It was one of those crazy Sunday's with 4 services in one day (luckily i cancelled the 5th a few weeks earlier). The 4th that day was a Homecoming celebration at our 223 yr old church in the woods near the Pee Dee. There's a renovated restroom out back that's only used once a month. My wife just happened to be the one to use it this month. Except, when she tried to exit, she found herself trapped thanks to a faulty doorknob. It was hard not to laugh at the situation. If you'd have been there you'd have realized just how comical it all played out. (Including trying to open the window that was painted shut). However, after a while the humor turned to frustration, anxiety, and panic.
It's always interesting, even comical, when you're the one on the outside looking in. But, the story takes on an entirely different character when you're the one locked in. I wonder how many folks out there feel trapped where they are, frustrated, scared, and suffocating. Yet, most of us will never know. We'll simply keep plugging along. Everything's just fine out here. Rarely do we stop to consider what it feels like to be the one trapped inside. But, be careful what you ask for. If you want God to provide you with opportunities to identify with and be relationally involved with others - you might just get what you asked for.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Season of change
Last week I returned to Duke University for the first time in 2.5 years for a required seminar with the Board of Ordained Ministry. It was quite an experience traveling back to a campus I had loved since I was youth, and where I spent 4 of the last 7 years of my life. So much had changed and yet so much was just the same. The faces were different, but it was still a richly diverse academic community. New construction, development, and road widening could be seen everywhere. Yet, the great mainstays of the community, like Duke Chapel, were just as beautiful as before.
As I passed through the courtyard on the left side of the Chapel, I noticed the heavy, hewn, wood-beam benches had been replaced by dark metal, steel or aluminum ones (each with the University crest crafted into the top). I remember numerous afternoons sitting here cramming for a Greek quiz or some other last minute reading. It’s also where I received a call about a potential part-time first appointment to serve during my 4th year of school. (I later declined the offer because I wanted to make the most of my last year at Duke and in Durham). More than anything, I remember that bench because I proposed to my wife there. I chuckled to myself as I thought about all the scheming that went into making that moment happen. It was sad to see that wooden beam bench had now been replaced by the modern metal. Nevertheless, that was still the spot. I wondered what happened to those old wood benches. Where did they go? I wondered if I could still track them down and purchase it for memory’s sake. Maybe they were recycled. And, if so, I wonder what purpose they now serve or who’s benefiting from them.
I continued to reminisce on my way home as traveled from Chapel Hill down 15-501S. It was a route that connected to US 1 and became quite familiar to me in my final years of undergrad at USC. I learned that route well as I travelled that 4 hour route back and forth between Columbia and Chapel Hill to visit a special girl I met on a mission trip back in 2001. There’s a Lowes Foods on the right hand side just before you get into Chapel Hill where I would always stop to buy flowers. They made some of the most exotic and beautiful arrangements you could imagine for a fraction of the cost of a typical florist. As I passed, now on my way back to Anson, I suddenly had the crazy thought of picking up flowers (even if we had a yard full back home). I made a U-turn at the next crossroads and went back to Lowes Foods to check the flowers. Unfortunately, I was disappointed to find that the quality of flowers seemed to have dropped over the years. The prices seemed to have remained stable but the quality of arrangements were about what you’d expect from a typical grocery store. Gone were the vibrant and elaborate creations of a few years earlier. So I went home empty handed but full of great memories.
In many ways, going back changes us. We realize we’ve come a long way. The bench outside Duke Chapel and the Lowes Foods brought back a flood of memories, warm fuzzy feelings, that brought me back to a time I was so in love. But, things had changed there. And, things had changed in me. I’m still so in love. But, I learned other facets of that love. There’s more to it than trying to figure out how to manipulate a Tarheel into having a soft spot for Duke, the stories I made up to get her to come to that bench that afternoon, and the forethought and planning to make sure what followed was a special celebration. There’s another side to love than trinkets and flowers every time you turn around. There’s nothing wrong with showering the one you love with those things. But, over time, I’ve seen a deeper side of love that means simply holding one another in the sad and painful times or just being present rather than bringing presents.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Cold call
Another weekday afternoon that just happened to be my day for volunteer chaplain duty at the hospital. There were no voice mails or written requests for a chaplain that afternoon. Even after checking at the nurse's station, I found no recommendations. So, I decided to round the floor and drop in on a patient or two, introduce myself, and offer any support from chaplain services. We used to call these cold calls in CPE. Neither the patient nor myself knew what to expect going into those encounters. (Not to be confused with Cold Case). The first was a friendly face. We've crossed paths from my many visits to Meadowview.
