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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.

-------

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."

The Month that Was

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.

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

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

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 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.

Practicing What I'm Preaching

"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

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.

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

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

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.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Thinking About What Was and What Is

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!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Anybody Have a Hyperbaric Chamber I Can Borrow?

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.