Christmas & Panentheism!

N. Wilder’s "Grace Confounding” states about Jesus, “He came when he wasn’t expected as he always does, though a few on the night-shift had the release early. He came where he wasn’t expected as he always does, though a few Magis were tipped off...he is always one step ahead of us.”

In a similar vein, one of my favorite television shows, until it was cancelled, was “Joan of Arcadia” which even in its title reminds one of Joan of Arc and her visions of God. The show takes place in a ficitional town named “Arcadia” where Joan Girardi lives. The show was the creation of Barbara Hall, a spiritual seeker herself, who dares us to consider that God may be one of us. In the show God appears in a variety of cryptic personages: as a bum, a goth teenager, a little girl, etc. Please don’t get hung up on the imagery, especially as Joan Osborne’s song, “What if God Was One of Us?” plays at each show’s opening. It seems sacrilegious at first glance to see God, the Divine, as “a stranger on a bus, a slob like one of us (one of Osborne’s lines),” but Jesus’ incarnation in Bethlehem dares us to broaden our horizons and ask how this world would be different if we did treat the people we would normally ignore as if they were God. I’m not suggesting some heresy that we treat people as if they were gods in an idolatrous way, but as if they were carrying the precious imago dei, the Image of God, within them. That doesn’t seem to be too much to ask, especially if the end result is worth the risk.

Perhaps you have heard the story of the monastery that was dying for lack of new monks. There was a negative spirit that permeated the whole place, evidenced by much jealousy and blatant apathy toward one another in the community. In desperation, the monastery’s leader went to the hut of a wise hermit deep in the forest. The abbot described the lack of love among the monks and asked for advice about what could be done to foster better relations. The hermit simply responded by saying, “The Messiah is among you.” He said nothing more.

Upon his return to the monastery the abbot told the monks what the hermit had said. As a result, people who were once either envious or apathetic about one another started asking themselves, “Could the Messiah be Brother Andrew the baker, who humbly does his task?” or “Could the Messiah be Brother Simon the chief gardener, who with great kindness provides us with food to eat?” Their wonderings included everybody and the effect was miraculous. Because of the wise hermit’s statement the monks began treating each other with such love and respect that it indeed seemed that the Messiah was among them. The monastery began to grow and thrive because of their newfound love for one another.

The Messiah is among us, too. Of course, I know that Jesus is the Messiah, the one-and-only. However, we’ll never begin to experience the power of the gospel until we SEE Jesus in everybody, both friend and foe around us. Open my eyes, Lord!

What We Will Remember About Bush

The Iraqi reporter who threw the shoes at President Bush over the weekend was a pretty good shot, and the President has better relexes than I thought. Whether we would like to have been the guy throwing the shoes or not, one has to say that the President acted with great aplomb to dodge the tosses and his reaction was one of grace and humor. I haven't always been a fan of Bush, but he's got chutzpah. As much as I disdain the awkward pompous way that he walks and the stumble-mumble of the way he talks, I have to remember that at heart he's a decent man. I know this from the personal experience of my father-in-law, Guy Godwin.

Mr. Godwin, as we all called him out of deference to his years as a high school principal, was one of the most decent and faithful men I have ever known. He died 8 years ago at age 66 of a heart attack. He loved everyone regardless of their station in life, was forthright, a man of great convictions and few words. He exuded leadership. He attracted "lost boys" and mentored many of us into manhood.

He met George W. Bush when Bush was part-owner of the Texas Rangers. He was at the game with his long-time friend Gene Moore of Lake City, father of financier Darla Moore. They were sitting in the owner's box, and I'm sure Mr. Godwin, would have preferred sitting off to the side observing the crowd where he could analyze the situation. He was good at sizing up people.

What he relayed to us about what had impressed him about George Bush was when one of Bush's daughters, a teenager at the time, was sitting up front in Mr. Godwin's assigned seat. Bush spoke to whichever one it was and said, "_____, Get up. That's Mr. Godwin's seat." He didn't have to do that. Mr. Godwin was content where he was, but it showed common concern and decency for Bush to make his daughter move. This simple act of courtesy stuck with Mr. Godwin, a man who tended to always vote for Democratic candidates. He measured Bush and found a man who wasn't given to privilege and pecking orders, just a man who did what he thought was right.

As much as George Bush has chosen wrongly over his presidency, I'm glad that he chose correctly at Texas Stadium. He taught his daughter manners, and he exhibited the common touch. I hope to remember Bush in a better light than I've pondered his leadership. Clinton may have been the consummate politician, but Bush deserves a little respect for his fanfare for the common man, at least for my father-in-law. For that I'm grateful.

Gaudete Sunday

The third Sunday of Advent is traditionally called Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete is an Old English word for “joy” that comes from the Latin, gaudium, which also means, “joy.” I like this Sunday's pink Advent candle. It's pink because it's Gaudete Sunday, and we shift for a moment from penitential purple to a joyful pink. The essence of the Gospel and of Christmas is joy! Someone said it well, “Joy is not the absence of suffering; it is the presence of God.” That echoes John Wesley’s last words, “Best of all, God is with us!” Advent is all about Emmanuel – the God who is with us through turbulent times and ones that are triumphant. I need Gaudete Sunday.

But, joy is a difficult emotion for many of us to elicit at this time of the year. There are so many unfulfilled dreams, too much poverty, family tensions, grief, and personal difficulties that deflate our sense of joy. I read about a man who just had his annual physical and was waiting for the doctor’s initial report. After a few minutes the doctor came in with his charts in hand and said: “There’s no reason why you can’t live a completely normal life as long as you don’t try to enjoy it.”

Too many of us have heard a report like that. The news hasn’t been kind to us with the economy in the tank. There are unresolved contingencies that concern us to the point of extreme fatigue. Our supply of joy is at or near empty on the fuel tank of our lives. Jesus, however, is the one described as “the joy of heaven to earth come down.” A father asked his child why she liked her Sunday School teacher so much. She answered, “Because her eyes twinkle like she’s laughing inside all the time.” If Jesus is our joy the corners of our mouths can perpetually keep turning upwards.

As much as I believe that statement, it sounds too trite and too easy to my ears. Joy, as I have experienced it, isn’t something that can be manufactured. It most often just happens! Nevertheless, I do know some things that anyone can do to help the process along. One thing to do is to help somebody. Remember that the “Grinch who stole Christmas” had a heart “two sizes too small.” Doing something altruistic for someone else enlarges our heart enough to not only let others in, but also joy.

Another idea for joy-enhancement is to associate with people and places that warm your soul. I’m not talking about being raucous, but surrounding yourself with events and people who are heartwarming. I have to hand it to television at this time of year. Some of the holiday specials actually make the holidays more special. Christmas caroling with the family or church group is another way to spark your heart’s ignition. Christmas Eve Candlelight Services has been a source of peaceful joy since my first recollection of one as a child. Every year I try to attend one. It fills me with a true sense of worship and joy.

Another big help for my holiday blues is a computer analogy. I have the ability to delete emails that I receive and either don’t want or need any more. What I have found, however, is that deleting them doesn’t really get rid of them. They’re just moved from my sight and placed in a “Deleted Items Folder.” What that means is that I can get back to them at the click of a mouse. If I really want them to completely disappear I have to hit not only “Delete,” but also “Purge.” Let me tell you, this image has helped me get rid of a lot of stressors in my life. To recapture joy I have to hit “Purge” or the ugly head of worry rebounds. Deleting things doesn’t finish them off enough for my obsessive-compulsive tendencies, so I hit “purge” as often as I can in order to preserve joy and foster happiness. This holiday season, no matter what you do or how you enter into a new state of being, my prayer is that all of us will experience joy!

She's Here!!!

