandings of this day that confuse.

I have a minister friend who used to lead the devotionals at the pre-school at the church she served at the time church. She once asked the children if they knew what Easter meant---

The response? “We get to hunt for eggs and get candy.’

My colleague said, "But isn’t there something else about Easter we remember, something about Jesus?’ And one little girl raised her hand and blurted out, “You mean Jesus gets to hunt for eggs and get candy too?”

Amazing and a little confusing!

There’s a photograph of me that captures what it means to be “amazed and confused.” It’s October, 1992, the 7^th to be precise. I’m coming out of the birthing room at Methodist North and into the family waiting area to announce that my first child has been born, Despite holding multiple degrees from institutions of higher learning, despite knowing the biology of human childbirth, seeing it, witnessing it, was, well, in a couple of words, “amazing and confusing.’

See, it was the “physics” of it all that blew my mind, And so, there’s this photograph that captures my face before the first words were spoken that Andrew Scott Jeffords had entered the world, It was true, it had happened but that didn’t make it any less amazing or confusing. Wow!

The number of "amazing and confusing" moments that occur through the journey of life are many -

Raising children.

Learning how to share your life with someone else.

Those that occur in the workplace.

In my work as pastor - many "amazing and confusing" moments.

Figuring out how to balance vocation with being a husband, father, son, brother and friend.

Being with people as the breathe their last - as sacred, as "amazing and confusing" a moment as ever there could be.

I wonder how similar my gaze is in those moments when compared to the ones of the entrances to life I've lived.

Maybe not so different.

Our entrances and exits on the stage of this earthen sod is the stuff of music and poetry, the touch of the artist’s brush and the liturgies of many a religious tradition.

As true as that might be, our culture does not know what to do with death. In fact, we are so much more in the death “avoidance and denial” business than ever we are death as a part of life. We don’t talk about it without squirming, and if we do it’s usually only because someone’s mortality has forced us to deal with it.

Commentator Craig Barnes, remembers his grandmother’s generation where death was an integral part of life. Family members died in their own beds.

Wakes were held in their houses. No one hid it. It was just part of life.

Now death is compartmentalized in our culture and times.

We deal with it only when all other avoidance options are exhausted and we have no other choice, The transition of life to death is sacred. Bill Coffin says,

“Death cannot be the enemy if it’s death that brings us to life. For just without leave-taking there can be no arrival; without growing old there can be no growing up; without tears, no laughter; so without death there can be no living....he says, Death is the great equalizer, not because it makes us equal, but because it mocks our pretensions at being anything else."

Yes, death is real.

No getting around it.

But it is also sacred.

And for we who hold to the unique revelation of God through Jesus of Nazareth, we know that everything we understand as real, common, ordinary is indeed extraordinary. And on this Easter morning we find ourselves in good company with those first witnesses teased by this amazing and confusing question—

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?"

On that first Easter morning, Luke tells us of the women who went to the tomb to do what must be done to the body to prepare it for burial. The ointment and spices were ready: the sad and noble duty was theirs to carry out.

Death, although sacred, isn’t pretty - it stinks.

In fact the stench of it casts such fear in our culture that we’ll do any and everything to avoid its reality. Their only worry was the stone that blocked their way, how could they get to Jesus without help? How indeed!

The men, the ones we traditionally know as the disciples, fearfully locked away as the dreams of what could be lay dead in the stone cold tombs of their spirits.

It was what it was. He was dead, and so too, to their minds, was the revolution, the new Reign, the hopes of tomorrow long gone. The only thing ruling their lives now was grief of lost and fear of what all of this meant for them.

You’ve been there, haven’t you?

Are you there now?

There’s something here that transcends time.

Our knowledge of Jesus — who he is, what he taught, what he charges his companions to do—it seems is not enough. Christians are people most needy of assurance, We need those confirming moments that in spite of the evidence, there’s something more still. What a minute, there’s a church word for that — FAITH!

‘Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.’ Hebrews 11.1

I love Jim Wallis’ definition of faith. Wallis founded the Sojourner’s Community in D.C. He says that -

Faith is believing in spite of the evidence, and watching the evidence change.’

But how many times did we hear Jesus admonish those even closest to him that their lack of faith prevented them from seeing the Truth. Guess what folks?— Lack of faith still does.

The evidence of faith we are called to pivots on three little letters that begin chapter 24. It’s an interesting figure of speech, a conjunction, “but.” As in ‘despite what you see, there is something else going on here that you don’t see, and because you don’t see it doesn’t make it any less real,”

“But,” a conjunction - for all of us who grew up with Schoolhouse Rock, we know all about conjunctions, right?

“Conjunction, junction what’s your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses.”

What a bizarre way to start the Easter narrative from Luke.

The “But” that begins Luke 24 is a sacred intrusion into death. The gospel always turns on a great ‘however.’ I like that very much. It is so consistent with Jesus, who announced the Reign of God again and again by saying ‘you have heard it said,.,, but I tell you." It is a fitting way to announce that all you think is, it just ain't so.

And what's the best way to do that? A great big, BUT!

So, the women make their way to the tomb only to find that the problem they anticipated, that the stone wouldn’t allow them access to Jesus’ broken, dead, body, was rolled away. One commentator makes an interesting point, “why was the stone rolled away? To let Jesus out of the tomb, or to let us in it and see the magnificent work of God!”

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

The women’s’ encounter with the angel, their remembering what Jesus had told them and their reporting of all these things to the disciples was hardly overwhelming to the disciples. Luke reports that the disciples are left with the thought that it was and ‘idle tale,’

I mean, after all, what do the women know? Can’t you just see that?

You know the role and place of women in that culture and time — status attached only to the men is their lines - couldn’t testify in court — their testimony couldn’t be trusted.

Here's Peter, going to the tomb both to pacify and patronize the women, seeing for himself. Seeing the stone rolled away, the linen cloths laying aside. He, amazed and confused, going home. We’re pretty sure he didn’t fully believe the women. After seeing for himself one wonders if he believed at first either.

The pivotal moment of the Christian faith, where death is both acknowledged and defeated, and he goes home. Mark’s gospel talks about them being afraid. John has Peter being stupid and John (the beloved one) both faster and smarter than everyone else to know what had happened and why.

Despite what we think, or know, or what we think we know about Jesus and the Resurrection, there is still this — something happened. Something happened that cemented otherwise cowardly disciples to martyrdom for the sake of the Crucified and Risen Lord. The kerygmatic message of Jesus of Nazareth resonated with people moving them from hopelessness to hope, oppression or no.

And something still happens.

Look at us, here we are. Something brings as here. Something of meaning drives us. There are many reasons to come and be a part of a church—even this one.

We choose congregations based upon ideology, theology, political bent, we choose congregations for what they can do for us, provide us, what bells and whistles their program brings — and we find ourselves at churches for what we can bring to them — what of God in us is meant to be offered and shared in the up building of Christian community. But in the end, none of these reasons matter if they are ends onto themselves.

Ultimately, we must wrestle with this fundamental question - “what do you think of Jesus?” Of what account does the one proclaimed crucified and risen hold sway in your life? In the end—what difference does it make, and how does that difference find expression?

There’s a line in Hebrew Bible, in the Song of Solomon that bears witness to the love of God for humanity. Although referring to the love shared between two committed people for one another, metaphorically it holds up.

Set me as a seal upon your heart. For love is strong as death..

But Easter tells us of something else. Something more.

Want to know what Easter is all about?

It’s amazing and confusing, yes, but sisters and brothers in Christ,

it’s true—not only is love as strong an death...

if Easter proves anything to us it's this

...love is stronger.

-----------
Sources:
Craig Barnes, ‘We’re All Terminal’ April 6, 2004, The Christian Century
Credo- William Sloane Coffin
The Soul of Politics - Jim Wallis
Byzantine Icon

Maundy Thursday 2011 - "No Greater Love: A Life Made Sacred (Sacrum Facere)"

2011-04-21T14:30:00.008-05:00

Only slight modifications from last year's unpreached homily. It gets preached tonight.

There are moments in life when the actions we take, the engagement of our lives with the world around us reveals something, whether we’re conscious of it or not. We can talk all day about who we are and what we believe – but there’s nothing more revealing or indicting our as action or inaction.

In times of greatest moment – to act or not to act - - “to be or not to be - that is the question.”

Act with haste, that is, without prayerful discernment seeking guidance from trusted voices, and action becomes an end in itself. Those who yearn to be seen as the hero who sweeps in and saves the day act hastily. Ask anyone who has been caught up in the aftermath of one’s hasty pursuit of hero worship and they’ll tell you such action may look good on the surface, but there is collateral damage aplenty.
Is there compassion or consideration in the face of collateral damage, or, willingness to put aside being the hero for the common good?

No.

Inevitably, collateral damage, in whatever form it comes, is considered an acceptable loss, and the price of doing business. The end always justifies the means.

Others live with perpetual inaction.

Able to articulate and argue relevant points of whatever their issue is with passion – they fail to act. They feed so much on the energy generated by the problem itself that their motivation to enact a remedy is muted by the fear that if the problem is solved, the “stuff” that feeds their lives is gone.

They know the issue. They know the problem. But they are crippled to do anything about it.

It's a vicious cycle. Indeed, it is pitiful.

Those who refuse to forgive a wrong because to do so would extinguish the rage that fuels the hellish fire of their every day – there's an example of choosing perpetual inaction. Like the hostage who begins to side with very one who has held them bondage, we, who choose inaction to make right a wrong, or to forgive, suffer from a Stockholm Syndrome of the soul - - loving our pain and anger because it’s what we know. Being liberated from it scares us to death. We love our chains more than being free.

“Repent, and believe in the Gospel,” Jesus would say.
"Repent." "Believe."
"Take" up your cross and "follow."

Action words.

It’s the difference between saying you’re a Christian and actually being a companion of Jesus wherever that leads. Action and inaction. The transcendent truth of either approach to life is self defining and a prophecy perpetually self-fulfilling.

Maundy Thursday is one of those days when the abstract and absolute, the flesh and the spirit, the universal and the particular collide. It is one of those occasions where “the rubber hits the road.” Here, at the end of Lent and the start of the Triduum, the Great Three Days, it reveals through action the character of the One who draws us into this worship space tonight. It confronts us with the real life, real time implications of what a life made sacred looks like. It makes us look at Jesus’ life and consider what we’re doing with our own.

Is life made sacred because it just is…or is life made sacred by what we do with it?

So, action, these actions give meaning to what Jesus has taught. They give meaning to what we believe. They make all this Jesus business real – incarnate.

On this night we focus on an action of Jesus found only in the 4th gospel. The Synoptics don’t have it. John, historically considered the last of the canonical gospels written, has a particular agenda – the writer has a bias, and his bias is always for Jesus – his life, his teaching, and the nature of the Christ that has always been.

Only John tells this story – Jesus, at Passover, after sharing table fellowship, takes upon himself an action that will be self-defining hereon, as it will be for all of us who carry his name.

He, the one called, Rabbi, Teacher, Lord, Messiah, Christ – comes now to assume the role of the menial laborer – literal dirty work is not beneath him – he embraces it...he love us in it.

It defines him. He takes a towel, a basin and a pitcher – and washes his disciples feet.

But why?

Rarely in the observance of Christian liturgy do you find something so profoundly intimate as the washing of feet. Maybe that’s why it’s not a sacrament (which it should be), there’s really no way to observe this liturgy with integrity without literally touching someone.

It’s too close, too intimate. It’s not “churchy.”

Getting on our knees and taking off shoes, using water, towels and basins, it’s beneath the dignity of our erudite gathering.

To which I say, “right.” It is. But it is supremely of Christ.

And if we are going to be “of Christ” with integrity, then our action or inaction proclaims the real truth of who we are and who we follow more loudly than any words our mouths can utter.

And maybe that’s what all this dramatic fuss is about this tonight. If nothing else, we observe integrity at work. That’s an awe inspiring thing. For to live with integrity is joyful, because in it we are complete. We are fully what we’ve been created to become.

Don’t forget, though, that just because we live with integrity, even joyfully, does not mean our work isn't hard.

To do so was not a choice absent other options. Think of those presented to Jesus in the wilderness temptations, – No, this was a matter of Jesus' integrity. He did this thing, both in the upper room with his disciples, as well as walk the Via Dolorosa because that’s who he is.

To have done anything other than to be a servant, than to identify with the suffering of humankind by embracing the cross, would have been to have missed his moment – the moment when his action defined who he was.

This is what a life made sacred looks like:

12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another. John 15.12-17

Look. Ministry is hard.

Giving yourself away is hard. Following Jesus to where ministry leads you is hard.

It is counterintuitive to everything innately part of our being that cries out for self interest self promotion, self validation and self protection.

Placing yourself in the role of servant and not hero is tough. Doing ultimate good without lusting for credit is extraordinarily difficult.

If it were easy, wouldn’t more folks be doing it?

Instead, too many of us play at Church, play at following Jesus, use our religious pursuits as a contrivance of convenience rather than a covenantal commitment.

Listen, people. To live with integrity or not is far more in our control that we'd care to admit.

It’s in your grasp, sisters and brothers – right here, right now.

Jesus gathers with us in this room, as he has done with his companions for millennia and says, “Here’s who I am, here’s what I’m prepared to do, here are the depths I’m prepared to plunge – for you.”

How far are you willing to go? Could it be that tonight we at least declare that “no greater love have I” than to give myself away, even sacrificially, because of love?

What we do tonight, through bread and cup, is a liturgy, an action, you have repeated many, many times. But as important as that action is of coming forward to partake, consider first and most deeply the life gifted to you by God that it be made sacred by what you do with it remembering always the action Jesus took...made his life sacred, for you.

Seven

2011-04-17T00:03:00.001-05:00

A lucky number.

The Mick.

Numerological perfection.

Heaven + Earth.

But today?

The number of years since we lost

A force of nature.

A twirp.

A son, husband, father, friend.

Brother.

Miss you.

Reform This!

2011-04-14T14:59:00.009-05:00

This is the beginning of a series of posts in which I'll engage in what Bill Coffin calls a "lover's quarrel" with the Church. Either that, or it's the beginning of vocational suicide.

I'm not one of those who believes that every answer to our current ills is found in our past. To be sure, what we know of what's been, and what it can teach us in what is can be helpful. In fact, we'd do well to reflect upon what shall be in light of what we find in the rear view mirror.

The "process" theologian in me can honor what's past, but cannot hold it as the sole means to inform, instruct and inspire what is and what will be.

I value orthodoxy, doctrine and canon. I've vowed to honor, keep and teach these things.
But I will not be held captive to it.

"The wind blows where it will. You neither know where it comes from or where it goes."

I find in it something essentially "true" even when I'm convinced some of it, if not all of it is tainted by the marks of human bias, prejudice and the endless lust for exclusive access which, by definition, "excludes" someone - usually always someone not understood because of who they are, where they live, who they love, what language they speak.

As it is with decisions claimed under the banner of divine sanction - our human propensity to royally screw things up is far less "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as in heaven," and far more "God, bless this mess----please."

Ask any member of a Bishop's cabinet forced to appoint those whose track record reveals them to be inept in the pastorate while excelling as one person congregational wrecking crews, and you know that "God bless this mess---please" is a petition prayed without ceasing.

The crisis in the stagnation of mainline systems and structures has us languishing for relevance in a world that no longer operates under the 1950's "Leave It to Beaver" simplicity. And while the world doesn't look like that (and I'm not sure it ever really did) we need to stop acting like the panacea for all our problems is a simple recovery of what's past in order to embrace and respond to what is and what will be. Our frantic quest for relevance and reform has us doing "leadership summits" that, unless it's just short of 95 Theses being nailed to the General Conference's door, will change nothing.

We have it within us to be more than we are. We have it within us to reform what we've been. Ours is a movement whose genesis is reform.

Consider- had we not grown beyond what's been, women would not be clergy in The United Methodist Church. We pat ourselves on the back that we're so progressive on this front (at least we do now), but let's be honest--we were late to this. Our Nazarene cousins were forward looking long before we were.

If we were only looking backwards for our future vision, this one would have never happened (unless, of course, we went back to the time of Jesus). It's one thing to "feel good" about what we've done on this front, it's another thing altogether to have the truth of what we say so fully enmesh into the lifeblood of the Church that it is "truth" no longer in need of an apologist for why it is as it is. It just is.

Some of my United Methodist clergy brothers still struggle with that. They may acquiesce to the concept of women who can be clergy, but see if they want a woman to be their pastor, or even their equal. That women are not appointed to churches with the same consideration as I have been (which is now likely to change, like I care), reveals what we really believe. I have heard a DS lament his problem of having too many women to appoint in a given year. The same people who bemoan congregations who don't want women pastors are more likely those who wouldn't want a woman to be their pastor. The truth is, our system provides rhetorical cover for systemic misogyny carried out every day. And we all know it.

Let me be clear. Of the very small number of clergy (very small indeed) who I'd seek to be my pastor, there are more women on that list than men.

To be sure, not all women who are clergy are effective. Not all women ordained clergy should have been.
That puts them in the same company as the men.

I wished cabinets would do more about ineffective clergy content to phone it in while living under the perceived protection of a guaranteed appointment. We don't need an "ineffectiveness policy." We've got one in the Book of Discipline. We haven't the sufficient fortitude to motivate complacency into meaningful ministry or itinerate folks to another means of paying bills, because that's all their appointment is to them. And in the meantime congregations needing someone to help them drink from the well that never shall run dry are parched because their pastor hasn't a damned clue where that well is, and those needing a prophetic swift kick in their status quo aren't getting it for lack of visionary leadership.

Let's have a "leadership summit" on that...shall we?

Lent Over? Not Yet.

2011-03-28T15:32:00.001-05:00

Lent is a call to weep for what we could have been and are not. Lent is the grace to grieve for what we should have done and did not. Lent is the opportunity to change what we ought to change but have not. Lent is not about penance. Lent is about becoming, doing and changing whatever it is that is blocking the fullness of life in us right now. Lent is a summons to live anew. Sr. Joan Chittister, OSB

Aren't we done with Lent yet? Can't we just move on?

Sure, we were all earnest 3 weeks ago when we gathered on a Wednesday night, had scriptures read about our mortality, and capped off with the mark of palm ashes thrust upon our foreheads. But that seems so...yesterday. It was still very much winter. Spring has been flirting with us, we've gained an hour's sunlight in the evening, and the signs of life's renewal are within site...very much in reach.

Or so it seems.

Why bother doing all the spirit work any longer? We're good, right?

We can tolerate self examination and introspection only so much. We'll do it if we think we're supposed to. That's what the invitation to observe a holy Lent implies. It's church-speak...ok, then I guess I'm supposed to do it, it's the "Christian" thing to do.

But a Lent well lived emerges not from what we're supposed to do, but from what we need to do. It is not so much what we need to give as it is what we need to take on. Lent's invitation might open the door to launch inner work, but it's up to each of us to jump in head first and see where that takes us.

Early Christians used this time to prepare. For what? To take on Christ in their baptism come Easter. It is the Lenten "summons to live anew" as suggested by Sr. Joan.

I've spent too many of my Lents thinking of the season as one in which I deprive myself of life lived to the full. But deprivation is what I do when I don't attend to what gives life, joy and peace, and that happens far more frequently than the 40 days of Lent.

This Lent I hear the summons to live so that when Easter breaks out, I am, God willing, prepared to follow where that leads.

Practicing What I'm Preaching

2011-03-23T16:32:00.004-05:00

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet." — Frederick Buechner (Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC)

My God, how many times I've used that line? I've preached it for years. It's the framework on which so much of my sermon work is based. It's often shared in connection with Parker Palmer's "Let Your Life Speak," a book I've preached a series of sermons on a couple of times and referred to endlessly through the years.

Buechner's words ring true across time and space as both affirmation and provocation.

It's affirming when you know the moment (whenever that is and however it reveals itself) is matched with opportunity, and that opportunity elicits a Joseph Campbellesque proclamation of anthems and celebration of bliss.

It's provocation when the context of life is examined from the standpoint of "gladness" and "world's need," and neither of them have clear answers--or at least we're not willing to admit they do.

"What makes you happy?" "What makes you glad?" "What makes your heart rejoice?"

The wilderness wanderings of Lent makes the whole enterprise of finding real answers to those questions as hard a work as being in the wilderness in the first place.

But if Easter is about life springing forth from what once was dead--life resurrected and bursting from the tombs that bury our hopes, dreams, aspirations, character--even our integrity, then seeking the answers to those questions are the keys to passionate ministry, spiritual renewal, meaning itself...

I've preached those words for years. And this Lent? I'm living with them as I traverse the labyrinthine wilderness that is my life and what it will yet mean in the years ahead.

A hard thing, that....actually living into the words you proclaim. Maybe what makes it so difficult is resisting the notion that it could lead to places unexpected and outcomes unforeseen. It might require a little faith...another thing often preached.

But if in the end gladness matches need...then it is the reflection of what God desires of us and for us, and it's worth the journey as tumultuous as it can sometimes be.

Right?

Proving Ground

2011-03-16T11:56:00.013-05:00

That the Lenten journey starts in the wilderness is no accident. It is as real as anything could ever be. As it was with Jesus, how could it be anything other than that for those of us who are his companions?

I shared in my sermon last Sunday..."If you've known life in the wilderness, you understand. If you haven't yet, I've got some news for you that you may not interpret as good...it's not a matter of if, it's one of when."