It was the second cold call that through me for a loop. I noticed the patient just sitting propped up in a recliner, covered with blankets, and all alone. Appearance alone seemed to indicate a different social class and a difficult life. This is why we're here - Enable folks to be heard, to feel valued. I entered and introduced myself. Immediately, the patient was alert and began moaning and moving her mouth. After a few seconds, I realized any speaking ability was severely limited and she was obviously in pain. There were no words. She tried moving her mouth to communicate but there was only a syallable here or there. I wasn't sure if it was a developmental disability, the result of her illness, her medication, or even a lack of education, but I had clearly bitten off more than I could chew. I tried a few more sentences initiating conversation. This time a little slower and clearer, only to receive a simialar moan and wince in response. At the same time, it seemed as if she wanted me in there. I looked myself over. Dressed up, nametag, clipboard in hand. Great, I thought to myself. She thinks I'm the doctor. What have I gotten myself into. Lord, get me out of here, I confessed to myself. In the next few seconds I tried to make it clear I was a pastor, not a doctor. I think she understood, even when I offered a blessing she seemed willing. You have to be careful when there's a communication barrier. You never want to violate a persons belief systems or values by forcing your own. So a word of blessing is appropriate. But, without any other knowledge, invoking Jesus' name over her would have been overstepping that trust. I said my goodbyes and made my exit (inwardly breathing a sigh of relief). What was I thinking? Glad that was over with, I thought to myself.
It's not always easy to answer a call to ministry on a daily basis or at any given moment - even when you're a 'minister'. There are some things that are just easier for us to stomach than others and we all have been pushed outside our comfort zones. That's how we grow. I knew God had been stretching me again that day - especially when I returned home and began looking at the lectionary psalm. And there it was in the 2nd verse: "Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world." The language of God. I felt ashamed and a little embarassed of my thoughts and feelings earlier. As it turns out, I was the abnormal one in the room. If God does it without words, telling the glory of God, why can't we. Perhaps that's exactly what she did on that weekday afternoon cold call.
It was the second cold call that through me for a loop. I noticed the patient just sitting propped up in a recliner, covered with blankets, and all alone. Appearance alone seemed to indicate a different social class and a difficult life. This is why we're here - Enable folks to be heard, to feel valued. I entered and introduced myself. Immediately, the patient was alert and began moaning and moving her mouth. After a few seconds, I realized any speaking ability was severely limited and she was obviously in pain. There were no words. She tried moving her mouth to communicate but there was only a syallable here or there. I wasn't sure if it was a developmental disability, the result of her illness, her medication, or even a lack of education, but I had clearly bitten off more than I could chew. I tried a few more sentences initiating conversation. This time a little slower and clearer, only to receive a simialar moan and wince in response. At the same time, it seemed as if she wanted me in there. I looked myself over. Dressed up, nametag, clipboard in hand. Great, I thought to myself. She thinks I'm the doctor. What have I gotten myself into. Lord, get me out of here, I confessed to myself. In the next few seconds I tried to make it clear I was a pastor, not a doctor. I think she understood, even when I offered a blessing she seemed willing. You have to be careful when there's a communication barrier. You never want to violate a persons belief systems or values by forcing your own. So a word of blessing is appropriate. But, without any other knowledge, invoking Jesus' name over her would have been overstepping that trust. I said my goodbyes and made my exit (inwardly breathing a sigh of relief). What was I thinking? Glad that was over with, I thought to myself.
It's not always easy to answer a call to ministry on a daily basis or at any given moment - even when you're a 'minister'. There are some things that are just easier for us to stomach than others and we all have been pushed outside our comfort zones. That's how we grow. I knew God had been stretching me again that day - especially when I returned home and began looking at the lectionary psalm. And there it was in the 2nd verse: "Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world." The language of God. I felt ashamed and a little embarassed of my thoughts and feelings earlier. As it turns out, I was the abnormal one in the room. If God does it without words, telling the glory of God, why can't we. Perhaps that's exactly what she did on that weekday afternoon cold call.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Beachcomber
Some time has passed since my last post. I've had a flurry of activity and a number of good ideas for a post, but failed to make the time.