Well, Narcie's wait is over and Evangeline Grace Jeter made her advent Sunday afternoon. Narcie preached at St. John's, Fort Mill and went into labor afterwards. Now that's a moving sermon! A couple of hours later Evangeline was born, 8 lbs. 7 oz and 19.5 inches long. She is beautiful. Enoch has adjusted well as he has greeted his baby sister. All are fine. I'm back in Columbia doing DS stuff and firing one last load of Christmas ornaments for all the clergy in the district. We have our Christmas party Thursday night so time is literally of the essence. Then it's back to Rock Hill to see my girls and guys, including Cindy/Grammie who is in the photo holding our new arrival! Advent is wonderful! Evangeline Grace came on the first Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of a new Christian year. Cindy and I will celebrate our 33rd anniversary on December 20! It's a wonderful time of year.

It's a fresh start all the way around. We knew the baby was coming, just like we know Christmas is coming, and I know I should have been working on those ornaments back in August, but the actual events catch us unawares sometimes. Christ's advent changes things, and I'm excited to see how Evangeline's birth changes us and the world. She's no Jesus, but wait a minute, aren't we all?

Advent and a New Grandbaby

My daughter, Narcie, is GREAT with child. Our granddaughter’s due date is December 9, but we’re all hoping it happens this weekend. The first Sunday of Advent would be wonderfully appropriate. Advent season is one of my favorites, but not because of Christmas. The season is actually less about Jesus’ first coming as it is a preparation for His second advent. Sure, it can be adapted to prepare us for the holidays and the stress of having everything purchased and prepared, but Advent season is really about Judgment Day, not Christmas Day.

I thoroughly enjoyed the movie versions of The Chronicles of Narnia. The books by C.S. Lewis were formative in my faith and especially my understanding of God’s nature. Aslan is one, if not the main character in the series. It doesn’t take much imagination to view this lion as Jesus, the Lion of Judah. He is at once ferocious and frightening, but also one who in great strength lays down his very life. Aslan is no ordinary pussycat. Aslan is to be worshipped and feared. Aslan is loyal, kind, and caring. The word that keeps coming to mind is “strength.” He exudes strength.

I like singing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” but it’s also good to know that Jesus-Meek-And-Mild is Jesus-the-Christ. He’s more like William Wallace in Braveheart than Fred Rogers in “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.” I take great comfort in Jesus who pardons and is lenient, but I also serve a Risen Lord whose strength is a bewildering mixture of humility and power.

I literally don’t want to throw the Baby (Christ Child) out with the bath water, but it’s Advent season that corrects the soft-serve Jesus that captures the rest of the Christian year’s attention. Jesus-the-Judge is a Lord who inspires me to service, not out of fear, but out of a desire to pay homage to the One who is worthy.

Advent makes me think about the end of life and its measure. In The Imitation of Christ, St. Thomas á Kempis wrote: “When we stand before the Judge Eternal, he will not ask what we said but what we did.” Advent-living forces me to think about the eternal consequences of my actions. Christmas-living lets me live in a fantasy world until January when the credit card bills come due.

The ultimate Advent message is to get ready for Judgment Day. Watch your actions, cram for your finals, love God and neighbor, serve the poor, give away earthly treasures to gain heavenly ones, be good stewards of planet earth, and love, love, love! There’s more, of course, but that’s enough for today and tomorrow ad infinitum.

Someone summed it up well when they asked these questions: “When you stand at the Pearly Gates, would you rather be told you believed too much or you believed too little? When you stand at the Pearly Gates, would you rather be told you cared too much or you cared too little? When you stand at the Pearly Gates, would you rather be told you tried too hard or you didn't try hard enough? When you stand at the Pearly Gates, would you rather be told you were too forgiving or you were too judgmental? When you stand at the Pearly Gates, would you rather be told, “Well done, thou hyper-hopeful and risk-taking servant,” or “Well done, thou sober and play-it-safe servant”? Judgment Day is coming, ready or not.

Thanksgiving Thoughts

It’s hard to pray for my favorite team in the upcoming Carolina-Clemson game. Prayer and sporting events haven’t worked out that well for me in the past. In 113 years of football, South Carolina has only won 8 or more games three times. Need I say more? If I pray for the best team to win, that team might not necessarily be mine. So, this year I know exactly what kind of prayer I should pray. It should be a prayer of thanksgiving. The same could be true for Clemson folks, too, and perhaps for fans of about every team. I have a lot to be thankful for as a Carolina fan, and more so as a human being.

There are so many blessings that are better than the vicissitudes of sports. There are many good and great things that overshadow an entire world’s bad news. In the midst of the somber we can either give in to depression or count our blessings. We all know which is better for us, even when it’s tough to do.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving? In a village in Denmark, there is a beautifully landscaped cemetery next to the community church. A visitor noted that at least a third of the gravestones there have the inscription, “Tak,” written upon them. That’s Danish for “Thanks.” What a wonderful sentiment whether it’s meant as gratitude towards God for blessing us with life, or as thanks to the people who visit and helped us get through life. Annie Dillard captures this same attitude in her words, “I think that the dying pray at the last not ‘please,’ but ‘thank you,’ as a guest thanks his or her host at the door.” “Thanks!” aims positive energy towards God and others.

Without thanksgiving our prayers are too much about us. We end up treating God like some sort of Cosmic Genie. I know it’s something that I sometimes do. Often in my prayers I spend a lot of time on the things that I need or what I think others need. This part of prayer is called “supplication.” We often spend the majority of our prayer time focusing on what we want God to supply, rather than saying, “Thanks.” I’m reminded of the story about the couple in the aftermath of World War II. They were getting ready to go to the memorial service for the son of friends of theirs. The young man had been killed in the service. His family was dedicating a window in their church to this young man who had lost his life. The window cost $50,000.

“What a beautiful thing to do in memory of their son,” the wife said to her husband. Suddenly, she turned around with an ashen look on her face and said, “What are we going to give?” Her husband replied, “What are you talking about? We don’t need to give anything. Our son came back alive and well.” “That’s exactly what I mean,” his wife responded. “Our friends lost their son, and they’re giving $50,000. We got our son back, and we’re not giving anything???” Even with the sour economy, there’s so much to be thankful for this year. I’m going to count and account for my blessings!

Leap of Faith

Playing things safe is a natural tendency for many people. Taking risks has bitten us more often than not. Armchair quarterbacking has been replaced by the safer second-guessing that comes from the sofa. “It’s too dangerous!” is a good thing to say to precocious children, but, if we’re not careful, we may oversell fear to the point that children, or any of us, aren’t given the permission to risk and fail. Risking failure is at the heart of maturity. Wisdom comes from experience, and the only way to get experience is to try something.

Risk-taking for growth is so counter-intuitive. It goes so much against the grain of our “Be Safe!” society. One of the most frightening experiences to me was extremely counter-intuitive. I was in a seminary course called, “Wilderness Experience for Christian Maturity.” I should have gathered from the title what I might be in for, but naively I went along hoping for a nice camping trip in upstate New York’s Adirondack Mountains.

Everything was fine with the hiking. It was cold, but not unbearable. Even as this was in the middle of May, there was chest deep snow along the trail through some of the passes. After a week of hiking and camaraderie we had our first stretching experience. Each of us was given a piece of plastic for a tarp and then led off into the woods where we would be alone for three days. I didn’t know where I was. No one was allowed any food so that we had to fast. I did have a water bottle that was surreptitiously refilled each night by someone I never saw or heard.

The first half day was okay with my mind focused on settling in, setting up my tarp, unrolling my gear, etc. That night was a little scarier. We weren’t allowed flashlights, and it was literally pitch-black. The stars were amazing, but the rustling sounds of wildlife kept me on guard. During the night some animal came barreling through my open-ended shelter. It was probably one of the many tiny chipmunks that inhabited the area, but, in my mind, it sounded like it was the size of a wild boar, an impossibility in the Adirondacks.

