Woodstock for Preachers - Day 1

Greetings from Minneapolis, where I'm participating in the Festival of Homiletics. Last year was my first time at this event that has now run for 16 years. I found it remarkably fresh and something my soul sorely needed.

I had not considered coming this year for some time. Last year was in Nashville - a quick jaunt up I-40. But Minneapolis? Seemed like it might be too much.

But my brother in ministry and Glad River bandmate, Rob, was determined to come this year, and it placed in my thoughts real prospect that I might find a way to go.

And I'm here.

Minneapolis in late May and Memphis in May are not the same thing.

So, here I am at the Festival of Homiletics, which I've determined is "Woodstock for Preachers (absent the free drugs and love - I hope! Uggh - kill me now)." All you have to do is watch this bunch of clergy, some 2,100 of us, and it is the stuff of sociological, if not anthropological study. And it's clear that how many of these you've attended creates a caste system of how "in" or connected folks think they are.

We can be a pitiable lot.

You don't have to ask a long time attendee how many times they've been - they'll tell you first.

And then there are others - a group in which I place myself, who are starving for something to guide, to challenge, to inspire and to feed them. Having known times when the spiritual well was flowing freely, at these events we drill for new wellsprings to refresh parched spirits longing for the day to know it again.

Coupled with that deep desire is knowing all too well that it is we, who are clergy - we who preach, that so many deep and devoted people are looking for the same thing on Sundays that I'm looking for this week.

You can't be a container of grace to be outpoured if there's a hole in the bottom of the pitcher.

Some thoughts after the opening night.

We experienced a concert from the National Lutheran Choir. They were absolutely and completely stunning. As "tight" vocally as I've ever heard with dynamic control that is simply unmatched. It was a wonder to behold.

Tom Long lectured on preaching paths for the Gospel of Mark - which is the primary Gospel for the next Christian year.

Anna Carter Florence preached on "Mary and Martha." A rich sermon, to be sure, and one that struck me deeply. Besides that of it that I'll "borrow," I was convicted at the notion of "distraction," a feature of that reading -

41But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; 42there is need of only one thing.* Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’

The very mention of distraction - distraction from the One who calls me - hit me tonight. Life is so much distraction, and mine has been abundant. I'm not talking about life itself - the stuff of life comes and goes. Business, schedules, three places to be at once, and the expectations that come from each.

As tiring as that can be, I can deal with that. No, I felt the realization that my distractions were of the inner life - and if nothing else happens this week than that I was confronted with that truth and awakened to it, then the effort of this week is well spent.

Maybe that is "the one thing" I'm needing right now.

A May Potpourri

A few random thoughts on a number of different issues:

Evidently, to be seen as a credible political candidate, you have to "denounce" your preacher.

Recent admittedly inflammatory, if not conspiratorial comments by Rev'd Dr. Wright have demanded a response from the political candidate who used to call him pastor, or spiritual advisor, or person he only sorta once knew. It all gets to be a bit much after awhile, doesn't it? I'm the first to make it clear that we clergy are not perfect and that some of us relish our "humanity" a bit more than others. Some of us heed well the maxim of the great Protestant Reformer, Martin Luther, who said that if we were to sin, then "sin boldly."

I'm not going to parse what Dr. Wright said or didn't say. Frankly, I was surprised he was silent as long as he was, but when he spoke, brother came out swinging, didn't he? Think about it - would you want the sum of your professional life reduced to a few words?

But one word of caution - it is easy to dismiss larger truths when they are wrapped in what appears to be rambling, if not at times irrational rhetoric. One thing's for certain, he didn't need any help from the YouTuber's who looped sound bites out of context - he can get it plenty stirred up on his own in context. But as I alluded in a previous post, to dismiss the prophet completely is to dismiss what the prophet points toward.

So if any of my congregants run for office (again), I give you blanket permission up front to "denounce" me if it helps the cause. But if denouncing me helps your cause, I have to wonder if your cause is one I'd want to be a part of anyway.

*******

The first of the month brought with it an anniversary. We passed the one year anniversary of my intentional efforts to get my weight down and live a healthier life. For about six months, I was a “JC”man - right there with the girls from "Cheers" and "One Day at a Time."

And I hated it.

Nice enough folks, to be sure - but in the end, the issue with JC is the cost against the basic tenet they preach. It's not nutrition so much (although that's there), but portion control.

