Wilshire Blog Archives

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Redeemed and thankful

Their redemption was incomplete. They almost had it, but alas, their commitment was not 100 percent and they fell short.

With tongue in cheek I'm talking about the 10 college students seen on national television on Saturday afternoon who painted their torsos with purple and gold paint. No doubt they'd planned it well, spent time painting each other, and then they’d gone to the stadium to line up side-by-side and spell out the word REDEMPTION. But it was cold and the student wearing the N put on a brown coat. When the TV cameras swung by, the word was incomplete. It was REDEMPTIO_.

Seriously though, Sunday begins Advent, the liturgical season when we watch and wait for the coming of the redeemer, the one who was sent to save us from our sin and weakness. The one who kept the commitment that God had made to all humankind and that was foretold through the words of the prophets. The one who let himself be scorned, stripped and scourged. The one who did not grow cold to God’s promise and did not hide under a brown coat. The one who completed our redemption. Thanks be to God.

Now lest you think I’ve joined the big retailers in jumping over Thanksgiving and rushing into the Christmas season, I’ll add that while the Thanksgiving Day we celebrate each November is a federal holiday instituted by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863, it is nonetheless a holiday steeped in religious belief. In fact, it includes a taste of redemption along with the turkey and dressing.

In the proclamation written by Secretary of State William Seward, there is a long passage cataloging the “blessings” and “bounties” of the nation “in the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity.” To which Seward added: “No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy.”

I hear that ring of redemption again in the words “remembered mercy.” And again I say, thanks be to God.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Passionately pursuing purpose

As is usually the case, Anne Lamott’s words were funny and yet convicting: “ ‘I’m waiting for inspiration’ is just another way of saying ‘I’m not going to write today.’ ”

We heard the Christian author speak Thursday night in Fort Worth, and while her comment was aimed mostly at timid or procrastinating writers, herself included, Lamott actually was hanging that warning around the necks of anyone in the room who was neglecting the creative spark that God has lit inside them. When a young woman stepped up to a microphone and revealed that she is an artist who has not created anything in a long time and isn’t sure how to get started again, Lamott told her and everyone in the room to just sit down and start – somewhere, anywhere. To paraphrase, “it would be a shame to wake up one day at age 86 and find that you’d never worked as an artist.”

The message for all of us – one that we’ve probably heard before but need to hear again – is that time is short, God created each of us for a special purpose, and we better get out there and pursue it while we can.

I believe a great place to start is by plugging into our natural gifts and passions, because I believe that is a place where God resides. Those endeavors can range from the solitary and seemingly mundane, to the outwardly bold; from cleaning house to cleaning up at the Olympics. Scottish athlete and missionary Eric Liddell was famously quoted in the movie “Chariots of Fire”: “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast! And when I run I feel his pleasure.”

That pleasure is palpable to those who witness and experience it. We felt it Sunday night at Garrett Wingfield’s Jazz Composition Recital. He and classmates in the TCU School of Music, including his brother Luke, treated us to an amazing array of original jazz compositions. There was a mastery and energy in the performances that can only come from doing something you were absolutely born to do. When you’re doing that, whatever that may be, it is received as a holy gift by those who are fortunate to be in the same room.

That doesn’t mean we always perform with perfection, but that’s okay because pursuing God’s call is about passion and effort rather than results. In another quote that was not in “Chariots of Fire,” Liddell said, “In the dust of defeat as well as the laurels of victory there is a glory to be found if one has done his best.”

I started with Anne Lamott, and I’ll finish with her: “Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you’re going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.”

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Owning up to God’s word

I’ve been going through an interesting exercise recently: applying for permission to reprint all of the Old Testament Book of Jonah in a short book I’ve written. Most modern translations of the Bible are owned by a publisher, and you have to get their permission to reprint long passages in a book that you plan to sell. The most notable translation that does not require permission is the King James Version, which legally is in the public domain.

While I believe I had heard all of this before, I still find it odd that that somebody should actually own “the Holy Scriptures.” I’m not saying that those who translate, print and bind Bibles should just give them away, because there are real expenses related to that work. But, to require permission to print words that have been in the true “public domain” since long before they were written down or printed?

And yet I like the idea that someone is protecting our written spiritual heritage. If you stop to think about all the ways that the written word can be misused, you can see the value of a legal copyright process. (I wish there had been similar rules for the use of a crucifix by a certain photo artist some years ago.)

Unfortunately, there are no controls or limitations on how the scriptures can be misused and misrepresented in oral discourse, whether from the pulpit of the church or the bully pulpit of politics. Those abuses are too many to be counted but range from modern day false prophets like David Koresh to politicians of all stripes who try to graft public policy to their interpretations of the scriptures.

Thankfully, we don’t have to get permission to reveal, recite and reflect God’s word through our own words and actions. We are given every permission and right imaginable because God’s word is our word too. The only provisions are that we are honest and generous in our sharing. That means that we don’t cherry-pick the scriptures to create our own truth, and we don’t confine our sharing to Sunday or to “Sunday people.” God’s word is meant for all days, all times, all people.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Is "wanting it" a reason for success?

“It comes down to who wants it more, and I guess they wanted it more.”

That was how a college football player explained his team’s defeat during an interview on the late news Saturday night. His head hung down, his shoulders were slumped. He’d played his heart out but it wasn’t enough. If only he and his teammates had wanted it more.

I’ve heard it before, and my response is always the same: “Wrong!” The game is hard, the ball is oddly shaped, the players are imperfect, the coaches aren’t always right. With injuries, weather conditions, traveling and home field advantage, there are so many variables and unknowns. Both teams may want it equally, but there can only be one winner.

These young athletes repeat what they’ve been told and what they’ve heard because it seems to make sense of the loss, but it’s nonsensical if you ask me. Winning – getting what you want – is not as easy as just wanting it more. That implies a guarantee that if you study more, work harder, practice longer, you’ll win the prize. And it implies that if you don’t, then you didn’t just fail; you ARE a failure.

I’m not a coach, a teacher, a parent, or a counselor, but I think this notion of wanting something more than the other person is a foolhardy motivational tool. If it becomes a philosophy of life, then it is a set-up for dejection, depression, even withdrawal. The goal of life isn’t to win; the goal of life is to contribute, participate, learn, give, help, love, and quite often, endure.

Worst of all, wanting something more than someone else is a horrible theology. While some preachers and pop-theologians are quick to say that God wants us to be successful, they twist God’s definition of success to mirror that of popular culture.

God’s measure of success has never been about winning, accumulating or dominating. God’s measure is based on relationships – with each other and especially with God. That’s why time and again, Christ reached out to the lowest of society. His goal wasn’t to raise them up onto a higher rung on the social or economic ladder. It was simply to pick them up off the ground and put them on a face-to-face, eye-to-eye speaking level with himself – with God.