The next day was spent reading the Bible and Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s little book, Life Together. What was constantly on my mind frankly wasn’t what I was reading. I kept thinking about food and wondering what time it was. The group leaders confiscated my watch before leading me out into the wilderness. The food issue also possessed my thoughts. I tore through my backpack hoping that a stray M&M had escaped from my gorp bag before it had been absconded. There was nothing to be found. That day lasted forever, it seemed. I was frustrated in every way: bored, grumpy, and totally out of sorts.

The next day was more of the same until mid-day, at least my best guess of mid-day. Finally I gave up on hunger. I quit thinking about time. Nature and God finally pierced my notions of time and space with the extreme beauty of nature and God’s own quiet closeness. The sounds and the silence of the forest became relaxing and exhilarating friends. My reading of the Bible and Bonhoeffer was suddenly charged with a clarity that I had never known before. When darkness came I slept with a contentment that was rare.

Three days of solitude and fasting ended the next morning as I was led back to the group gathering area. All of us were treated to lentil soup and hot tang to reaccustom our stomachs to food. Everyone seemed cleansed, purified, and peaceful. It was great and it was needed. The risk was worth its reward, and it was good preparation for what came next, rappelling down Mt. Jo.

Sunrise or Sunset?!

I'm glad the presidential election is over and the campaign signs can come down. I'm proud of our country's voter turn-out. This election galvanized many people and has produced a history-changing result. I pray that President-elect Obama will choose advisors wisely and that God will use him to help the US and the world to be a better place. This election for some seems like the demise or sunset of their views and values. For others, the sun has finally come up and it is the dawn of new day.

Regardless of how you voted, it is now time for us to come together and tackle the unfinished business of helping God fulfill the prayer that we pray so often, "Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Each of us has a part to play. If we do enter a severe recession or another Great Depression, it is time for us to become the next "Builder" generation or what Tom Brokaw called, "The Greatest Generation." Sociologists and historians will tell you that the melieu of those tough years in the 1930's and 40's generated an unprecedented sense of dedication. The results can be measured in church attendance, civil rights legislation, scientific discoveries, and much more.

I hope we can rise to the occasion. I think the UMC has the best framework of grace imaginable, so, rather than seeming like a mainline dinosaur, we can be poised to help people through these trying times. We must make the Gospel relevant and provide a haven, a sanctuary, and a outlet for people's anxiety and altruism. Our best years are ahead of us not behind us, if we do our part.

A Scripture passage sums up what I'm trying to say: Ephesians 4:15-16. It has been on my mind as I have been conducting charge conferences and seeing our connectionalism at work, "Speaking the truth in love we will in all things grow up into him who is the head, that is Christ. From him, the whole body joined and held together by every supporting ligament grows and builds itself up in love as each part does its work."

In and through the love of Christ we can offer support to a hurting world as each of us does our part. Our distinctive connectionalism can be summed up with a T-shirt slogan, "Together We Can Do More!" It's sunrise not sunset for the US or the UMC!

Winter Storm Warning

I just checked Mt. Mitchell's weather station and saw that yesterday the high was 18 and the low this morning was 14, with a -9 factoring in the windchill. Tough conditions! We had our first frost this morning. Winter is soon upon us. As I have been holding charge conferences day-in-day-out, I can tell you that there are marvelous ministries, but there is also a systemic anxiety in the air. The economic fallout has caused sincere people of faith to wonder about their future. My thinking is that we're in a time like the Great Depression and WWII that produced the "Builder" generation and what Tom Brokaw called "The Greatest Generation." As I ponder this coming All Saints Day, I think about my father who quit school in the 8th grade to help his family survive. He was 13 at the time the Stock Market crashed. He subsequently joined the CCC's (Civilian Conservation Corps), married my Mom, survived the War years and became a successful businessman and a superb Christian.

Churches were filled as people's extrinsic idols disappeared. Maybe we're on the cusp of another such time, and a time of great revival. I recently was given a October 2008 prayer by Max Lucado, "You Have Our Attention, Lord" that puts all of this in perspective:

"Our friends lost their house

The co-worker lost her job

The couple next door lost their retirement

It seems that everyone is losing their footing

This scares us. This bailout with billions.

These rumblings of depression.

These headlines: ominous, thunderous -

"Going broke!" "Going Down!" "Going Under!" "What Next?"

What is next?

We're listening. And we're admitting: You were right.

You told us this would happen.

You shot straight about loving stuff and worshipping money.

Greed will break your heart, you warned.

Money will love you and leave you.

Don't put your hope in riches that are so uncertain.

You were right. Money is a fickle lover and we just got dumped.

We were wrong to spend what we didn't have,

Wrong to neglect prayer and ignore the poor,

Wrong to think we ever earned a dime. We didn't. You gave it.

And now, tell us Father, are you taking it?

We're listening. And we're praying.

Could you make something good out of this mess?

Of course you can. You always have.

You led slaves out of slavery,

Built temples out of ruins,

Turned stormy waves into a glassy pond and water into sweet wine.

This disorder awaits your order. So do we."

Amen.

A Womb with a View

Well, I turned 53 yesterday, October 23. One of my 2 brothers (the one in the photo) called me as is our custom with each other and sang "Happy Birthday." The same song was shared gleefully at my 2 charge conferences last night. My other brother called earlier in the week and sent a card. He is in a nursing home and has a tough time. My brothers are special to me. I love them and I know that they love me. We're 8 years apart in age. I guess Mother and Daddy didn't get a lot of consistent alone-time since Grandmother and Papa's room was across the hall. I was 2 when my oldest brother left home for USC. I have no recollection of him ever living at home.

Nevertheless, with both parents deceased, I think about my brothers today and thank them for their love and care. They got to name me. They gave me the name William as my first name after my mother's father, and my middle name Timothy came from the name of the bear in the "Dick and Jane" books. No joke! I guess they got naming rights from my parents so they wouldn't kill me or because Mother and Daddy were just too worn out to do it themselves. Mother was 40 and Daddy 41 when I was born.

According to her, Daddy, and my brothers, she thought I was an ovarian cyst or early menopause for about 8 months. I guess I didn't kick a lot. When my Dad was attempting to explain the "facts of life" to me as a early teenager he asked me a peculiar question: "Do you know that you're a M.A.C.?" I replied, "Sure, I know that I'm a Mc-Clendon." He responded, "No, I mean a M-A-C, Middle Age Carelessness. Do you understand what I mean?" Reluctantly I replied, "Sure." That was his sex-talk for me. I guess he figured if I knew what he meant about my birth, the rest would be okay.

My brothers naming me and Daddy's attempt at sex-ed has often come to mind over the years and made me wonder, "Did they want me?" "Was it a happy surprise?" I think so because they sure did love me. Mother said I kept her young. I do know this in terms of self-awareness: I have too often tried to live in such a way by working hard, pushing frenetically to somehow prove to my parents, even in death, that I mattered and should have been born.

I want to give that push-push-pushing up. It's one of the reasons I love the mountains where I sit and ponder; I love pottery making because it's slow and reflective; and I need my cave-time on Saturdays to feed my soul more than I do the rest of the week. I guess we all battle our demons and tapes about self-worth. The best news is that I know my wife loves me, my children, and grandson are glad I'm here, and a lot of other folks along the way. Even better is that God knew me in my mother's womb even if she didn't.

Foundation

I heard an ad on the radio this past Sunday as I was traveling from one charge conference to another. It was for a company called "Ramjack" that stabilizes foundations for houses. The promotional byte that caught my ear was the line, "Many homes in the Columbia area have unstable foundations." That is true in physical and spiritual ways. With the instability in the economy, a rise in crime, the need for a homeless shelter, and the fact that it's a lot easier to get around the city on Sunday than any other day of the week is proof enough that we need a better foundation for all our lives.