As we near the end of summer, no doubt many have found their way to the coast this year for at least a day apart (if not a week or weekend). The beach used to be my favorite destination as a child. Sandcastles, mudpies, waves, shells. As I grew into adolescence, it became less inviting as I worried about weight, appearance, and self-image. Now as an adult, I worry more over skin cancer and parking tickets. But, one thing that has never seemed to change is the beautiful spectrum of people you'll find along the shores of a beach. Young, old, short, fat, tan, albino, freckles, leather-like skin, wrinkles, love-handles, one-piece, bikini briefs, sun dress, infants, shades, hats, surfers, umbrellas, wet suits, loafers, bare feet, laughter, tall, chiseled, tears, families, widows, retirees, Asian, southern, tourist, Yankee, ebony, local, burnt. There is no shortage of shapes and sizes, colors or dialects, personalities or species. They all come to the beach. Some for better reasons than others. Some who like to be on the pier, some who like to be under it, some who like to walk by it, some who swim just past it, and some who want to be nowhere near a pier. (The same could be said of the sand or the ocean or anything else characteristic of coastlines). They all come to the beach and they all, for some unknown reason, go through this unique ritual of exposing themselves in a gesture of vulnerability to the elements. They let it all hang out, or at least parts of themselves. They're on vacation and so they just let go. And, for better or worse, people see more of each other than they would at any other place or time. And I'm certainly implying more than just skin exposure. The beach is one of the few places people let down their guard and become the most free and open and emptied. More so even than the church. It's quite a remarkable thing. Even folks who opt for a t-shirt, or pants, or are as self-conscious as me, are more willing to give in to this ritual, knowing that everyone else is foolishly involved. It's a beautiful thing to watch and to realize that perhaps this is just a small snapshot of the foolishness of the kingdom of God. Brian McLaren says: "I think the best glimpses of the kingdom of God come to us unexpectedly in everyday life- and the sermons we hear help us keep our eyes open so that when those moments come, we don't sleepwalk through them...We shed tears because we were given a glimpse of the way life was created to be and is not..."
At times, these last few weeks have been a blur for me. But, I pray this summer you've shared glimpses of the kingdom, rather than sleepwalking through. If not, perhaps you're due for a trip to the coast.
As we near the end of summer, no doubt many have found their way to the coast this year for at least a day apart (if not a week or weekend). The beach used to be my favorite destination as a child. Sandcastles, mudpies, waves, shells. As I grew into adolescence, it became less inviting as I worried about weight, appearance, and self-image. Now as an adult, I worry more over skin cancer and parking tickets. But, one thing that has never seemed to change is the beautiful spectrum of people you'll find along the shores of a beach. Young, old, short, fat, tan, albino, freckles, leather-like skin, wrinkles, love-handles, one-piece, bikini briefs, sun dress, infants, shades, hats, surfers, umbrellas, wet suits, loafers, bare feet, laughter, tall, chiseled, tears, families, widows, retirees, Asian, southern, tourist, Yankee, ebony, local, burnt. There is no shortage of shapes and sizes, colors or dialects, personalities or species. They all come to the beach. Some for better reasons than others. Some who like to be on the pier, some who like to be under it, some who like to walk by it, some who swim just past it, and some who want to be nowhere near a pier. (The same could be said of the sand or the ocean or anything else characteristic of coastlines). They all come to the beach and they all, for some unknown reason, go through this unique ritual of exposing themselves in a gesture of vulnerability to the elements. They let it all hang out, or at least parts of themselves. They're on vacation and so they just let go. And, for better or worse, people see more of each other than they would at any other place or time. And I'm certainly implying more than just skin exposure. The beach is one of the few places people let down their guard and become the most free and open and emptied. More so even than the church. It's quite a remarkable thing. Even folks who opt for a t-shirt, or pants, or are as self-conscious as me, are more willing to give in to this ritual, knowing that everyone else is foolishly involved. It's a beautiful thing to watch and to realize that perhaps this is just a small snapshot of the foolishness of the kingdom of God. Brian McLaren says: "I think the best glimpses of the kingdom of God come to us unexpectedly in everyday life- and the sermons we hear help us keep our eyes open so that when those moments come, we don't sleepwalk through them...We shed tears because we were given a glimpse of the way life was created to be and is not..."