A relationship at that level leads to the true measures of success: peace, gratitude, contentment. Those are things we should want – not more than the next person – but as much as God wants us to want them. Which is a whole lot.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Turning pages with the saints

Sunday I turned a page and started a new chapter. It took a few years, but I’m glad to be moving on now.

It started when our church ordered new hymnals and we were given the opportunity to pay for one and have a plate placed inside the front cover stating it was given in someone’s memory or honor. I dedicated a hymnal to my late wife Debra, who like me wasn’t a great singer but she loved hymns and didn’t let her unsteady voice keep her from joining the saints in song.

That was three years ago, and I’ve been searching for Debra’s hymnal ever since. Not in a desperate “gotta find it” kind of way, but more in a quiet “check as I can” fashion. Every time I’ve sat down in the sanctuary, I’ve pulled the hymnal out of the pew rack and opened the front cover. I don’t sit in the same place every Sunday, so that means I’ve peeked inside hymnals all over the sanctuary. I’ve done the same thing in the chapel, in Sunday School classrooms, in the choral hall, other places. If I’ve come upon a hymnal, I’ve opened the front cover.

While not finding Debra’s hymnal, I’ve become acquainted with many of the saints who have graced our church and have gone on or are still among us. That includes not only the people who have been remembered or honored, but the people who made the dedication. I’ve also seen some of the interesting fabric of our Wilshire tapestry in the relationships expressed in those dedications: spouses, dear friends, grandchildren and grandparents, teachers and students, ministers and members. Every dedication points to a unique story.

It’s been a wonderful journey of discovery, but it ended in an unexpected fashion on Sunday afternoon during Austin Almaguer’s ordination service. LeAnn and I sat in a place we don’t ever sit (she’s usually in the choir, and I’m elsewhere) and as the service began, I pulled out the hymnal in front of me to look up the first hymn, but for some reason I didn’t like the feel of it so I put it back and pulled out the book next to it. I found the hymn and then casually looked inside the front cover and there it was – Debra’s name and my name connected by the words “in loving memory.”

My heart jumped for a second, my breath paused, but then I closed the cover and didn’t look again. LeAnn and I sang from that hymnal, but I didn't show her the inscription. I didn't because this day was about turning pages. We were there for Austin as he starts a new chapter in his story of faith and ministry. And more personally, LeAnn and I are just a few chapters into our story together. The words are still fresh, the ink is still wet. We don’t know what will be written on the next page, but we trust the author.

I'm thankful for all the saints in all the hymnals that have touched our church and touched many of us in personal ways. And I thank God for the grace and mercy of new chapters and new stories.

Sunday is All Saints Day in the church, and in addition to listening to the reading of the names of those who have left us during the past year, take a moment to look in the front cover of your hymnal. Give thanks for the saints who are listed there, and then give thanks for the saints that are sitting all around you. Especially the ones you love.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Walking out of church

Friday night I did something I’ve never done before: I walked out of church in the middle of a service. Not because I was ill or late to something else. I left because I didn’t belong.

It was a decade’s-old worship service that in earlier times was more of an old-fashioned hymn sing. But what I stepped into Friday night was an amped-up, electrified, high-energy praise service that made my head throb and my heart pound. When the congregation stood up halfway through the program, I made my exit.

I didn’t leave feeling offended or spiritually superior, which might have been my response a few years ago. Rather, I left with a clear understanding that I don’t worship that way. I don’t communicate with God that way. I don’t feel God’s presence that way. There’s a lot of I’s in those statements, but that really is the point: Worship is our gift to God, and the gift needs to fit the giver. The worship style I saw Friday night doesn’t fit me, at least not anymore.

You see, I came up through the church in the 1960s and ’70s when church music began to feel the influence and the beat of pop music and rock ‘n’ roll. I was an active participant in that change as I stood on the platform in the youth choir and sang songs from “Celebrate Life,” “Godspell” and other pop Christian musicals of the day. We thought it was cool because the music felt like the songs we were hearing on the radio.

But somewhere between then and now, something in me changed and I began to embrace a more quiet, reverent, liturgical style. Today we call that “traditional” and we call everything else “contemporary.” While we took a big plunge into the contemporary pool in the ’70s, we didn’t stay there all the time. We still had choirs that sang anthems. We still had organ preludes, offertories and postludes. All of that energy and volume was mostly a “youth” thing, but today’s contemporary churches tend to keep the energy high 24/7.

So what changed me? No doubt my years married into the Catholic faith had an impact (although they do have their Saturday night youth and guitar masses). But mostly, it’s because I’ve become more reflective and contemplative as I’ve grown older. I tend to search for God – and find God – in the quiet places.

A few years ago, I spent a season going to weeknight Taize services at one of Dallas’ large Methodist churches and I loved to close my eyes and let the harmonies of the monastic-style music wash over me. Sometimes I almost felt myself lifted gently off the pew, which was great because it was a time of life when I needed to be lifted. But that too is a thin diet if that is all you are partaking, and so the answer for me is somewhere between amped-up praise music and quiet chanting.

Wilshire is the perfect mix for my ears and my soul. We stick pretty much to traditional hymns and we sing and play them in a traditional, reverent, worshipful manner. Occasionally we season the service a little with some jazz, bluegrass or African sounds, but we don’t devote the entire service to that. We’re always anchored by traditional church music.

Now one could ask, “But what about Sunday night at Wilshire with Ken Medema?” I’m glad you asked, because Medema was one of those people who brought new music into our churches in the 1970s. But back then as now, he didn’t worship at one volume and in a single style. He has always known how and when to lift the soul, and then when to lead it to a place of quiet reverence.

In the end, it’s a choice we all have to make as individuals and also as communities of faith. There is not a right or wrong way to worship. There is room in the kingdom for different worship styles. God is always there if our hearts are there too. And that’s my situation in a nutshell: My heart is not in a high-energy room of praise; my heart is in a quiet place of prayer. That may change some day, and if it does, I know where I can go. But for now, Wilshire is the place for me.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Looking for Sabbath

In preparation for this week’s Disciple study class at Wilshire, I’ve been reading passages on “the law” from Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, and let’s just say that it’s tough reading and hard to get real excited about. There are a lot of rules concerning activities and lifestyles that don’t have much relevance today. The only thing I can really hold on to is that every few verses God says, “I am the Lord.” Okay, I get it; it’s about obedience.

Still, what has caught my attention most in this current reading (because I’ve read this before) is that the law that takes up the most lines of text on the page is “remember the Sabbath to keep it holy.” The laws that seem so dire – the ones about killing, stealing, adultery, lying – are just one phrase long. “Don’t do it,” and that’s all it says. But the Sabbath? The explanation strings out for 17 lines in my Bible.