If you think that being a Christian exempts you from the perils of life, the pains of relationships, the uncertainty of what your life means and where it's headed, to say nothing of wondering what difference the life you've had thus far has made on anything or anyone--then you're a fool.

None of us is exempt. And we shouldn't be.

As it was with Jesus, so the wilderness is for us; a proving ground.

It's a place where the examination of if what we claim to be true and what of our life's trajectory ultimately matters withstands the temptation to be anything other than what we believed our lives were really about. The wilderness is that place where the adversary (that which is adverse to who God has made us) makes us ponder the "what ifs" of our futures from the standpoint of something that seems authentic, but is not.

My old friend, Ed Kilbourne is want to say..."a temptation is a temptation only if it is something you actually see yourself doing, and doing so gladly...otherwise, it's just a suggestion." And suggestions are just like opinions, which are like, oh, never mind...everybody has one.

Wilderness temptations seduce us to entertain the prospect of living an alternative reality. If our initial stint in the wilderness (Jesus was there forty days before temptations came) has us wrestling with the "whys" of our lives, the real power of temptation is fantasizing in the "what ifs" of what isn't but could be.

And the "what ifs" are not in themselves bad.

Hungry? You've the power to remedy that.
Endangered? You're protected.
Empowered? Think of what could be done if you had the reigns and were in charge.

But to live in any reality but the God reality, even if the product of it could be interpreted as good, creates problems...it is inauthentic.

To make anything other than God the main thing, even if it's a good thing, is the wrong thing to do. Bible language calls that idolatry.

In the proving ground of wilderness wrestlings, we each must determine what the "God reality" is for us to pursue. For Jesus, it was a time to affirm if the witness of the Spirit at his baptism was enough for him to stand upon when forced into the extremes of existence.

The thing about a proving ground is that you can't know the outcome until you've endured it. You hope for an outcome, even project it, but that's just speculation...maybe an educated guess. The "you" you anticipate being can only be born out in the proving ground of the wilderness.

For some it's an affirmation of what's always been.
For others it's declaration of independence from what's been to new doors to walk through.

I'm ever aware that I'm now at the age of many people who are just now answering the call to ministry. From the wilderness proving ground a new chapter, a new door, a new claim to God's reality for them is clarified and they walk through it. It's not a rejection of what was. Rather, it's an affirmation of what is now. In fact, my experience with second career clergy is that the lives they lived previously informs their ministry in powerful ways.

And then there's folks like me...having never done anything other than this. I "answered the call," and started the candidacy process 30 years ago this summer. What does my current wilderness wanderings reveal to me about what I've been, its value and import in God's Realm, and what I shall be over the next 20 years? I haven't the answer to that...yet. But I'm working on it. Or more honestly stated, it's working on me.

If you're in the "proving ground" of the wilderness this Lent, I'm there with you. My hope and prayer for us all is that we claim the holy boldness it's going to take to respond to what we discover about God's reality for us and live it out. Because once we've "come out the wilderness," we're more prepared than ever to be the vessels God calls us to be.

Ash Wednesday - Open Wide and Say "Aahhhh", in Jesus' Name

2011-03-09T14:10:00.003-06:00

Sunday's palms are Wednesdays ashes as another Lent begins;

thus we kneel before the Maker in contrition for our sins.

We have marred baptismal pledges, in rebellion gone astray;

now returning, seek forgiveness; grant us pardon, God, this day!

We have failed to love our neighbors, their offences to forgive,

have not listened to their troubles, nor have cared just how they live.

we are jealous, proud, impatient, loving over-much our things;

may the yielding of our failings be our our Lenten offerings.

We are hasty to judge others, blind to proof of human need;

and our lack of understanding demonstrates our inner greed;

we have wasted earths resources; want and suffering we've ignored;

come and cleanse us, then restore us; make new hearts within us Lord. -Rae B. Whitney (1991)

Today is one of reflection, purpose and introspection. For we who observe Ash Wednesday, we know that we'll receive the mark of our mortality upon our foreheads and be reminded that but for God's grace we are lost.

And yet, this Ash Wednesday...this beginning of the Lenten journey is one that brings us back to the places we've been before. Lent confronts us again with the "tempers and affections" we've brought to the altar during Lents past, presumably left them there, only to find we're far more comfortable with them in our lives (as sick as they make us) as we'd trust being liberated from them.

The imagery of the palm fronds that last year's Palm Sunday were waved as we sang, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who come in the name of the Lord!" being now burned into the ashes which will mark us as the words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," are spoken, is a potent thing to consider. For most of my time in ministry, I've taken it upon myself to burn the palms. It's not like I enjoy it. In fact, on a windy day like today, burning dried out palms can turn into an adventure!

So, what's this Lenten journey about? A fool's errand? Is there something that can be found, given up, or taken on that can differentiate this Lent from so many others before it?

Maybe. Hopefully.

Lent was and still is for many an intentional time of preparation and examination of one's faith as they prepared to come to the baptismal font at Easter.

Examination is still a good word, and maybe that's why we're not really sure what to do with this season. I mean, really, who likes exams?

I had a series physical, mental and spiritual exams a little over a month ago. First physical since I had to take one to enter Vandy, and that was 1987. Why? Hate them. Why? Because it's one thing to live in the denial of what is true about me, it's another thing to have it quantified, written down in a chart, and measured as data that can both be interpreted about the reality of my health now and the measure against how I proceed toward health or digress from it in the future.

If we observe a holy Lent, then who we are and what we discover about ourselves, including and especially the places in us that do not foster love and life can be brought into the Light, and from there we can determine what we do with them and how we can go forward.

But to bring that which does not foster love and light into the Light makes it possible for others to know what we dare not acknowledge and work so hard to hide. That vulnerability is scary, and that's why so many don't do it. Truthfully, it's not as if others can't see it anyway....denial again.

In the end, and at the end - the life that Lent pushes us to aspire is one made sacred...if all we do is witness Jesus' life made sacred through the ultimacy of his self-giving, and think of it only in the abstract and not the particularity of our lives, then we've missed so much of an opportunity, and this Lent is just another Church season full of empty symbols.

Let's take the journey. Let's take it with brutal honesty and utter humility. If we do, I suspect Holy Week will be one of great revelation that can steer our course in the reality of a resurrected life.

"Repent, and believe in the Gospel."

Memphis and Shelby County - From "Us" and "Them" to "We"

2011-01-19T15:21:00.008-06:00

Some acknowledgments and qualifiers on the front end.

I've served in the city of Memphis for most of my appointed ministry.

I'm a graduate of Memphis City Schools. W.W. Herenton's name is on my high school diploma.

I first moved to Memphis in 1979. I was 15. I lived in Fox Meadows when that was still a very well established predominantly white, middle class community. I attended and graduated from Wooddale, which was at that time probably 70%-30%, white/black. African American kids were bused into Wooddale from the Bethel Grove and Orange Mound parts of town.

From what I've seen (strangely enough through Facebook) of folks with whom I attended high school, both white and black, it is clear to me that quality of education we enjoyed at Wooddale was very good.

I lived and worked in Whitehaven from 1983-1987. The demographic shift was in full effect by that time for those who could afford to uproot and move to Mississippi, Germantown or Collierville, which was still at that time pretty much a sleepy little bedroom community.

I moved back to Memphis in 1992--back into the same community I lived in while in high school, Fox Meadows. Over the five and a half years of ministry there, the demographic shift was on....reminding me very much of Whitehaven only ten years earlier. The pressures of serving what was once a "community church" that found the elements of community eroding provided profound challenges to determining what it means to be the church.

It is among the ongoing issues and questions of theological identity for any church in a transitional community. The United Methodist Church in Memphis has had and continues to struggle to find good answers to some of the tough questions such transitions raise. Visionary leadership and prophetic witness are among the attributes notably lacking in the face of the struggle to find meaning.

In 2001, I returned to Memphis/Shelby County. Lived in Germantown, worked in Midtown. Lots of reasons for that which we determined as a family was the best choice at that time in our lives. And yes, where our kids went to school was among those reasons.

I served in Midtown for 8 years in a place at the crossroads of wealth and abject poverty. Because Midtown had already transitioned many years before, I was there as new life emerged. What some called renaissance (myself among them), others called gentrification.

In 2009, my appointed service shifted back into the county, now serving in Cordova, a community not unlike how I remember Fox Meadows in the late 70's. It is a community impacted deeply by the downturn in the housing market and the economic crisis of the past couple of years.

In each phase of my life in Memphis/Shelby County, there is always the undercurrent of certain "givens" that frame policy. While race is chief among them, it does not stand alone. The place where race, crime, economics and education meet--that's the thing that's always in the room with any conversation of citizens of Memphis/Shelby County about Memphis/Shelby County. This amalgum of issues long predates my life here, and while the ways we talk about it may be shrouded in more carefully chosen language, it's still alive and well.

Now, how does any of this qualify me to say anything about the status of our city and county, and the school systems that work within each?

I don't know, maybe nothing. Except that I've seen the biases of people who live in certain parts of the city/county toward those who don't. There's plenty folks who live in the county who are pretty certain that if you live in the city, especially deep into the city it's pretty certain that you'll be robbed, raped or shot.

And I know plenty folks who live in Midtown who believe that if you live outside the 240 loop...heck, if you live east of Highland that you're a part of the evil system that perpetuates the divide of the city/county and that no one who lives "out there" (me included) can say anything about what could/should be done. "Sell out" is often a label placed on us folk.

The divide perpetuated by our biases and fears does not make for the best witness of "the city of good abode." It is bias based upon every demographic and pejorative stereotype of "the other" that each can conjure about the other. Some of those biases are not without credence. Abuses of power, leadership that has been at times negligent at the least, and perhaps corrupt at most do not inspire confidence. Boss Crump may be long gone as a man, but the remnants of how he manipulated and controlled everything lingers still. That said, our biases provide cover to excuse our behaviors. And they absolutely prevent us from looking at new ways of being community.

But here's what I know deep within--
We can argue about how and why, but the time to come together as one in the city/county is here.

This will not be easy to do. I expect it to be among the most difficult things Memphis/Shelby County will have done in its history. I suspect things will likely get worse before they get better, But it is the right thing. As a man of faith, I believe it to be the most faithful thing.

It will need to happen for economic reasons, if for no other.
It will need to happen to position our region for growth.
Maybe it will even unify us in ways we've never considered.

Nashville, Louisville, Indianapolis...they seemed to figure it out.

Why can't we?

As I write this the Memphis City School Board has upheld its previous decision to surrender its charter and thus fall under the mantle of the Shelby County School System.

The fears, the biases and prejudices are flying fast and furious at each other about each other.

The "citizen of Memphis" side of me wants to see Memphis City School be better than it is. I want to see excellence from teachers and students and efficiency in how the system is governed. I want to see the Memphis City Schools perform like...well, the Shelby County Schools. I want to be able to watch a meeting of the MCS Board and not wonder "what the hell are they doing?" If I'm a parent of a child in MCS, and I couldn't stay up all night in the optional school line, why wouldn't I want the school my kid goes to performing like the schools I see "out there?"

The MCS teachers and administrators that I know are masters at their craft. They are very talented people doing amazing work. And yet even the best of talent when operating in a system that seems to be dysfunctional have to feel they are swimming upstream against the current..always.

As a "citizen of Shelby County" and a parent of three in SCS, I look at the implications of a consolidated district and it can't help but give me pause. What does it mean? What does it do to my kids? Does it do anything? Does it negatively impact the education my kids are getting now? In short, what does it do to me and mine? It's a question that rises naturally in us when there is a potential change. But the better part of me want MCS to be better, too. And I want to be able to observe the leadership of the SCS Board operate address the issues without feeling like there's something else they're really trying to do without actually saying it. Our community is better, safer, more productive when all of our schools excel.

There comes a time in our lives when we have to begin to think about the implication of choices and decisions and work with "the other" to find a new reality to frame our future. I have to wonder...are we the answer we've been waiting for to long held unresolved issues? Is it for such a time as this that our community moves from too many policies based on old notions toward something new?

As it was when I served in Midtown, and now in Cordova, our churches celebrates its relationship with a school. It is one of support, care and sponsorship. The role of the church in community seeks the best for our children. It is one of the ways in which our village raises up our future leaders.

What lessons will they learn from us through this?

No, I have no expectations that this is something with easy answers. But I have trust in two of our leaders. I trust A.C. Wharton and Mark Luttrell. I think they are both very good men and represent the best of what our city/county has produced.

Whatever happens with the schools...whatever happens in matters of government--we have to stop this us/them dynamic. It does not bring about the best in any of us.

It's time to move to "we."

Sticks and Stones Break Bones---Words Do, Too

2011-01-12T13:38:00.013-06:00

vi·o·lence noun \ˈvī-lən(t)s, ˈvī-ə-\

Definition of VIOLENCE

1 a : exertion of physical force so as to injure or abuse (as in warfare effecting illegal entry into a house)b : an instance of violent treatment or procedure

2 : injury by or as if by distortion, infringement, or profanation: outrage

3 a : intense, turbulent, or furious and often destructive action or force

b : vehement feeling or expression : fervor; also : an instance of such action or feeling

c : a clashing or jarring quality : discordance (from m-w.com)

I'm not sure there's anything more narcissistic than to ascribe blame for catastrophic events. We all do it. Something awful happens and we want to know why. What makes it narcissistic is that the blame we place gladly is always elsewhere...usually on the diametrically opposite pole of where we are in life or the world view we hold thereby propping ourselves up as the paragons of virtue, truth and supreme importance while "they" are the embodiment of evil, corruption and that which must be purged lest the Republic fall. Whether or not the blame is real or imagined, when we do such a thing we enjoy the presumably safe cover of taking easy shots at those whose positions we abhor.

And when that happens we perpetuate the violence--just of another sort.

It's happened too much since last weekend. It's easy. It's petty. It's tacky.

So self absorbed is the media about how a mentally ill person did what he did from which connections are drawn based on what one hopes is the reason rather than what really is (something which may never be known), that shattered bodies are not even yet cold before we skew what is ultimately important about a tragic situation.

He's a Commie. He's a Nazi. He's a liberal. He's a conservative. He's influenced by cross hairs on a map. He's influenced by the moon. Who's knows? It's Sarah Palin's fault. It's not Sarah Palin's fault. And today the term "blood libel" was used--which does not help. I wonder if she knew what that meant historically when she said it. My hope is she didn't. Because if she did, the cycle of violence continues.

To have this tit for tat argument now bespeaks the larger issue. There's murder in Tuscon, but look at me!!!!

Everybody, SHUT UP!

We do violence of another kind if, for now, we do anything but offer prayers of comfort and support for the grieving, and prayers for healing and wholeness for the injured. If, for right now, our focus is more on a blame placing "why" than it is celebrating the profound courage of those who rose up and ended this murderous spree before more bullets could fly then we are revealing our true intent, and it is not noble.

But there's a conversation that must be had...someday, and soon. While not drawing a causal relationship between what occurred in Tuscon and the ways in which differing sides speak to their constituents about others ---anyone who honestly thinks our lack of civility in matters of public discourse has nothing to do with heightened tensions isn't listening. Speak "violence" enough, be it overt or coded and muted, how then can we be surprised when violence comes (as it does everyday all over the place) and causal relationships are not sought?

We're better than this. At least I think we are. Well, I hope we are.

We all grew up with that old saying "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Sticks and stones do break bones, and despite our protestations to the contrary, words can break bones, too - just not always directly.

Words can inspire, yes.

Words can provoke, of course.

But words can incite, too.

Is speaking violence even when we don't mean it the best way to communicate a point?
Is constant hyperbole the best persuasive tool to shape hearts and lives, or does it, if left unchecked merely stoke the lesser angels of our nature?

Too often, chronic hyperbolic speech masks the weakness of the point one is trying to make. And yet once said, we must live with the consequences of what hyperbole brings. Some of us can take it, measure it and contextualize it on the spot, thus, governing our reaction to it. And for some of us hyperbole so inflames us that we're guided by fear of what we'll lose if something dramatic isn't done right here and right now. We can't process it. It is what it is and our reaction is framed out of blind zeal rather than considered thought.

If I were to ever wonder how I sound with the words I speak and the manner in which I speak them, I've only to listen to my children instinctively regurgitate what I've conditioned them to say because they heard it first from my mouth. Some of those words make me proud. Many make me cringe.

One of the great challenges of the journey for those of us on the Way is to match holy words with holy actions. We are to match the language of love with love's actions in a broken world. We are to match belief in forgiveness and justice with mercy from a loving God to be lived out in right relationships with those around us, especially those alien to us. Whoever "other" is for you - that's your measuring stick. Don't believe me? Read the Gospels.

What words are you saying now? Do they speak "violence?"

Dare we speak the language of a revolution based on love?

And let's be clear what we mean by "love." It is the love of God that transforms the world. Sometimes that transformation means that our words confront the principalities and powers whose actions and/or inactions have propagated a violence against those whose lives have been determined to have less value than others. But words that confront, from this standpoint, are prophetic words that bespeak the heart of God whose most earnest desire is for us "to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly." Those words are revolutionary because they call us to be the living expression of God's love through Jesus in what we say and do.

I'm going to try something for the next month and I'm inviting you to be a part of it, too. I want you to be very conscious about what you say and how you say it toward those whose positions you have the most problem. And right now in our country to say nothing of our City and County, there's polarizing issues aplenty. Seek to avoid the language of violence. Seek to avoid dehumanizing "the other." Let your love for the One you call Lord guide your words and actions more than those seeking to incite.

If words matched with actions can break bones, maybe they can heal, too.

I believe they can.

If a Little Sabbath Time Is Good.....

2011-01-07T16:13:00.009-06:00

First, a confession.

I've never taken a sabbatical.

Never taken renewal leave. Been under appointment since 1987.

I share that not as a source of pride, really more one of shame.

Because the truest part of that confession is that I'm jealous of those who do.

I covet (yes, covet, bordering on resent) the circumstances that allow my colleagues to do what I can't see myself doing.

How do I pay for it?

How can I leave my family with the burden of tending to the business of our living while I'm away -

How? It's so unfair to Kristy to leave her with that.

I've never had a question about the "why?" of the equation. My head knows the value of sabbath time. My soul has known its value in slight doses...dribbles here and there.

I took some sabbath time this week. Upon the invitation of my old pal, Ed, I traveled down to his place in south west Florida. My agenda was simple....nothing. Just be.

Ed was host, captain, cook, counselor.

Having had him in my home over the years since I was 8, no Jeffords had ever been to his place.

When he was at Covenant with me this September, our time together outside of the concerts and worship experiences was of the typical sort with dinner and conversation. He talked about his Florida home, on Manasota Key. He talked about "retreats" he's hosted when people he's worked with over the years are invited to come and share in some time way.

"You look like you could use one, Johnny." "You come down, I'll give you some date options. If you say 'no' to more than two or three options, I won't ask anymore."

Couldn't do the first offer...it was right before Israel. But the second one, I was on it.

So I spent Monday-Thursday of this week with The Grateful Ed. We sailed, listened to good music on the boat, talked about a lot of stuff. I went with him to a gig. Manned his table and sold his wares. I shared the current mix of The Travelling Cokesburys CD (soon to be released), which he liked but wanted to mix himself and sing on it with us. We jumped in at Eddie Boy Bay (sub 60 degree water - didn't stay long).

I don't want to overstate how wonderful the experience was...but it was really, really good.

I've left to go to plenty of things before...but usually always continuing education in nature. Conferences, workshops and the like. Most all of them have at least some part that's really good, and most all of them have a goodly part that's a big waste of time.

But that's not what this was.

No agenda, but to tack across Lemon Bay as the wind guided (and the weather was glorious).

No agenda, but to walk down the beach.

No agenda but to go to favorite eateries and sample the local cuisine.

No agenda but to watch the sunset and be glad.

I don't know if I could stand that everyday (I wonder). Holy Scriptures don't suggest everyday be like that. But the Hebrew Bible does talk about taking one day in seven to cease from doing...to just be still and know God.

That "commandment" is not for God's benefit, it's for ours.

And I was benefited mightily by an old of friend mine being a friend in ways I never expected, or deserved...

Isn't that what they call "Grace?"

One More for 2010

2010-12-31T21:58:00.001-06:00

There's been a significant drop off in the volume of blog posts in the last two years. 2010 was sparse, to say the least. While I'd make the case for quality rather than quantity, I think the level of written output is an indicator of other things.

As I look at my dashboard, I see a surprising number of drafts never published. Impressive posts begun here, the incomplete display of profundity there. (ha!)

My ability to bring coherence to issues for which a real time response was called for was sorely lacking in 2010. It's not that I haven't had thoughts about many things. I didn't have energy to see it through. A fragmented life will always yield distraction.

But I'm not going to beat myself up about it though (there's plenty other things about which I can). True enough, a relentless pursuit for relevance can veer easily into the absurd. And I'm often on the line of the absurd anyway.

So I end the year with one more post. One of self awareness that there were decent thoughts shared, some interesting life stories imparted, and they are mine. This blog is composed of my thoughts reflecting my journey. Some of these stories may have intersected yours at certain points.

One of the things that this year has taught me is that our journeys, sometimes once thought long since divergent, seem to have a way of intersecting again in ways you least expect.