I remember hearing the story, without recalling the source, that there were two guys who were living on an island. One decided to take the beachfront property to build his house. The other thought it would be safer to build his on the rocky cliff overlooking the beach. His thought was that sooner or later a storm was going to come. He wanted to be ready. Years went by and no storm. The guy whose house was on the rocky foundation high above the sand and surf peered through his binoculars on a daily basis at the guy down on the beach. At first he thought that the guy was going to wash away and appropriately so.

After time passed he looked through the binoculars with jealousy as he saw the guy enjoying the beach. He even shook his hand at God thinking, "Here I am doing what's wise and there hasn't been a storm in sight. I lugged all these trees and building materials up here for no good reason." Well, to make a long story short, the guy on the rocky cliff finally had enough and wanted the "good" life on the beach. He abandoned his house and moved to the beach and had a great time. Then the storm came and wiped his and the other fellow's houses away. The home on the cliff didn't suffer any damage. Too bad nobody was at home.

In the storms of life I am too quick to take the easy way out only to pay for it in the end. Sounds like our economy and so many other aspects of our culture. Marriage takes hard work, and so does being a parent, a pastor, or a dedicated lay person. As a District Superintendent it would be easy to stay in bed on Sunday mornings. After all, I've been in churches and with pastors and laity all week, BUT what about my foundation. Sands shift and foundations crumble without the proper underpinning. I need a ramjack every now and then; more specifically moment by moment. If I don't start the day with Jesus, I end the day washed up.

That's Interesting

It's tough to age - my left knee hurts from the weather change and moisture in the air, plus I used some muscles the other day in ways that aren't my usual routine. I played disc golf for the first time with one of the pastors in the district. I have a birthday coming up in a couple of weeks and that milestone always makes me think about my life and what matters, and what hurts.

I was reading the Book of James this morning for my quiet time and a verse jumped out at me. James 4:5 says "...the Spirit he caused to live in us envies intensely." That's an interesting thought and powerful. What it says to me is that God is so desirous of intimacy with us that it's like envy. Sounds almost sinful, but God covets (another borderline word) relationship with us. Wow!

I remember the rose-on-the-bloom days of being a new Christian when the thought behind every thought was about Jesus. It's not so much that I don't love Jesus that intensely anymore, but our relationship has deepened like my 32 years of marriage to Cindy. It's wonderful, solid, and we still have date nights and fun together. It's not infatuation. It's deeper than that. I hope that the way it is between Jesus and me.

However, I do find myself jaded by being a D.S. and seeing the ins-and-outs of church and clergy shortcomings. There are those times when I simply can't seem to get enough spiritual nourishment or inoculation to keep me from having more than a small degree of cynicism. I have been opening up the end of charge conferences as a town hall-style format that uncorks some of the most peculiar questions. There are important questions but some are downright wacky. I've had at least one clergy make a --- out of himself with racist comments and I tried to gently yet firmly suggest that he might be better off to stop talking.

I used to say to ding-dong questions that were nothing more than a passive-aggressive traps, "I have no opinion." In my gaining years my face or voice can't pull off that subterfuge. I do have an opinion. My new tactic to hear people without giving them approval or judgment is to say, "That's interesting." I have found it's important to not shake your head or move your eyebows when you do this or words will be put in your mouth after the meeting. Just look them straight in the eye, don't blink, don't head-bob, and don't show your teeth - "That's interesting."

Call it what you will but what I'm trying desperately to do is to defect in place, exhibit non-anxious presence, and let the people figure out their mess on their own. I need to know where I stand, especially where I stand in relation with this God who is envious of my relationships. I can and will talk about Jesus without hedging or wavering. That matters much more than interpreting the Discipline or pampering a recalcitrant church. As Matthew puts it, "See ye first the Kingdom of God and all these things will be added unto you," or in my case I hope it's some subtraction of the distractions.

Intrinsic Purpose

My pension account has dropped 17% or $70,000 this year. I'm paying for health insurance for one of my children, college tuition for another, and car insurance for all my children. I have some assets, but who wants to buy 2 tenths of an acre at Junaluska if you can't get a loan to build a house. We don't have a home. I've kept thinking that we would eventually get everybody out on their own and then afford to build something. Fat chance right now. I guess we can live at Cindy's mother's place if things go completely south. I'm frightened. Retirement is at least 12-15 years away, but how long will it take for the markets to rebound? I've already had one consultation with a pastor who was thinking that he wanted to retire this year, but doesn't want to now. What am I/we going to do? I think I/we better be doing things for intrinsic rather than extrinsic reward.

Many of you have read Rick Warren’s, The Purpose Driven Life, whether you agree with its overt Calvinism or not. One of its propositions is that we humans that are made in the image of our Creator should enjoy creating. However, many people hardly know what their niche is in life in general, much less what their calling is when it comes to vocation. We slide from job to job hopefully making enough to get by or better, and don’t work for the job but for the paycheck. College students graduate with a degree and if they weren’t fortunate enough to be in a co-op program their job chances are scary. Many end up doing anything, which very often has nothing to do with their college majors. We don’t give teenagers many opportunities to apprentice anymore. Mentoring or shadowing someone in their career is possible, but finding a job in that desired field can be very difficult. There are too many financial and legal liability hurdles that keep it from happening, so we end up hoping that our kids have some inkling, without any experience to back it up, what they want to do before they go to college, and that their subsequent degree will actually get them a job.

Thank God for technical schools, universities and lifelong learning opportunities that have a real job goals in mind. I’m not trying to squelch the grand gift that a liberal arts education provides, but I’ve seen too many young adults get degrees and have the ability to excel in “Trivial Pursuit,” yet wind up in a job that wasn’t at all related to their college course work. I’m for apprenticeships that help people fine-tune their options before they go to college or while they are there. I have a great friend, Ovyind Hellieson, who lives in Norway who continually applauds his country’s compulsory 2 years of government service that each young adult has to pursue after high school. He says that it helps young adults, including his own children, clarify their interests and goals. I like the public service idea: Peace Corps, Teacher Cadet programs or the like, to help bring maturity and offer a sense of apprenticeship.

My Dad was in C.C.C.’s in the 1930’s. The Civilian Conservation Corps was a way for lads without jobs to learn skills, discipline, and earn money to send home during the Great Depression. The C.C.C.’s gave my Dad dignity and skills at a time when he could have been lost to abject poverty. Plus the C.C.C.’s and the W.P.A. created some of the most wonderful projects that are still enjoyed today. They accomplished something and took pride in the result.

Many people today who are either youth without a job or adults down-sized out of a job because of the economy are facing another kind of depression because they work hard for years for a company or for a degree and have little to show for it. We have to do something about this! Listen to John Haughey’s words in his book, The Conspiracy of God: “In one of George Moore’s novels, he tells of Irish peasants in the Depression who were set to work building roads. For a time everything went wonderfully. The men were glad to have jobs, and sang songs as they worked. But after a while they discovered that the roads they were building led nowhere, expired in peat bogs or simply ended. As that truth gradually dawned upon them, they grew listless and stopped singing. In the words of the novelist: ‘The roads to nowhere are difficult to build. For a man to work well and to sing as he works, there must be an end in view.’” Our end-view is to work for God our Creator. I pray that what I'm doing matters to God and neighbor. That's reward enough.

Shared Ministry!?!

I have been conducting Charge Conferences one and two a night except for Friday and Saturday, plus up to four on Sundays. In addition, Consultations with pastors have been every hour on the hour each day through tomorrow. Both Charge Conferences and Consultations have been excellent and informative. There have been some tensions as we finish up the business and I open up a "town-hall" style conversation about ministry. In particular, there has been fruitful seed-planting about a dream that I have to deal with the 16 churches within 5-6 miles of my office.