At times, these last few weeks have been a blur for me. But, I pray this summer you've shared glimpses of the kingdom, rather than sleepwalking through. If not, perhaps you're due for a trip to the coast.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Lessons from my little brother
Everyone else in the world was getting $10 to $20 a week for doing nothing. Somehow, in the middle of spring, back in the early 90’s, we managed to negotiate an allowance of $5 a week if we did our chores. I still remember hauling the trash all the way to the other side of the yard and securing them in the bins behind the camper. (Even using a push mower to cut ½ the yard). My other friends didn’t have to do anything specifically – just stay out of trouble I guess, and the green would fly. My brother and I, on the other hand, had to work for it. But, we were finally moving up in the world at $5 a week. We saved our money from month to month and when the time came, we could get virtually whatever we wanted at the store.
I was in love with dinosaurs and Dino-riders were all the craze. These humans and space creatures lived in a world where they harnessed the power of dinosaurs for transportation, work, and war. The evil dinos were controlled by electrode metal helmets, or masks, that were branded on them. Of course, the humans didn’t manipulate dino brain waves, they simply trained and cared for them. But, that’s far more than you need to know. The point is, I spent my afternoons arranging these scenarios and battles and I just had to have every dino-rider in the collection.
I had already spent my allowance the week before, so my purchasing power was limited that day. My brother, on the other hand, had over $25 saved up when we walked in Kmart that evening. On the 3rd toy isle, bottom shelf, sandwiched between the other dino-rider gear, was the T-rex - the largest and my favorite. Until now, I hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. Even Lionel Toy Warehouse was sold out. Of course, I had a fit. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. I even bartered for a cash-advance – but my mom would have none of it. I had less than $10 and there was no way I was going home with a T-rex that day. In the midst of that unruly scene, which lasted for our entire trip to Kmart that evening, my brother made an unlikely gesture.
Just before we were leaving, he offered to give me the rest of the money I needed to buy the T-rex. I went home with the most awesome walking dinosaur you could get in 1990. And my brother went home that day with a pack of plastic green army soldiers for less than $2.
It wasn’t the last time he gave up something of himself for me so that I might be able to have what I wanted or so that I might be happy. From the beginning, my brother always had the gift of a compassionate heart. Over the years, as I’ve looked back on some of those moments, I’ve been ashamed at some of my actions and reactions toward my little brother and continually amazed about the lessons he was teaching me. As I considered the stories of David and Jonathan and our call to friendship, I realize I’ve been far more on the receiving end of those friendships than perhaps I’ve ever been on the self-giving end.
I was in love with dinosaurs and Dino-riders were all the craze. These humans and space creatures lived in a world where they harnessed the power of dinosaurs for transportation, work, and war. The evil dinos were controlled by electrode metal helmets, or masks, that were branded on them. Of course, the humans didn’t manipulate dino brain waves, they simply trained and cared for them. But, that’s far more than you need to know. The point is, I spent my afternoons arranging these scenarios and battles and I just had to have every dino-rider in the collection.
I had already spent my allowance the week before, so my purchasing power was limited that day. My brother, on the other hand, had over $25 saved up when we walked in Kmart that evening. On the 3rd toy isle, bottom shelf, sandwiched between the other dino-rider gear, was the T-rex - the largest and my favorite. Until now, I hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. Even Lionel Toy Warehouse was sold out. Of course, I had a fit. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. I even bartered for a cash-advance – but my mom would have none of it. I had less than $10 and there was no way I was going home with a T-rex that day. In the midst of that unruly scene, which lasted for our entire trip to Kmart that evening, my brother made an unlikely gesture.
Just before we were leaving, he offered to give me the rest of the money I needed to buy the T-rex. I went home with the most awesome walking dinosaur you could get in 1990. And my brother went home that day with a pack of plastic green army soldiers for less than $2.
