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.

Pray for surf

Since visiting my friend in Hawaii in high school, I've always wanted to learn how to surf. There's something that just draws me to it, a majesty, a mystery, and thrill of it all. Just coasting on the motor power of tide. You and the ocean. You and the water. You and God. My friend always said of surfing "for many, that's church." We even did a few of our own dawn patrols with body boards. (Never actually any surfing, but I began to get an idea of what it meant).
Yesterday was my first trip to a beach in almost a year. A rainstorm had just rumbled through and the last mists of drizzle fanned across the windshield just as I parked the car by the access. Greeted by sand dunes and the wave of sea oats, the beach was empty of human traffic (and rightfully so moments after a rainstorm). I had almost forgotten what it felt like to meander along the coastline with the ebb and flow of the tide and the gusts of wind passing over you. Flocks of seagulls were standing guard at the shoreline, staring out at a breathing ocean. Walking on, I now noticed several yards ahead of me the first signs of humanity. A man in a sleek, black, body suit, with board in hand, darted into the ocean and paddled away from shore. As I moved closer to that spot, looking out to sea, I realized I was not the only one on the beach after all. (Perhaps just the only one on the shore). As many as twenty or thirty guys in sleek, black suits bobbed up and down on the waves like buoys. They looked like a whole flock of pelicans floating along after their last meal and plotting their next move. Or, like a bunch of nondescript penguins staring out into an endless horizon of sea waiting for something, or watching intently for something they knew was there, but just couldn't see it yet. "What is this that even the wind and the waves he commands."
For several minutes, I too (stood from the shore) stared out taking it all in and remembered how my friend had associated surfing with church. Yes, the Church is just adventurous enough to leave the shoreline and paddle out into a watery abyss. Just vigilant enough to diligently keep watch for something they know is there and yet can't quite see it. Just audacious enough to try wave after wave and trust that the guiding power of the Most High will guide them through the foamy surf of life. But then again, the Church has also been known to be so focused on itself, waiting for the perfect wave, that it's oblivious to the life that carries on along the shore. And then again, how do you know which wave is the one, the one you've been waiting for? Who's to say it's this one and not that one? Why is it that all thirty surfers, respond to the tide and a different current? But then, there's something about the nature of each wave that assures that each ride ends with one emerging completely baptized and breathless from foamy waters - perhaps even commissioned to set out again for a moment of nature's raw communion. I'm not sure what it is, but for a few brief moments, I'm mesmerized and perplexed by this thing they call church. I've always wanted to learn how to surf. Maybe someday we will.

Filling Containers

Almost six months ago, I was running around from Dollar Tree to Dollar General trying to find appropriately sized storage containers (plastic shoeboxes) and 18 of them at that. After trips to Monroe, Rockingham, and Wadesboro, I had finally obtained all 18. Then came the announcements. I shared with our youth about the Project Agape initiative in Armenia and also with one of our United Methodist Women groups. Everyone seemed on board and excited to do something. I was determined that our youth and church would be involved in this mission to Armenia again and that this year we would write notes as well. Despite the deadlines set, it was like pulling teeth to get some of the boxes back. Some folks never returned calls, some dropped their stuff off by the garage the night before, some had only managed to get their container half full while others had containers overflowing, and one lost the container but had a tote full of gifts. The next 48 hours, I found myself scrambling to repack the containers so each were filled, sealed, and contents appropriately labeled (even adding a picture with the cards of our youth group). The plan was to deliver them to the Mission Response Center above Lake Norman on my way to Franklin, NC. By the time I was packed and my trunk filled with boxes, it was already after 5. So, I made a few phone calls and arranged to meet a friend in Denver that evening who would deliver them to the Mission Center the following morning. What a great guy. On the way, I found a CVS and purchased another container for 3x the cost of the others, just so the extra supplies someone bought could get to another child in Armenia. By 9pm that evening, I had successfully transferred the boxes from my trunk to my friend's and was on the road again with three hours of driving still ahead.

Flash forward 6 months... and I'm preparing to be away with Confirmands on a retreat this weekend. Despite being away, I had to somehow coordinate a few mission/outreach opportunities for Saturday so that everyone has an option or ability to participate in our District's "One Great Day of Mission." I know the concept and purpose of this event/effort is admirable. Yet, for me, it's just bad timing. It's really frustrating trying to organize others to be in some form of active mission on a Saturday, when I'm leaving town for a youth retreat. Then it happened. In yesterday's mail, I discovered a card marked "brought back to America for mailing from a friend of Armenia." My mind fluttered with ideas and flashed back to the crazy ordeal of boxes 6 months ago. And then came a beautiful peace and joy. I knew why we had done it and the card in my hand addressed to Lilesville UMC was worth it all. Giving of ourselves and reaching out in unfamiliar ways can be much like the experience of filling plastic containers for children in Armenia. We buy and arrange things we hope a child might enjoy or need and then pack them away in a plastic container, snapping the lid. What have we done and what will become of it? Somehow, I think whatever happens this Saturday God will be present. Even in the midst of doubt or anxiety, bad timing or poor planning. I hope somehow in six months, or even six years, from now we might look back and smile knowing it was worth it all. For now, my heart is strangely warmed and my prayers are with all those who will be filling containers again this Saturday. Thanks be to God

So what?

I'm finding one of the most rewarding ways to start my week is in prison. There is something about the biblical text that comes alive in new ways when studied and interpreted among a group of inmates. I'm new to this experience of facilitating Disciple Bible study at a state prison, but the guys I work with have remarkable spirit. We were discussing the significance of call and covenant in the Biblical narrative (especially with regard to Abraham). Someone piped up..."well you know, God's call is for everybody, not just a few. God calls everyone of us." As our discussion continued, we found ourselves trying to answer how we know God is calling us to this and not something else. I suggested we try to tackle it from the narrative of Abraham. Were there times for Abraham or Sarah when they questioned whether or not God was actually calling them to something? The responses were varied and vibrant but perhaps the one i'll remember most was this: "So what! So what if I have to wait around 15 or 20 years for God's promise to become real. So what if I have to sacrifice. God's put me here for a reason and I can complain or rebel about the fact that I'm in here and all that I've lost, or I can give thanks to God that he is doing something in me and that he is shaping me and that I can be in here and study his word. So what if I have to go through all that like Abraham. I'm not going to miss my blessing."