The obvious explanation is that God knew back then and knows today how much we are distracted and seduced by things that take us away from communion with God. Interesting, too, that of the 10 Commandments, the second longest one to explain is the one about creating and worshiping idols. It’s 14 lines in my Bible, and again, I think there’s a good reason for that.

Our desire to do and achieve and keep up with everyone else and even get ahead has become a modern-day idol of sorts. Now more than ever, this idolatry has spilled over into Sundays and pulled us away from worship altogether or at least made worship a quick errand to run before going shopping, sporting, working and whatever else we feel like we need to do to become the person we believe society expects us to be.

Then again, I don’t believe “remembering the Sabbath” is necessarily just a Sunday thing. Just as the laws given to Moses have a societal context, there is a context to our lives as well. There are many people who must work on Sunday for the sake of their families and I do believe Sabbath can be found and observed on other days. I believe the day of the week is not as important as the act of spending quality time with God. It’s that obedience thing I mentioned earlier.

I’ve tried to have that quality time today by moving my Bible to an upstairs room that is mostly empty. There, I can sit at an old empty desk, read, look out the window at the rain, and reflect. I don’t know if that is remembering the Sabbath precisely as God intended, but it’s time well spent. Still, it’s no real replacement for spending time in community with God’s people. That type of Sabbath still happens on Sundays.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Treasures of dubious value

The call came from DART: A new regime in marketing and communications was cleaning out cabinets, and the awards that I helped the agency win during my seven years of employment were free for the taking if I wanted to come get them.

Yes, I took the bait. I knew there were some nice looking Lucite and gold- and silver-plated trophies that would look good on the bookshelf and add a professional touch to my home office. So I made an appointment and rode the train downtown with two tote bags ready to be filled. But when I was led to the locked storage room and the door was opened, I saw all that stuff and felt foolish. I don’t work there any more, the publications have changed or have been eliminated so there is no connection to the present. And on top of that, nobody comes to my home “office,” so what’s the point in showing off, right?

I almost turned to my host and said, “never mind,” but I’d made the trip and she’d taken the time to gather everything, so I went ahead with my errand. I reasoned that a few reminders of my work at DART would be nice to have. As well, we had some great contractors working in our department that helped create those award-winning publications and they wouldn’t get the call that I got. So, I filled my bags and patted myself on the back for at least sharing the bling.

Going home on the train with my tote bags full of workplace trophies, I mingled with fairgoers laden with silly prizes won playing games of skill or chance at the State Fair. You know the ones: over-sized stuffed pandas, giant yellow bananas, hideous hats that nobody will wear past 10 p.m. tonight. They'll all end up in the attic or the trash can sooner than later. And eventually, the landfill.

I've been to the landfill and I know what happens there: You drive down a road dug out of the mountain of debris to a designated area, and then you dump out your stuff and a big machine with a big blade comes along and in the blink of an eye your trash that once was your treasure is pushed out of sight to decay and rot with all the treasures that everyone else has accumulated and then discarded over the years and decades.

So I got home with my tote bags and took out the trophies and lined them up on the desk. Once again, I shook my head at my foolishness. What was I thinking? The answer is that I wasn’t thinking at all; I had a knee-jerk reaction to finally being allowed to have a symbol of my worth that I wasn’t allowed to have back when I was working hard to prove my worth. My treasure grab was belated pride.

Meanwhile, hanging on the wall near my desk is a picture created for me at my leaving by a DART coworker who also is a great friend. It is a group of images from photo shoots where she, as art director, talked me into portraying different characters. It reminds me of the times we enjoyed and the struggles we endured together. It represents a friendship, and those are the real treasures of this life.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Bono, Quincy Jones and waiting for God

I usually don’t care what musicians have to say outside of what they are expressing musically – unless it has something to do with how they approach their art. So last Thursday night I was intrigued as U2 front man Bono explained to “Late Show” host David Letterman why the band is slow to produce a new album:

“We have a deal with our audience. They give us a great life, but they expect us to be great, and that’s tricky, because as you get better, you get very good, and very good is kind of the enemy of great. You can mistake it for great. And people don’t get excited about us being very good. Who needs a new U2 album. There’s loads of them out there. We have to make a great U2 album, and they don’t care waiting as long as it’s great.”

Now, U2 is not on my list of favorite bands so I can’t attest to their “greatness,” but I do appreciate Bono’s intensity and commitment to his art (not to mention is considerable philanthropy). And, I was further intrigued in the interview as he shared a recent conversation he had with legendary producer Quincy Jones regarding the long gestation period of this latest album:

Quincy: “You’ve got to wait for God to walk through the room.”
Bono: “Why is God so unreliable in the music department?”
Quincy: “To teach you to wait.”
Bono to Letterman: “So we're waiting.”

This waiting is so counter to the pace and rhythm of our culture. From fast food to title loans, we want it now and we want more than we can afford. I blame a lot of that on technology, which has sped up our lives so much that we get cranky when something that once took days or hours still takes minutes or just seconds. That's especially true in communications, where in a few decades we've gone from letters to faxes to emails to texts and tweets. Along the way we've eliminated content and context for the sake of speed and immediacy.

Our struggle with waiting doesn’t just impact how we conduct the minutia of our daily lives (eating, shopping, communicating) but also how we approach key decisions and events. We're so anxious or impatient to complete something and see results (and get accolades?) that we rush headlong into disappointment, mistakes or even total failure. Or as Bono described, we produce something that may be average or even very good when we were aiming for great.

I probably have read Isaiah 40:31 a hundred times, but it’s worth reading again: “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”

This “wait” is often translated as “trust” or “hope.” And if we have that trust in God, we have the patience to wait for God’s direction. And while we’re waiting – and resting, as it may be – we may be gaining strength and courage to persevere, as Isaiah says.

I like Eugene Peterson’s commentary on these scriptures: “Our fears paralyze us from doing anything great, or adventurous, or believing. We need Isaiah to say something to us about the power of God – a power we can know and trust, a power that’s understandable to us in the life of Christ and accessible to us in the life of the Holy Spirit.”

Bono is fortunate to have a “deal” with his audience that allows him to take as long as he needs to create great music. If he were to meld Quincy Jones’ advice with Eugene Peterson’s insight, he’d know that God has already walked into the room – in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Even so, while Bono might still need to wait for inspiration, he’s not waiting alone. Neither or we.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

New upholstery

LeAnn and I have spent the summer refurnishing our home. Not buying new furniture, but refreshing old pieces.

