Fertile Soil

It's been a pretty remarkable month here at Saint John's.

Think about it. In the last month, we've rightly celebrated Epiphany on January 6, the 12th day of Christmas. That doesn't happen that often. May not matter to you, but for those of us charged with planning worship, it's a gift, believe me.

We've heard a sermon preached by a candidate for ministry preparing to come before the Board of Ministry to be commissioned as a Deacon in The United Methodist Church. And true enough, Renee's gifts and graces are profound additions to the ministry of Saint John's. Matched with that sermon she preached was our annual observance of baptismal remembrance on "Baptism of the Lord" Sunday - an opportunity to reclaim our vows and chart our course aright in the new year.

We've had the extraordinary honor to have had one of the most influential figures in my ministry come to be a part of our worship. To have Bishop Ken Carder among us was itself a gift. In the day and time in which we live, to hear a bishop speak so clearly and prophetically was as a wellspring in an arid land.

To hear an ecclesiology and Christology from the Wesleyan perspective, after its conspicuous absence, made my little Methodist heart skip a beat or two. To have him preside at Table - cool off the charts if you live in my world. You all heard me say of him before he came that he is my Yoda. Those of you who are of the "Star Wars" mythology will know that it's not until the prequel movies that we understood just how ably Yoda could, uh, take care of business, if you know what I mean. . . so it is with Ken - he can get it done.

All of which is to say, and I hope you see this - what is happening on this corner is fertile soil. It is fertile in two notable ways. I've heard from many who have told me that it is this congregation that they feel at home, that they can grow, at last, spiritually. And, this is the place that is becoming an incubator for ministry to be launched from and into the church at large.

That is, we are becoming a "teaching congregation." There are those who seek to be engaged in ministry who desire to be here, if, for no other reason, to get a feel for how to be "church" in an urban setting, and do so unafraid of difference and embrace it instead.

What a remarkable thing - fertile soil - and get ready, church, for what grows!

Cruel Shoes

I didn't read any books over the holidays (by that, I mean, books for me - not books for work, wherein I'm constantly in a state of reading any of a number of texts, often at the same time - those of you who went to seminary understand).

But, I did listen to a couple. The one I was most eager to get to was by Steve Martin.

It's easy to forget that most of the world was introduced to him through his stand up act. He has been an actor for so long. But there was a time, wow, when he ruled the comedic world like a rock star.

To be more specific, it was through the albums of his stand up act. Back in the mid 70's, memorizing his act was mainstay for the cadre of teenage malcontents with whom I ran. "Let's Get Small" and "Wild and Crazy Guy" recast a comedian's act in ways we had never heard before. Coupled with the periodic appearances on "Saturday Night Live," this guy had my attention.

Like him, we were "Wild and Crazy Guys," (or so we certainly thought we were) and, when it seemed our conduct was just a bit beyond appropriate, we were willing and ready for an extended, "Well, excuuuuuuuuuusse me!"

Even now, when I watch my older boys acting out and thinking they're hilarious, I'm reminded of myself in those days.

I'm pretty sure he was the funniest person I had ever heard. It was one of those moments when the right person with the right approach was in the right place at the right time and I was among those hanging on every word. To this day there are lines from those albums I could recite -

So, when his latest book, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life, came out, there was no way I was going to read it - I wanted to hear him read it to me.

I'm generally ambivalent about audio books, particularly when it comes to fiction. But when it comes to nonfiction, or an autobiography, or, as he calls this work, a memoir, I find it enchanting because I'm hearing someone tell me their story.

I had always found it curious why he completely left stand up comedy. And he did. Completely. In fact, he notes in the book that he had shut the door on that chapter of his life and had not even considered it for 25 years.

It's the "why" of his decision that seemed familiar. You never just leave something. You never just walk away. There's always some precipitating factor or factors at work. Sometimes we are not even fully aware of what they are - but, if we're honest, more often than not, we know what's going on. Try as we may to hide it - whatever "it" is, there is a point of saturation.

Not one more thing. Not one more.

I'll not book report his work, but you could anticipate some of what was going on. Questions like:

• What motivates the clown?
• Is the clown crying on the inside? And why?
• Why work so hard, so obsessively at the craft--trying to please someone who cannot be pleased? Hmmm.
• And then, when fame hits, too much, too fast - and his well honed act now becomes a parody of himself, what then do you do?
  

He says that he discovered and now appreciates that chapter of his life from which he ran so long ago. Seems like there are times it takes distance to be able to look back at what was and find some appreciation impossible to see when in the thick of it.

