Middle School Retreat

Some folks say that if there's one group of kids they just could not work with, it would be middleschoolers. I, on the other hand, find that group of 6-8th graders remarkable. If I had to pick a favorite age group to work with, you guessed it, it would be 11-14. Perhaps it's because they're so wide open to possibilities and not quite jaded enough to wreck their imagination or inquisitive nature. They're awkward and they know it. And like most folks, they just want to be valued, appreciated, and to know someone cares. Last weekend, I spent Friday and Saturday with about 400 of these incredible youth from all over the WNC Conference. I was exhausted driving home at 2am to return and lead worship services on Sunday, but it was worth every minute. Just imagine 400, 11-14 year-olds gathered under the stars in an outdoor amphitheatre by the lake. A holy hush seemed to calm their spirits that night and with utmost reverence they began singing "How great is our God" in a low whisper. God seemed to embrace us all around with the breeze from the shore, the twinkle of stars above, and the flames of the campfire dancing before us. It was a beautiful moment and a beautiful weekend. One young man in my cabin shared in our group that evening. "This weekend has been like the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's like I'm just awakened inside."
The best part was seeing how God was working in the lives of all of those youth and the unique masterpiece of their lives. God always amazes and inspires me when he speaks through such young people. It reminded me of a friend who wrote to me last week about being appointed to serve a pewless community of homeless, pimps, and pushers on the streets of Asheville. He said: "Resurrection feels closer than it has in a long time. Hope the same is true for you." Thank you Brian. You are in my prayers (along with Alex, Cameron, Jake, Ethan, Jonathan, Sam, Austin, Justin, Miles, Damian, Collin, and Will). Resurrection feels closer than it has in a long time. Hope the same is true for all of you.

Resurrection appearance

I continue to be moved by Nouwen's quote about resurrection every day. Last week, I spent an afternoon with a wonderful lady confined and strapped to a bed due to Parkinson's disease. Her legs are padded and secured by foam for her own safety when she has what she calls "fits." She's been living with the symptoms for over a decade, but recently it has progressed further. Barring a miracle, there's not much chance of reversing the progression of such a disease. But don't tell that to her. She's determined that she's going to get better and she "tries her best." Between apologies for her lack of control and inability to realize what she's doing with her arms, she shared with me about her Easter memories. How she missed dyed eggs and how one time she and her siblings had gotten new Easter clothes and shoes, went with her family to show them off, and then got stuck in the mud along the way. I felt a lot of mixed emotions that afternoon. It was hard to see her struggle to figure out how to get her mouth to create suction around a straw in order to tease out even a taste of water. And yet, there was something beautiful about just being able to sit there, hold it to her lips, wait patiently and encourage her. I thought a lot about my grandmother that afternoon. I didn't get to see her before she died. She never had Parkinson's, but she was starting to exhibit signs of dementia. Before leaving, I offered her some more water and shared with her the post-resurrection story of Thomas in John's gospel. It's amazing how scripture comes alive in context. I read aloud a story she had probably heard many times. Part way through, her hands began their usual uncontrollable shaking. As I continued, I reached over and took her hand in mine and for a moment it stopped. A broken world often responds to touch, even just for a moment. I came to the verses where Jesus instructs Thomas to reach out and touch the scars in his hands and side and Thomas confesses "My Lord and my God." Her shaking had already returned, but in that moment I had an overwhelming sense that I was touching the scars of "my Lord and my God." Another day, another resurrection appearance...

Signs of resurrection

Henri Nouwen once wrote: "While many question whether the resurrection really took place, I wonder if it doesn't take place every day if we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear."