When we married two years ago, we both brought a lot of old furniture to the relationship. Some of it was worn from years of use, and much of it held memories of our previous lives. In that regard, what we had was “my” furniture and “her” furniture, and what we wanted was “our” furniture. Still, the furniture had good bones and we wanted to be good stewards of the past and didn’t want to just toss it out.

So with a recommendation from Wilshire member and interior designer Barbara Floyd, we connected with a couple of gentlemen who do wonderful re-upholstery work. LeAnn and I shopped together for fabric (yes, I do care about such things) and one by one we sent sofas and chairs and rockers to the upholsterers. And one by one, they were returned to us as wonderful new pieces that are truly “ours” and ready to be enjoyed by us and friends and family too.

On Saturday Wilshire will have the first of three SOAR Summits to focus on the ideas and goals that were voiced and recorded during the recent Vision Day and follow-up interviews. In some ways it will be like our re-upholstery project because we’ll be stretching some new ideas and plans across some very good bones.

If you haven’t been at Wilshire long, or if you’ve been around a good long time, this is a great opportunity to share your ideas and sense of style and help design the future of “our” Wilshire Baptist Church.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Restless

I was sitting in the narthex Sunday during the early service, and while George was preaching about our human lostness my phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked it and there was nothing important there, but then for no particular reason I decided to look at Wilshire on the Apple Maps satellite image. There was the church, and there I was too . . . sort of.

You see, when I opened the app the blue GPS dot that constantly marks my location raced across town from my previous location (home) to the church and then something intriguing happened: the blue dot wouldn't rest. It floated over the front steps, behind the sanctuary, out onto Abrams, back into the neighborhood, north onto the parking lot. It never did stop over the narthex where I was sitting but finally came to rest just outside the church doors on the southeast steps.

I know all of that movement is caused by the vibrations and undulations of radio and cell signals, but in my imagination the restless blue dot was a good representation of how my mood can be on various Sundays: engaged, disconnected, longing, distracted. On a broader scale, perhaps it shows something of my restlessness in my faith and inside my own skin.

Last Wednesday evening in our new Disciple Bible study at Wilshire we spent some time looking at Psalm 84, which begins: “How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty! My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.”

Those words – “the courts of the Lord” – may now as in ancient times refer to the physical church or the temple, and indeed the church is a lovely dwelling place in which to refresh ourselves in this harried, noisy, restless world. I grew up in the church and so that is where I am accustomed to being and where I want to be on Sunday mornings, even when my head and heart are feeling restless.

But being in church is not a cure-all or an end in itself. As the rest of that verse states, “my heart and my flesh cry out for the Living God,” and that is a state we often find ourselves in no matter where we are. Case in point: Monday I spoke with a friend who is grieving the death of her husband, and when she said she doesn’t have the capacity even for prayer right now, I told her, “wail, howl at the moon, shake your fist. There is prayer in that, and God is listening.”

I know from experience that sometimes that is all you can muster, whether you are in the pews, in the narthex, or miles away from anything resembling God’s dwelling place. But that’s okay, because whether the psalmist is saying it or not, God’s dwelling place is within that same heart and flesh that is crying out. We don’t have to walk inside the church to get a hearing; God is listening from within us.

My favorite part of Psalm 84 is verse 10: “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.” That has been much of my existence at Wilshire, often worshipping from the narthex as an usher, but it’s a good place to be. Even if my blue dot is sitting outside on the steps, I know God is with me.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Rejoice . . . and sing

“I’ve got the chorus.” That’s what band mate George Gagliardi leaned over and told me Sunday morning as we were sitting with the Wilshire Winds. The congregation was singing, and without hymnals in our hands we found that we couldn’t sing past the first few words of the first verse. However, the chorus was familiar, and that’s what prompted George’s comment, accompanied by a sly grin.

“Rejoice . . .”

There was a period in my life when I woke up every morning with a song in my head – a melody and a fragment of a verse that was stored in my memory and was burped out when my feet touched the floor. I don’t know what prompted those waking verses, and often as I showered and got ready for the day I would try to piece together the entire song. It doesn’t happen that way anymore, but at other times of the day a line from a song will bubble up from somewhere and now with Google and YouTube I can look it up and listen. I’ve often wondered if I were to keep a diary of these songs and the circumstances during which they come forth, a psychologist might be able to map my subconscious fears and hopes.

“Rejoice . . .”

In the Gospels we see that Jesus often quoted pieces of scripture to make a point. Most notably, he quoted from the Psalms, which we all know is a hymnal of sorts. He knew that those who were listening would recognize the Psalm and make the connection. I do that too sometimes (not with Psalms, sadly), speaking a line from a song to make a point or finish a sentence. It drives LeAnn crazy because it’s often something extremely vague. But sometimes it will be familiar and then we both start singing the rest of the line out loud. It’s not a hymn, but when we sing it together and laugh, it feels like one.

“Rejoice . . .”

It’s intriguing the way these hymns and songs get written in our minds and on our hearts to be released at a later time. Sometimes it is just for fun, and sometimes I believe the unutterable groanings of the soul attach themselves to a verse we have stored away – like a droplet of water that clings to a speck of dust and forms a cloud. And then when it gets too heavy it spills down like a cleansing rain and becomes a moment of prayer or worship.

“Give thanks and sing.”

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Christians in training

Sunday after church we stopped by the trendy new Trader Joe’s market on Lower Greenville Avenue, and as we were walking in we saw a little girl pushing a miniature version of their bright red shopping carts but with a tall white flag that said, “Customer in Training.” It’s a textbook example of the modern marketing mantra to create customers for life by getting them early and holding on tight.

It’s an effective strategy and one that the church has embraced – with Bible study, choirs, camps and other activities that engage and stimulate young people. But the formula fails if we foster the “customer” mentality and teach children nothing more than how to fill up their shopping cart. What’s more, churches fail their members and the Kingdom at large if all they do is create spiritual consumers. The goal should be to nurture doers and givers.

One of the earliest scriptures we teach our children is James 1:22, and I learned it in the King James translation, which I think is more understandable for young ears: “But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”

As a child I didn’t learn that last phrase about self-deception, nor what James says in the next chapter about faith without deeds being dead. We probably didn’t learn that because it cites how Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son Isaac as an act of faith, and that's not a lesson for children. In church, unlike most retailers, we bring children along slowly and we lead and teach by example. It’s not good to give children their own carts unattended because some will just grab stuff off the shelves as kids like to do.

At Trader Joe’s I saw a parent doing it the right way: selecting an item and placing it in the little cart for the child to push. The parent was still in charge, but the child was participating . . . observing and learning. We do a good job of this at Wilshire with graded Sunday School and children’s choirs, Globetrekkers, and on through youth mission trips and Pathways to Ministry. We teach children step-by-step how to activate their faith and share God's love with others.

