Pilgrimage

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

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

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.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Beach Dr E,Miramar Beach,United States

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

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

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

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!

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!