Mark's Gospel says it was very early in the morning, on the first day of the week. It was Monday- very early in the morning, on the second day of the week. After an exhausting first day of the week Easter celebration, I struggled to make myself get out of bed and off to prison for a morning Disciple Bible Study. As I drove down 74, with sleep in my eyes, my body kept saying "what were you thinking?" Why did I agree to stick around to lead an Easter Monday study? I knew if I just found a way to make an effort, God would bless it. As I fought to shrug off those voices calling me back to sleep in my bedroom tomb, I began to pray. Lord, show me evidence of your resurrection in this place today. As I pulled into the parking lot and walked to the gate, a crew of workers were landscaping the massive compound. Even in the middle of these massive slabs of rectangular concrete and reinforced barbed wire fences green grass was thriving everywhere. So alive, it had to be cut back. In a matter of seconds God was already opening me to resurrection in this place. Many of the guys today were also reluctant to show this morning - especially given they were going to be fully searched and padded down right before they entered the chapel. I can only imagine how frustrating and dehumanizing. I know how hard it is for folks outside to get up the courage or make the effort to come to church or be part of a Bible Study. But, then imagine, once you get there you're searched and padded down before you could even begin. As we shared prayer requests, I quickly learned that yesterday had been a joyous day for Chapel here too. More than a dozen men were baptized into the family of God. One of the young men was there and praising God for this new gift and new life. I had a new brother in Christ! Alleluia! He's not here. Resurrection has already spread everywhere - even by the second day of the week. That's worth getting up for.

You'll never wash me

The bathtub was ready. The drain was plugged and a pond of fresh warm water filled the tub almost a ¼ full. It was time for his bath. So, I called to Simon and down the hall he came and stopped in front of the bathroom door, staring intently as if to say “what now?” I motioned him in by the tub and he joined me standing there in front of the sink. Then, ever so gently, I scooped him into my arms, holding him securely to my chest. I stepped into the tub, gradually crouching down into the water to place him in the warm bath. As soon as his feet submerged into the 4” deep pool, he let loose a horrendous yell. You’d have thought I pierced his side with a spear. My gut reaction was to stop and to raise him up just above the water’s surface, but that was a mistake too. The wailing continued. And, while I held him securely, I was not holding his legs together. So, now his legs are flailing in every direction and kicking water this way and that. His whole body was squirming and Kathryn, who had joined us in the bathroom to help, was freaking out. She didn’t know what to do, but she managed to close the bathroom door just before I let him loose onto the bath mat. He moved as far away from the tub as possible, but the door was shut. So, he did the only thing he knew to do and began treading linoleum like there was no tomorrow. He was determined he would somehow dig his way out under the door. This is the stuff sitcoms are made of. Part of me was laughing inside, while the other part of me was trying to figure out how in the world I would ever be able to give him a bath. After minute or so, he gave up on digging his way out and moved back to the rug. I moved close to try to reassure him before picking him up but the cries started again. This time, he decided to quickly barricade himself behind the toilet tank - wedged between the trash can and the sink. Few would consider such a locale as the promised land but for the moment, it was salvation at last. That is, until we removed the trash can and reached back behind the toilet and slowly pulled him back out. For several minutes, we tried to reassure him and shower him with affection while Kathryn and I verbally tried to figure out what we could do next. Kathryn was feeling heartbroken and ready to abandon the bathing operation. She couldn’t bear to see him in such agony. I, on the other hand, had a cat with four wet feet sequestered in a bathroom and I hadn’t come this far to turn back now. I was determined to try again, this time using the flap of skin on the back of his neck to lift and hold him. Supposedly, that’s how their mother would carry them as kittens. So, it was hard to say no when being guided by a remembrance of a mother’s care. Although still noticeably unhappy, Simon cooperated much easier. As I crouched and placed him in the now lukewarm water, he yowled again. After an initial squirm, he seemed to settle in. That is, until we actually began to pour a cup of water on him. It was the most ungodly, gut-wrenching cry I have ever heard from a cat. For a moment, I actually considered that I was really inflicting bodily injury on him. After a few more cups of water the yowls quieted and the bath began. And let me tell you, it was the quickest, most uncoordinated bath in the history of bathing. You should have seen us. My knees were giving out from crouching while I struggled to hold him with both hands and Kathryn was timidly and cautiously trying to bathe him - pausing with every movement, unsure of what Simon might say or do next. In less than two minutes, it was all over. Simon had been washed (or at least part of him), the bathroom floor was a wet, furry mess, I was beginning to regain feeling in my legs, and Kathryn was beginning to loose the ringing in her ears from the otherworldly yowling. All this on a Wednesday - with presiding at my first baptism to look forward to on Sunday. I sure hope it will be a little easier. But, then again, given the audacity of the Gospel message we encounter through the ministry of Jesus, perhaps we should go to our baptism kicking and screaming as well.