These 16 churhes have about 3,000 members and around 1,000 in average attendance. They are pastored by mostly elders, 3 retired supply persons, and two Probationers. Each church has its own identity and is doing vital and valid ministry. The situation that presents itself is that these churches are all struggling in a sense. The attendance in the churches starts at 25 with a high of 125. There has been disciple-making, but little numerical growth. The total salary amount for the clergy serving these churches is over $630,000, not counting accountable reimbursement or housing allowances in lieu of parsonages. Only three of the churches have parsonages.

I don't want to have a cooperative parish system because my experience is that model smacks too much of being one foot already in the grave; i.e., "Let's continue to do our own thing but get together every now and then until we shrink to the point that we have to be closed." Another model suggests that larger churches can absorb smaller ones as satellite congregations. This strikes me as a "hostile takeover" no matter how good the intentions are. Another model is where a larger church has an Associate Pastor who serves in that role and as Pastor-in-Charge in a nearby smaller congregation. Then, of course, is the idea of mergers but that creates a mutated DNA mixture that could be deadly.

The model that I'm pondering most has groupings (clusters) of similar churches in close proximity that avoids any sense of takeover and affirms each church's identity. The 16 churches that I'm specifically thinking about could be grouped into 2 or 3 clusters for a "Shared Ministry." They would have their own pastor who would be there 75% of the time, but share clergy responsibilities with other clergy from the Shared Ministry Group. For instance, a clergy for a particular church may be that church's "pastor," but there would be a degree of rotation in preaching duties to underscore the connectional nature of a Shared Ministry.

I wouldn't need 16 pastors to handle these 1,000 people. I also wouldn't need over $630,000 to fund the clergy. But this is much bigger than saving money and stewardship of human resources (After all we do have a clergy shortage in SC). The primary impetus is to help these struggling churches do more and do it together. If I put the slogan that comes to mind for this on a T-shirt it would read, "Together We Can Do More!" Maybe 6 elders would be enough to handle the pastoral needs including several who might be retired Supply. I would want at least 2 Deacons to handle Programming and Christian Education opportunites that can be shared with all the churches in the cluster. Plus, I would want superb persons for Children's, Youth, Young Adult, and Older Adult Ministries that would be individual and shared. All total There would be 12 clergy and ministry staff persons instead of 16, but MORE IMPORTANTLY there would be so much more opportunity for these particular churches to see growth rather than status quo - "Together We Can Do More!" It is a connectional model that honors who we are.

I'm broaching the subject at Charge Conferences and in Consultations, and the reception is better than expected given the differences between the churches in terms of socio-economics, theology, and race. This would create cross-cultural opportunities that just aren't happening enough as is. People have responded by saying that this plan reminds them of what we did years ago when we did "Sub-District" events which provided a understanding of our denomination beyond a single church. Maybe they have a point! Please pray that we can make some of this happen, and leave your comments. This is going to take several years to get everyone on board, but the conversation has started. There are big issues to deal with like each church's autonomy from the Discipline with regard to salary. I would prefer an English model of equalized pay, but that's not my perogative though I do have the power of consultation for the greater good. I think something like this has to happen not just in Columbia but around the connection. I haven't see anything written about a Shared Ministry exactly like I'm pondering, but I'm open to new thoughts and the Spirit's leading. Help!?

World Communion and What I Need to Hear

When I was a youngster in my home church we went to Sunday School and afterwards made our way into the sanctuary. The educational building was behind the sanctuary so that if you went from one to the other you usually entered through the back door that opened into the sanctuary right beside the pulpit and altar. If we saw the communion elements and the white cloth spread out we immediately pressed our parents into leaving early.

Communion services were so long and were as somber as a funeral service. We used the old ritual; where what we said reversed our efforts at the Protestant Reformation’s focus on grace. We went back to something that resembled a large confessional booth. We used words like, “We bewail our manifold sins and wickedness which we from time to time have committed in thought, word, and deed…” I felt sinful enough already. Our communion service seemed to add to my sense of guilt. The words of pardon were miniscule in comparison to the confession. I usually left feeling worse.

This is one reason that today when we celebrate the Lord’s Supper; we attempt to focus more on Christ’s marvelous work of grace than on our power to reform ourselves. We, more often than not, now refer to Communion as the Eucharist. Eucharist means Thanksgiving. The most important thing that we do when we come to the Communion Table is say, “Thanks!” to Christ for his gift of mercy. Rather than focus overly on our sinfulness, we thank God for God’s graciousness. What a better perspective!

World Communion Sunday is an event that bridges denominations and spotlights our commonality in the Body of Christ. This world would be so much better off if we looked for that which we hold in common rather than our differences. Holy Communion, rightly observed, reunites the Church. This is the pastor’s hope when he or she holds up the loaf of bread and says, “Because there is one loaf, we who are many, are one body in Christ.”

Therefore, our focus for World Communion Sunday and the entire month of October should be how to get over our differences and find common power to live in Christ. The Eucharist is a time of positive celebration, reunion, prayer for healing, and a sacred time to put others before ourselves. In my first parish I had three churches. I remember how shocked I was as I went to my first communion service at the smallest church of eight members. When I arrived there was a loaf of sliced “Wonder” bread still in its wrapper on the altar and a bottle of Welch’s grape juice and some small paper cups. They had not had communion in years. I was soon to find out why.

I went through the ritual and opened the altar for people to partake and NOBODY came forward. The reason they hadn’t had communion in years is that they were afraid. They knew full well that they were not living as consistent Christians. They felt too unworthy to come to the Table. I quickly switched sermons and preached on grace. Still nobody came up, but by the time I left there five years later, a few did. Those few moved from guilt to grace, judgment to acceptance. They found real communion with Jesus, a sacrament indeed.

Someone said that the three phrases we humans most want to hear are these: “I love you,” “I forgive you,” and “Supper’s ready!” In our celebration of the Eucharist, we hear all three. Let’s share this great news with the hurting world around us.

Touchdown Jesus

The longest prayer I ever heard, and I mean ever, was at a high school football game. A pastor in that small town had evidently been saving up for his big chance to pray under the “Friday Night Lights.” He prayed for the football players, the referees, the coaches, the assistant coaches, the cheerleaders, the bands, the parents, the teachers, the school administrators, and the highway patrol officers who were directing traffic. No joke, he prayed so long and for so many people that the game started 20 minutes late!

Don’t get me wrong! I’m all for prayer, and “Sweet Hour of Prayer” is one of my favorite hymns. Nevertheless, prayer at sporting events bothers me, and it’s not just because I’m such a stickler about the separation of church and state. I think my problem stems from being a University of South Carolina Gamecock fan. I grew up going to all the games. I heard Dr. Lauren Brubaker of U.S.C.’s Religion Department pray at every game year after year. Here’s my problem as a U.S.C. fan. If you pray for the best team to win, that’s probably the other team. If you pray for nobody to get hurt, that might negate Carolina’s only hope of winning. Bottom line, I agree with Hall of Fame catcher, Yogi Berra. Once, when a batter stepped into the box and made the sign of the cross, Yogi said to him, “Let’s just leave God outta this, okay?”

Okay, I yield. I know prayer helps us in everything, but really… should we pray for our team to win? There’s an anonymous tongue-in-cheek story that puts this question in perspective: “Jesus Christ said he had never been to a football game. So we took him to one, my friends and I. It was a ferocious battle between the Protestant Punchers and the Catholic Crusaders. The Crusaders scored first. Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air. Then the Punchers scored. And Jesus cheered wildly and threw his hat high up in the air. This seemed to puzzle the man behind us. He tapped Jesus on the shoulder and asked, “Which side are you rooting for, my good man?” “Me?” replied Jesus, visibly excited by the game. “Oh, I’m not rooting for either side. I’m just enjoying the game.” The questioner turned to his neighbor and sneered, “Hmm, an atheist.”