What is it that Christians say? Never goodbye, just see you later.

I think that's right. Not always in the ultimacy of time, but sometimes in the dailyness of living. I cling to the hope of what is and what will be---and in the meantime, I'll be trying find a bit more balance in the new year.

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Thinking About What Was and What Is

2010-12-26T02:45:00.004-06:00

Virtually every media outlet will have a "year in review" this coming week. It's the usual air time filler produced to run between Christmas and New Years.

We'll be invited to look back at pop culture, politics, lead stories, and trends. Because we have a short attention span, the recollection of things happening no more than 12 months ago will seem a distant memory. That is not among our most endearing traits.

We'll see video packages of key figures in our culture who died in the previous year. Their deaths remind us of what we've lost and that we're not what we were.

I've found myself rather introspective of late, looking back across my year that was to help give me a course to steer in the year at my doorstep.

So here's some thoughts about my year in review-

Weight Much?
Once again I find myself at the breaking point of a lifelong struggle with weight and the anger, shame and self loathing that are my constant companions when I consider that I've allowed this to happen---again. At my age I can no longer afford the delusion that I'll get it right one of these days. If I desire longevity and vitality I've got to "find some balance here."
The "Dr. Phil" voice would argue that I must find something in this struggle that I'm looking for, otherwise I'd change it because we can't change what we won't acknowledge. So what is it? I've been reflecting on the year that was. It hasn't been an easy one, and at times quite difficult. Just because I'm called to do a certain work, and sometimes do it pretty well, does not mean there is no toll taken. Who is pastor to the pastor? Right now that's an open question. There is a direct correlation between how I'm dealing (or not dealing) with life healthily, and the insulation I add to my physical frame. Rather than thinking of storing up for a winter's hibernation, the added weight I pack on serves me more like a Kevlar vest presumably to protect my heart from the perceived threats "out there." And I think it's always been that way for me, from childhood on.
While I've not always given my permission to ponder such things, I think I'm right on this one. It's a self-protection mechanism, that ironically, is going to damn near kill me if I don't find a way through. How is it with my soul? Look at my body and you'll see the answer my mouth dares not speak.

For a Song -
I don't know when I've sung more than I have in this past year. It's been a long time, probably not since Asbury days as Glad River was coming together and we were recording and touring, and I served as Associate with a singer as Senior (MM). Fun days. Music is as much soul medicine for me as anything. I've been reminded of that great quote from Augustine, when we sing we "pray twice," Guess I've been doing a lot of praying. I recently saw a video of me singing and was taken by how different my countenance was. I could see it. My affect is almost transcendent. Held in juxtaposition with the usual "me," I have to say I like the "me" I am when I sing a lot more than the "me" I am when I don't.
In my current appointment, I'm blessed with very talented musicians. At times I've tapped into my inner rock star when we do tunes of the 60's and 70's to augment our worship experiences. Even bought myself my own solo mic - EV- N/D767a. Yep, all about the tunes.
And then there's The Travelling Cokesburys (click and check us out) which has been an utter blast (CD coming soon). To be able to play and sing with John Kilzer has been a treat. But it is our project, hymns from the Cokesbury Hymnal, that has allowed me to reconnect with a touchstone of my faith that had meant so much. It's not the hymns themselves that matter as much as my recollection of the congregations I grew up singing them in.

In Search of Community -
My clergy group, of which I've been a part on a weekly basis since 1990, is struggling to survive. While its number and configuration has changed many times over the years, with just three of us left the inevitable is upon us. I don't know what that means for me. For a long time we tried to model what healthy clergy relationships could look like, those in which we lovingly hold each other accountable. Sometimes we were actually good at it. But itineracy and attrition has moved this group to a perilous state, and I'm saddened by that. I'm also worried because the loneliness of those in clergy, something for which I had a weekly antidote, is now evermore in front of me in the year ahead.

Friends -
Reconnecting with friends of my past, those who knew me, loved me and trusted me long before I claimed a vocational life has been one of the greatest blessings of this past year, no question about it. I hate to admit that Facebook is partially responsible for that being true, but it is. My friends from Mayfield, Jackson and early Memphis days have each touched me again, and I'm ever thankful. And that's been a complete and welcomed surprise.
I've also been reminded this past year that with some friendships, sometimes you just have to move on. That's something you'd think I would have learned by now. Moving on is what I've done all my life. Close a door, open a door. It's an axiom of we in clergy life that I thought I could ignore or manage because I'm just that smart. Not so much. Learning to do that at peace? That's the trick, and a lesson I'm trying to learn, and so far not so well.

Being a Dad -
For every moment I feel like I did a great job as a dad, there's scores more when I blew it. Too busy, too tired, too distracted...too not present. And yet, my boys affirm in me how much I matter to them. They make me laugh. I make them laugh. And when they are in trouble they know they can come to me and they do. The craziness of my home life since Kristy took over the stores several years ago is that I'm now by necessity a part of the dailyness of running the house, and tending the family. It gets to be nuts but it's been a blessing. And in the new year I'll have my first graduate. Not sure what that's going to mean for us all just yet, but it ought to be interesting!

So there's a look back at me. For what is right and good I'm thankful. For what of it that lingers, that I'll carry with me into 2011 as baggage I hope that just saying some of it out loud is the first step in unpacking.

Happy New Year!

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Eisegesis

2010-12-21T22:19:00.005-06:00

Let me say from the outset - I've missed David Waters. The Commercial Appeal and the city are the better for having him come home to live and work among us. To come back to Memphis from The Washington Post is a pretty big deal His prophetic voice rings true for so many issues our community faces.

Let me also say that I'm proud to have travelled to Israel with brothers and sisters in the clergy with whom I've enjoyed a profound covenantal relationship for the past several years. I've written about this group previously in our responses to Lester Street and The Med, and Tear Down the Walls.

While there's much I will reflect upon in due course about being in Israel, the spiritual impact of being in a "holy land," for this post I find the need to clarify things for those left with certain impressions about this group, what we did, and why we did it.

Here's David's article:

Now I confess to sadness for feeling the need to do this at all. First, it would have suited me fine if there had never been any media about this. Granted, media exposure is common with many of the folks in this group, although I'm clear that I'm at the bottom of that food chain, and that's just fine by me. While I don't think any of us were really looking for it, it was too good to pass up as a story. I get that.

Being in fellowship together out of the spotlight, where we could be ourselves with one another, while understanding the pressures of what it means to be spiritual leaders was what gave life to this group. It is what draws us to it still.

When you turn that which had one purpose into the hands of the media, regardless of intentions, you open yourself up to perceptions that belie what is true.

On it's face, a public airing opens us to opinions. Perceptions from those who don't know me matter very little to me. My sadness, bordering on feeling betrayed is that some of these perceptions are from those I thought knew me, trusted me, and counted me as friend. And I'm not sure what to do with that. It confronts my continual internal conversation about not being loved unconditionally for who I am, and seen as having value only because of what I do.

Let's see...I've had "friends" concerned that I was going to be indoctrinated to a specific point of view, one they didn't hold. The belief I'd be indoctrinated by anything or anyone lets me know I'm not really known or trusted by those I thought did. That stings.

I've been labelled as being like those clergy to whom MLK Jr wrote in his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." (them's fighting words, by the way). I was confronted by that masterwork during my Vandy days. It was thrust before me in critically constructive ways that made my focus be such that I will do everything I can in ministry not to be associated with those whose silence equals concurrence to what is going on around them.

So what's the real issue here for me? I thought about this a lot. And I'm surprised by how much this has gotten under my skin. I've sought the counsel of a trusted voice who does love and trust me for who I am and what was said resonated.

"Your integrity was called into question by those who know you, or at least you thought they did."

And there it is. "For everything there is a season." It is now the season to peaceably move on from what I thought was to what is. Ever been there? It happens.

How many of you have the motivations of your trips questioned?
I mean really?
It's a trip - a group of friends who happen to hold ministry in common took a trip together with our partners.

We went to Israel, a beautiful, complex place. I knew that before I got there, and found it confirmed upon arriving. The issues of security, justice and peace for all who call that place home have no easy answers. We went to see, to experience, to talk, to touch, to process, to pray, to consider the land of where Jesus lived, to ponder the implications of a land claimed by multiple faith communities and consider what that means in the places we live and do ministry.

We did not go to engage in Middle East peace talks.

Now David would have you believe that our common cause for friendship means we don't have different opinions on issues. How anyone who knows any one of us could believe that's true just isn't paying attention. The variable is that we gather as friends who hold work in common, not as ministers first, friends second. Some people either can't get that, or don't want to.

Most people were glad I went, glad we went, proud even that this fellowship of leaders, imperfect as we are, seeks to model the community in our common life that we proclaim in our work lives.

Where we went was not nearly as significant as that we went somewhere together. That we went to a place that holds significance to our faiths added a dimension that cannot be underestimated.

Shortly after returning we received word that David was going to write an article about the trip. David issued a request that each of us answer: "How did what you experienced in Israel inform your life and work in Memphis."

Eisegesis is defined as reading into something what you want it to say, rather than what it really means. It's a no-no for preachers when dealing with biblical texts. It's a no-no period. Ever encounter someone abusing scripture to say what they need to so that their point is validated, rather than let the scripture shape them? There you go.

While David was free to edit my words, the complexity of what I intended was co-opted into something altogether different. He eisegeted my quote. Here it is in total:

As we traveled through Israel together, we often heard the words "it's complicated," when describing ever present geopolitical and religious tensions. It's always there. There is a growing awareness that a two state solution may well be the last best enduring legacy for the land claimed as sacred by those who claim the God of Abraham, Mohammed, and Jesus as the center of their faith. But is the "two state" solution that we have long known on the parcel of land we call home our most faithful expression of the love of God and neighbor? As it is there it is here...a question always present. My sense is that to live fully into the justice and mercy of God compels Israel and Memphis to different conclusions on that question. It is complicated. But since when should what is complicated excuse doing what is faithful?

Inasmuch as we who traveled together know what it meant and why we went, there is eisegesis aplenty by too many others. It's not about intentions, I don't believe. I think we read into way too many things what we want them to say rather than what they actually do. Driven by our own predispositions, biases and prejudices, and in the absence of trust and conversation, we make anything say what we want it to.

I've encountered this. It does not diminish the import of this experience for me. I am bothered that there's always someone who can't celebrate the blessings of others and will interpret what they want how they want.

But truth be told, I'm sad. The number of people with whom I entrust myself is comparatively few. And apparently, it's even fewer than I thought.

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Pilgrimage: Day 1

2010-11-07T10:19:00.001-06:00

My "big ol' jet airliner" landed in Tel Aviv around 4:30 p.m. local time. Our group - those who flew with us joined up with those who came early.

A short walk brought us to the water's edge where Micah lead us in the service ended the Sabbath. It was a thing full of beauty and hope.

First day take away was that. Hope in the face of conflict. Hope found in coming home. Zeal for life to be celebrated always---let everything

that breathes praise the Lord!

We walked the streets of Tel Aviv to the Goshen Restaurant. A great banquet. Our guide, Jonathan, who lives outside of Bethlehem shares his life and world view.

A good start.

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In Route

2010-11-06T14:46:00.001-05:00

Ok. Before going too far into this, let me just say that Delta Elite Business Class does not suck. Thanks, Shirley, and thank you, friends of Tiger Bookstore.

Within the hour we'll enter Israeli airspace.

Fellow pilgrims on our flight-
Rick and Jane Kirchoff
Stacy and Rhonda Spencer
Keith and Shelia Norman
Andy and Sybil McBeth
Sheryl Greenstein

We meet up with the crew in Tel Aviv. Settle in. And then begin.

First impressions of trip so far. It's a pretty selfish one. Amazing that you have to cross the globe to have time with your spouse.

It's the nature of our lives. Two jobs that are constantly before us, even at home. 3 children with all their interactions and demands.

Just us? I've got my girl again. This may be reason enough for the journey.

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Pilgrimage

2010-10-31T15:27:00.001-05:00

In just a few days, Kristy and I are traveling with 10 other clergy couples from the Memphis area. We are going to Israel.

This cadre of clergy represent the diversity of spiritual leadership in Memphis. We are friends first, colleagues second.

We raised our voices as one to call the city together after the Lester Street massacre. We spoke as one about the need to preserve a healthcare safety net for the least among us, which is currently provided through The Med.

We believe that the character of our friendships feeds us because we understand in each other the impact our work has on our families and us.

I've been blessed to know these guys and their spouses. We travel together as interfaith, ecumenical and multiracial representatives of the people of faith in the Memphis area.

I'll be filing updates of our pilgrimage throughout.

Looking forward to something special.

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Catharsis in Baltimore

2010-10-27T17:02:00.003-05:00

I've written much over the years about my life and times in Mayfield, Kentucky.

In fact, I guess this blog has given space for thoughts and feelings to be processed and considered. As an old friend is want to remind me, all things unresolved always resurface. As I've alluded in previous posts, I think that much of who I am comes from my understanding of what of me was left unresolved from those years--

Friendship, and the fierce loyality attached to those you dare call friend. The truest since of that for me is probably a confusion between loyalty and desperation that the friends you have are friends you'll lose.
Living in the balance between self worth and self loathing. That's probably always been there, but is exacerbated by not being able to process what it means to be "me." Am I loved for who I am? Do I even love me for who I am?
Saying goodbye to the world you know when you're not ready - but truth be told, when are we ever really ready to leave the comforts and protections of the world that is safe to venture out into the great unknown?
Curiosity of what happened to that world you left with you no longer in it. It's not like people you leave behind will never be the same without you, I mean, really. But there is something about knowing you've been remembered, especially in your absence, that brings a depth of meaning to what you once knew.

I've called those years my "wonder years." It's a romanticized past. I've enough self awareness to be honest about that. It's a romanticism born from what never could be given my leaving it. Feel free to peruse previous posts for my musings of that time and place.

And there's the tie....the worlds I've left, from childhood to the present moment. For most of my life, those chapters never interact or overlap. They are sequestered pieces of the overall puzzle of my existence.

Part of my own issue about what of me I'll reveal to another, and the biggest part of me that I won't is impacted by this realization. It is part and parcel of being an itinerant family. And almost literally from the day of my birth (the family mythology goes that the day I was born was the day dad got his first appointment - it's no "brand plucked from the burning," mind you, but it is something to hang your hat on), to this moment in time.

I've not known anything other than itineracy. While my experience of it, and my reaction to it may not be that of others (and I certainly hope it's not), I can only claim what the impact of that covenantal life has had on me.

Just because you promise something to God, and honor that promise, doesn't mean it stops being hard.

So I've had this fascination with my life in Mayfield in recent years. I think it may have been brought to the surface when Jimmy died. Nothing like the recognition of mortality to make one look across the broad expanse of one's life and wonder what if? And, what now?

A month or so ago I was asked to represent the Memphis Conference Board of Ministry at an event in Baltimore. Apparently, no one else but the chair could go (which I take as no one else wanted to), but I was willing. Because I value the work of that body so much, if there was something I could glean from representatives across the church who do similar work, it seemed well worth the effort.

That, plus my expenses would be paid.

As soon as I knew I was going, I was reminded that someone I knew lived there. Someone from my Mayfield childhood. Someone with whom I had reconnected on "the" Facebook. Elaine.

So I wrote her, told her when I was coming, and wondered if she'd be available for a visit. She was. She and her husband were going to pick me up and take me out for crab--in Baltimore. Not too shabby.

I was shocked by how excited I was to reacquaint with her. I had not seen her in over 35 years. Me, whose emotional shield is usually always up, was venturing into something I never thought I would or even wanted to.

What would I say? Would she recognize me? We spoke on the phone to arrange pick up times and she said "you sound just like I remember you sounding." And I thought, "really?" I was like 11 or 12 when I left and now I'm 46. Could that be right? And all the while I was thinking "you do, too."

I sat outside the hotel to wait for her to come by after her work. I saw her, and of course it was Elaine. We smiled and hugged and sat to visit for awhile waiting for John, her husband to drop by and pick us all up.

We talked about our lives. Where we'd been. I asked about old friends and if she still goes home to Mayfield. We small talked for awhile as I mustered up the courage to do something I could no longer avoid.

Make a confession.

Now some of you reading this will have heard my sermon in which Elaine is an illustration. It has to do with growing up and she was always the one who'd score just one point ahead of me on a test. For every 10 grades I might eek out a "win" on 1 or 2 of them.

Hmmm. Maybe that's while I'm a Tiger fan? Another post for another time.

I was the Methodist preacher's kid. She went to the Baptist church...blah, blah, blah.
I was "confirmed," she was "saved." You know, that old chestnut.

And I've told that story of my competitive engagement with her several times in ministry. Why wouldn't I? I'll never see her again.

Ooops.

Preaching 101 - don't tell stories about other people without their permission. I'm just saying.

You should have seen her face when I said, "I need to make a confession to you."

And I shared my story. She was most gracious. Even laughing a bit. I don't know if she needed to hear what I said, it's no big deal, really. But I surely needed to say it.

John picked us up, and took us to Nick's Fish House. We sat outside on the water, learned how to eat crab, and had a wonderful time. We reminisced. We laughed. I heard about her life and I told her about mine. She's always been brilliant, and her work career bears witness to that.

One of the first things she said to me was "so, you followed in your dad's footsteps, huh?" Her inquiry came from a point of reference that few have. She knew me for what I was and now sees me for what I am. There was also a sense of "really? you? a preacher?" I get that curiosity, bordering on surprise....I really do.

Resolution. It felt like grace.

It was as profound a couple of hours as I've had in many a year.

I have no idea what our reconnection meant to her, but I know what it meant to me, and I was so glad. I felt like I had a claim on the lives of that bunch of people with whom I shared a childhood. Trapped no longer in the past, it now has new life and perspective. The chapters of my life are no longer sequestered from each other. And this word rarely (and sadly) comes from my lips--it makes me "happy."

Because the occasion that had me in Baltimore kept me in a hotel conference room, I didn't get to see much of the city. She told me I'd have to come back one day, and they'd show me around.

I told her I'd want to see Lovely Lane Church, the birthplace of Methodism in America.

"Oh really," she said. "I didn't know that."

Ahhh. Score one for me!

What I Plan to Do on Fall Break

2010-10-17T11:54:00.002-05:00

This whole Fall Break thing is new to me. Sounding like the old man that I am...."back in my day we didn't have Fall break. We just had the weekend. That's how it was, and we liked it!"

Rather than declaring the kids of today as soft, needy of constant breaks, I've seen the wisdom of living fully into the opportunities that come.

Fall breaks are ok. Fall breaks on the beach are better. So here we are.

Aren't we the better for taking the opportunity of every day and make of it a blessing?

I'm doing my best.

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Location:Beach Dr E,Miramar Beach,United States

Brush with Greatness - Or, the Day I Sat at Dave's Desk.

2010-07-20T10:25:00.006-05:00

Ok, first things.

Are we really on the set of the Late Show with David Letterman, and is that really me sitting as his desk?
Yes.

"How in the world did you get to do that?"
Interesting story.

While it all started a very long time ago when I was at Asbury, for our purposes, let's pick up the story in March, when the family spent spring break in Orlando.
While there, we caught up with an old friend from the Asbury days who lived in the area. Jan was very much a part of our early days in ministry. She and her husband, Reid, worked with the youth. Their son, Deuce, was a part of the group. Jan and Reid babysat, almost newborn, Andrew, almost exclusively. He was our son, but he was her baby.

A job opportunity moved the family to Dallas, and shortly thereafter, I moved to Bemis. A tragic car wreck killed Reid ( a bear of man in stature, but as tender a heart as you'll ever find). I returned to Memphis to participate in the funeral.

Jan and Deuce stayed in Dallas until he was preparing for college, and the program he was pursuing was in Florida, so there she moved. We only sporadically kept in touch with each other over the years. When Jimmy died, she showed up one day at Saint John's just to hug me, talk with me and see if I was o.k. She and I have always had a bit of a connection.

Fast forward to Orlando in March, we went out to dinner, and she told me that Deuce, who was now working in NYC with a theatrical production, was getting married--and would I do the service.
She's among that handful of folks in my life that if they ask it, I'm pretty much going to do it. You build up that kind of capital with folks with whom you've weathered life's storms. But I said, "I will, but he's got to ask me," I've got to be back for worship, and, "What are we going to do about pre-marital counselling, because that's a non-negotiable for me?"

Well, the upshot was this--he asked, I said yes, and we did our counselling via Skype. Am I hip, or what?
The second weekend of June was the appointed date. Kristy and I would take flight to NYC, enjoy some time away, I would preside a wedding for a young man I love deeply, a beautiful young woman I was coming to know, and share time with a family that had meant much to me over the years.

During my last "Skype" session I asked Deuce, "Hey, since you're up there in show biz, why dont' you see if you can wrangle me up some Letterman tickets."

His response was, "let me see what I can do."

I didn't think much of it. I wasn't going up there for that, but thought, why not?

Feel free to check my Letterman fandom on this blog. There are posts aplenty.

Deuce called me the day before we were to fly out to ask me what time I was getting to the city. I told him early afternoon. He said that was perfect because I had to be at the corner of 53rd and Broadway at 3:00 p.m. to go to the Letterman show.

No way!

Now, here's the cool part.

We get to La Guardia, taxi into the city - nice hotel, the Fitzpatrick on Lexington between 58th and 59th. Meet Jan, see Deuce, who gives me a piece of paper on which is scribbled a phone number, and the name of "a guy."