And because we never stop learning – we never stop being Christians in Training – we have ongoing Bible study, local and international mission trips, Strength Finders, Support Teams and other activities that help us grow as Christians, keep our faith alive, and protect us from the self-deception that comes from just filling up our cart.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Making the most of what we're given

Wilshire Chef John Jost was telling me on Monday about an intense three-hour culinary certification test he took recently. It wasn’t a paper test with multiple choice questions or fill-in-the-blanks. It was hands on, in the kitchen, with a panel of three chefs watching his every move during a timed test period.

The part of the test that intrigues me most is that John was given an assortment of ingredients from which he had to make an appetizer. Nothing was dictated or even suggested; John had to create something from what was placed in front of him. He couldn't go to the pantry or the refrigerator. He was challenged to make the most of what he was given.

John’s challenge in the kitchen is not unlike what we often face in life. We open the door one day and are given situations – ingredients if you wish – that are not what we expected or not what we would have chosen. At that moment we have a choice: retreat and say, “I can't do this,” or boldly take what we’re given, and make something meaningful out of it.

We see and hear examples of this every day. Soldiers crippled by war who come home and push themselves to make the most of their remaining capabilities. Artists who sing, dance or paint beautifully even though they cannot see or hear. Athletes who compete without limbs. Children and adults who survive poverty or violence and become doers, leaders and voices of hope.

At Wilshire there are people like this who inspire and challenge us – people who have lost much or have little to begin with but give so much and make the most of their time and ministry. I won’t name names, because another characteristic of most of these people is that they don’t ask for our help or seek our admiration. They respond out of their understanding of what God has called them to be.

In one of Tuesday's lectionary readings, King David is near death and is instructing his son Solomon: “Be strong, be courageous, and keep the charge of The Lord your God, walking in his ways and keeping his statutes, his commandments, his ordinances, and his testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, so that you may prosper in all that you do and wherever you turn.”

It’s good instruction for any of us. When we follow it, our little becomes plenty, our limitations are assets, and our pantries are full with possibilities.

In John’s case, he says he took a deep breath to calm himself and trusted his years of experience and all the knowledge he had accumulated – the “ways,” “statutes” and “commandments” of cooking, as it were. The main ingredient in the appetizer was lobster and he wowed the chefs with his creation. He did the same with the salad and entre tests and now has a new certification that he can wear on his chef’s jacket with pride.

And please do congratulate John on this achievement. His wonderful meals are proof enough for most of us that he is a culinary artist, but congratulations are due for being a standout in his profession and not just on our taste buds.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Don’t just hang out

I was out early this morning with the hose trying to squirt some life into the fading flowers and shrink the brown spots in the lawn. And, I made sure not to neglect the hanging baskets dangling from the trees on our back property line.

The baskets – a Boston fern and two Swedish ivies – hung prominently on the front porch last summer. They were greeters, if you wish, and we kept them watered and alive through the long hot months. When winter came, we unhooked them and put them down on the porch against the south wall to protect them from freezing. Still, they suffered and by springtime they weren’t ready for the prime locations so we hung them from the trees in back. They sprouted again and are still alive, but rather than greeting guests as part of the front porch landscape, they’re just hanging out in back.

I’m part of a group that is charged with gathering and compiling all the great ideas and “visions” that came from Sunday’s Vision Day at Wilshire. Many themes are emerging, and the Vision 20/20 steering committee will share those when everything has been categorized and reviewed. However, I don’t think I’m out of line in sharing one of the recurring themes: involvement.

In the context of Vision 20/20, involvement is not just a theme but a desire for the future that more people get involved in the life and work of the church. Some of the other themes encompass the many opportunities for involvement open to all ages: Bible study, mission projects, care ministries, music and worship leadership. The list goes on and on.

Some of Sunday’s table groups just listed “involvement” among the major themes that excite and interest them. Others, however, were more forceful and colorful in urging their fellow members to get off the sidelines and get involved. In other words, to do more than just hang out.

In defense of our hanging baskets, they really did endure a brutal summer and a cold winter, so the fact that they are being revitalized and gaining new growth is a good thing. In that regard, this time of hanging in the shade has been beneficial.

We too need some downtime from church involvement – to recharge from being active and busy. I know several people at Wilshire who are currently in a season of doing just that. One of the table groups on Sunday urged us to get involved but added, “don’t overextend.” Still, no table group listed “hang out indefinitely on the sidelines” as a goal.

One table group suggested we “ask people” to get involved. In other words, don’t just let them hang out to the side. In some cases, they may be waiting to be asked. If ignored, they may stay on the sidelines or go away completely. Likewise, our baskets hanging in the shade out back will eventually wither again if they don’t get some attention – like sunshine and water. They need help with that – and so do some of us.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Finding yourself

I recently attended a free small business seminar hosted by a university that began with the speaker asking audience members to share a previous experience they had in a small business. One of the conversations went like this:

“What type of business did you have?”
“Landscaping.”
“How long were you in it?”
“Six months.”
“What happened?”
“I found out I’m allergic to grass.”

Everyone had a good laugh, including the blushing confessor. I laughed too because it seemed like a no-brainer. But since then I’ve recalled some of my own missteps in life, such as taking a pre-med biology course my first semester in college and falling flat on my face.

It was one of those big auditorium classes designed to separate the serious pre-med majors from the wannabes and the never-should-bes. I was there because I had enjoyed an anatomy class as a senior in high school, but this college course was mostly chemistry and I was totally lost. My interest didn’t align with my intellect, and I left the class with a D and a serious hit on my GPA.

I never declared pre-med as a major and didn’t commit to one until after my junior year, and only after going to the testing center to discern my strengths. There, I got a “D” as in “duh, you belong in liberal arts.” That had always been my strength in school and as it happened, I got straight As in English and in my eventual major of journalism.

Ever since then I’ve been pretty quick to advise students to hold off on declaring a major until they’ve taken some basics to see if their high school interests hold up under the rigors of college studies. Don’t be afraid to stretch yourself academically, and don’t be afraid to change directions if you discover that who you think you are and who you discover you are in fact are two different people.

Most important: Take the Holy Spirit with you into the classroom and into the discernment process. Study a lot, but pray even more. Keep handy this wisdom from Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will direct your paths.”

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Rowing together

Last week while cycling at White Rock Lake, I saw a curious sight out on the water: A rowing team was sitting in a long boat, divided into two groups facing each other, rowing furiously and going nowhere.