Is God an atheist when it comes to sports? What harm is there in praying for good results about a game, a great round of golf, or a super outing on the lake? The answer is, “Nothing,” unless we take God’s apparent disregard or ambivalence to our request as indifference. God cares, for sure, about every facet of our lives, but maybe God has bigger fish to fry than who wins the game, and God expects us to be the cooks. Luke DeRoeck put it this way in a letter to the editor of Sports Illustrated, “To suggest that God really cares about the outcome of a sporting event is preposterous. Conservatively, 20 million people in the United States went to bed hungry on Super Bowl Sunday. A God who cares about the outcome of the Super Bowl is not a God I ever want to meet.”Being a good sports fan is great. I know I love my team. Being a disciple, however, is more important than anything!

Memories of Hurricane Hugo

I woke up this morning feeling the slight chill of Fall in the air. It felt good, but my spirit was unsettled as if remembering a shadow of a almost forgotten tragedy. My first thought was about the recent airplane crash at Columbia Metro, but I knew there was something else looming in my unconsciousness. It was Hurricane Hugo.

Hugo hit South Carolina over the night of September 21-22, 1989 packing 140 mph winds, a Catgeory 4 storm. Cindy, Narcie, Josh, Caleb and I huddled in the safest part of the house while the storm howled outside. We didn't sleep as we listened to segments of roof and siding tearing off. The constant banging of the crawl-space door stopped during the night as it was finally blown 100 yards or more out into a field. The only contact we had with the outside world was our battery-operated radio that picked up a Jacksonville, Florida station. It was a rough night. The days to come were worse as we sought to help one another and witnessed the grief of people who lost their homes and their belongings, the vestiges of family history and hope. We clung to each other and to our faith as we helped one another recapture hope and saw the truth of resurrection overcome the storm's fury. That is what I need to remember today, not how horrible it was, but that we overcame by the grace of God.

A very important lesson was gleaned from the hurricane, a lesson that has helped me when people have proffered that all-too-familiar question of "Why?" in the midst of their storms. God gave me a sermon the Sunday after Hugo about Jesus with his disciples on the Sea of Galilee. Jesus was asleep below deck. The disciples, who were seasoned fishermen, were staring down a storm and we're afraid of drowning. They woke up Jesus who looked out into the storm and rebuked it saying, "Peace, be still!" The actual text says that he "rebuked" the wind and waves.

That struck me as interesting. The only other time Jesus used the word "rebuke" was in relation to evil. If one claims that Jesus is God and that God controls nature then why would Jesus have to rebuke something already under his control? This says to me that nature has a mind of its own, and that God's freedom has a broad reach across the cosmos. Out of love God allows freedom and chaos to prevade the creation. God hates the storm as much as we do, and is not willing that any should perish (2 Peter 3:9). God is with us in the storm.

When we face our storms of economic woes, health dilemmas, death, and worries about our children or aging parents, it does me good to know that Jesus can still the storms. Sometimes he doesn't and I can't answer why not. I can only answer that he goes with us through the storms. My nagging memory from 1989 this morning comes at a good time. We survived!

"Loafer's Glory" or "B-Mix"

Being a potter is wonderfully therapeutic. Your hands can't go faster than the wheel is turning or what you make is going to have problems before you can wire it off. There has to be focus and fluidity of motion with an eye for what can be even when you can't see it. It's a wonder I don't have a bent neck from leaning over constantly to watch the vessel's profile as I'm pulling and shaping. You have to look beyond the reality and see the possibility, and dare to take a chance on a new throwing hunch or a shape.

I just bought a thousand pounds of clay to get me through my Christmas projects. I was down to a couple of hundred pounds. My favorite clay comes from a little hole-in-the-road place in North Carolina called "Loafer's Glory." What a great name! Any way "Loafer's Glory" is the clay that I love to use. It's a smooth-throwing stoneware with just enough grog and grit to experiment with as I try to throw larger 19th century forms. It feels good, looks good, glazes well, and fires beautifully.

Unfortunately I was only able to purchase 500 pounds of "Loafer's Glory" and have had to supplement my supply with a similar B-mix grade clay. I wedged a sample of the "B-mix" to see how it compared to Loafer's and it felt pretty good. I'm looking forward to trying it out. The switch got me thinking about us as God's clay.

I picture God as trying to get something accomplished, but there's not enough of us who want to oblige. Maybe that's when God gives another clay a try. God likes to create and experiment with this spaceship called Earth, and wants the Good News of Jesus to change the whole cosmos. God needs clay like you and me to do it. Now I would prefer that God used "United Methodist" clay rather than "Baptist" or "Muslim," but it's all about supply.

It's up to us more than God. Will it be "Loafer's Glory" or "B-mix?" Part of me likes the name "Loafer's Glory" a lot better than a name as generic as "B-mix," but a tree is known by its fruit, not its name. God is more interested in the results than the brand, don't you think?

Trust and Obey

Storm clouds are rolling in. These are scary times with the dips and plummets of the stock market. I’ve been having consultations with pastors. I am sad to admit that fear has replaced expectancy in many. Who wants to ponder retiring next year if a person’s pension fund is in the tank? Who wants to move to a new parish when they’ve just figured out who the snakes are in the parish they’re in? Issues about children, school, spouse’s employment, and parents’ illnesses abound. We want to play it safe in an itinerant adventure.

Playing things safe is a natural tendency for many people. Taking risks has bitten us more often than not. Armchair quarterbacking has been replaced by the safer second-guessing that comes from the sofa. “It’s too dangerous!” is a good thing to say to precocious children, but, if we’re not careful, we may oversell fear to the point that children, or any of us, aren’t given the permission to risk and fail. Risking failure is at the heart of maturity. Wisdom comes from experience, and the only way to get experience is to try something.

Risk-taking for growth is so counter-intuitive. It goes so much against the grain of our “Be Safe!” society. One of the most frightening experiences to me was extremely counter-intuitive. I was in a seminary course called, “Wilderness Experience for Christian Maturity.” I should have gathered from the title what I might be in for, but naively I went along hoping for a nice camping trip in upstate New York’s Adirondack Mountains.

Everything was fine with the hiking. It was cold, but not unbearable. Even as this was in the middle of May, there was chest deep snow along the trail through some of the passes. After a week of hiking and camaraderie we had our first stretching experience. Each of us was given a piece of plastic for a tarp and then led off into the woods where we would be alone for three days. I didn’t know where I was. No one was allowed any food so that we had to fast. I did have a water bottle that was surreptitiously refilled each night by someone I never saw or heard.

The first half day was okay with my mind focused on settling in, setting up my tarp, unrolling my gear, etc. That night was a little scarier. We weren’t allowed flashlights, and it was literally pitch-black. The stars were amazing, but the rustling sounds of wildlife kept me on guard. During the night some animal came barreling through my open-ended shelter. It was probably one of the many tiny chipmunks that inhabited the area, but, in my mind, it sounded like it was the size of a wild boar, an impossibility in the Adirondacks.

The next day was spent reading the Bible and Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s little book, Life Together. What was constantly on my mind frankly wasn’t what I was reading. I kept thinking about food and wondering what time it was. The group leaders confiscated my watch before leading me out into the wilderness. The food issue also possessed my thoughts. I tore through my backpack hoping that a stray M&M had escaped from my gorp bag before it had been absconded. There was nothing to be found. That day lasted forever, it seemed. I was frustrated in every way: bored, grumpy, and totally out of sorts.