We walk the blocks west to the appointed place. I make the call. Goes to voicemail, except it says his voicemail is full, so I can't even leave a message.

We call again. The same thing.

Just down the block is where The Ed Sullivan Theater is located. The was a gathering of folks in front, the audience for the day, and a Late Show staffer wearing her Worldwide Pants jacket, with a clipboard seeming to check off names.

Surely we're on the list. I approach. Gave her our names. Nope.

I showed her the piece of paper with the name and number on it.

"I'm sorry, sir, you're going to need more than that if you think you're going to get in."

Oh well, I thought. I'm this close. It's still cool. This is just not going to pan out.
I called Deuce, told him my problem. He told me to stand by.
Few minutes later, I see a guy walking toward us on his phone. We must have looked like frustrated fans.

"You Johnny?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. And this is my wife, Kristy."

"Nice to meet you," he said. "My name's Martin."

Martin's the name on the slip of paper. "Sorry I couldn't get your call. We don't get good signal down in the control room."

"Oh," I said. "I tried to see if we were on the list to go into the theater, but the lady told me it was a no-go."
Martin said, "We're not going in that way...follow me."

We walked to the corner, turned onto 53rd, in that area where they drop stuff off the roof, across the street from the revival of "Promises, Promises," starring Sean "Just Jack" Hayes and Christen Chenoweth, featuring the powerful music of Burt Bacharach and Hal David.

As we're walking to the side door I asked, "So, how do you know Deuce?"

Martin said, "I don't. We just watch out for each other and do favors. One day he'll be working on a show that I'll have someone who wants to see and I'll give a call. That's how it works around here."

Wow, I thought.

And Martin was the consummate host. As we walked in, the band was rehearsing. There's Paul and crew, working on the day's special music (with Peter Wolf). Technicians and staffers roaming all over the stage.
I was standing in The Ed Sullivan Theater. And that lady who wouldn't even give me the time of day? Still standing outside with the audience. It's about 3:10 p.m.

Martin takes us downstairs to the control room. That's where he works. His job is engineering the stationary lights in the theater. Certain lights come up at a certain time...stuff like that.

Saw the director at his post. They were going through several practice things. And then, they started taping the night's Top 10. It was an on location shoot of Washington Nationals pitcher, Stephen Strasburg. They record it early and Dave is reacting to tape...who knew?

Walking back up from the basement we'd pass these suited guys with secret service looking communication devices, "Dave's private security...he's had a pretty rough year."
"Oh, right."

We walked up to the balcony, where at the very top was a station for the motion light engineer. Next to him was two seats behind a table..."you all will sit there."

And there we were, not in a regular seat, but with the crew. Very cool. Our view from the top was actually more appealing than a floor seat because once the show starts, the cameras and other equipment block the view from below.

By this time, it's about 3:40 p.m. "Can I get you all anything?" he asks. "No, we're good."
And we sat there, watched the band finish rehearsal (they are a great band), crew was rushing around.
Audience entered little after 4:10 p.m. and everyone's pretty much seated by 4:15 p.m. As they walked by us to take their seats I think they thought we're with the production. Kinda funny.

After a few minutes of sitting with our newest friend, Kristy says, "Is that a space heater I smell?"
Sure enough, this guy had a little space heater at his feet.
"Dave likes it cold." I had heard that before. So I asked, how cold is it?
"49 degrees, always."
You've got to be kidding. Now being up top it wasn't that cold, but it was chilly.

Warm up comedian came on and tried to be funny. He introduced the band and they come on stage one at a time. It's about 4:27 p.m. when Dave is introduced. He runs across the stage, grabs a mic, says hello, yucks it up the crowd. The clock is seconds away from 4:30 p.m. He abruptly says he has to go, runs off stage and the theme hits right at 4:30 p.m.

The experience is very different, as I would have expected. It's a very technical thing, a television production. It's the necessary work that happens never seen on the television that makes all things appear fluid, natural and entertaining. Lights, applause signs, watching what the band is doing when they are off camera--watching what Dave is doing when he's off camera.

But it was such a kick. Up high in the theater was really the best view. Harry Connick, Jr. was a guest. Jayden Smith was as well, and I found him a disrespectful - not like his dad at all. Peter Wolf was the music guest and by the time he came on and did his number, I could have done it along with him, because we heard it rehearsed before air about 5 times.

Some observations about Dave - when he's not on camera, he is out of his jacket. Takes it off and throws it. One of his little minions has to keep up with it and make sure he has it back on before he back on camera. While he talked with Harry during the commercial, at other breaks he was away from the desk and talking with what looks like a team of 4 or 5 writers.

He's on stage and at his desk not once second longer than the camera demands. At the close of the show when he says, "good night,everybody,"the band hits the theme and only plays about 15 seconds of it until camera is off. Dave was handed a house mic and said, "Thanks for coming, enjoy New York, we'll see you next time," and that was it, he was gone.

I imagined the words, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Dave has left the building."

The show was over, and pages were escorting the audience out of the theater rather quickly. Folks were polite and didn't seek to linger.

But Kristy and me? We were with the production, don't you see, so we stayed right where we were.
After the audience filed out our secondary host said, "I'm going to take down to Martin, he's on stage."
You know that circular staircase that's one Dave's left as he sits as his desk--we came down it.
And then in one defining moment, there we were, on the stage of the Ed Sullivan Theater.
Just standing there like we were meant to be there. That stage, in Dave's care now, but much bigger than Dave.

I thought about the people who've stood on the very spot I was standing--giants in the entertainment business.
Elvis.
The Beatles.
Every comedian of note from the 50's forward.
Every singer and band of note from that time forward.
I'm telling you, surreal doesn't capture this. I wasn't expecting this at all, and I went from getting up one morning in my own bed in Memphis, to standing on the stage of The Ed Sullivan Theater that afternoon.

And while I standing there, Alan Kalter's hanging around yucking it up with a couple of his guests, Paul's still at the keyboard working on something. The stage is not that big, it's actually a pretty small theater as theater's go. And there I am, like I'm supposed to be there.
"Go over to the desk," Martin said, "and I'll take some pictures."

My phone was dead. I didn't bring a camera--didn't know all this was going to happen. So the picture you see if from Kristy's phone. I'm not sitting in Dave's chair. Nobody does but Dave. It's taking away and covered right after the show. It's just a basic office chair, and it's set for him at the desk on camera.
What about Dave's desk? Not really a desk, no surprise, more like an L-shaped table.
Underneath to the left is Kleenex, a gallon pump bottle of Purel, a trashcan and other miscellaneous things. Pretty utilitarian, actually.

The desk mic is real. I picked it up, looked at it. Put it back. Nobody yelled at me.

"Where's Dave's pencils?" Kristy asked. There were not any on the desk.

"Just a minute," Martin said, and he walked over the where the Producer's station was, grabbed a handful, and handed them to her.

You know what they say on them?

"The Late Show" No. 2

We sat at the desk several minutes before getting up.

Kristy talked with Alan Kalter a bit, seems like a really pleasant guy--you know, like a guy who's really glad he's got a gig.

And let me tell you...it was COLD.
"Man, it really is cold down here."
"Yeah," Martin said. "Dave doesn't like to be hot. It's 49 all the time whether we're dark or on the air. When the lights aren't on you can see your breath."
I believe it.
"He didn't really seem to interact very much with the audience," I said.
"Dave doesn't like people very much," Martin replied.
I can see that.
Anyway, we walked backstage where just offstage by Dave's desk is Dave's coffeepot. Coffee just for him, brewed from a Mr. Coffee like in anybody's home.

Backstage looks more like a theater backstage than a studio, and that's what it is.
He shared some of the challenges of retrofitting a theater for television production. Kinda cool.
We walked around a bit more, passed Sid McGinnis, guitarist--head nod was all that was necessary being the cool musician he is, I dig it, then out the backstage door.

Alan Kalter hung around to shake some hands and chat up the lingering fans and then looking up to the sky he said, "wow, what a beautiful day," and then headed west on 53rd on foot. It's New York.

I shook Martin's hand and thanked him profusely for his hospitality.
I'll never see this guy again. And I'm here to tell you, this guy modeled hospitality and graciousness to people he'd never seen before better than any church I've ever served or been in.
It was extraordinary.

And all because of this unspoken "code" between folks in productions in NYC.

There's a sermon in there somewhere, and it's not too hard to find.

Things I Learned from Summer Vacation

2010-07-14T15:09:00.004-05:00

1. Take holiday. I didn't last summer. I had just moved to a new church, so I decided to put on my Superman cape and grind it out. If you had seem me in the middle of winter you'd know how unwise a decision that was. Holiday and holy days - same thing. Worth taking. I've made that mistake twice in my life - when I moved to Saint John's and when I moved to Covenant. I won't make that mistake again.

2. Sleep. It's amazing how my view of life changes when I go from 4-6 hrs. of sleep a night to 9-10 hrs. What, then, must I do in my "regular" life to make vacation rest a part of it?

3. Play. By play, I mean be play-full. Be of a playful spirit. I know only too well the rap placed on me by those (even those who love me) that I'm too serious. I don't know where that comes from (yes, I do--thanks, Dad), but playfulness leads to joyfulness and joyfulness lets you handle whatever is happening in life from a different perspective. What play-full thing did I do this year that was different than any other? Karoake night at Sandestin, baby. It was a blast. Yes there is video, and no, you can't see it (well, maybe...if you ask me nice).

4. Be With Friends. If this past year had done nothing more than allowing me to be involved again into the life of one of my best friends, Tim - it would have been enough. I've known him since I was 15. We churched together, roomed together in a first apartment, he was my best man, and I officiated his wedding. And in this past year, I buried his dear mother, and both of his in-laws. Tim and family are members of Covenant (used to be Underwood, but that's another story--feel free to browse the blog for my opinions on that one), and we have been able to be a part of each other's lives after so many years just as it was when we hung out all the time. I was Tim's friend long before I was his pastor, and I'll be his friend long after I've been moved on down the trail. Tim and family were in Florida while we were. It was a good thing. Together with other Underwood friends, Jodie, Michelle and Halle, opportunities to fellowship, talk and play were far more abundant than in years past. Being with family is always good. Being with family and friends makes good become great.

5. Exercise. There's a 2.1 mile circle that encompasses the area that we live when we're there. It's not a ton of miles, but going from nothing to everyday, in the heat of the day was good. No question, I needs must incorporate that back into the rhythm of life I lead at home. Has to happen.

6. Spend Every Afternoon You Can on a Beach. I know some folk can take or leave a beach. I get it. And there are times of the day I can leave it, too. But late afternoon, from about 5 to sundown...made for me. The ocean breeze blowing in. The seagulls looking for something to snack from what others left, the more tolerable sun beaming down. Magic. As the days of my vacation moved from one into the next, what I to notice was a bit of a congregation that would gather at about that time everyday to take their seat and listen to the liturgy of the ocean in worshipful praise for the God of all creation who makes all things new, even tired, worn out preachers who need some re-creation.

7. Eat crabcakes at Louis Louis. Nuff said.

Getting Ready to Rock This Summer

2010-05-11T18:46:00.006-05:00

Two worship services of drastically different styles offer plenty of challenge each Sunday. It is also an opportunity. For this Summer, we're focusing on The Solid Rock. Now with my Crosswalk service, it'll be a visitation with some great music from the 60's and 70's through which some of the themes of peace, justice, life, love and relationship with the Holy can be known is a little different way. Yes, great music that I like...great music that I picked. Those of you who know me can see that one a mile away. And music that the Crosswalk Worship Band will pull off in fine form. Hope to even sit in on a tune or two. Obviously, our focus in the Sanctuary will take a different tack. We'll go old time Gospel hymns, there--and when I get to it, I feel sure a "cool" preview will bubble up. But for now, with Crosswalk, hit play, and allow yourself to be teased!

Preach On!

2010-05-11T00:13:00.003-05:00

I'm going to the Festival of Homiletics next week.

I've been twice before. This year, I return to Nashville. A place important to my journey.

FoH is a gathering of the some of the masters at the craft of preaching. There'll be workshops and such.

But I go for the worship. I'm not there so much to take notes or steal ideas, although I'm always open to new ideas. I go to soak in the worship experience in which I'm not in charge. I participate as a congregant. It speaks to me.

I've written before about who is pastor to the pastor? It's a tough question to answer.

Who preaches to the preacher is equally difficult.

Very often I'm found quoting from some of the folks who serve on the faculty of what I call the Johnny Jeffords Spiritual Academy. Nouwen & Buechner. If they wrote it I've read it. And then there are names like Coffin, Brueggemann, Forbes, Taylor & Craddock - with whom I had the honor of sharing the pulpit. What they say speaks to me. They aren't the only ones --but they most certainly do.

Like any person who goes to Church seeking a word--of truth, of hope, of challenge, of love and of grace, we who pastor and preach need that, too. So I'm going--gladly and earnestly.

The events of recent days in Nashville impacts the trip only to the degree that the reality of damage sits in front of us as we gather. Alterations in the agenda allow the 1,500 of us who are gathering to offer assistance in the damaged areas. So, a spontaneous mission trip sits out there, too.

One further benchmark of note: I'll be part of a mini-Vandy class reunion. This month, 20 years ago, I graduated from The Divinity School at Vanderbilt. A few of my classmates will be at FoH, and others still live and serve in Nashville. It will be good to reconnect with folks with whom I apprenticed long ago--to see where they are, what they're doing.

I suspect a post or two while there will bubble up.

But what am I up to next week? I'm going to Church!

Six

2010-04-17T21:31:00.002-05:00

Six years ago this very morning, around 4:30 a.m., my sister in law called with the news of my brother's death. As it was today, it was a Saturday. What happened between that Saturday and Monday afternoon is burned in my memory. I don't dwell on it, but there are moments such as today when it's unavoidable.

My thoughts of Jimmy this week have been of what was. The kid I knew. The pain in the neck he enjoyed being for me. The attention and love he long sought from me that while present, was never quite as much as either of us needed...and yet, we were both too damn proud to admit it.

I've written extensively about Jimmy and processing my grief in the years since his death...they're all labelled "Jimmy." For this year, I pause, remember my kid brother, and shake my head that it's been six years. He'd be 40 this year, and I would have so enjoyed rubbing that in.

Maundy Thursday 2010 - "No Greater Love: A Life Made Sacred (Sacrum Facere)"

2010-04-01T11:27:00.005-05:00

I'm not bringing a homily this year at Maundy Thursday.

First time in many a year.

The constructs of our worship experience tonight really lent (no pun here) itself to music, action, ancient words read and meditated upon.

But I'm always drawn to this night. Before I had a theological lexicon to describe it, this night held a singular importance for me.

Like my Jewish friends who are celebrating their liberation from another time through Passover, I always feel like asking "Why is this night different that all others?"

Long before I found a blog to reflect aloud for those who choose to read it, this homily has been in me. I continue to return to it as my Credo for who Jesus is, the nature of faith, and the profound challenge of discipleship.

It is the "basic sauce," the "roux," if you will, that when any of a number of contextual ingredients are added, suits what I have come to believe about this significant day.

A simple search of this blog will reveal the various iterations of this homily in the past five or six years.

Last year, in 2009, I engaged in a significant reworking for two predominant reasons. The first was the introduction of Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan's book The Last Week, which I continue to hold in highest regard for framing the central thesis. They gave words to my long felt sense of Holy Week. I count it as a means of grace.

The second reason came as a result of my last Maundy Thursday with a congregation I had led for eight years. I've come to think of this as my Valedictory Address. It's no "The Queen is Dead," by any stretch, but it is me, and it was something I wanted to be sure I said as clearly as ever as I prepared to take my leave.

This year, even though not preached, I continue the discipline of living with it to see what is being pushed in me and what needs to be shared.

Here it is.

There are moments in life when the actions we take, the engagement of our lives with the world around us reveal something about us, whether we’re conscious of it or not. We can talk all day about who we are and what we believe – but there’s nothing more revealing or indicting than action or inaction.

Conscious awareness of our role, place and motivation in life, and the relationships that ebb and flow in the slipstream of our existence is best defined as “mindfulness.” Taken from wisdom of the eastern religions, it is that capacity for us to know that wherever we go, there we are - -and thanks to John Kabat Zinn, the western world is the beneficiary of understanding a spiritual state that belongs to all people of faith.

In times of greatest moment – to act or not to act - - “to be or not to be - that is the question.”

Act with haste, that is, without prayerful discernment seeking guidance from trusted voices, and action becomes an end in itself. Those who yearn to be seen as the hero who sweeps in and saves the day act hastily.

Ask anyone who has been caught up in the aftermath of one’s hasty pursuit of hero worship and they’ll tell you such action may look good on the surface, but there is collateral damage aplenty.

Is there compassion or consideration in the face of collateral damage, or, willingness to put aside being the hero for the common good?

No.

Inevitably, collateral damage, in whatever form it comes, is considered an acceptable loss, and the price of doing business. The end always justifies the means.

Others live with perpetual inaction.

Able to articulate and argue relevant points of whatever their issue is with passion – they fail to act. They feed so much on the energy generated by the problem itself so that their motivation to enact a remedy, is muted by the fear that if the problem is solved, the “stuff” that feeds their lives is gone.

They know the issue.

They know the problem.

But they are crippled to do anything about it.

A vicious cycle, that. Indeed, it is pitiful.

Those who refuse to forgive a wrong because to do so would extinguish the rage that fuels the hellish fire of their every day – choose perpetual inaction. Like the hostage who begins to side with very one who has held them bondage and would do them harm, we, who choose inaction to make right a wrong, or to forgive, suffer from a Stockholm Syndrome of the soul - - loving our pain and anger because it’s what we know. Being liberated from it scares us to death. We love our chains more than being free.

“Repent, and believe in the Gospel,” Jesus would say.
"Repent." "Believe."
"Take" up your cross and "follow."

Action words.

It’s the difference between saying you’re a Christian and actually being a companion of Jesus wherever that leads.

Action and inaction. The transcendent truth of either approach to life is self defining and a prophecy perpetually self-fulfilling.

Maundy Thursday is one of those days when the abstract and absolute, the flesh and the spirit, the universal and the particular collide. It is one of those occasions where “the rubber hits the road.” Here, at the end of Lent and the start of the Triduum, the Great Three Days, it reveals through action the character of the One who draws us into this worship space tonight. It confronts us with the real life, real time implications of what a life made sacred looks like. It makes us look at Jesus’ life and consider what we’re doing with our own.

Is life made sacred because it just is…or is life made sacred by what one does with it?

So, action, these actions give meaning to what Jesus has taught. They give meaning to what we believe. They make all this Jesus business real – incarnate.

On this night we focus on an action of Jesus found only in the 4th gospel. The Synoptics don’t have it. John, historically considered the last of the canonical gospels written, has a particular agenda – the writer has a bias, and his bias is always for Jesus – his life, his teaching, and the nature of the Christ that has always been.

Only John has this text – Jesus, at Passover, after sharing table fellowship, takes upon himself an action that will be self-defining hereon, as it will be for all of us who carry his name.

He, the one called, Rabbi, Teacher, Lord, Messiah, Christ – comes now to assume the role of the menial laborer – literal dirty work is not beneath him – he embraces it...he love us in it.

It defines him. He takes a towel, a basin and a pitcher – and washes his disciples feet.

But why?

Rarely in our observance of Christian liturgy do you find something so profoundly intimate as the washing of feet. Maybe that’s why it’s not a sacrament (which it should be), there’s really no way to observe this liturgy with integrity without literally touching someone.

It’s too close, too intimate. It’s not “churchy.”

Getting on our knees and taking off shoes, using water, towels and basins, it’s beneath the dignity of our erudite gathering.

To which I say, “right.” It is.

But it is supremely of Christ.

And if we are going to be “of Christ,” with integrity, then tonight, our action or inaction is, guess what? Dare I say it again? Self-Defining.

And maybe that’s what all this dramatic fuss is about this Holy Thursday night and there following into the Great Three Days. If nothing else, we observe integrity at work. That’s an awe inspiring thing. For to live with integrity is joyful, because in it we are complete. We are fully what we’ve been created to become.

Don’t forget, though, that just because we live with integrity, even joyfully, does not mean our work is pleasant, or that we’re giddy about it.

To do so was not a choice absent other options. Think of those presented to Jesus in the wilderness temptations, – No, this was a matter of integrity. He did this thing, both in the upper room with his disciples, as well as walk the Via Dolorosa because that’s who he is.

To have done anything other than to be a servant, than to identify with the suffering of humankind by embracing the cross, would have been to have missed his moment – the moment when his action defined who he was.

This is what a life made sacred looks like:

12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another. John 15.12-17

Another way of seeing this night might be this. Jesus did not miss his moment and he’s imploring us not to miss ours. That our lives are gifts, to be sure, but they are only made sacred when we enact self-giving love as every moment's measure.

Look. Ministry is hard.

Giving yourself away is hard. Following Jesus to where ministry leads you is hard.

It is counterintuitive to everything innately part of our being that cries out for self interest and self protection.

Placing yourself in the role of servant and not hero is tough. Doing ultimate good without lusting for credit is extraordinarily difficult.

If it were easy, wouldn’t more folks be doing it?