I suspect the exercise is intended to build strength and rhythm, with the energy and effort of one group creating resistance and thus a platform for the strengthening of the other group. Perhaps it builds camaraderie and spirit too like a tug-of-war in a boat. But as a method of propulsion, the exercise is a bust; the boat is dead in the water. At some point the two groups must face the same direction and row together if they hope to move toward a desired destination.

August 18 is Vision Day at Wilshire – the first step in our Vision 20/20 strategic planning effort to set our sights on our destination as a community of faith. In some ways we’ll be like those rowers on the lake, facing each other and sharing our stories, our hopes and our dreams. In short – building our strength as a community by learning from each other. The Deacons and Fellowship of the Ordained participated in this exercise in July and it was a powerful and meaningful experience.

And then beginning in late September, we’ll have the opportunity to participate in three SOAR Summits where we will focus on our “Strengths, Opportunities, Aspirations and Results.” This is when we’ll begin to turn and face the same direction to propel the church forward into the future.

It’s an exciting time – it’s an important time – and everyone is invited to grab an oar and stir the waters. You can choose a time to participate at: http://www.wilshirebc.org/registration

Tuesday, July 31, 2013

Empty tombs

Beware of graveyards and walls of remembrance. Unexpected things can happen there.

I got up at sunrise this morning to walk the labyrinth at St. Joseph Catholic Church in Richardson. Debra was active in that parish and she loved the labyrinth and the prayer time there. After she died five years ago this morning, her friends put her name on one of the stones that mark the perimeter of the huge Chartres-style labyrinth. I went there expecting to become emotional and perhaps wallow in grief, because sometimes there is solace in wallowing as if it can add meaning to the life that is gone. But something very different happened.

The whole “ceremony,” as it were, started rather ingloriously with the doors to the courtyard stuck and me finding a custodian to pry them open. He was still rattling the doors as I walked out into the courtyard and around the path. Finally there was silence, and as I stood there staring at the name carved in the gray slate, it struck me: I was totally alone. Not only was I the only living and breathing human there, but none of the people whose names are carved into the stones or niche walls were there either. There was no sense of Debra or anyone else in that place. It was, and is, an empty tomb.

I walked the labyrinth dry-eyed and feeling sleepy more than anything else. I tried to clear my mind and make room for prayers or meaningful thoughts as the liturgical music flowed softly through the outdoor speakers, but my thoughts were empty. When I got to the middle, I sat down on the flat slate stones and their hardness reminded me again that the beloved are not there. They are somewhere soft, comfortable, cool.

I left the labyrinth eager to re-enter the flow of life. I went home and watered the flowers surrounding the home that LeAnn and I have made together. And then I walked a few blocks to the great little coffee shop on the Garland square that we’ve come to love. I got coffee, chatted with the owner a moment, and stepped back outside.

That’s when the tears finally came – tears of gratitude that God has blessed me not only with a life that was, but a life that is here and now and deserves my full attention. And, someday, a future where my name will be carved on an empty tomb because I’ll be happily somewhere else.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Staying Sharp

I feel like such an idiot. I got dull and ineffective and I didn’t even know it.

We live on a corner lot with what feels like miles and miles of curb and sidewalk, and my little rechargeable edger/weed whacker just wasn’t up to the task. So last summer I bought a gas-powered machine that on day one proved to be almost too powerful for the job. It would cover me with dirt and grass and threaten to skitter down the sidewalk without me. But by the end of the summer I got the feel for it and when I started using it this summer it seemed like I was in control. It didn’t seem as powerful and wasn’t throwing out as much debris. I thought I had tamed the beast.

I learned differently last week when it didn’t seem to be cutting at all. I shut it down and took a good look at the blade and was astonished to find that the blade had been worn down to a nub. Even more astonishing was the fact that I hadn’t looked at it in months. What I had thought was my increasing proficiency was actually my inattention to the fact that the blade was getting ground away against the sidewalk. What’s more, I actually wore away some of the housing around the blade. “Idiot!”

I bought a new blade, installed it, and was immediately taken back to the beginning of last summer when it felt like the machine was going to bury me in debris and cut down the neighborhood. It’s giving me a nice clean edge again, but I’m having to relearn how to keep the beast under control.

The lessons are many, of course. Getting dull is a gradual thing that you barely notice and you can begin to mistake for an easier, more comfortable way of doing things. You might even think that you are in control.

Inattention or laziness – “I’ll inspect it next time” – allows dulling to continue until you’re either just spinning your wheels or possibly doing harm by doing nothing.

On the other hand, being sharp can be a messy, dangerous business. Asking hard questions, making tough decisions, challenging assumptions can irritate and even alienate people. It can put us out on limbs and take us to uncomfortable places. It can have us arguing with God.

But isn’t sharpness the condition in which the most satisfying work gets done? The last time I edged with the dulling blade, the yard just didn’t look right – raggedy like a bad haircut – but I convinced myself it was okay because it didn’t challenge me so much. With the new blade, I was worn out again, but good grief how it looked so much better.

This sharp/dull dynamic is true with our work, our relationships, our spiritual walk. We can let ourselves get dull and say “okay” to things that really aren’t okay or that aren’t the best they can be. We can do lackluster work at school or our jobs and never learn or grow. Pat our loved ones on the head instead of really engaging them in conversation and relationship. Say grace at dinner but never really get down on our knees and wrestle with God over the hard things in life.

I’m guilty of avoiding wrestling and arguments – staying dull, as it were – when the truth is that God appreciates a good argument if we’re seeking answers to important questions. So do parents, teachers, friends and spouses.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Being the church

Living in downtown Garland has put us in a position of getting involved with the community around us. That has included the churches that are within walking distance of our house.

A few weeks ago we walked to a community hamburger and hot dog dinner at First Baptist. Not long after that we walked to a breakfast at First Presbyterian. We didn’t go because we are thinking about joining those churches; we went because they invited us. In both cases, nothing was asked in return except that we enjoy a meal and their hospitality.

At both events we saw people of clearly limited means: a young woman with four small children, an elderly couple with their grown children, others who looked less than affluent. All were welcomed by the church with no pressure or expectation of payment or anything else. That’s a far cry from years ago when I tried to help a homeless man who declined to eat and sleep at a shelter that insisted he attend a worship service first. At the time I was baffled by his stubbornness, but now I understand that he couldn’t have heard the Gospel over the sound of his growling stomach.

Dr. Bill Wilson, executive director of the Center for Congregational Health, spoke to Wilshire's Deacons earlier this year about how churches throughout North America and Europe are struggling to find their role in the world today. Simply opening the doors and inviting people to Sunday School and worship is no longer working. He talked about new church models where congregations are doing work in their communities without any expectation of the people they reach coming back and becoming regular, tithing members.