During that time, I logged my progress on this blog. I did it as much as a means to make me be accountable at a time when it was clear that I was not able to do it on my own. I've appreciated the words of encouragement and support that helped assuage the powerful self-loathing I was experiencing for allowing myself to get into such a mess.

Since October of 2007, I've managed and progressed on my own. I've not weighed in some time. My guess, based on how I was charting before I stopped weighing weekly, is a total loss thus far of between 45-50 lbs. But the measure I go by is how I feel, and the daily-ness of being aware of what I'm eating. A regular day for me has me eating 1,750 calories. A splurge is 2,500.

And then there's this -

Today, Kristy told me to go into Andrew's room and pack up some clothes he can't wear anymore to take to Neighborhood Centers. In that stack was a pair of short that he wore last Summer for our family portrait on the beach. 34" waist. I figured, what the heck, let's see what happens. I had already achieved one goal and made it so I could wear 36" waist jeans again (I'm wearing a pair even right now as I write this). So, with the shorts, one leg in - so far so good, the other...uhh, a bit snug but they're on. And now, the moment of truth --yes, I fastened them. No, I can't wear them out of the house. I won't wear them in the house, not yet---but those shorts are not going to Neighborhood Centers. Nope, I put them in my drawer. August, 2008. That's my goal.

*******

And speaking of my beloved Andrew...
guess who's driving now on the streets of Memphis and Shelby County?

One more rite of passage to be sure. It's fun watching him transition from utter fear at the prospect of driving at all to asking virtually every time we get into the car, "can I drive?" Funny how one goes from willingness to receive any and all instruction to looks of dismissal at the very notion that we, the experienced drivers have anything to offer.

But watching him drive (and, by the way, he drives more with his mother than with me - wonder if that means anything?) it occurs to me that my family is growing up - right in front of my eyes. And I wonder how am I growing as a man, a father and husband - how am I growing as a pastor, now over 20 years under appointment? To stop growing, or even to try to be more than what we were is to be complacent with what we are - and no where in the Gospel do I get the indication that Jesus gives us room for that.

One more step on the journey.

This day.

Every day.

Four

Those of you who have suffered a soul wound through the unexpected death of someone close will understand.

I thought that this April 17 would roll by without much impact.

But the veil of grief doesn't take a year off - and today is one of those days in which I'll revisit the impact of loss four years on.

Four years. How is that possible?

After Jimmy died, I swore I'd be a better man than I was then. It has taken me four years - I think I can say I am - not yet what I could be, or should be - but better.

My deepest regret is living with the question never answered of the man he would have been four years later.

I love you, brother.

Calling the Elders

The service was long, too long - but it was important.

Last Sunday, the clergy of Saint John's joined together with clergy from across the city at St. Peter's Catholic Church to participate in a Service of Healing as a part of the "Healing of the Races" weekend.

It was a profound, ecumenical moment that resonated with the very high church side of me.





At the pulpit?

The Rev'd Dr. James A. Forbes, Sr. Pastor Emeritus of The Riverside Church, New York.

Jim is one of the masters at the craft. I've been aware of and beholden to his work for about 20 years. At his best, he is unmatched.

He's just that good.

So, to be a part of a service in which he was preaching was a big deal, at least for me.

Was he at his best that night? No. Not even close.

From a pure homiletical perspective, it wasn't an "A" game night.

But even he admitted he didn't usually approach the task of preaching the way he was attempting to do it that night.

Nine days past the commemoration of MLK's assassination - the perpetual tension of community over race - the ambivalence of leadership to carve a new path for community to follow. It was a tall order for anyone. What does one say in such a moment?

So, he spoke - and what he did say was powerful, full of Spirit and it was prophetic.

"Racism is a sin because it is based on a lie."

"Racism diminshes both the oppressed and the oppressor."

Among all else he said, nothing was more important than this. In moments of greatest distress and unrest, in the tradition of the Church, "we call the elders of the Church" to anoint with oil, lay on hands, and pray for healing.




On this night, that's what I did.

I laid my hands upon the old and young, white and black, and prayed for healing from the disease of racism and healing for those victimized by it.

It is a moment of deep and abiding meaning for me to anoint my African American sisters and brothers, lay hands upon them, and, especially for those who are older, pray they be released and healed from racism's hold on their lives.