It wasn’t the last time he gave up something of himself for me so that I might be able to have what I wanted or so that I might be happy. From the beginning, my brother always had the gift of a compassionate heart. Over the years, as I’ve looked back on some of those moments, I’ve been ashamed at some of my actions and reactions toward my little brother and continually amazed about the lessons he was teaching me. As I considered the stories of David and Jonathan and our call to friendship, I realize I’ve been far more on the receiving end of those friendships than perhaps I’ve ever been on the self-giving end.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Fish eggs in the chimney
This weekend I was called into the kitchen. "Norman," my wife yelped. The "come here right now" was filled in by the tone and pitch in her voice. "Look at this," she said as we hovered over the stove top. "What? What is it?" "Something gross," she said. I must point out that my wife keeps a beautiful kitchen. She's always punctual about cleaning up behind herself or putting away things when she's finished with them. Well trained in her early childhood, I imagine, and orderly. If there's anything stacked up or messed up in the kitchen, 9 out 10 times, that would be my fault. I may be the dishwasher, but I tend to put that off for 6-18 hours if possible. Whatever this thing was on the stove, I assumed it was something to do with me, or an insect, or something to do with an old parsonage. I was only able to see it once she had picked it up with a cleaning cloth and again I inquired what it was. "I don't know. Fish eggs in the chimney or something." Fish eggs in the chimney. Wow! We had been going too fast and for too long. These last two weeks were a bit stressful and overwhelming for us both and we really needed a break for just a day or two. We'd been hearing things (our cat too) that sounded like they were coming from the chimney last week and came to the conclusion it must be some of the barn swallows at the house flying and perching around the chimney. What she meant to say was bird eggs in the chimney, but the damage was already done. We've had next to no rain in the last 2 weeks but somehow there were now fish eggs in the chimney. It was official, we had reached burnout and we would be taking the next two days off from the lake in the sky to head to the ocean by the shore. If you ever have fish eggs in the chimney, I recommend it. I think it's just the remedy needed - that, and a few extra hours of sleep. As for the fish eggs...well, it turned out to be a small piece of broccoli that had fallen out of the stir-fry earlier in the week and somehow managed to avoid my wife's tidy kitchen abilities. May you find sabbath space and time today.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Messy life & blog titles
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It's been nice to have my wife home a few days this summer. Life moves so fast at times and our schedules so different - even in LA. Last month was our 3 year anniversary. Life is indeed good. But, life together is all the more beautiful. Not like a sunset, or a postcard, or a national park beautiful. More like - stuck on the side of the road w/ a flat tire in the pouring rain, but there's no one else i'd rather be stuck with - beautiful. Life is very, very messy. If someone famous didn't once say that, they should have. It is, after all, the intricate, ornate, messiness that makes it beautiful. Over the last three years we've been blessed to navigate these washed-out trails, grueling switchbacks, and unmarked trails together.
For those of you following this blog for a while now or if you've just recently stumbled over it, you're probably wondering why in the world the name of your blog is so long (or where in the world would you come up with a title like 'those to whom love is a stranger')? I'm glad u asked. Well, when I decided to begin the blog this Lent, I found some inspiration from a fellow colleague and respected elder in the WNC Conference who titles his blog 'Bear witness to the love of God in this world.' As soon as I saw the title, I knew where he had taken the language and I knew what my blog would be called. It comes from the wedding liturgy as a benediction in the UM Book of Worship for a Service of Christian Marriage. If there was one thing i paid significant detail to for our wedding - it was the order of service. As we looked over it together, one thing we both absolutely loved and easily agreed upon was choosing the benediction to be: "Bear witness to the love of God in this world, so that those to whom love is a stranger may find in you generous friends." It was the charge to the entire congregation and a charge to us, a newly wed couple. We've never forgotten those words. I pray we never will. They meant so much to us in that moment because there we were experiencing a measure of the fullness of God's love in relationship with each other, and yet at the same time we were deeply aware of so many all over the world (and some right there in our own friends and family) for whom love is a stranger.
To blog and write has been a great discipline for me thus far. Part of my hope is that maybe, just maybe, these reflections, as i too journey on through this life in stages, might somehow be a spark for those to whom love is a stranger. Life is messy. Love is elusive, even foreign. What's new? But in our deepest being, it's there. And, if we're lucky, it's embodied by those we meet along the way. May those to whom love is a stranger find in you (a) generous friend.
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