Instead, too many of us play at Church, play at following Jesus, use our religious pursuits as a contrivance of convenience rather than a covenantal commitment.

Listen, people. To live with integrity or not is far more in our control that we'd care to admit.

It’s in your grasp, sisters and brothers – right here, right now.

Jesus gathers with us in this room, as he has done with his companions for millennia and says, “Here’s who I am, here’s what I’m prepared to do, here are the depths I’m prepared to plunge – for you.”

How far are you willing to go? Could it be that tonight it is at least to declare that “no greater love have I” than to give myself away, even sacrificially, because of love?

What we do tonight, through bread and cup, is a liturgy you have repeated many, many times. May it be, however, that tonight you see beyond your own action of getting up and coming down here and partaking Eucharist.

Consider and embrace the life made sacred because of what he did…made his life sacred, for you.

For the Season of Easter...Henri Nouwen's "In the Name of Jesus"

2010-03-29T16:46:00.006-05:00

There is no voice better to help us hear clearly the the call of Jesus, and what the life of the disciple of the Crucified and Risen Christ looks like than Henri Nouwen.

His powerful little book, In the Name of Jesus, will be our guide, as well as the post resurrection conversation between Jesus and Peter, as recorded in the Gospel of John. Share with Lora Jean and me as we re-read this oft read book, and find new meaning for living faithfully during this upcoming season of Easter.

"Come One, Come All to the Greatest Show On Earth" or "Glenn Beck Is an Idiot"

2010-03-25T12:23:00.012-05:00

Wow.

I haven't even been on my blog in so long I forgot my login.

I wonder what that means?

Hmmm.

Anyoldway, I'm back at it. In the months since I last posted anything, much has happened.

Let me, in short order, address a few things.

First things first.

I don't watch Glenn Beck. Heck, until I came home from work one day and my father in law was at the house watching Fox News, I didn't even know that my TV would go to that channel... :)

I know and I love a lot of people who watch GOPTV, I mean, Fox News. That's fine, enjoy. You're certainly free to do that. I prefer to watch my fiction on other channels. Ain't America great!

I'm usually of the mind to ignore bombastic pomposity. But not this.

About Mr. Beck's recent comments on "social justice," the Church and the Gospel, anyone who honestly believes the drivel he has spewed about what is at the heart of the Christian mission and tending to the least of these, and feels compelled to leave any church that preaches it...see you later.

It matters not if you're right or left on the political or theological spectrum, his read of the Gospel is completely and utterly wrong.

It is not merely a matter of opinion. He's free to have one. But you know what opinions are like.

He is just plain wrong. I think he knows it, too. Truth is, I don't really care what he thinks. He's just one of many TV talking head blowhards who make their bones on keeping the pot stirred up. He is a 21st century carnival barker who is charismatic enough to convince you to come see the show, only to walk away later with your wallet a bit lighter and a bottle of snake oil in your hands.

My concern is for those who watch him and confuse commentary with fact.

Now, I am admittedly not on the right wing side of theological or political perspectives.

Never have been.

What is more inherently resonant in my spirit can best be described in the title of one of William Sloane Coffin's books, "The Heart is a Little to the Left."

But many of my friends and colleagues who are of that persuasion understand as do those of my friends and colleagues on the left that Matthew 25, Luke 4, Acts 2-4 (just for starters) are unequivocal about what matters to God, to Jesus and to any who would be so audacious as to admit that they are Companions of Christ.

In fact, it has been my experience as a pastor that it is such a clear understanding of this mission that best bridges the wide range of theological and political perspectives. There's something about being mandated by Jesus to tend to the least of these, or reading the Hebrew Prophets (Micah 6, anyone?), that serves as the common ground that brings the Church together.

I know of what I speak. I've served congregations that work at the conscious choice of successfully bridging the most conservative and liberal of people around the mandates of the Gospel.

I've lived through a couple of natural disasters in which the widest range of the Church rolled up their sleeves and worked together not for their own sake, but because they understood that this is what Christians do.

The only thing Christians are called to hold in common are the teachings and mandates of Jesus, each of which invariably ends up with love of God expressed through love of neighbor, especially the least among us. We can approach our lives and our politics from varying perspectives, to be sure, but in the end, it is the heart and mind of Christ that trumps all.

And when it doesn't--it's idolatry.

My experience tells me that right and left need each other. They'd never admit it, but surely it must be so.

When left to their own devices, there is no check and no balance. And when we loose our balance, it could be because we've contracted a case of spiritual vertigo.

Any with ears to hear, let them hear: to co-opt Beck's rhetoric and act upon it as if it's of Christ or for the Christian Church is blasphemy. I rarely use such language, but because Beck's disciples seem to follow every little word that comes out of his mouth, such people need to decide who is their Teacher on this one--

Jesus or Glenn.

Late Night II

2010-01-20T08:19:00.007-06:00

My feelings on who should have gotten The Tonight Show when Johnny retired are well documented in this blog. Johnny wanted Dave. Dave earned it. But Jay got it.

That's a life lesson. Life's not always fair. And true enough, as much as many of us still have a hard time imagining anyone but Johnny in that chair, NBC owns the program, and can do with it what it chooses.

And the company has been making a lot of choices lately...and as it is with any choice we make in life, we have to live with the consequences of it.

What Late Night II has brought, however, is a revisiting of Late Night I.

Letterman has said more publicly about Jay in the past two weeks than he has in almost 20 years. Whatever comic amusement there may or may not be about this whole deal, I thought last night's extemporaneous rant came about as close as anything proving life's principle that unresolved conflict always resurfaces.

But it may be something other than that. In some strange way, I'm wondering if this whole mess with Conan has been cathartic for Dave. When Whoopi came on the other night, as she was taking her chair beside Dave, she could be heard saying, "Don't you feel vindicated?" He blew it off, but you have to wonder.

Here's last night's take. To keep the clip down to about 5 minutes, CBS edited out about 90 seconds that was really good stuff in which he recalled his taking leave from NBC....he recalled the head honchos coming to his office to tell him that he wasn't getting The Tonight Show, and Dave reacting by saying that it was clear there was no longer a place for him at NBC, and then looking elsewhere. When this spiel started, you could tell he was only going to say a couple of things...start his little comedy bit and move on...but his internal editor wouldn't kick in...and just when you think he's done, here come's some more.

Listen to Your Life, An Invitation

2010-01-17T15:33:00.005-06:00

What does God want me to do with my life?

Isn't that the question that lives in each of us as some point?

Or, how about this one - Am I doing what God wants me to do? And if I'm not, why not?

We treat that question as if it's something we can't know the answer to absent some "Damascus Road blinding light" -or - "Moses and the burning bush experience."

Whenever I broach this question with lay people, invariably I hear that it's easy for me because I'm a member of the clergy, God made it abundantly clear what I was supposed to do.

Ahhh, Right.

Keep on believing that if you must, but ask any of us who have accepted ordination's yoke of obedience and see if it was always or is still crystal clear. Trust me, this a call that's not answered without a Divine wrestling match worthy of Jacob first.

Most of us come away with an answer and a bit of limp.

Being the spiritually impatient people we are, we tend to think that unless the signs in life blink in neon or are posted on a billboard, it's something we can never fully know.

The result of our impatience is the living our days hoping against hope that the life we're living is exactly what God wants for us - or, what God needs from us . Deep down, though, given our own power to choose - we'll always tend to live in ways that will require less risk of us and more security. And we'll "bless" that safe choice with God language as a cover for our fears and insecurities.

Starting this Sunday, and there following for four weeks, I invite you into a conversation with God and each other through a congregational emphasis based upon Parker Palmer's book, "Let Your Life Speak: Listening to the Voice of Vocation."

This will be the fodder for a series of sermons that I'll preach beginning this Sunday, January 24, in all services. Lora Jean will be facilitating our Wednesday night conversations in which we'll consider the gifts we've been given and how that matches the call we may yet answer. She will also be using Palmer's book as a guide for the women's midweek study beginning on January 27.

I invite you now to start listening to your life. What is it saying? What is God saying to you through it? The problem with listening well to the voice of God as spoken through our lives, is that we may not like what we hear. The temptation to ignore what we hear is real. So, too, is the tendency to immerse ourselves in guilt for not being what God desires of us. But guilt is an escape mechanism from doing and being what we really called to be.

I first crafted sermons around this book in the Summer of 2007. In revisiting the material I prepared then, I'm amazed at how much life has been lived since and what of God I've been called to embrace as new and different. I've learned something in the process. God's call is constant, sure, and it is always surprising. The result of that "fresh listening" will manifest itself in the sermons crafted over the next several weeks.

So, join me in a time to stop, to listen, and then be prepared to respond to the voice of vocation being uttered right in front of us, even within us, waiting to be embraced.

Of All The Things Being Said About Tiger, At This Point I'll Only Say This . . .

2009-12-15T13:14:00.003-06:00

....and still

the undisputed King...

Jack Nicklaus

As it should be . . .

A Pastoral Letter on the Current Crisis at The Med

2009-12-08T09:03:00.009-06:00

For the past couple of years, I've had the joy of being in fellowship with a special group of clergy and their spouses. We represent a cross section of Memphis and Shelby County. We are black, white, urban and suburban, high church, contemporary, interfaith...I was at Saint John's when I first became a part of this group, and have remained in my move east representing Cordova, along with my next door neighbor, Craig.

We fellowship with each other throughout the year- we avoid "preacher" stuff when we get together. Rather, we seek to be friends to one another. In what must seem the definition of irony, we who have answered the call of this vocation often find ourselves the most lonely. I bear witness that this can be so. To have this unique fellowship is a means of grace.

Only on one previous occasion have we marshaled our resources to speak as a group. It was during the horrific murders on Lester Street last year. We find it necessary to speak again. As I did during the Lester Street response, I was asked to write a pastoral response from our group on the current situation regarding The Med. Although the final version may deviate from this one just a bit, this word represents us all. We will be sharing this with our congregations seeking to join our voices for the good of our community. We invite all people of faith to join with us in this quest.

Dear Sisters and Brothers of Faith,

As clergy leaders from across Memphis and Shelby County, we celebrate the unity shared in common fellowship. We have found our resolve strengthened, and our love of and deep desire for a city that lives up to the fullest measure of its slogan – the “city of good abode” equally true for all of its citizens. Because of our friendship and fellowship, the better nature of our faith traditions and theological perspectives transcend divergent viewpoints, which too often serve to divide our community.

Today, we stand uniformly and unequivocally gathered around the question of care for the most vulnerable of our society, the least of these, and those pushed to the margins unable to access life’s basic needs because they are poor. The mandates of the Hebrew Bible and the Holy Gospels on this point are unyielding and unavoidable.

In the current climate, this question is manifest most profoundly in the poor’s inability to access proper healthcare in the City of Memphis. Like the rest of Memphis and Shelby County, we have heard the dire warnings of the imminent closure within The Med’s Emergency Department in February, 2010. We find such an option untenable for our community and we call upon elected officials and community leaders to explore all creative and appropriate means to sustain The Med through this crisis as long term solutions for indigent healthcare are studied and implemented.

While the circumstances prompting this crisis are complex, the need for sustainable care is constant. The Med’s role in offering this care to our community is essential. The impact of closure will ripple from the river’s edge across Shelby County and beyond. And surely, it is those in greatest need with least ability to access care who will most suffer. Our unwillingness to respond to this crisis will serve as an indictment upon the character of our community.

As clergy and pastoral leaders, we are compelled to the urgency of this moment. We invite our congregants to join us in appealing to our elected officials and community leaders to make a way for The Med’s services to continue unabated. While this is not solely a political question, political courage will be necessary to sustain The Med. We believe it to be a matter of faith for the common welfare of the people—our neighbors, our sisters and brothers. We call upon our congregants to join us in a season of prayer for our leaders that wisdom will prevail over political expediency.

Join us as we advocate for the least of these in the name of our Loving God.

Recalibration

2009-12-02T16:41:00.004-06:00

For the past several months I’ve asked the congregation to sit with me and assess our compass heading.

Where are we?

Where are we going?

To what do we aspire?

How do we bridge the gap between where we are to where we feel God’s leading?

Your input has been very informative and has helped me understand Covenant in context. It is in no small part the fruit of those prayerful Christian conversations that has given rise to our shift in Sunday morning scheduling, set to launch January 3, 2010.

Covenant in context. That has been a key for me.

We who have been to seminary and had to endure, oops, I mean enjoy courses on Biblical interpretation are very familiar with a German phrase that guides interpretation of Holy Scripture. The phrase is “sitz im leben.” It is translated “setting in life.” When we read Scripture, beyond what we think it says, or what we think it means for us, we must first be guided by the notion of what it meant to those who first heard it, who first received it. What was their setting in life that prompted such words to be offered in the first place?

I have been studying our “setting in life” for these months upon my arrival as your pastor. I could not with any integrity whatsoever articulate any change in the rhythm of our church without knowing our context, living in it with you, and determining whether a shift was warranted in the first place.

It is from that perspective I offered my strongest sense that we needed to recalibrate our course for two primary reasons. The first is to claim outright that each worship experience has value and requires the fullest measure of attention from each of our clergy every week. And the second reason depends upon the first. That is, it is time for Covenant to stand up and proclaim its distinct Methodist witness in Cordova. It is time for us to set our course toward growth, in outreach, mission, ministry and evangelism.

For Covenant to be the Church we could be, and what The United Methodist Church needs us to be, we must focus upon the scores of people who are not yet a part of our fellowship, but because of this course recalibration, will come to be integral to our community of faith. To that end we offer this shift.

I know only too well how jarring it can be to make a change like this. I have studied, prayed, talked, conferred, sought counsel from every level of the Church, spent too many sleepless nights, and anguished over where we needed to go. After living in this context for some months, the one thing I concluded was that the status quo was not going to allow Covenant to make its best and most effective witness for the long term.

With this change, we make room for growth in Sunday Schools that right now we do not have. We create an additional hour every Sunday morning for groups to form. I’m encouraging all classes to consider the implications of this shift on their group and to consider their decisions investments in Covenant’s future. If very large groups are willing to split and seed new groups that would be great, although it needs to come gladly and willingly. I'm not intentionally forcing any group to split. Groups who seek to remain intact and find this shift makes it difficult to do so on Sunday mornings are encouraged to find other ways, other times to be together.

With this change, Lora Jean and I can be present at each service. This one was big for me. I determined after awhile living with this schedule that I could no longer abide the thought that on any given Sunday I was missing seeing up to 1/3 of my worshipping congregation. For a new guy trying to learn your stories and take the journey with you, to miss 1/3 of you a week makes something that in the best of circumstances takes time virtually untenable.

I’ve heard opinions aplenty of what I needed to do about our context. Do we go from 3 services to 2? And if we did, which services got forcibly merged? And what kind of spirit would reign in a service of forcibly merged people? Hmmm. I wonder?

Here’s what I’ve determined. Covenant, regardless of what it was way back when, is this – a congregation of very distinct worship styles each of which deserves expression and the full attention of your pastoral leaders.

My most pressing concern in the proposed change, however, was the impact on our Children and Youth. I asked Zack and Tara to study options with me. Could our ministries on Sundays bear up to this change and find creative ways to accommodate and make consequences of the change a good thing. I believe they have created models where that is the case and I’m thankful for their thoughtful and dedicated work.

From the beginning of my time with you, I’ve asked us to aspire to unity, not uniformity. In fact, it is our diversity of expression and experience that no longer needs to be considered a liability to the Church’s future. I believe it to be among our greatest assets. What will unify us Sunday to Sunday is the presence of our clergy, the creative ways in which classes and small groups form and grow and seed new classes that will form and grow and so on. It is those moments through the year when we all come together and bring a spirit of unity to our common worship experience like we did in August on Rally Sunday (although I promise we won’t go 1:45!).

This recalibration is a corner turned on the cusp of a new year. I invite you, I urge you to join me in it.

Covenant, it’s time.

Right here. Right now.

It's Thanksgiving, Not "Turkey Day"

2009-11-26T11:00:00.003-06:00

So, I've been up to watch Macy's parade - I've listened to commentators aplenty, and despite my efforts to the contrary (like, what influence do I really have?) the occasion that prompts this holiday today is not "Turkey Day." In our efforts to be cool, relevant, hip - we reduce the "formal" to what we believe to be the necessary thing to say to be "relational."

And as it relates to Thanksgiving, Turkey Day drives me nuts.

In whatever way the history of the holiday is reflected on the current day, the truth is that the spiritual practice of thanksgiving is the thing we most need to come away from this day's festivities. We need that far more than the additional pounds we'll pack on.

In what could be called inconsistency in my thought, I have no problem with Xmas, for Christmas...and I'll be glad to share why in a few weeks' time.

I'm reposting my Thanksgiving post from last year. I offer it today with hope that as you rejoice and share family time, there is earnest reflection upon both our history and the moments that will come that will prompt heartfelt Thanksgiving.

"Thoughts Upon Thanksgiving"

Posted November 26, 2008

I've come to think that Thanksgiving is most deeply appreciated not in the extravagance of plenty, nor the satiation of every possible hunger that ends up in gluttony. Thanksgiving seems hollow if you expect everything you've got...or, you feel entitled to it.

There is the beginning of a different sense of Thanksgiving this year...perhaps a more pristine one. History can be a great teacher, if we pay attention and learn its lessons...Thanksgiving takes on a deeper meaning when you recognize what you've come through...or even what you're going through.

That first Thanksgiving, with Pilgrims and Native Americans...and Squanto (I remember reading a book about Squanto when I was a boy)...has a romantic feel to it this far removed...the stuff of childhood reenactments with their tall cardboard hats and feathered head dress...it's just so doggone cute.

But such observances do not strike us at our core to prompt the very thing it seeks. Thanksgiving only trapped in historical, if not mythological, remembrances do not necessarily make being thankfful incarnate in the present.

The recent election has prompted renewed interest in the presidency of Abraham Lincoln. Every indicator is that President-elect Obama is taking cues from Lincoln's approach to governance...a steady course in the time extreme uncertainty.

I tell you, Doris Kearns Goodwin ought to give him a piece of her book, "Team of Rivals," because he's the best salesman for it she's got.

I was taken by the following proclamation. Placed into its historical context, it's an extraordinary thing.

The signs of the times indicate that we are in peril the likes of which we've not known in 100 years...that could well be.

I wonder if it will elicit deeper Thanksgiving for the things that, in the end, matter most.

So, my wish for you is not so much that you have a Happy Thanksgiving...but that you have a Thanksgiving in which thanksgiving is practiced.

BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

A PROCLAMATION
The year that is drawing toward its close has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added which are of so extraordinary a nature that they can not fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever-watchful providence of Almighty God.

In the midst of a civil war of unequaled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign states to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere, except in the theater of military conflict, while that theater has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union.

Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defense have not arrested the plow, the shuttle, or the ship; the ax has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege, and the battlefield, and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom.

No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.

It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged, as with one heart and one voice, by the whole American people. I do therefore invite my fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans. mourners, or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it, as soon as may be consistent with the divine purposes, to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity, and union.

In testimony whereof I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this 3d day of October, A. D. 1863, and of the Independence of the United States the eighty-eighth.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
By the President:

WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

Cal Who?

2009-11-14T10:51:00.002-06:00

Any chance a message was being sent about who the program and to whom it now belongs?

Me thinks so.

Pretty sure this is our best opening ever.

Enjoy.

Tommy Can You Hear Me?

2009-11-10T21:19:00.006-06:00

I'm here to tell you - Tommy West told the truth about the program that he's leaving.

I say that not to defend the decision to let him go--it was probably time. Over the past couple of years, it seemed the program had destabilized and was not pointed toward strength. There's no question about that. The offensive scheme was tired and predictable. The defense had holes aplenty and don't even get me started about special teams.

I've been going to Tiger games for a long, long time. I played trumpet for The Mighty Sound of the South in 82-83 during the first of Rex Dockery's years when in two years we won one game - it was against Arkansas State, in the rain, and so excited where the 4,000 people who showed up, that they torn down the goal posts. And why? For ending the nation's longest losing streak at the time. That's the Tigers I watched during my college days. Rex's last year, 6-4-1, you'd a thought we'd won the Sugar Bowl. We had turned the corner. We'll get 'em next year finally meant "wait 'til next year." And then, the plane crash.

Between Rex and Tommy we've had Rey, Charlie, Chuck and Rip.

What I know of the program is what I've observed as a student and as a fan in the stands for coming up on 30 years. And any of us who've watched what's happened to Memphis over the years, especially in light of what's happened to foes we used to crush like Louisville and Cincinnati, and we knew exactly what Tommy was saying. Any of us who want this program to be something other than it is even as we sit in a city continually pilfered by what the SEC can offer, understands. Any of us who are sick of consistently losing to SunBelt Conference teams understands.

So I embed the video in its entirety. I'm pulling from a YouTube feed from Fox 13. I don't watch this station. I typically watch WMC 5, but having seen the raw footage before the news aired Monday night, and then seeing what Channel 5 did with the footage and the spin they put on it (the lead was "Tommy West blasts fans as he's fired as head football coach"), I was shocked by that take because that's not what Tommy said, and any of us who love the program know that's not what he meant. I am appalled by the editorial decisions of the WMC newsroom. Had I not seen this myself in its entirety in advance, and was left to Channel 5 alone to tell me what happened, I would have thought Tommy went off the deep end.