I left that service convinced that the individual parts of the body are never greater than the sum. What a powerful thing to be a part of a moment of claiming a new day, a new reality, a freeing from dis-ease.

Beyond all else, we announced that the Realm of God is about WE bound by grace through Jesus Christ, and we build that Realm right here, right now.

Thanks for the pics CD

Was, Is and Will Be . . .

A Tiger....

Thanks, fellas . . .for one helluva year.

I Got Mine!

Get yours, too at Tiger Bookstore!

Yes, I have a conflict of interest in that statement.

Preachers: Prophets or Pets?

Ok, let me see - - - since November of 2007, other than the appointed clergy and staff, who else has stood in the Saint John's pulpit?

Jeremiah Wright and James Cone.

Hmmm, do I have the best gig in the Conference, or what?!?

There's much to be said about the politicization of sound bites - including the "guilty by association" tactics of who one's preacher is - but there is something else at play here.

It has long been said that Sunday morning is the most segregated time in America. That is true. The indignation of most of us white folks is that we don't know or see the form of worship that takes place in African American congregations across the country.

And that is part of our discomfort. The country is not merely reacting out of what they thought they heard Rev'd Wright say. They also fear what my friend Frank Thomas alludes to as the "public performance of black rage" that white folks just don't know what to do with.

"Why be mad at me? I didn't do anything to you. I just love everybody," we white Christian folks say.

Now you might delude yourself into thinking that myopic view excuses "you" (which it doesn't). But this self-centered perspective misses the larger truth - - it ignores the reality that elements of our "land of the free and home of the brave," have different access points to America's dream as do others.

And a preacher bringing a message of God's justice can't ignore that.

Preaching in the African American tradition is an artform unto itself. And Jeremiah Wright is a master at it. It is deeply rooted in the Bible. It employs scripture and appropriates it into the current setting in life without fear or hesitation. The best of black preaching has a working litany of history that can be recalled on demand. The best of black preaching stands in the manner of Old Testament prophets who, if the moment requires, acts as Nathan looking King David in the eye and proclaims "you are the man."

Enter onto the stage of my life the writings of James Cone and the point is well made. My first year at Vandy was quite an awakening. Now, I'm not King David, but because of my gender, sexual identity and color I have access points that others do not. You do not have to believe it - but rest assured, it's true. And black preaching doesn't let us forget that.

Preaching in this form is extraordinarily sophisticated and far more erudite than most folks unfamiliar to the form would ever suspect, which perpetuates the notion that the unfamiliar is somehow "less than." And I'm here to tell you, it just ain't so.

The other side of the equation is that the events of recent days is a hit job on a guy who is a noted preacher and theologian, who, by the by, served his country in the Marine Corps and US Navy, by people who mastered in perpetual deferrals the last time we had a conflict in which we were fighting an idea not an enemy. This whole YouTube revelation of Rev'd Wright is done not for the sake of calling into question anything he said, but to make value judgments of those who would sit there and listen to it, or be a member of that church.

Trinity UCC is a powerhouse church in Chicago. And they don't deserve the crap they've been getting.

The very notion that any of us should choose our pastor because they say what we want to hear and not what we need to hear is laughable. No, it's an abomination. If you want something to do what you want, when you want, and make you feel good about you - get a pet.

Or, better yet, go to Joel Osteen's Church.

The role of the preacher is prophetic at times, to be sure - as well as priestly. The key, though is that the preacher is primarily the pastor. She or he has walked life's journey with folks, marrying, baptizing and burying them. The pastor has the opportunity to speak truth to power in the face of a congregation who will receive it, because they know who he or she is, and they know that the preacher's care is real whether the word is uplifting or among the hard sayings.

And that's the point. None of these crackpot commentators know who Jeremiah Wright is. Neither have they cracked open one of James Cone's books. And neither do they care. All they crave is fuel for the political fire. All they know is the implication of who a certain parishioner is based upon something his preacher said.

Or, did he?

The soundbytes we've all seen that contain Rev'd Wright's likeness and voice is not the whole story. Thankfully, context is now given. I'm embedding a couple of clips of the sermons preached the Sunday after 9/11/01.

What he says may still disturb - and frankly, it should. It was meant to. There are times when the Word of God offers comfort, solace and guidance. And then, there are times it is meant to make us squirm. But at least you have to live with it beyond the 10 seconds we've been force-fed.

Watch these protracted clips of these sermons. See it for what it is, not for what it has been made into.