Maybe I was immersed because I was such a fan - but hearing him talk about what was going on in his life during the days he made me double over in laughter leaves me ever mindful that, whatever else we see of each other at any given time, there's always so much more we don't see at work.

And sometimes it's what we don't see that's pushing what we do.

My encounter with this book, coming at year's end and the beginning of a new one, fits so well with the thoughts I find I usually deal with during this season - - Who am I? Who will I be? What motivates me to be who I am and do what I do?

And so, I take from Steve this lesson - the intentional pursuit of reflection of previous life's chapters to find how they shape me now, and, to find the places of gratitude, if not appreciation for those chapters long since closed.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas . . .

Miss me?

A conspicuous absence, I grant you.

Nothing to say, have I? Hardly.

But, ironically, during this time of year pregnant with meaningful topics on which to reflect, I've not been terribly motivated to bring thoughts to the keyboard. At least not yet. Some of the issues around why that's been the case will have to be processed through some other medium than this one. To date, this blog has been the slipstream for my wonderings - those that are random, and those I more carefully construct.

There is some cathartic work to be done by me, however, and I feel that process will necessitate a fairly revolutionary tact to enact - a pen to paper, and the product of that work will likely see no one else's eyes but my own.

This will still be the primary conduit for my thoughts and theological reflections. There are several posts coming - randomized streams of consciousness that I've thought - "I need to remember this one and flesh it out."

Among them -

• The REAL war on Xmas (fodder for my sermon, "Refugee Messiah" to be preached on Christmas 1, December 30)
• Reflections on Steve Martin's extraordinary memoir "Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life."
• Fascination with Julia Sweeney's "Letting Go of God."
• Joining the world of the Ipod, and loving it.

There's more cooking. Some of my favorite topics - politics in a presidential election year; the Tigers; movies of varying flavors - you know, the usual.

So, for the sake of having one more post in 2007 (and I need one more to equal last year's post total, not that I'm competing with myself, or anything), unless something hits me before then, this will do it for now.

In the words of Charles Dickens' Tiny Tim,

"God bless us, everyone."

Party Planner, At Your Service

So, among my other vocational options, should this whole ministry deal tank, is planning parties. Last weekend was the culmination of months of planning to celebrate my wife's 40th birthday.

Yes, I know, she's just 40, I robbed the cradle. Actually it was the other way around, but that's another story for a venue other than this one.

Anyway, motivated by the desire to throw a good party, especially for her, and, too, a healthy dose of ego to say "yes, men can throw good parties, too," I worked to pull this together. Even took a bit of a second job these last few months to pay for it.

About 30 friends and family members, plentiful food and beverage, and a cake that everyone told me was jaw dropping (to which I'll only say this, it ought to have been) - it was a good night, a very good night.

And while she knew it was coming, I think she was surprised by the reality of those who came, and celebrated with her.
We all need those moments to feel affirmed, important - that our lives matter.

And sometimes, we just need an opportunity to party.

When when you need such an occasion, call me - we'll see what we can work out.

Monday, December 3 - A Day in the Life

I don't know how to say this except for the truth it is.

Last Monday, December 3, was one helluva day.

It was a day in which the administrative duties of my position necessitated action on my part that is never pleasant, and was, in this instance, painful. Necessary for the big picture, but painful. I had lived with the reality of certain decisions through the weekend, so there was plenty of time to build up a good case of dread before meeting the moment head on.

And I had a severe case.

It was a day in which the character of the Church I serve was being asked to consider a new way of being for the sake of Methodist ministry in the city. And, while I have committed to the presence and place of Methodist ministry in the city, that does not mean that every model floated my way is "the one." Being calm and discerning on a day that isn't calm, is pretty tough to pull off.

But it was how my day ended that was the most surprising of all.

My wife and I were among 20 or so others who had been invited to dinner at the home the senior pastor of one of Memphis' mega-churches. I was there with clergy and spouses who are leaders in their denominations, from across the city. Black and white, men and women, Catholic, Presbyterian, United Methodist, Baptist, Disciples of Christ, Episcopalian, AME, and, Jewish.

And that last one's why I was there. If I was on Micah's list to be at something like this, then I'm there, no questions.

Curious, sure - but I trust him implicitly.

So, there we all were, names of people that anyone who worships in the city would know, except, say, for mine.

It seems there's a growing awareness among clergy leaders in the city that we can't change the city for good unless we know each other, and not as professionals - just as people.