My only wish is that he'd gone on and said what the issues were. It's not that hard to figure.

Facilities? Sure.

Poor league, perhaps, but the Tigers can't really complain about the league we're in until we show we can compete in it, and on that front alone, Tommy failed miserably.

Money sufficient to bring in the best staff he can? Now we're talking.

Trying to get your program recognized in the shadow of Calipari? Uh huh. And why do I say that given that he's gone? Because he's not gone. He's on our sports pages, still. The impact of presence remains long after he's gone.

Poor leadership in the Athletics Department and University Administration? Now we're talking.

I say all this and I believe it's time for Tommy to no longer be our head football coach. I'm hoping, however the Athletics Director position at Memphis would be one he'd be willing to take once Elvis leaves the building.

Cue CC Rider - See ya RC.

Anybody Have a Hyperbaric Chamber I Can Borrow?

2009-11-09T14:14:00.004-06:00

Hmm. What does it mean when blog posts are fewer and fewer?

Have I run out of things to say? No.

Have I abandoned the blog for a Twittered - Facebooked existence? Uh, no.

Am I afraid to say what I really think? Really, since when?

More likely, it is the stuff of life when change comes.

While change in life is often a good thing, as a United Methodist pastor, good or not, it is a required part of life. I've found this year I have reclaimed that part of me after having allowed myself to live into the delusion that a happily and meaningfully sequestered existence exempts me from having to consider the ministry questions every other United Methodist elder must consider (well, not every Elder I know...that's probably all I need to say about that, lest I succumb to temptation and fail at the maxim from childhood "if you don't have something nice to say, best not to say anything at all").

What I've discovered about myself that I can now claim is that I feel change. I think I always have. It explains my action and reaction to the changes of life throughout my history. By no means do I claim to be unique in this regard, but its realization in me is a pretty enlightening thing.

I feel change on a personal, spiritual even physical level. Even the best of change exacts a trauma to the system.

There's an element of it that is as welcome as a sunny day after having endured weeks upon weeks of rain (you know, kinda like the whole month of October). Change is good medicine for the system.

And then there's that element of change that can only be described as blunt force trauma. A jolt bordering on violence, change felt in this regard can knock you off your feet.

My life is a system under stress. A little bit of that keeps me focused. In fact, I live gladly with some stress to move me from one thing to the next. If you don't think you want to live with stress, then why do you have to have that cup of high octane coffee in the morning? What is coffee but a stimulant to stress your system into activity?

But there is a saturation point--a time and place when one thing more is one thing too many. When you feel change, as I have and do, and when change comes in droves--the consequences of felt change can be a bit more debilitating than under more healthy circumstances. One more thing seems too much to take.

It's not the new gig. It's a challenge, to be sure, but we're going to be fine. Six to nine months of stabilization, and then we're going to rock the house! Amen. Praise the Lord.

Home life is tough. The stress of parenting is continually amplified by the demands and constant travel of Kristy's work. It's not that it's insurmountable, it's just so much. You folks who know me know that I can function at a pretty high level, and then I need some time to decompress. In those moments, I have to withdraw and retreat. I don't know why that is, I just know myself enough to know that it is.

Well, when you're "Mr. Mom," there is no decompression time. Parenting alone is a pain. I love my boys. They're great. But I'm better with a partner, no doubt about it.

All you single parent friends of mine--I feel ya.

When I can't decompress, I can't think. Introspection is such a part of me that to go from one thing to the next---do, do ,do, do--it's just impossible. When I can't decompress I don't sleep - which is a real shame because I really, really love to sleep. When I can't decompress I don't exercise--which is absolutely what I need to be doing (another "ought" in life - sweet).

Through this year I have known each of the elements of change. I have felt it as a welcomed new day and I have felt it as a head on collision. And through that, I'm trying to find myself. What in me has to be changed so that I can live the change I face more gracefully?

This is the spiritual question on the cutting edge of my being...

I don't know for sure what the final answer's going to look like, but I'm pretty sure that "Let Go and Let God," is going to be somewhere in the mix.

Maybe the Mayans are Right about 2012?

2009-10-21T15:34:00.010-05:00

A few thoughts about things going on--

"Reality" TV - Being the "Law and Order" fan that I am [yes SVU and CI among them, although I cannot even begin to talk about CI right now without Goren and Eames---it's just too painful, but that's for another time] I was watching last week's episode involving an "Octomom" character and some "John and Kate" wannabees lusting after the prospect of a TV show. Being the plot line to a "Law and Order" episode is a good barometer for how far afield things have gone.

The insidious nature of that which is elevated into consciousness of popular culture is that after awhile you can't remember when it wasn't around. It becomes the normal. This whole Balloon Boy thing shows how pathetic things are - and after there's some jail time for somebody in this family, I wouldn't be surprised if they show up on TLC or some such not too far down the way. What family seeks this?

By the way, there is no amount of cash out there to have "The Preacher's Family" TV show. For one, it would be very boring. And two, it ain't nunya business!

-------

David Letterman - OK, this one is touchy for me. I've been a "Dave" guy since 1982. I feel like John Stewart in his admiration for what Dave brought to the comedic, late night table. He was Johnny's pick to succeed him on "The Tonight Show." That's about all you need. One of my very first posts on this blog four years ago was on this point. I'm not a Leno guy. Never was. I'll lament the death of NBC late night and prime time another day.

When I first heard of Dave's, uh, problem, I was saddened, but not shocked. I thought about the times I've had to sit through "It is Never OK," a video prepared for clergy to train them on what is proper and what is not about clergy/laity physical relationships, and I'm thinking, "Dude, you're the boss (which then had me reflecting on Adam Sandler's SNL Digital Short, "Like a Boss," which really didn't help matters).

It's about the abuse of power and the many ways that manifests itself, including sex. And on this point, my boy Dave is wrong, wrong, wrong. That he is himself a victim to an extortion attempt is criminal. Had this not happened, the other would have likely never been known, at least not as it is now. And truthfully, this really isn't our business either. It is the business of Letterman, his wife and son, the women involved, Worldwide Pants and CBS, and we get to be little voyeurs watching another tragic story unfold in front of us. And whether we ever got to know any of the sordid details or not does not matter. It's still wrong.

_____

Pop culture is fraying...

Political discourse has a venom I've not seen before...

Civility is the rare commodity...

The distance between the have's and have not's is widening and the middle is falling into the abyss at an ever increasing rate...

We have men and women on the battlefield without clarity as to a mission plan...

healthcare is, well what I expected (see previous post)...

Churches are straining to maintain ministry...

The pressure to keep the pillars of systems, secular and religious, viable is reaching a breaking point...

The Titans are winless (oh, wait, I don't care--that's another story, too) . . .

The pressures realized at the macro level are ever constant to many of us at the micro level every day what with family systems hanging on for dear life...

It all seems a bit much, doesn't it?

I'm not typically one to propagate apocalyptic notions, and I don't think I'm being paranoid (but even if I am, like the old saying goes, it doesn't mean they're still not out to get ya), but something's gotta give.

And then, as it happens--this Sunday is Reformation Sunday. It's the occasion of remembering Martin Luther's particular moment of rising to the occasion. To find within himself the resolve to stand against the religious powers of his day and to proclaim, among other things, "Here I stand, I can do no other. God help me. Amen."

It is his masterwork hymn that has sustained the Church these 500 years, and on which we may yet find solace in the insanity of life and courage to persevere. Read these lyrics as a statement of faith, not an old hymn. I can't read them without EIN FESTE BURG running in my head, but get through it and see if by the end you know afresh wherein to place trust, hope, and guidance.

A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing; Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing: For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe; His craft and pow’r are great, and, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal.
Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing, Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing: Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He; Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same, And He must win the battle.
And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us, We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us; The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him; His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him.
That word above all earthly pow’rs, no thanks to them, abideth; The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth; Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still, His kingdom is forever.

You Know How Ole Miss and Brett Favre Are Not Alike?

2009-10-01T11:39:00.002-05:00

When Brett woke up last Monday morning, he was still #4!

Heard that one from a fellow Tiger fan. Given that we've absolutely nothing to celebrate from Tiger High, we might as well enjoy the misery of others.

When the Fever Breaks

2009-09-28T18:57:00.002-05:00

I hate being sick. Man, I mean I hate it.

When sickness comes, as it did a week or so ago, I’m reminded of some of the worst parts of me. When I’m sick, I become something other than the wonderfully cheery guy you all know me to be ☺. (I know, I’m rolling my eyes on that one, too).

I find that I’m more like the sick dog who hides under the porch. You reach in at your own peril. I don’t like that about myself – but when I’m sick, I don’t really care.

I don’t feel well. I am not well. I don’t like not being in control of my day. I don’t like having to ask for help. I had to call my DS and ask for his help because I was sick. I’ve never had to do that before, and part of me was embarrassed that I had to.

What’s the proverb about pride? Hmm.

When sick, the “ought’s” and “have to’s” of life pile up. And with that comes added pressure, because those things don’t go away, they just get delayed.

It’s usually not until something halts life’s pace, that we take stock of the rhythm we’re living in the first place. And when that happens to me, I get all existential.

There’s an element of this that’s part and parcel of changing work places anyway. New context, new people, new staff and ministry team, same mission—and the passion, if not obsession, to prove in these first few months, that I’m up to the challenges and opportunities this appointment brings.

When your pace comes to an abrupt halt – and you realize that you really don’t wear Superman’s cape (and you also recognize that everybody else sees that you don’t either), what’s left is the reality of who you are.

And who am I? A very imperfect person, with gifts and graces for ministry, and a heart willing to serve, and willing to go where sent.

I’m a person of promises and vows – and while they take different character, they are all based in promises to God.

I took vows at ordination.
I took vows at the altar with my wife.
I took vows at the baptismal font for myself and on behalf of my children.

I cannot faithfully attend to one and give the others short shrift. I’m only as good a pastor as I am husband and father – and each of these God promised relationships requires the best of me.
When I’m forced to stop, I realize some reorienting is in order. And soon.

I hope it doesn’t take illness for you to take stock. But if it comes, and when the fever breaks, let it be an opportunity to reclaim balance in what matters most.

New School Year, More Rites of Passage

2009-08-28T10:39:00.004-05:00

You know, Summer vacation for kids is really not that long. 1o weeks? In the whole scheme of things, not all that much time.

So how is it...why is it that it's not until school resumes that you realize how much your kids have changed? Another school year, rites of passage crossed - and I'm left realizing how much all our lives are changing.

Of course this Summer provided all of my family a dramatic change from what we've known. They've not intinerated as much as I have. They're adapting well, and for that I'm thankful.

Giving them the gift of being able to stay in school with the same classmates as long as possible, even up to gradutation, is a goal of mine for them. It is something I didn't have growing up, and I always long to know what longevity in formative relationships means over the course of time. I observe that in people I've known and find it appealing, bordering on something I grieve never knowing.

Both Andrew and Christopher have sets of buddies they've lived with through school over 8 years now, and they are tightly knit.

At this point in their journey, so much is changing so fast, and my head is spinning trying to cope with the reality that my boys have fully come into their own.

Andrew is a junior. This week alone we ordered his senior ring and letterman's jacket. Wow! He drives himself to school and travels up the road to Mason to visit his girlfriend. That's right, his girlfriend. So I'm dealing with the realization that he's growing up, AND that among the things I've purchased for him this week that some girl will be wearing them instead of him. When I was asked if a girl wore my stuff my answer was swift - "we're not talking about me!" Never much for team sports, he has devoted his physical pursuits to karate. He is one belt away from Black belt, and "he's on a quest to be his best...Asai."

He's my horn player. Literally...he's playing the trumpet I played from 8th grade into college. That life fits him well, and I know the excitment he feels when the band is on the march.

God bless the boy...he's endured the initial mistakes of first time parents and it seems he's come out fairly well adjusted. Whew!

Christopher is in the eighth grade and I have to remind myself that he is younger than his brother. He has grown so much in the past year it is stunning. He's always been our jock, and now he's maturing into that role. You look at him and believe he is the athlete he aspires to become. He's a statuesque and stunningly handsome boy. And he is going to make an impact in life...don't doubt that.

And then there's Jack. Our second grader. "Dad, you don't have to wake me up and help me get dressed for school, I can do that myself." Others observe how "bright" Jack is. And it's true.

"You should get him tested."

"Why?" I ask..."I'm the one being tested by him every day!"

They're all coming into their own, and I'm reminded of how blessed I am.

Andrew does this thing every night, even now and he's almost 17. He'll come to me, put his head against my chest and tell me good night. And then he'll say--

"I love you."

I'll say, "I love you, too, son."

and he'll say, "I love you more."

and I'll say, "nope, not possible."

Last night he asked me "you always say that, and I don't get it."

I said, "when you have your own, you will."

"You're probably right," he said, "but I'm not planning on knowing that for quite a long time."

"Good plan, son. Good plan."

Penicillin Anyone?

2009-08-20T17:06:00.014-05:00

News of "vacating" our 38 win season does not come as a shock. It was predictable.

And if we Tigers are nothing else, we're predictable.

Predictably never reaching and sustaining greatness.

Predictably and irrretrivably stuck in a mediocre conference.

Predictibly mediocre. Yeah, that's it. And we like it that way. So we've got that going for us, which is nice.

No, not shocked. Not heartbroken. They did that to me long ago. Now it's just laughably sad.

When news of the investigation first broke, I commented on this blog that I was thankful we lost to KU lest we'd face the prospect of surrendering a national championship.

That's right, folks. We were one free throw away from having to open the trophy case and handing back the gold to whoever the heck you hand it back to.

And now the record books have been purged. And in a way, I feel that's appropriate. Maybe not purged, but sanitized. As it relates to Memphis, only one man is recognized again as taking us to the Finals - Clean Gene Bartow. Dana and John are examples of what will always be when you play it on the edge.

In an act that seems strangely just, John has to vacate 38 wins from his won/loss record, too--which means he is no longer the winningest coach at the U of M. Who is? #21. A guy whose love for his school, city and team could never be questioned - Larry Finch.

At the last, I have two things to say about this - one, if you bought a Final Four shirt from the Tiger Bookstore, thank you for the business and "they ain't no refunds!"

And two, for my friends who hail from the land of my birth, the Commonwealth of Kentucky, you'd do well to heed this warning:

"When you go to bed with the whore of Babylon, don't act surprised when you wake up the next morning with the Clap."

Heaven's Band Has a New Lead Guitarist + Rest in Peace, Les Paul

2009-08-13T23:14:00.004-05:00

This is my indulgence when I turned 40.

I didn't buy a sports car.

I didn't get a tatoo.

I didn't run off with a 25 year old.

I bought a guitar.

When I felt the urge to buy an electric guitar, there was only one choice for me.

You know the "Frampton Comes Alive" album cover?

There you go.

Together with my Marshall amp - I have far more quality tools than I have game to play.

But man, I'm glad I have 'em.

We can't ignore Les' talent par excellence, but consider too his longevity in which he matched that talent with ambition to make the most of the time he had.

A life lesson beyond the guitar, to be sure,and maybe the most enduring expression of an extraordinary legacy.

TigerBookStore's Newest Employee

2009-08-06T23:26:00.003-05:00

Kid works for a Coke and Skittles.

Crazy cute.

Unalienable

2009-08-03T15:00:00.015-05:00

Our country is in the midst of another conversation about a huge question - Health care.

Like too many questions before it, and like this one in particular, the partisan political rancor on polar sides will get too loud and be too over the top to deal with the question at hand effectively.

Efforts to compromise for the sake of bipartisanship will make a hot or cold question lukewarm - palatable to none and causing more problems than it solves. The Revelation to John indicates what happens to the Church that is lukewarm, neither hot nor cold - God wants to spit them out. What will happen to lukewarm policy? Hmm. I think we all know.

Of course, when you're dealing with a paradigm shift - which is ultimately what is being proposed about health care, you have those who are so for it that they can't see straight, and those who are so against shifting from what is that their favorite hymn must be "We Shall Not Be Moved."

But that's how it is. We can talk "reform" all day long. And there may be some things that can be done to reform elements of how health care is administered under the current system. We can deal with frivilous lawsuits and cap awards, and do all those things that help the industry do what it does for less. But the fundamental question is always going to be the same, and any "reforms" enacted will be variations on a theme with small changes spun as huge and accounted for within business models amounting, in the end, to no harm, no foul - at least to the business sector.

For the common family? Further erosion of the number of those who can afford coverage.

That this question has been in front of every administration going back to Truman validates the magnitude of the divide.

At the crossroads of this issue is this - as long as health care is understood as a commodity and not as a right of citizenship, an unalienable right, if you will, then the battle line will always be drawn and the chasm too deep and wide to bridge.

Health care as a right---is you is, or is you ain't?

Somewhere I read of the American people that there are self evident truths of equality and ..."that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

Now whether or not health care should be a commodity is not the point, just yet.

At present, it is.

Which is to say that it is an industry that exists to make a profit. That profit serves to support shareholders and employees in companies that provide the means for health care to be purchased. The service they provide and sell offers good product to those who can purchase it. That is, if they are sick, they are covered - maybe, at least in part, rarely in whole, and never without a long, interminable dance that you wonder will ever come to an end.

Health care is available now...for a price. And for more and more families, too steep a price for them to afford. For those of us who have it, and complain about how much it costs and what is or isn't covered, at least we have the luxury of complaining.

This is not a diatribe against free markets. The free market is the defining characteristic of our economic system. And if health care is to be and remain a commodity, then there it is...the market will out, and consumers we shall ever be. As long as we have the capacity to buy in, we're golden. When the well runs dry? Then, to call upon my Western Kentucky roots to find the right "earthy" response to such a predicament, you're S.O.L.

If health care is understood as a right, then the fundamental question is whether or not the free market doctrines should apply. Even more, if it is understood as a right, how can they apply?

So we'll have speeches, for and against. Insurance companies will be demonized and supporters of universal health care will be called . . . wait for it---socialists.

Rhetoric will be heated, and for what? Unless and until there is a clear answer to the question of whether or not access to health care is answered, it will all be of little import.

There are questions such as these that we answer because we are citizens of country. But we are also, and I daresay, first, citizens of the Kingdom of God.

What, then does our citizenship in God's family do to our perspective on geopolitical concerns? Does it impact our perspective? Should it?

I would argue it does. And when the affairs of the world are in conflict with the tenets of faith I've espoused, I have to ask myself why that is, and if God's justice is to be found, what am I really to do to enact it.

Beyond what having health care does or doesn't do for you, what are the theological implications of such a question? What is the impact of such policy decisions on the least of these - which, by the way, is the Biblical benchmark for what God considers right and just. And if you doubt that, I know some prophets of the Hebrew Bible named Isaiah, Amos and Micah and a Nazarene Carpenter named Jesus with whom you may argue the point.

Feel free. Go ahead.

What of our denomination? Has The United Methodist Church offered a position on the health care question? The first social creed of the denomination came into being in 1908. It focused much on the conditions that gave rise to an underclass of laborers as a result of the industrial revolution. It is a really bold statement given its historic context. There are elements of it as relevant today as then:

The Methodist Episcopal Church stands:
For equal rights and complete justice for all men in all stations of life.
For the principles of conciliation and arbitration in industrial dissensions.
For the protection of the worker from dangerous machinery, occupational diseases, injuries and mortality.
For the abolition of child labor.
For such regulation of the conditions of labor for women as shall safeguard the physical and moral health of the community.
For the suppression of the "sweating system."
For the gradual and reasonable reduction of the hours of labor to the lowest practical
point, with work for all; and for that degree of leisure for all which is the
condition of the highest human life.
For a release for [from] employment one day in seven.
For a living wage in every industry.
For the highest wage that each industry can afford, and for the most equitable division of the products of industry that can ultimately be devised.
For the recognition of the Golden Rule and the mind of Christ as the supreme law of society and the sure remedy for all social ills.
To the toilers of America and to those who by organized effort are seeking to lift the crushing burdens of the poor, and to reduce the hardships and uphold the dignity of labor, this Council sends the greeting of human brotherhood and the pledge of sympathy and of help in a cause which belongs to all who follow Christ.

What of health care itself? The current position of the Church by virtue of the 2008 General Conference states the following:

Right to Health Care—Health is a condition of physical, mental, social, and
spiritual well-being. John 10:10b says, “I came that they may have life, and
have it abundantly.” Stewardship of health is the responsibility of each person
to whom health has been entrusted.
Creating the personal, environmental, and social conditions in which health can thrive is a joint responsibility—public and private. We encourage individuals to pursue a healthy lifestyle and affirm the importance of preventive health care, health education, environmental and occupational safety, good nutrition, and secure housing in achieving health. Health care is a basic human right.
Providing the care needed to maintain health, prevent disease, and restore health after injury or illness is a responsibility each person owes others and government owes to all, a responsibility government ignores at its peril. In Ezekiel 34:4a, God points out the failures of the leadership of Israel to care for the weak: “You have not
strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the
injured.” As a result all suffer.
Like police and fire protection, health care is best funded through the government’s ability to tax each person equitably and directly fund the provider entities. Countries facing a public health crisis such as HIV/AIDS must have access to generic medicines and to patented medicines.
We affirm the right of men and women to have access to comprehensive reproductive health/family planning information and services that will serve as a means to prevent unplanned pregnancies, reduce abortions, and prevent the spread of HIV/AIDS. The right to health care includes care for persons with brain diseases, neurological conditions, or physical disabilities, who must be afforded the same access to health care as all other persons in our communities. It is unjust to construct or perpetuate barriers to physical or mental wholeness or full participation in community.
We believe it is a governmental responsibility to provide all citizens with health
care. THE 2008 BOOK OF DISCIPLINE of The United Methodist Church

There it is. For a Church that fence straddles too many issues, this one does not seem lukewarm. And so, I invite you in the coming days of political grandstanding to listen less to radio blowhards and cable news pundits, and listen to the voice of the Spirit of the Living God. Where does that lead us?