The next day was more of the same until mid-day, at least my best guess of mid-day. Finally I gave up on hunger. I quit thinking about time. Nature and God finally pierced my notions of time and space with the extreme beauty of nature and God’s own quiet closeness. The sounds and the silence of the forest became relaxing and exhilarating friends. My reading of the Bible and Bonhoeffer was suddenly charged with a clarity that I had never known before. When darkness came I slept with a contentment that was rare.

Three days of solitude and fasting ended the next morning as I was led back to the group gathering area. All of us were treated to lentil soup and hot tang to reaccustom our stomachs to food. Everyone seemed cleansed, purified, and peaceful. It was great and it was needed. The risk was worth its reward, and it was good preparation for what came next – rappelling down a 1000-foot cliff. Such is life with a wild God leading us, the solitude on the mountain to the valley of overwhelming need. There is no playing it safe.

Doing the Right Things or Doing Things Right?

Church questions without clear answers make my mind kick into overdrive: What are the limits to Equitable Compensation in a missional language barriered situation? Can an affiliate member or an ssociate member be on SPRC? (An associate member can, but not an affiliate - Go figure) Do you have to go to District Board of Church Location and Building when the purchase, etc. of a building exceeds 25% or 10%? Well, I turn to the BOD and get most answers, but sometimes it's a judgment call. The BOD can and should be permissive if it can expedite ministry. I know people expect me as a Conference Parliamentarian to be a "strict constructionist" when it comes to the BOD, but I'd rather do the right things than do things right.

Sounds like heresy among methodical United Methodists, but isn't this what we should be about? Doing the right things is much more important than doing things right. I listened at the Bishop's School this week to Jorge Acevedo of Grace UMC near Ft. Myers, Florida say how it's great to be flexible enough to do cutting edge ministry. He's a good leader. The diffrence between managers and leaders is whether one values doing things right or doing the right things!

That's sort of the crux of the matter, isn't it? God needs us all to be leaders more than managers. To do less is only rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. I look forward to starting Charge Conferences this Sunday and I hope/long to hear how leaders have been leading and everyone has been daring to dream new things and actually do them. I think I'll get sick, really sick, if I hear a "woe is me" attitude or hear a same-old-same-old report. I know that there are people who don't know the transforming power of Jesus all around us. The traffic around Columbia is radically less on Sundays! I look forward to hearing what's happening and how I can help us do the right things more than doing things right.

W.I.T.

The 2008 General Conference made a number of significant changes in our ordering of ministry. Lines have been blurred, some would say, between the work of Deacons, Elders, and local pastors. My response would be, “They have always been blurred!” In the UMC laity and clergy have always been sharing ministry in so many ways they are hard to keep straight. We have two kinds of Lay Speakers, 2 kinds of local pastors (the Student Local Pastor designation has been dropped), Certified Lay Ministers, Supply Pastors, Deacons, Elders, Provisional Members, and Full Members. Does it matter what our title is, or is our effectiveness more important? I think the genius of the Wesleyan Movement is a focus on effectiveness more than status.

What we need are effective lay and clergy leaders who are responsible, hardworking, and dependable. The bottom line is results! I pray for clergy and laity who will take responsibility and get the job done. The Kingdom is sorely lacking results because the laborers are few! I saw a persosn working in a hotel wearing a button with "W.I.T." on it. I wondered what it meant so I asked. The hotel employee said it was their mission statement, "Whatever It Takes." They wanted to remind each other that they were supposed to do whatever it took to get the job done. That's good advice for us!

There was one particular golfer who exemplifies the need for personal responsibility, whether as an individualist or as a groupie. He had a miserable game one day. It was such a bad round that he skipped stopping at the clubhouse and went straight to his car. As he approached his car he noticed a police car with its lights flashing.

An officer stepped out of the patrol car and hurried up to the melancholy golfer. “Excuse me,” the officer started, “but did you tee off from the 16th hole about 20 minutes ago?” “Why yes, I did,” the duffer replied. “Did you happen to hook your ball, so that it went over the trees and off the course?” the trooper asked. “Yes, it was a terrible shot, but how did you know?” the club member asked.

“Well,” said the policeman very seriously, “your ball flew out onto the highway and crashed through a windshield. The car went out of control, running five other vehicles off the road and causing a fire truck to crash. That fire truck was on its way to a fire, and so that building is a complete and total loss. I want to know what you are going to do about this?” “Hmmm,” the golfer mused. “I think I need to close my stance, keep my head down and tighten my grip.”

Christ is looking for people who will get the job done. I want to be one.

Gamecock Disaster and Theodicy

I could spit nails! Early this morning I tuned into “The Game” on FM107.5 to hear the Gamecock woes after last night’s humiliating loss to Vanderbilt. There’s nothing better than USC and Clemson losses to remind us all that life is more than what happens on the gridiron. There are much more important things for us to be about. Living and breathing football is an obsession. As a Gamecock fan I should be used to losing and being mediocre. In 114 years of football at USC, we’ve only won 8 or more games 3 times. Hey, we sure know how to tailgate though, and we surely live up to the SC state motto Dum spiro spero, “While I breathe, I hope.” It’s just sad and disheartening when you pin your distraction from real life on a team that perennially lets you down. Maybe it’s a good thing to get this idolatry over early in the season so we can focus on reality. The reality that I need to think about is Jesus, the One about whom the writer of Hebrews says, “…is the same yesterday, today, and forever.”

This begs a question in the midst of life’s travails, even when they’re on the football field. The question is why bad things happen to people. Why do some people get away unscathed by problems and appear to have a Teflon coating where nothing bad sticks to them? Others, usually good people, go from one crisis to another. Why? I guess it’s a question of theodicy. Theodicy is a peculiar, almost sacrilegious word. Its roots are in Theos or God and dicy, the same root that appears in the word “judicial.” Theodicy literally means “Judging God.” It sounds, at first glance, like a spiritual no-no, but God is big enough for us to question. Check out Job’s experience when asking God, “Why?” for all of his calamities.

So Gamecock and Clemson fans, let’s ask the Why-question: What is our theodicy? Sure James (1:2ff) says we should count it all joy when we have trials, but doesn’t identify the source of the junk that comes our way, at least not until verse 13 of the same chapter, “When tempted/tested, no one should say, ‘God is tempting me.’” Interesting, isn’t it? So God isn’t the source of the junk that happens.

I’ve been reading a book, The God Who Risks: A Theology of Providence, by John Sanders. He talks over and over again about how Scripture presents God as “relenting” from doing certain things. Of course, this could be anthropomorphic language about God, putting human language on a God who’s really above that. Can God really change God’s mind and action? If we don’t really think so, then maybe we should become Calvinists. If we take seriously the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples to pray, “…Thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven…” then we must believe that prayer can possibly change things. The Wesleyan point of view allows God to change. I know this flies in the face of one of the long-held tenets of Christianity, and may be where I am personally closest to heresy. The idea of God’s immutability is at stake, and I’m okay with giving it up. I believe the Wesleyan view that focuses both on God’s grace/love and process theology allows, even encourages, a progressive view of God’s interaction in the world. God loves creation and its creatures enough to allow us to change our minds, to let nature do what it will, and yield to the utter fickleness of humankind. Our Wesleyan understanding of grace’s progression toward sanctification leaves great room for change, on God’s part and ours.

So why do bad things happen? I’ll lift up four reasons that come quickly to mind: our choices, the choices of others, the general crap that’s in the world because of the Fall, and Evil. Maybe there are really no accidents, there are only crashes caused by one of these 4 sources, but never God. So where’s God? God is doing what God has always done since the Garden: God is seeking us out in the crap and wants to redeem our situations. God does not cause them, but walks with us and gives us the ultimate victory through Jesus Christ. God doesn’t have a pre-set plan for our lives that precludes our ability to change, and God loves us enough to change with us. So with football out of the way for another season due to a mistake-prone offense, defense, coaching staff, etc, I’m going to throw my foibles and thick-headed mistakes onto a God who risks – A God who risks loving me and risks watching all the stupid things that happen on this planet, yet enters our vicissitudes and consistently loves. That’s the basis for my hope and lessens my acrimony on this dark day of Gamecock defeat.