We are people of divergent faith traditions and world views, bound by one thing - we all know we each have inherent value because we are made in the image of the Divine.

A few folks I had told I was going to this were most curious about what I would have to say after having done it.

We'll, here goes.

I believe the effort to be genuine, and I will continue in it.

My mother is fond of saying, of those whose power and position seemingly places them in higher regard than say, other folks, "they put their pants on just like you do, son, one leg at a time."

There was no pretense that night. True hospitality, and the opportunity for community among those of us who find our vocation leaves us remarkably lonely, is a means of grace that should never be ignored.

Kristy and I left 3 hours later, not sure what all had happened, but we were glad we were there.

I wrote our host, Craig, an email. We didn't have a chance to do much more than the small talk that night, so, I wanted him to know who I am. He's someone I had only heard of, but never met.

I was braced for someone I did not meet.

Rather, I discovered an open heart.

Because this email says a whole lot more about me, than him, I include it here:

Craig,

I'm left with sense of gratitude from our time together in your home Monday night.

What I found was an intentional effort to put away job, status, size of pulpit or congregation, to join together in fellowship at table. A fellowship framed from no other allegiance or perspective than this - we each are made in the image of the Holy One, and thus, have value.

The desert monastics talk about the importance of welcoming the stranger. It is not so much because it is the "right thing to do," although it is. Rather, they held that we welcome the stranger because in him or her resides some element of the Divine that we have not yet seen - and, invariably, it is something that most fits the empty space in our spiritual journeys.

I believe that is true. I preach it. I am certain that most, if not all in your home Monday night do, too. The real issue is one of integrity. Can we, who are called to be spiritual leaders for God's precious children, practice it in our own lives?

It is a question I try to check myself against. Although we did not have opportunity to meet other than the general small talk, I want you to know how deeply and honestly I sensed that from you. And, I wanted to affirm that from both you and your wife.

In addition to my own practice of ministry for over 20 years, I am a preacher's kid. The issues associated with clergy families and their quest to live, love and grow as any family - coupled with the external pressures and expectations of others, have always been present in my life. Even more, I have written and led on the question that, over time, the rigors of the job, with all that seduces and tempts, we clergy find that years on, we forget who we are first and foremost - not merely people charged to do extraordinary things in the name of the Church - but simply sinners saved by grace whose discipleship must continue to be nurtured and tended even as we lead.

All of which is to say - this gathering, whatever it was, and whatever it is becoming, is a means of grace. To that point I bear witness.

In my congregation we use the language of "radical gospel hospitality." Saint John's is an interesting group of people, at an important season in it's life. We are not homogeneous about anything - I have some of the most liberal and conservative people you'll ever know sitting in the same worship space at the same time. What we've determined about ourselves is simply this - of all the labels we carry - politically, theologically, social standing - there is no label that matters to us more than the One who calls us to Table - together. So, if that's true, we believe there is a place at Table for any one. For everyone.

It is not rhetoric. We truly seek to practice that, and I've watched extraordinary things happen in our small band of believers simply because they choose to hold Jesus in common more than any other affiliation.

That is a bit of me that I bring to this table of our mutual fellowship. And I know I will be all the more complete by having you, and the rest of our brothers and sisters there, too - bringing the real stuff of who they are into our common experience.

Micah said this is about "being." I'm all over that. There's plenty enough "oughts" and "doings" in my life right now that I can handle. To have a place, a safe place - sanctuary to come to. That's a blessing.

Thanks, Craig.

The Peace is yours....so breathe it in.
Johnny

He was quick to respond - and right after the holidays, we're having lunch.

Not out of curiosity, I suspect, but out of the genuine hope that there's something of the Sacred in each of us we'll need each other to discover.

When the day started, I was waiting to get home, grab my favorite glass and pour up a couple of knuckles worth of Pritchard's to ease the pain of the way the day had gone.

By the time to day ended, I was thankful, at peace, and ready, with gladness, to bring this day to its end. The glass never came out of the cabinet.

Strange how authentic fellowship works, isn't it?

It's What I Do - It's Who I Am

Yesterday was the first time I had been in the pulpit in about a month. Before yesterday, my last time to preach was the last Sunday of October. That's quite a stretch for me.

I was present for All Saints' Sunday, but one of my partners in ministry was scheduled to preach. I was in the UK on the 11th, and, upon my return, sat in the pews on the 18th as our youth led the service (to say they rocked the house would be to understate it - and watching you own sons in the pulpit and lectern doing their thing is a Twilight Zone episode waiting to happen).