Maybe at last to an answer.

Got the Feeling I've Been Here Before

2009-07-22T10:47:00.004-05:00

Part of unpacking is coming upon those things that were already packed away anyway and not looked upon in a long time.

I came upon one of those pocket folders stuffed with pictures the other day. During my stroll down memory lane, I happened upon this one.

A somewhat younger version of me in the pretty brand new Covenant sanctuary, playing with Glad River on a Sunday night in the spring of 1997.

As memory serves, that was one of our best nights, top to bottom. Good crowd, lot's of support from the churches we were serving at the time - Colonial Park, St. Luke's and Asbury - and some of you Covenant folks were there, too. Wow, where does the time go?

And speaking of Glad River, coming soon, my definite post on the history of the band - (with pics) what we were, how we came to be, what we are, and my prayerful hope that there may yet be a trickle left in our incarnation of the River whose streams make Glad the city of God.

Didn't Beaver Cleaver Live in Mayfield?

2009-07-09T17:10:00.022-05:00

I lived in Mayfield, Kentucky, from June of 1970 until the second day of January, 1976.

I turned 6 a month after moving there and moved away in the middle of my 6th grade year.

Mid-year appointments...ahhh, ain't they great? Especially on the psyche of children who change schools in midyear?

Did I say that out loud?

Anyway, as I've alluded in other posts, those years were significant for me. Those were my Wonder Years.

Whatever Mayfield really was back then, it was the place I grew up. I knew it for what I could get from it.

Hill's BBQ ( I went to school with Molly and Mary)
K&N Rootbeer in Frosty Mugs brought to your car.
Summer days at the club swimming until water logged and learning to play golf (preacher's family had a membership).
Mayfield Cardinal Football games at War Memorial Stadium.

Friends and neighbors always near.
An easy walk to and from school.
A quick bike ride to almost anywhere that mattered.
And I was the preacher's kid at Mayfield First Church. Or, at least one of them. Dad was the Associate, and Mayfield was our home.

It’s what I knew.

I've rarely gone back over the years. I'm not sure why that's the case. Well, that's not entirely true. Initially it was the case because clergy don't go back to the places they've left---right?

It's just not done, and if you grew up with Jeffords as your last name, you're darned right it wasn't done.

And that was hard for me. I had a niche' of friends with whom I went to school and church and often those two groups were one, but not always. Whatever code of clergy ethics there was to abide by, I didn't know about it or care...I just missed my friends.

It's a pattern that has repeated itself more than once in my life, both as a PK and as a P in my own right.

It's a hard thing--probably necessary only because we clergy cannot be trusted to behave professionally toward one another--an indictment on all persons of the cloth and God knows there's far too many horror stories of preacher's past who can't and won't let go even though there is no longer any official authority to be pastoral in a former context – making it difficult for the new pastor and confusing for congregants.

The problem with that is PK's get caught in the vice between what was and what must now be.

A life lesson, me thinks, and one that's tough to take sometimes.

Well, over the years my contact with those who were my childhood friends has lessened and lessened to the point of being nearly nonexistent.

The people I knew and called friend are that only in my memory of what I knew them to be – almost 35 years ago.

I've always felt that Mayfield was an aborted chapter in my life. Maybe it would have been different for me to have left at a school year's end. It would have had some appropriate finality to it. And true enough, with each new appointment then and now has come the opportunity to be in relationship with wonderful people. And that has happened again as recently as my move this Summer.

Well, a couple of things have occurred that have reacquainted me with that place.

My sister has lived in Mayfield longer than anywhere else in her life, I guess. Beyond our time there are a family, she has lived just outside of town with her husband for the whole of her marriage. Earlier in life it was easier to get up there and visit. As my life has become more and more complex, the more difficult it has been to go.

Last week for the holiday break the family loaded up and went to Mayfield. It was the first time I have spent any meaningful time there, which is to say more than driving through on my way to Paducah, in about 5 years.

Jerriann and Colin moved into a new home last year, and she's been itching for us to come up.

It was a good visit and time I needed to spend with my sister. It's a hard thing, though. I know I'm not the brother to her that she had in Jimmy. I couldn't be that if I tried. So I haven't. But I've always known I could be better than I was.

We spent a couple of nights there. On July 4, she and I drove into town, needing to load up on cookout stuff, and I saw the town I once knew as home in the light of day.

My own sense of what I saw didn’t square with my memory. Maybe it’s that my memory, pre-life experience, is devoid of interpretation of what things mean in their realistic context.

What I saw was a small town that seemed smaller than I knew it. And it may, in fact, be smaller.

The General Tire plant is long since gone. The KT plant is gone. I don’t know what industry there is that generates the economic energy for the town to circulate around. I was left to wonder if Mayfield is hurting or if it has adapted to economic pressures and doing better than it seemed to me.

Well, since she and I drove into town to go to the store and because it takes only minutes to drive from one part of town to the other, we decided to go see the places I knew of as home in my childhood.

You know how time warps perspective? How is it possible that a place that seemed so expansive was the exact opposite?

Here's my first house. 1301 Longview. We lived there for the first couple of years. That spot in the front yard is a place a tree used to be- one I climbed and played in almost daily.

The curb in front is the one I hit my head on when I was 7 when I wrecked my bike after speeding down the hill coming from right to left in the picture. I think I see the indentation from here. A scary thing - concussion. What I remember about that is wanting to sleep, and my folks not letting me.

A couple of years later, we moved to 204 Heritage Drive.

Jimmy and I shared a room and the last window on the left, which is barely visible in this (drive by with your iPhone in hand) photo, was ours. The window just to the right was Jerriann’s room, and the reason we know it’s her window is that she spent more than a little time climbing in and out of it at all hours of the night! But that’s another story.

It was a brand new house in a brand new subdivision. It was so new that not all the houses around us were finished yet, and there were no houses behind us, only woods. To play in those woods was to enter into a world of another kind. In the heart of the woods was a creek - and much time and mischief ensued there. My stories of that place were less than the Hundred Acre Wood and much less than the adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but they were meaningful to me nonetheless.

I went to Longfellow Elementary School. We were the Tigers. Hmmm, seeds were sown early, I guess. I played football for the Tigers in grades 4, 5 and 6. I was starting center in 6th grade. In those days, we could chop block, and I was pretty good at it.

My mother still has the picture of me in Gold and Navy uniform. My footwear? Cleats? Nope…Red, high top Chuck Taylor’s. Nice.

Somewhere along the line, schools in Mayfield became something very different than what they are now. There were several other elementary schools back then – Washington and East College, I think. Now, there’s one brand new beautiful elementary school in town. Graves County schools didn't exist back then, at least not in the way they do now.

Longfellow is gone. The building is now being used as the Health Department on one side and an adult education facility in the back along the hallways where the upper grades once met. Other than my home and neighborhood, this was the building I spent more time in than anywhere else during those years.

If pushed, I think I could recall all my teachers from those years---I think.

This very bad picture is of the Church in which the soil of my spirit was tilled. First Church, Mayfield was a special place to me. I was confirmed there. It was from that pulpit that I was most powerfully aware of the art of preaching. It was there that I heard a voice from the pulpit other than my father’s.

I have vague recollection of Joe Leggett’s presence in the pulpit. What I recall more than his preaching was his crew cut, and during football season he’d ask Mayfield's golden boy, known to you as the Rev'd Dr. Gregory Waldrop, to stand up and announce how many touchdowns he had scored at the previous Friday night's football game, or how many points he had scored playing basketball. Greg and my Dad's relationship was powerful in those days. Dad was in Greg's life when Greg was sensing the call to ministry and he helped Greg to hone it as it was taking shape within him. There were many, many nights you'd find Greg at our home, late at night, popcorn popping and deep life conversations commencing. I remember Greg’s first sermon from Mayfield First's pulpit. It was titled “Go!”

But the voice from the pulpit that captured my attention in those years, other than my dad's, was Jerry Carr's. He was and is a master of the craft. His use of language and sense of presence in the pulpit had me riveted.

And there I'd sit. Very often I'd be on the second pew, pulpit right, sitting beside Chuck Stallins - who was the definition of a helluva guy.

I loved that Church. It was because of it that we lived in Mayfield. And when we left Mayfield, we left that Church.

Only in the recent past has some reconnection with Mayfield come about with folks other than family. One of my buddies in those days, Kenny, lives in Reidland and goes to church there with my friend and clergy brother, Sky, as his pastor. There was an email reconnect there, and that made me glad. Recently Kenny's dad died. A good man, as I recall, and I was thankful that Sky let me know that so I could convey my sympathies to Kenny. And I was thankful for a ministry peer I knew and trusted who could walk the difficult days of grief with them.

And then, dare I say it, there’s Facebook.

Liz was my closest buddy in those days. We went to school together, church, our families socialized. It was never boyfriend/girlfriend. Had we been in each others’ lives at another time, maybe? But we were buddies, and there’s always been a soft place in my heart for her.

Other than the rare news about each other communciated through our parents, we've not been in each other's company, or made direct contact, in a long, long time.

A few weeks ago I had a friend request from her, and I thought, “Ok, now I see the value of Facebook.” She still lives in Mayfield and has a great life. She’s helped fill in the blanks of folks I’ll never see again and always wondered what sort of life they ended up living.

My Mayfield trip was cathartic in ways I never expected nor thought I needed.

But I was wrong, I did.

It was good to be with my family. My boys loved being there with their Aunt Jerriann and Uncle Colin.

Don’t know when we’ll get back – although I doubt it’ll be 5 years from now.

We need those places, don't we? Wonder places for Wonder Years. Truth about them is never fully what we remember and was never really what was actually true. The value of the place and the meaning we attach to it is not dependant on that.

And that's a good thing.

So Thankful, So Blessed

2009-07-07T18:26:00.007-05:00

"The Ministry of Presence" Pentecost 5, Mark 6.1-13

2009-07-02T12:42:00.005-05:00

The Ministry of Presence
Mark 6.1-13

He left that place and came to his home town, and his disciples followed him. 2On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, ‘Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! 3Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary* and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offense* at him. 4Then Jesus said to them, ‘Prophets are not without honor, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’ 5And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. 6And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages teaching. 7He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. 8He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; 9but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. 10He said to them, ‘Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. 11If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.’ 12So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. 13They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

I was 22 when I received my first pastoral appointment.

In May, of 1987, I had just graduated from Memphis State, had served for the previous couple of years as youth director at Emmanuel Church, had a new girlfriend (who would later become my wife), and was preparing to enter The Divinity School at Vanderbilt that Fall.

I moved only a couple of weeks following graduation as the appointed Associate Minister of Old Hickory United Methodist Church. Now for the uninformed, Old Hickory is Nashville. However, for those who have any sense of decency, or if you are at least a resident of Old Hickory, you would never confuse to the two.

Old Hickory is a mill town village. It sits on what was farmland which was secured by the US Government in 1917 during the war effort to establish a plant which would fabricate and produce smokeless gunpowder. DuPont was awarded the contract and built a plant there.

As it was for many companies in those days, in order to maintain a sense of camaraderie, morale – for a projected workforce with families of upwards to 35,000 people, and for a plant whose product had military implications, meaning security was an issue, they built a community. They built a village – consisting of houses, recreational facilities, school, general store, and churches.

The upshot was this – Old Hickory was a self contained world. People worked for DuPont, lived in houses DuPont built, educated their children in schools DuPont built and worshipped together in churches all within the confines of the same relative geographical area. They were Old Hickory. Not Nashville.

By the time I arrived in 1987, times had changed rather dramatically. No longer the pressing need of concerted focus of the populous that World Wars bring, the plant’s focus had shifted to the commercial application of the products they generated - things like Teflon. The houses were still there, occupied now by the residents who only decades before had labored in the plant, but were now retired having been given a favorable price to purchase the company houses they had lived in for so long.

Folks worked at the plant now who didn’t live in Old Hickory. It was a hard thing for the old timers to watch.

They were a loving, caring, gentle people. They loved their church, they enjoyed their memories and the stories they prompted in recollection of how things were. They watched over each other, and they were patient with a kid who had come to be among them for his first pastoral appointment.

As a preacher's kid who has lived all over the Conference, including the Tennessee Conference, my life is a collection of chapters. Each move is one such chapter, and I'll reflect back upon them from time to time to frame the stuff of our conversations now.

1987 was a seminal year for me. Because my Senior Pastor was in failing health, and often hospitalized for extended periods due to his severe diabetes and congestive heart failure (he actually died during that year) not only was I to work with forming and growing a youth group, but I took on all the pastoral duties for a church of folks who were, on average, more than 50 years older than me.

I loved Jesus, sure.
I was called to preach, of course.
I cared about people, but I had no experience with dealing with people who were so different than me. My story was not theirs. So, I did that which happened quite often in those days, I called my dad, then very active in minister in our Conference, and now retired, and sought his counsel.

I said, “Dad, I go and visit with these sick folks in the hospital and I try to be encouraging and they look at me like, ‘Boy, what do you know about life to tell me anything?’ (and one dear older woman actually said that to me as she lay in the hospital writhing in pain from the cancer that had consumed her ) and you know what, they’re right. What do I say to these people?”

Now with my father, life’s lessons are not long drawn out pontifications. Usually, they come in the form of a question for me to wrestle with---for there is within us all some sense of what “Truth” is, we just have to be open and honest with ourselves enough to claim it.

He said, “Son, what makes you think you have to say anything?” “Just be there. And if silence comes, that’s o.k. Silence is your friend, not your enemy. Don’t fill the quiet spaces with noise, just be present. You are there are a representative of the Church, of Jesus himself. Your presence is its own ministry.”

I learned the ministry of presence from my Dad. It was confirmed and broadened by wonderful teachers and mentors across the years. True presence with someone else is its own ministry.

Jesus was in his hometown. They knew him. That’s not always a good thing. Ever go home with people remembering only who you were and not who you are?

John Dominic Crossan’s exhaustive study on the life of Jesus talks about Jesus’ role and place within the social strata of his hometown. As a carpenter, he was of the artisan class, which means he was just above the most undesirable and expendable and many, many rungs below the upper crust. For him to come and behave in any way other than that which was expected for someone of his station was to give meaning to the old adage, “familiarity breeds contempt.”

What they knew of him was not in sync with the person who stood before them speaking, teaching and behaving as one with authority.

Humanity's history is full of pejorative labels for those who achievements in life extend beyond the expected boxes those of more notable station put them in. "Uppity" is one such label.

Katie Huey makes the point this way – “does anyone really want to listen to a hometown boy, especially one whose parentage is questionable ("son of Mary" instead of "son of Joseph"), and "just" an artisan at that? (How could he possibly have the learning needed to preach to us?)

But lest we are tempted to hop on the “jump on the disbelieving hometown people” bandwagon, ask yourself this question – “What would you think about a neighbor that you thought of being nothing more than an ordinary, hardworking person, who kept his yard well groomed and did all those things that we think leads us to believe that he is only who we think he is and nothing more - and it turns out that he's a miraculous teacher, let alone the Son of God?

And there he was. Preaching and teaching. And he wasn’t being received well. Sure, he cured a few people, but it wasn’t the fullest measure of his capacity. There’s a lesson here about the efficacy of God’s power in the face of unbelief. The problem is not God, it’s us. Barbara Brown Taylor’s image is a helpful one. It’s like trying to light a match to a pile of wet sticks. “It doesn’t matter how strong your flames is, you have got to have something that will catch fire.”

So if the message isn’t taking hold in the places of the familiar, you go out and spread the news of the Kingdom wherever you can, and that’s what Jesus and his Companions did.

Jesus’ evangelism course consists of several key elements, and one in particular.
• Don’t go alone.
• Call out that which bends us toward self preoccupation and injustice whenever you see it.
• Travel light..that is, don’t be so encumbered by your things that you can’t be effective
wherever you’re called to serve.
• And then, this. “Whenever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place.” Or, as I
read it…enact “the ministry of presence.”

Be fully present in the moment you spend with any in the name of Jesus.
Look, we all know how easy it is to be somewhere, but not be there…you know? But presence fully realized communicates care, it communicates God’s loving steadfast presence that resides regardless of what we’re going through.

The best definition of hell I ever heard was this – “being completely isolated from everything that bespeaks life. “ Too many living on earth right here, right now are living in hells of all kinds for which the loving, steadfast presence of God shared by your ministry of presence can abate.

Too many of us focus on the last of Jesus’ instructions…that is, if folks are not receptive to that of God you're attempting to offer, shake the dust off your sandals and move on…or, “well, I tried.”

I would argue that we go to that way too quickly. It gives us a convenient “out” when things don’t go quite they way we think they should. And I would contend even further that the pursuit of such an option is more an indictment of us than it is the people with whom we’ve attempted to share the milk of human kindness. In those moments the first questions to be asked are not, “what’s wrong with those people?” but, “Was I really present or not?”

It boils down to this question in such a moment..."what is the motivation for my care?" Am I being present on my terms, or on God's?

Well, I started this homily in 1987. Let’s fast forward to 1992. It was my first Sunday at Asbury Church, in Fox Meadows, as Associate Minister. And yes, there’ll be more than a few stories rise up in me from those days, too. But I only want to focus on a couple of moments.

My first Sunday there was much like ours last week. Many, many people introducing themselves. Tying to employ all those name association tools are tough for me. Names, faces all a blur. Except for one. At the end of the service there was a reception in our honor and a man came up to me and said, “Hi, Johnny, I’m Pat, and I’m going to die while you’re my pastor.”

Not the typical first Sunday greeting. Unsure of where to go with that, I said, “Well, Pat, I don’t think I’m going to have trouble remembering your name!”

He said, “I’m glad you’re here, I look forward to knowing you.”

Pat was a great guy fighting the good fight against cancer. He had a brutal sense of humor, which I liked. He and his wife, Judy, were very close to Kristy as they were to the Senior Pastor’s family. He was the flesh and blood example that healing, sozo, is more than physical healing. The disease may have claimed his body, but he was healed, whole and free. Of that I am convinced. I bear witness.

He missed very little church as the battle was ebbing toward an inevitable conclusion. Toward the end, there were extended absences from worship, and when he came we could see there was a little bit more of him gone. The ministry of his presence in our lives gave evidence of God’s grace in the face of pain and dis-ease.

I was the last person to serve him Holy Communion, only days before he breathed his last.

Pat always sat in the back on the pulpit side of that sanctuary. It was a Sunday that I was preaching, so I was on the pulpit side to serve the sacrament. I was fully prepared to take the sacrament to him, thinking that there was no way he could get down to the altar rail.

The whole room watched as he rose and with some assistance, slowly made his way to the rail. And then he knelt, and placed his hands outward to receive the body of Christ.

I think everyone of us in the sanctuary that day knew we were watching something holy. Something sacred. It was then that I shared with him that enduring, never failing expression of the presence of Jesus to, with and among us – Holy Communion.

Which is why how we celebrate Communion matters so much. When you come today to receive, that is what we’re doing, receiving. We are receiving the ministry of Jesus’ presence in the Eucharist. Let our posture be like that of Pat, hands and hearts open to receive the living presence of our Savior.

The question is no longer being held captive by who you were, but is one of acknowledgement of who you are, and by God's grace, who you are becoming.

And from this moment, let us leave this place different than we came. Challenged, commissioned and prepared to be present in someone’s life this week. Someone who’s story may be as different from you as can be.

But be there. Be open. Be present.
And when you do you'll discover hearts and lives changed.
Maybe even yours.

Amen.

Alright, Covenant Church...."and away we go!"

2009-06-30T12:52:00.003-05:00

With a hitch in his step and a little danced jig, Jackie Gleason would utter that line and launch into his program after completing his monologue. Now, for those of you too young to know who Jackie Gleason was, one – keep it to yourself, and two – Google him and find out.

After having celebrated our first service together, I feel we have launched our common ministry in a wonderful way. I’m overwhelmed with the enthusiasm we experienced and thankful for the graciousness you’ve shown my family and me.

The opportunity to live and sojourn is a unique thing for each of us. Six months ago, the thought of serving anywhere other than where I was did not enter the realm of possibility. And now, living among you, I am sure that there is no other place that I’m called to be for this season of my life.

We’ll have opportunity to get to know each other as the weeks become months, and the months become years – many years, I pray. Together, led by the Spirit, I believe Covenant Church’s moment to make an impact in the community has yet to reach its height. Let us commit to that journey…together.

And now, a quick word about my friend and colleague, Lora Jean Gowan. As the reality of this appointment became clear, I knew that the need for an Associate Minister was critical. I needed someone with pastoral experience, a pastor’s heart, a caring spirit, and prophetic fire. I needed someone who could walk in the door with me and be team with me from day one. There was only one person who fit the bill. I’m thankful to God that she’s working with me and we, together, are ministering for, with and among you. I’m thankful to our District Superintendant, Rev’d Barry Henson, for taking up the charge to make this match of our gifts with this place happen, and to Bishop Dick Wills, for believing in us.