That is what we experienced at those two church meals. Wilshire is doing this more too, whether it is saving some seats in the back of the sanctuary for our local firefighters, inviting neighbors to a food truck lunch, opening the doors for a community barbecue and concert, sending groups to provide assistance across town or in the Dominican Republic.

It’s a different way of being the church, and an honest way of sharing the Gospel and our faith, because being the church is more about being Christ-like than just quoting Christ.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

I pledge allegiance . . .

While mowing the yard this morning I saw children at one of the downtown Garland churches walking in single file around the side of the building to the front doors of the sanctuary. No doubt they were walking to the morning assembly at Vacation Bible School. Ah, the memories.

When I was a kid attending VBS, the day would always begin with all of us in the chapel, squirming and chattering until the VBS “principal” (our minister of education) called us to order and led us through the pledges. First was the pledge to the U.S. flag, followed by the pledge to the Christian flag and the pledge to the Bible. Yes, the latter two do exist if you didn’t know.

I don’t know if the children at Wilshire’s VBS recite all of those pledges, but it may sound scary to some parents in this age when there is worry about fundamentalist fervor over both country and God. We Baptists can be especially sensitive because we claim to be a non-creedal denomination, even though there are plenty examples of creedal Baptist congregations. For some of us the remedy is to not have anything written down that can be memorized and recited by rote, with the exception of the Holy Scriptures of course. That keeps us thinking freely and limits knee-jerk responses to society’s problems.

It’s been decades since I’ve read the pledges to the Christian flag and the Bible, so I Googled them and was surprised at how non-controversial they are:

“I pledge allegiance to the Christian Flag and to the Savior for whose Kingdom it stands. One Savior, crucified, risen, and coming again with life and liberty to all who believe.”

“I pledge allegiance to the Bible, God's Holy Word, I will make it a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path and will hide its words in my heart that I might not sin against God.”

Simple enough. They mimic the U.S. pledge in length and tone, and neither one is strident or pushy. They both point to a belief without dictating how that belief should be practiced or expressed, just as the U.S. pledge doesn’t explain how to achieve “liberty and justice for all.”

In that regard they are a starting point – a statement of commitment to focus on something bigger and more important than one’s self. I think that makes them pledges worth reciting every now and then.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Empty nests

LeAnn and I have been going through the empty nest syndrome in recent days. For three weeks we watched in wonder as a pair of doves took over one of our hanging ferns on the front porch to lay eggs, sit and hatch them, and then nurture two baby doves until they were ready to fly.

We watched as the adults took turns sitting on the eggs, shielding the hatchlings from weather and predators and feeding them from beak to beak. We watched the little ones grow from naked, skeletal caricatures with closed eyes and oversized beaks to down-covered bodies with spiked head feathers to sleek young doves preening and preparing their wings for flight. So fascinated were we that we set up a “dove cam” just inside the window so we could capture images of their rapidly changing development.

We didn’t see the youngsters take their first leaps from the nest, but we watched as they stretched and fluttered their wings for the first time and briefly lifted a few centimeters above the nest. Later, we saw them walking in the flower bed and then leap up to the porch railing where they struggled to keep their balance like a child riding a bike for the first time. When we went out to look at them more closely, the mother darted across the yard and into the street where it skittered along the ground to mimic a wounded bird, saying, “come after me, but leave my children alone.”

By Friday afternoon they were all gone. We’ve watched for them but haven’t recognized them among the dozens of doves that live in the trees around us. We miss them, but we have plenty of photos and memories.

Our empty nest is trivial compared to what friends have experienced recently. On Saturday morning our friend Julie said goodbye to her son Travis, who was born with a rare genetic birth defect but soared like an eagle every day that he had because his mother nurtured, encouraged and empowered him to be all that God intended him to be.

And on Saturday night our friends Ken and Sally watched as their daughter Anna left their nest to fly away with her life companion. It was a wedding overflowing with love and joy because daughter and son-in-law have been nourished and raised on the fruits of the Holy Spirit and taught by their parents to fly with God as their guide.

In Matthew 6:26, we read the familiar words of Jesus: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”

We all occupy nests of sorts, and at different times those we love must leave for whatever reason, and we do the same. But no matter where we are, no matter where we fly, God is watching over us. If mother doves watch over their hatchlings, and human parents do the same for their children, then how much more so does our God and creator love and care for us?

Taking a break from thinking about this, I went out on the back porch for a little while and noticed that the sounds of birds flying around the birdfeeder were accompanied by the laughter of children at the church playground nearby. Our nest on the front porch may be empty, but there still are birds everywhere.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Help line

We recently bought a small charcoal grill, and when I opened up the assembly instruction booklet, I was impressed with the large pictures, large text and big block numbers guiding the reader from Step 1 to Step 10. However, I was taken aback when I read the instructions next to Step 1: “Do not return product to the store.” It offered an 800 number for help, but the message was clear: You bought it, it’s yours, you build it. Don’t open it up, dump it out, see how difficult it is, and change your mind. This is yours now, and you have to deal with it the best you can. Call for help if you need to, but you cannot return the product.

Our lives are full of moments when the “no return policy” is in play. We want something and pursue it, only to discover it is more difficult than we imagined. It may be a new job, a career change, a family, a hobby or interest, a position of leadership. But once it is ours we can’t walk away from it no matter how difficult it is because we are now responsible for it and others are depending on us. We can’t just take the situation back to a customer service desk and say, “I changed my mind.”

I’ve felt that way recently. I wanted to publish a book and I achieved that, but now the marketing part of it is so difficult. There are millions of new books on the market, reading habits and attention spans are changing, bookstores are slow to commit, and publishers aren’t eager to extend themselves. I’ve come too far to box up the experience and say “never mind,” but in fleeting moments the urge to do so is real.

If you enjoy analogies, then you’ll recognize the 800 help line on the grill instruction sheet as prayer. But the comparison only works if you understand that the person on the other end of the line won't necessarily provide specific directions or help, but will listen and offer encouragement: “You can do this because I gave you the talent, energy and courage to get through it, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.” And isn’t that what we often really need to know – that someone is with us, watching us and saying “you can do this.” All the better if that someone is the God who equipped us to do it.

I'm pleased to report that I got the grill built without needing to call the 800 number. There were some brief moments of confusion when the picture and the product weren't so similar, or I had to discern which bolt/nut pair to use next. But I got it built and we’ve cooked on it twice and no doubt we’ll enjoy more “alfresco” cuisine this summer.

As for the book, I’m definitely in it for the long haul. It’s much more important to me than the grill, so you can bet I’ll be using that 800 help line regularly.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Not-so-ordinary time

Laying on my back at the dentist office recently while the hygienist prepared her tools to clean my teeth, the music coming over the sound system prompted me to sit up and ask, “Is that ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,’ I’m hearing?” The hygienist stopped her work, listened, and sighed, “Yes, the system keeps switching to Christmas.” She left the room for a moment and by the time she returned I was hearing the usual, ordinary, nondescript light jazz.