I had not sat in the pews for worship in a long, long time. And, let me tell you, given the choice of being in the pulpit to preach or sit in the pews and parent a 6 year old - it's a no brainer.

I don't think I had ever had such an extended time not to preach in 20 years (not counting my days as an Associate, of course), including vacation.

I was conscious of the time apart from the preaching task. On balance, I was taken by how quickly it came and went. As I prepared this week, I found myself remarkably calm. Now, I'm no real judge on how these things go - I'm usually pretty hard on myself, but as I offered the "amen" to end the homily, I was taken by a powerful, if not palpable sense of confirmation.

Confirmation not that I had done it well, or right, or had the unique slant on a familiar scripture that no one had dared speak until it was uttered from my mouth (please, spare me). No, it was a confirmation that this "thing" is what I do - it is who I am.

And that's not always a comfortable thought to live with.

My tenure in ministry, as my own life, is middle-aged. No longer the young rebel who can say what he wants when he wants and have blanket of security that comes from "being young." And not old enough to have my words or counsel be considered sage or wise - it's easy to find one's self caught in the vice of the quest for meaning.

Middle aged ministers whose ministries are middle aged is a dangerous place to be. Most of us at this age have circled on our calendars when the magic number of years served hits so that we can actually consider doing something else with the rest of our lives.

That number? 20.

20 years of service as acknowledged by the General Board of Pensions, and any of us in such a situation can "retire" and retain half of the pension paid in for us when we reach the "real" retirement age.

Although I first went under appointment in '87, those student years don't count with the good folks up at the Pension Board, so I have another number hanging out there for me, 2009.

Like the middle aged person who buys a hot rod, gold chains, and trades in for a, uh, newer, younger partner, middle aged ministers are tempted by thoughts of what could be - especially if what has been has not lived up to their wish dreams.

Too many of us deal with the crushing reality that we have not changed the world, the church, or anybody else, for that matter, except our own selves, and those changes are rarely healthy ones. In the middle, we find our souls battered, bruised, and the state of our physical bodies gives compelling evidence of what is going on inside.

"How is it with our souls?" you ask? Be careful, you may not really want to know how the souls of many of us who are called to lead congregations really are. And some of us need to move on - to find other expressions of ministry. Some of us need to find healthier habits of head, heart and body. Some of us just need time to heal.

So yesterday was an unexpected means of grace for me. But isn't every means of grace - unexpected!

The drawing posted above is from Collins. I'm just coming to know him. He is an artist - very right brain, empathetic, intuitive person.

Some folks who sit in the pew take notes when I preach (which I find pretty funny, as if I had something to say worth taking notes over). Collins doesn't take notes, he draws pictures.

Drawing pictures in church - I think he's on to something.

Anyway, he gave me this drawing not too long ago.

It's a unique thing to be handed a drawing of you by someone else. That drawing shines light on the truth of my being - whether tempted to do or be something else. Spirits such as his see what is "true" whether I want to acknowledge it or not.

I don't know what the future holds within this Church I love. There are winds of change blowing, and I suppose that is inevitible.

But in whatever form proclamation of the Gospel takes for me in the next 20 years, it will be there. It has to be.

This is what I do. It's who I am.

Some Growl Left in My Tigers

I'll tell ya.

2-4, I was pretty sure our season was done.

And I had every right to think that. When we lost - it was ugly.

The Sun Belt Conference had killed us. ASU - MTSU losses to both.

Central Florida embarrassed us.

We win at Rice, but get run off the field a week later at our Homecoming by East Carolina.

Now we're 3-5, and it's time to think of "next year."

But then, a bit of a run.

Tulane on the road, Southern Miss on the road, and last Saturday, at home, UAB, in a game that looked more like what I had become accustomed to in the DeAngelo years. Fierce running game that opens up the pass. We hadn't beat UAB at all in what, like 7 or 8 years? But now, we whipped them.

It felt good, very good.

6-5, with one game left.

Any long suffering Tiger fan will tell you, "give me 7 wins a season, and I'll call it a success."

And I'll be darned if we just don't do that very thing.

It's been a schizophrenic year - but in the end, signs of life, signs of pride, and some guts, to boot.

Make no mistake, we're not that good. We play in a league that's not that good. But it's what we have, and it looks like we're starting to rise.

I'm proud of the boys.

One more, this Saturday, SMU - let's go get 'em.