Now, you folks here at Covenant do things a bit different than I’m conditioned to, so we’ve got some figuring out to do together. Since I am the pastor of the whole church, and a good contingent of my congregation worships in a different venue at the same time worship takes place in the sanctuary, I was concerned about being in two places at once. God has gifted me with many things, simultaneous presence, ain’t one of ‘em!

Here is how Lora Jean and I are going to begin our work among you. Included in this edition of the newsletter is a preaching schedule through August. The coming Sunday’s preaching schedule will be posted on our website Monday morning of the new week. We will share preaching leadership at the 8:30 a.m. service, and I will preach monthly and on 5th Sundays at Crosswalk. That is 16 times a year. I’m eager for the opportunity and challenge each service brings.

For now, and on the foreseeable horizon, we are both going to preach from the Lectionary. We are using that tool as a means to frame our worship and common life around Christ story told through a given year. Lectionary preaching pushes us all to life afresh with the Holy Scripture. I challenge us all to become reacquainted with Scripture as a means to tell us who we are as God's people, and who we shall be; members of God's family and co-laborers in working toward the Realm of God coming into being on earth as it is in heaven.

As for me? You'll find much of who I am and what I write on my blog, www.johnnyjeffords.blogspot.com . There you'll find stuff that has preoccupied my thoughts over the years. Some of it will be sermons, some of rants about things going on in the world, and some of it will be a little bit about not much. You may agree with my perspective, and some of it you won't. And that's really o.k. Our capacity to be in fellowship precisely because we are not all the same is evidence of God's grace.

So, if you're ready, I am...and away we go!

The Week That Was

2009-06-26T17:19:00.006-05:00

What a week.

Has it only been five days ago that I turned my keys, Sam's card (need another one, like now!), and credit card in to Emma, got in the truck and drove across town to start ministry afresh at Covenant?

Wow! Haven't even preached a sermon yet, and feel very welcomed. We'll see the response after Sunday!?

Since last Sunday -

Christopher has gone on a school trip to DC and NYC - and was selected to put a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington - something I can't wait to get pics to share. I told him this was a big deal, not to play as Mr. Cool, but be very respectful - I hear he did great.
Jack has spent the week with my folks.
I've unpacked box after box after box, and have pretty much all books done, just waiting on the interior decorating committee (Kristy and her mom) to come figure out where I"m going to hang all my credentials, mementos and art work, including two incredible new pieces I briought with me as a parting gift from St. J. - one, the work of the other Mrs. Jeffords, go here for that story; and the other, a framed picture from my friend, photo archivist, and kindred Trekker brother, Collins, of the historic pulpit it was my honor to preach Gospel from for eight years.
I have felt the twinges of "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore," as I drive 8 minutes to work.
I've had the renewed sense of camaraderie as I hear LJ's laugh just down the hall from me.
Kristy and I had some time to go out for dinner, to movies - any movie we wanted.
The Grizzlies made some typically strange choices with the NBA draft, although I think Thabeet may be a critically important piece on the defense - I hope.
Oh yeah, Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Now, each of these merits independent reflection from the other. The proximity of their deaths further feeds the "it always comes in three" fire. I won't play into that. Posts on the impact of each of these three on my younger days will be forthcoming.
Willie Herenton resigned. No further post necessary. Maybe a round of the Doxology is in order, however.
Oh, finally, I have a first Sunday now only hours away. The text, from Mark 5. Jesus has crossed to other side after telling the sea and storm to shut up, and is barely grazed by one, who by faith, trusted that such connection can free her of her ailment. He also encounters a religious leader whose daughter is believed dead. He tells her to get up. Now those who think the lectionary a too boxed in way to go about the homiletical task, I give you this text. What a way to start. The Spirit's not a part of the Lectionary? Gimme a break.

So that's been my week so far. And it's still Friday night. The boys get home tomorrow, and the house will be thumping.

I'm hopeful for an uneventful Saturday.

But you know how that goes.

A Journey's Next Steps . . .

2009-06-23T15:31:00.019-05:00

Join Us for Worship This Sunday,
June 28, As a New Chapter in
Covenant's Story Begins

"Get Up!"
Mark 5.21-43
Rev'd Dr. Jonathan L. Jeffords, Preaching

Be there to welcome Johnny as he launches his tenure as our new Senior Pastor.

We also welcome our new Associate Pastor, Rev'd Lora Jean Gowan, who joins with Johnny to serve as our clergy team.

Hmmm...What Am I Going to Do About a Sermon This Sunday?

2009-06-18T16:23:00.002-05:00

Boxed Memories

2009-06-17T01:10:00.012-05:00

This is packing week.

It's loomed on my calendar for awhile, and now it's on me.

I've done this all my life. Part of being an itinerant family is knowing there are seasons that come and go, and moving is always lurking out there.

Granted, this year, the only person in my family really concerned about the physicality of moving is me.

We don't have to change homes. I'm changing offices and locales of the work place.
(Oh, family o' mine, you're welcome).

And yet, it tasks me.

Packing boxes, no problem. That's no big deal.

Being married into a family whose business is books, boxes are no worry.

I have over 20 boxes of books packed. I've read some of most of them and all of some.

The part that grabs me is packing the stuff in my space that makes it more than a library, even more than a study, it's the stuff that makes the space mine.

It's touching the artwork, the stained glass, the mementos, tokens and talismen that make that space sanctuary for me, as well as for those who join with me in that space to be counselled, to chat, or to confer.

Each has a story. Each story of someone I've known, loved, served or studied with who made it or bought it and gave it to me as sign of our relationship, or as a reflection of what they thought of me.

So, I have Mom's stained glass.
A clay turtle given to me by Courtney and Jessica from Asbury
An earthenware bowl given to me by Carole Ann from Asbury
Lori's painting from Asbury
Jamie's artwork of Micah 6 from St. J
Collins' sketches from St. J
A plaque from the Healing Connection from Asbury
TC's Cross from St. J.
Carmen's Madonna and child from my D. Min group
Barbara's Angel from Bishop's office
John's stone cross from Bemis
JB's picture of NOLA from St. J
Earthenware collected over the years
The little preacher gifted from my first girlfriend.
My Dulcimer made for my 30th B'day and gifted by the Roatens from Asbury
Artwork of my kids
Pictures and artwork of churches I've served.
Pictures of Glad River from our beginnings
A photo album of my youth group at Whitehaven UMC back in 1983.
Letters, photos and cards from members past and present.

And more, and more - it goes on and on.

I look at pictures of me from back then and think, "Man, I'm getting old."

I'm packing not only the stuff that makes ministry work for me in a given space, I'm also repacking stuff of my past in other places at other times and remembering people I loved and served for so many years.

And through the melancholy of goodbye I reflect with gladness on lives and places I loved in my life knowing that this place has given me memories aplenty to reflect upon.

So, I'll go to my new space. There'll be some shakedown time to make it mine. I'll have to bring in my staff of interior designers (Kristy and her mom), and it'll be my space in short order.

Anybody who knows me knows that I must have a space. My place - to study, to be, to write, to listen to music (often too loud), to invite in those who need a safe place to sit and ponder with me the questions of faith that preoccupy.

My new friends will have to get used to overhead fluorescent lights that will never be on. Natural light from the window and the soft light from Papaw's lamp will fill the room.

A life of memories boxed and ready for transport. True enough,there's quite a few more boxes going with me than came when I first arrived.

Memories do that, don't they? Accumulate?

Time to turn the page.

A Few Thoughts from the Beach

2009-06-08T19:04:00.004-05:00

Posts have been fewer and fewer in recent weeks.

I've had many thoughts pass through my head to which I'd say to myself, "Self, you need to post something on that," but alas, time was too fleeting to give any such thoughts their due.

Some random thoughts -

I'm now in the homestretch of a few days away, at our usual spot, until I return and go about the painful task of saying goodbye to folks I love deeply, and a place I labored with great passion for eight years.

I leave there honoring the best part of our United Methodist tradition knowing that whatever Saint John's is, it's not because of me. It's more like how I describe church membership for any who would come to be a part of a congregation I serve. That is, for a particular season of our journey we, as practicing disciples of Jesus, hang our shingle out in the company of others, who together comprise as a congregation. They are our fellow pilgrims on the way. We practice our discipleship of Jesus here, wherever "here" happens to be.

So it is for those of us who vowed our lives to the order of Elders. We promised we'd go to wherever those charged to watch over us call us to go trusting the Spirit of God is at work. I vowed to be obedient to that order.

I know a couple of people, some of whom vowed the same thing I did, who have told me such talk is archaic and not in touch with the contemporary business models for how effective leadership is secured.

That may all be true, and yet I don't believe them necessarily incompatible.

The product of a faithful vow belies conventional thinking.

Systems may be flawed (ours is), people within system may be less than they could/should be (ours are), and yet within our falleness always comes the opportunity for redemption.

The day we stop believing in the redemption of the fallen and broken - of all persons and systems, we need to cash in and chain up the doors, cause at that point, it's all over, folks.

Although it came at a time I didn't expect, the call for me to be obedient emerged again. How could I do any other?

Rarely, if ever, does God's call come on our time table anyway.

------

"Fixed." That's the word the bishop says when the appointments for the coming year are official. "I declare these appointments fixed."

It's done.

No place to look but ahead and be ready to engage the new tasks for ministry with vigor.

Hearing those words,especially when you're about to change, hits the ear a little differently. I heard those words last week, not with a jolt, but with a relief.

I've been told that mine was among the very first appointments made this year, with first word of its possibility coming in the first days of February.

That's a long time for anybody to live in waiting.

But it's fixed, now.

Time to go. Time to work. Time to do what I'm called to do in a new venue. And now, in hearing those words, excitement is building for what can be for the flock I'm now called to shepherd in Cordova along with my partner in ministry, Lora Jean.

------
"Happiness Is . . . " It was a strange feeling. I didn't expect it when it hit, and I was so thankful it did. Glad River had a mini-reunion last week at Annual Conference. We had been asked to provide musical context to the report of the Outreach Team. We played John Michael Talbot's "St. Teresa's Prayer," and David Haas' "We Are Called." What made it extra sweet was that we were complete. Our original line up was present. We had Anne back. It was a special moment.

We had no commitment to do anything other than play these two tunes on a stage we debuted "We Are Called" at Annual Conference, 1995. The freedom to come together and play and move on helped make it easy.

It hit me when Brad clicked off the first few beats of "We Are Called" and away we went. As if timeless, the voices were there, the spirit of our singing was there, the crowd was in it.

I was happy. That's it. Happiness. The realization that I have not felt that in quite that way in a longer amount of time than I'd care to admit brought into high relief how potent the moment was.

There's a zone you get in when it's right in life. It happens in sports, music, relationships, life. You're in it, and all you want to do is relish the moment that is.

More than a few folks noted something different in my spirit that day. I did, too. I wished I felt it more often.

We've all moved on to much busier lives since those that allowed us to gather, practice, play and travel the annual conference gigging in county seat sanctuaries, and high school cafetoria. Most of us didn't have children then, or at least as many. We were all associate ministers back then, and we all lived in the same town.

Last week showed that there may yet be the remant of a stream, maybe but a trickle in Glad River's bed. Whatever we'll be will never replicate what we were, which is really o.k. For everything there is a season.

I think the happiness was found most in the concrete reminder of what formed us in the first place, that we were friends first, who love to play music together.

That was special.

"KT" - My time in Florida this year is not all vacation. I had to work. I officiated my sister-in-law's wedding. Katie (to her I'm John-John), is somebody I've watch grow before my eyes. She was about the age Jack is now when I first met her. I found myself choked up a bit as I was reciting their vows. Little Katie, a woman, and a married one at that. It was a beach wedding, a first for me. I was in full liturgical regalia and barefoot on the sand. Felt good.

I was surprised and thankful for how easy everything transpired with the wedding. Best behavior all around (whew!). Katie is married to Kris, a great guy from a great family. We're now family with a New York family. Dare I say even, connected?

Fugitaboutit.

The merger of these families is the stuff of fairy tale and strange coincidence, but very cool.

My family kept telling me how great a job I did with the wedding, as if they were surprised. I'm like, "Hey, I don't make this stuff up out the air, this is my job, this is what I do."

There was some curiosity of how I'd handle the Protestant/Catholic thing. Are you kidding? That's in my wheelhouse.

"Everyone keeps saying what a great job you did, Johnny."

Would you tell the surgeon, "great job on that surgery?"

You might do that, but what would come first would be the expectation that excellence would rule the day because the person is trained to be just that.

I appreciate the thought. I really do. I just find the surprise that I "pulled it off" kinda funny.

Anyway - Katie and Kris - Cheers.

----

A few focused thoughts from the beach. That ought do for a bit.

Why I'm Glad the Tigers Lost the National Championship Game Last Year

2009-05-27T22:14:00.002-05:00

Because I can think of only one thing worse than losing the game the way we did. Winning it and then having to forfeit because of a culture of cheating.

In my years as a Tiger I've seen this before. Going to the Final Four in 1985 didn't happen on the books..it was vacated.

Thanks, Cal.

You're the best.

UK, hope you know what you got.

Roll Credits

2009-05-26T15:40:00.010-05:00

Ever watch a movie on one of the cable channels? Like USA, or TNT, one of those.

They take great pride in being able to air theatrical movies on television screens. They modify it for length and content. Which means they make room for commercials and they sanitize the language inappropriate for younger ears (yet anymore, who knows what that is?)

They also used to modify the film for the aspect ratio of the television you’re watching. Which is to say, they could conceivably crop up to a third of the actual picture so that it would fit on our “square” TV screens. But now, with the growing market for widescreen televisions, it’s en vogue to let the original aspect ratio stand. (Are you geeked up enough yet?)

But there’s a thing that these cable networks do at the end of any film they air.

The credits are compressed from minutes to seconds and the names of those who have contributed to the production are flashed so quickly that any who are a part of the production would be hard pressed to prove it by the names that flash by in an instant. Usually sequestered to a tiny sliver of the available screen, the credits are not what you're drawn to. Rather, it is the advertisement for the next great thing to appear on their air.

It’s actually a bit tacky…to run through the credits so fast.

It’s as if, other than the key players, nobody cares how hard somebody works and brought their gifts to bear to make the story just viewed on the big screen work.Now in the season of the Summer blockbuster, the film to be seen (yes, seen “Star Trek.” Twice and counting) brings production teams of such magnitude that it takes almost ten minutes for each name to roll by and the house lights to come back up.

When I’m at the “picture show,” I usually stay until the end. It’s not like I’m going to know all the people who participated in the making of the film. Rather, it just seems right.

As I think about my last days as pastor of Saint John’s, I’ve wondered how long the credits would run.

What would the names look like?

In my eight years, I’ve encountered many lives, many pilgrims on the way. I’ve thought about the names of those who welcomed me into this parish who are not here anymore. That number is quite large, really.

When I look out onto the sanctuary on a Sunday morning, I recall the places these folks sat knowing that they did so for many years before they knew me.How many prayers of committal have I uttered commending the spirits of beloved sisters and brothers into the Realm of the Church Triumphant?

How many declarations of marriage?I ponder the names of those who have come to be a part of this parish since I became pastor, and I’m amazed by how many of you that is.

How many laps have I taken around the sanctuary with a newly baptized baby in tow celebrating the entrance of one of God’s beloved daughters and sons into the family of faith?

I ponder the laughs, tears, challenging questions, moments of counsel sought, times of distress and crisis endured, endless meetings charting a course for Saint John’s future, moments of celebration and new life experienced, moments of worship when the power of the Holy Spirit was persuasive…

and the list of names grows and grows.

I think of those committed to outreach and ministry and I am inspired. From children to food pantry and soup kitchen, feast for friends, and the legal clinic, to the Church Health Center, this corner has a heart that beats compassion.

And even now as my ministry here draws to a close, comes news that Celeste Wray is back in the prison, doing that work that she does with such passion and integrity and I know I leave a place alive and compelled to serve.

When I consider the times I’ve stood at the Table of our Lord to preside the Eucharist, I am humbled. In those moments, I know the names of those in our lives who have made us who we are number far more than a few moments of acknowledgement could possibly allow.

I’m soon to move into a new venue for ministry…and I take you with me. Your names are etched in me. The stories of our life together cannot go by in a flash. They must be reflected upon and savored.

Something I know I’ll do for the rest of my days knowing that the balance I long seek will be found, in no small part, by the witness to the faith you have made to me.

When Worlds Collide

2009-04-27T22:07:00.012-05:00

Ever have opportunity to introduce a friend to others who are your friends, too?

We all have different friends from different chapters of our lives.

They are compartmentalized into the varied places we live.
Work friends.
Neighborhood Friends.
Church Friends.
Childhood Friends.
Camp Friends.
Facebook Friends? Hmm. Still working on that one.

There seems a particular symmetry to life when each category of friends stays within the world we know them.

When Kristy and I were married (20 years ago on the 20th of May), each of my groomsmen represented a specific chapter of my life. From my childhood up to the present moment at the time (which was while I was in seminary) these guys collectively comprised as full a story of who I was as could be told. On their own, each held only a piece of my story. And none of them knew each other.

Being an itinerant kid, I had friends from each location upon my Dad's ministry trail. Introducing them to each other was a trip. I felt like my worlds were colliding.

I feel like I'm doing something like that again.

While it's not typically the role of the outgoing pastor to go on and on about the new guy, other than the gratuitous collegial pleasantries - I find that in this case, business as usual doesn't apply. I can't help myself because Brad is my colleague - sure. But he is more than that. He is among that handful of people in my life who I call "friend."

We've known of each other since college days. He almost followed me in an appointment way back in 1988 at Old Hickory. You can ask him about that one.

We've been in a covenant group meeting for two hours every week since 1993. Rebecca and he make up 1/3 of Glad River (be looking for a mini-reunion of the original front line of the band at Annual Conference).

We did our D.Min. together at Wesley. We’ve taught at the seminary level together. This past fall we co-taught a course on “John Wesley and the Poor.”

We comprise 2/3 of a particular “band of brothers" in the clergy. The other guy moved away from us at the first of the year to go to Paris. We have been known as the “unholy trinity,” a title well earned and a badge of honor we share gladly.

We've stood by, with and for each other on many occasions in our lives - some of which could be repeated, and many more that will stay in the vault.

I commented to some of you that my angst in leaving was prompted by some of the usual stuff. I love it here. I love you all. I love the work we have done and what is to be done. Those feelings coupled with the reality of leaving and the natural process we all go through in a transition is always complicated in our line of work because we hope and pray that the one who follows us will take what's been done and move forward far beyond where we are now.

Truth, painful as it is, is that such a thing doesn't always happen. I’ve known that pain before from previous places I’ve served and left. I didn’t want to know it again.

Not here. Not this time.

When Brad told me he was projected to Saint John's, I felt a flood of emotion wash over me and I knew I could leave having passed the mantle to one who will do great things as your pastoral leader.

I don't want to overdo this. And truthfully, it is the role of the Staff Parish Relations Committee to make these introductions.I just want you to meet my friend, and I want him to meet you. My worlds are colliding again and I'm leaving you knowing you will form a new and meaningful relationship with each other.

I'm thrilled about what that will mean for all of you.

And know this.

I'll be watching and cheering you on.

Cleared to Talk

2009-04-20T12:08:00.003-05:00

As of today's notification, I am free to speak out loud where my next appointment will be. I doubt this will come as a suprise to anyone, but having now been given permission, here we go.

At the end of this Annual Conference, I'll be moving from Saint John's to become the Senior Pastor at Covenant United Methodist Church, in Cordova.

I'll post more soon on what all that may mean to me, to the Church. And I have quite a bit to process about 8 years at Saint John's...but that will come in due course.

Just being able to say outloud, and not play games anymore, is a good thing.

I begin ministry at Covenant with a wonderful partner in ministry at my side - Lora Jean Gowan. I could not be more thrilled about that and feel that together we can facilitate great things wherever we're called to serve.

OK, there it is. I said it. Been living with this propsect since the first week of February, and the reality of it since the first week of March.

Whew.

Five

2009-04-17T09:58:00.003-05:00

There's a lot of change going on in my life right now - as it always seems to do - change comes in two forms - that which creeps day by day, week by week, and on and on so that its presence is as a parasite - feeding off the energy of your life and you're not sure why.

The other kind is that traumatic change that comes all at once.

You're moving.
You're changing churches.
You're changing jobs.

It's a jolt. It catches your undivided attention and dominates all aspects of life.

The change that comes through death is this way, too.

Five years ago, today. How is that possible?

Did it just hit me that five years ago today my brother died?

Nope. April 17 lurks on the calendar. It finds me even when I don't want it to.

You who have lived with and through such a thing can bear witness, of that I have no doubt.

So, I'm with family today.

Need to call my sister.

Some melancholy? Sure. But surprisingly, not too much.

Living. Being. Remembering.

All seem the right way to honor a life whose impact crosses the barriers of mortality.

When my kid smirks like he did-when a "tall tale" is woven worthy of Jimmy - I smile.

In many ways, dealing with the remnants of his presence in the lives of those I'm charged to raise now helps me come to grips with those lingering parts of sadness and guilt from what I didn't do or didn't say.

I pray I get it right this time.