Make Haste!

Work wasn’t a stranger around our house when I was a youngster. Many hours were spent tilling the garden, hoeing the flower beds, cutting the grass, feeding the cows, fixing fences, pumping gas at the Texaco station, or being a meat-cutter at my grandfather’s country store. During Christmas break I operated a fireworks stand for two weeks, and in the summers I either worked in a peach packing shed or penned cows and hogs at my father’s stockyards. My father’s philosophy was clear if he caught me sitting on the fence or lazing around in other ways: “Off and on!” he would yell. What he meant can be translated a number of ways, but the best way I can phrase it would be, “Quit resting on your laurels and get on your feet!” Hard work was a given.

When I was a kid I wasn’t that keen on work, although I must admit the monetary gain came in very handy, plus I was always the fastest person on our football team thanks to chasing or being chased by 2000 lb. cows. I miss my Dad’s admonition to get up and get with it, “To Make Haste!” as he would put it. The value of a good work ethic is immeasurable. As much as I like time off and rest, there’s nothing like a good night’s sleep after a day of manual labor. Rest is all the more sweet thanks to the satisfaction of a good day’s work.

Certainly, I enjoyed some tasks more than others. One of my hardest lessons about work came from one of my uncles. He said that he would give me 50 cents for every bushel of butterbeans I shelled. I thought that sounded like a good deal until my fingers felt like they were going to fall off after shelling about one-fourth of what I was supposed to do. He wanted me to learn that money doesn’t come easily. He was right. There is no free ride in this world.

Work is a gift from God, to be sure, but we can’t enjoy this gift unless we put it to use. The best use that can turn any labor into a blessing is to “work for the Lord.” If I can work for the intrinsic reward of pleasing the Lord, then the extrinsic 50 cents doesn’t much matter. If whatever the menial task is done for Jesus’ sake then we can be content whatever our lot in life. That is, if we do it to the best of our ability. From this perspective, work can indeed be a gift from God. Famous artist, Emile Zola, put it this way: “The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.”

Perhaps you have heard or read the story of how work makes the difference between heaven and hell. There was a man who died and found himself in a beautiful place, surrounded by every conceivable comfort. A white-jacketed man came to him and said, “You may have anything you choose - any food - any pleasure - any kind of entertainment.” The man was delighted, and for days he sampled all the delicacies and experiences of which he had dreamed on Earth. But one day he grew bored with all of it, and calling the attendant to him, he said, “I’m tired of all this. I need something to do. What kind of work can you give me?” The attendant sadly shook his head and replied, “I’m sorry, sir. That’s the one thing we can’t do for you. There is no work here for you.” To which the man answered, “That’s a fine thing. I might as well be in hell.” The attendant said softly, “Where do you think you are?”

No More Schadenfreude

Competition is a curse. It shows up in everything from personal one-upmanship, college football mania, to the November elections. I want the candidates and the obviously biased TV channels to really have a “No-Spin Zone.” It’s sad to me to hear the bias from CNN and Fox News. Back and forth they go: Barack has little experience and John McCain looks like death warmed over. Joe Biden loves to hear himself talk, and Sarah Palin has a grudge against her ex-brother-in-law and a pregnant unwed daughter. Is this the truth? I don’t know, but I have an opinion. If we concentrated on all the negatives, would we elect anybody? Competition over compassion is destroying the common sense/common good fabric our country.

Sometimes I’m guilty as charged. Tommy Bowden, Clemson’s football coach, called a bunch of friends, coaches, and family members about what went wrong after their crushing loss to Alabama last Saturday. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t on his list. As a University of South Carolina Alum and die-hard fan, it was difficult to be terribly upset. I tend to be one of those long-suffering Gamecock fans who pull for whoever is playing Clemson, unless it’s Georgia. I suffer from “schadenfreude.” “Schadenfreude” is a German word that means to feel joy at the misfortune of others. Truth be told, I have experienced “schadenfreude” too often, and not just with Clemson’s loss on Saturday. I don’t want us to do that with our country, our politics, our church life, or in our families. Glee over somebody else’s crap is just that, except it really hurts us all.

Preachers are famous for loving it when another one of us “falls.” Clergy competition is rampant. We measure each other against one another with statistics and salaries rather than focusing on non-competitive servanthood. This flies in the face of the real deal we call Christianity: loving the poor, opening our arms to the down-and-out and the hurricane refugee, caring for the planet, forgiving estranged family members, and simply living like Jesus. The words I saw on a bumper, “Separate Church and Hate!” aren’t true enough in the midst of our competitive paranoia that God’s extravagant grace is somehow being wasted if it someone else gets more of it than we do.

Grace is never a waste. Eugene O’Neill once said, “Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is the glue.” This world, country, and our denomination need to be glued back together. In the midst of this football and political season of sniping at one another, I hope that I can live grace a lot better than I’ve been doing. I look forward to having a district clergy gathering where no one points out to me who was absent and what size their steeple was. As United Methodists we have the best framework of grace imaginable: Prevenient, Justifying, and Sanctifying Grace. In the midst of our bickering we have lost our relevance in a hurting world by not having contagious grace, a grace that we contagiously exude in our worship and fellowship; a grace that offers radical hospitality more than “schadenfreude.”

Thistles & Survival

Well, we survived Mt. Mitchell and the fellowship was great. I went up a few days early which was wonderful. I got to read some novels and theology and warmed by the campfire. The rest of the group came in this past Monday morning. We set up camp, ate a glorious chicken bog that warmed up our bodies, and had time for a hike and great discussion about church, life, and a little bit of everything else. Then... the bottom fell out of the skies. At 11:30 p.m. Monday night the deluge began. All but two got thoroughly soaked in their tents or hammock. The one in the hammock had a snug tarp but the rain was blowing in horizontally so the tarp had very little effect. We tried to hang in there until daylight but then things got worse. It POURED! We packed up in the downpour as fast as we could, but it was awful. If you have ever had to pack up wet tents and soaked sleeping bags, you know what I mean. We trekked down the mountain and drove to Marion, North Carolina. There we found a restaurant for breakfast. We dried out as best we could and ate a hearty meal. I must admit that it helped to turn on my electric seat warmer to aid the drying process. According to the Mt. Mitchell Weather Station, Tropical Storm/Depression "Fay" dropped 10 inches of rain on Mt. Mitchell. Whew!

Well, being back in Columbia has been eventful and the usual - not quite a 10 inch downpour, but close. I've been catching up on the unending and regular duties of a District Superintendent which is why I put up the shot of a thistle I took on Monday from the edge of the Old Mitchell trail. Often this call and that of any pastor is like running through thistles - prickly stuff happens on a regular unpredictable basis. I can't even tell you some of the stuff I have to deal with because of its confidential nature. Suffice it to say, it ain't pretty sometimes. Very often it's sad and painful. But, thanks be to God, sometimes being in this office is absolutely wonderful - seeing churches dream new dreams, pastors and other clergy flourish in their ministries, and the Kingdom growing before your very eyes as you hear success stories and dream about new ways of doing ministry across the district.

However, it's my "thistle-times" that put both good and bad in perspective. Thistles remind me that though life can be painful and prickly, even the thistles can be used for good. As a matter of fact, the reason that thistles are the national symbol of Scotland is because thistles were an early warning system for the Scots as their enemies the English stepped on them and yelped in pain. Thistles like "Fay" and all the other things that grab me because of the tyranny of the urgent, can actually throw my yelping soul further into the hands of God. For that I'm grateful as I remember that beautiful thistle before the flood came down. Thistles help us survive!