I wasn’t offended by the Christmas music – as I might have been had I heard “Jingle Bell Rock” or a syrupy Kenny G rendition of “White Christmas.” The acoustic guitar arrangement had a pleasant, folky style, and for all I know “God Rest Ye . . .” comes from a folk song, as “What Child is This?” is derived from “Greensleeves.” I was just surprised to hear a Christmas carol in June.

We, the church, are now in that broad span of “Ordinary Time” that falls between Pentecost and Advent. The grand processions and solemn candlelight services are over for now. What’s more, its summertime and the pews are less full as families go on vacation and kids go to camp. It’s a season when it can feel as if there is less going on at church, and as such we may be tempted to take a sort of vacation from the spiritual life.

But hearing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” during Ordinary Time is a good reminder that there is nothing ordinary about our God, this creation, and this life. What’s more, hearing the words “let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our savior . . .” reminds us that even under the boiling heat of summer – or whatever else in life is melting our spirit and resolve – the hope we celebrate at Christmas is year-round.

I'm not a fan of those "Christmas in July" events that some organizations have because I think they mostly emphasize the commercialism and gift-giving and not the central story of our faith. It's good to save a special time for our Christmas liturgies and traditions, making them more meaningful and intentional. Still, while it may be six months before we roll out the Christmas story again, the Christ story is always right here and now.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

To be needed

It’s great to be wanted, but to be needed . . . well, that’s golden. More than anything else, that’s why I joined Wilshire, and more than anyone else, Paul Mansfield made that happen.

I was saddened on Sunday to hear that Paul had died, and it was fitting that I was sitting in the balcony when I heard his name called in the Prayers of the People because that is where we met. It was 1989 and I was a member of another church, but the Bible study class I was in had dwindled to nothing as people moved away. I had moved too – into the White Rock Lake area – so I took the opportunity to look around.

I visited Wilshire one Sunday and climbed into the balcony to avoid being noticed. When the ushers came up the aisles to hand out visitor cards (the way we used to do it), I kept my hands in my lap. But a handsome man with a full head of white hair wasn’t fooled. He leaned toward me and said, “you’re a visitor, aren’t you?” I nodded and he handed me a card. Caught – by Paul Mansfield.

I visited a few more times, and one Sunday I saw Paul again in the narthex, and the conversation went like this:

“I'm glad you’re here. I need you.”

“Uh . . . for what?”

“To usher. To pass out bulletins and help collect the offering.”

“But . . . I’m not a member.”

“Doesn’t matter. I need you.”

He didn’t ask if I would help or could help. He simply said, “I need you.”

In six years at the other church, I was never told I was needed. My presence was accepted, welcomed, appreciated. But never “needed.” As such, it was easy to blend into the crowd (which is my nature) and easy to walk away without drawing attention.

But once I was “needed” at Wilshire, my life changed; I wanted to come back. The church had a new young pastor, and that was a draw, but being needed was the key for an introvert like me. In time, it was clear that I needed Wilshire too. It’s been my longest relationship outside of family and a few close friends, and Paul was the first to make me feel welcome by putting me to work.

A few years later Paul and Sam Wilkinson cornered me in the narthex and said, “We want you to lead us now.” With their faith that I could do it, I led the ushers for a number of years. Wisely, we’ve brought in more people of all ages and have more leaders among the ushers now. I hope they all know how much they are needed and not just wanted – and appreciated too.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Patiently waiting on creation

We recently planted a dark red crape myrtle in our yard. At least that's what we are told it is. It hasn't bloomed yet so we'll have to wait and see. It took a while to find the red, and in fact one nursery implied that nobody is growing them.

I heard a similar explanation a dozen years ago when a remodeler couldn’t find wood flooring to match the 1949-era heart maple in my old house. “They're not making that anymore,” he said.

Oh really? So who are “they” who aren’t “making” heart maple anymore? Or red crape myrtles? I thought God – the all-seeing, all-knowing supreme creator of the universe – was the maker of all things on Earth, and we are just the custodians and harvesters and benevolent keepers of God’s creation. That's always been my understanding of the way it works.

If humans aren't “making” heart maple anymore, that just means we have lost the patience required to let a maple tree mature to a size that will produce the dark, rich-colored wood in the heart of the tree. As for red crape myrtles, we’re not seeing them because consumers are interested in other colors such as white, pink, melon, purple. Those are the colors nurseries are growing and marketing, but I'm pretty sure God is still making the red ones.

Wilshire member and friend Pat Hicks has built a solid business from our lack of patience in allowing God time to create. His New Life Hardwoods turns old-growth timber from old buildings and barns into flooring, doors, walls and even furniture. The wood has colors and textures that you don’t see at the big box flooring outlets. They don’t have it because their suppliers don’t have the patience to let trees mature.

If Pat had been in the business back when I was looking for heart maple, I’m guessing he could have found it for me in an old house somewhere. And then he would have patiently pulled out the nails, screws and bolts so that he could mill it into tongue-and-groove flooring. That’s the problem with losing patience with nature; you end up having to be patient later. At my old house, that meant putting down pale, featureless flooring and then mixing a dozen stain combinations until we found one that almost matched.

We shortchange God and cheat each other when we lose patience with creation. And we delude ourselves when we start thinking that we are the creators. There's nothing made by human hands that isn't derived in some form or fashion from something that God alone created. We may learn how to manipulate and maneuver things, but that is different from creating.

So, we’ll have to be patient and wait and see if the crape myrtle is red. We’ll also have to see if it really is the dwarf variety we wanted. (The last dwarf crape myrtle I planted eventually dwarfed me.) If not, I’m pretty sure God is still making dwarf red crape myrtles. We’ll just have to be patient and expand our search.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Little free graces

I’ve been intrigued recently by Little Free Libraries: pole-mounted boxes that look like dollhouses holding books that are free for the taking, reading and returning. They’re springing up all over the world, and the current estimate is more than 5,000 in 36 countries.

We first learned about them last month at the North Texas Book Festival, and then on a recent Sunday morning before church I was running an errand and found one on Malcolm Drive off of Abrams. This one was white with a blue roof, and the sides were decorated with colorful kid-friendly images. As is the case with all of these libraries, the door has a glass window so you can see the books inside. Below it are the words, “Take a Book, Return a Book.”

Each Little Free Library has a steward – the homeowner or neighborhood where it is located – that pays for the installation and also curates the contents. That means the books inside reflect the tastes and interests of the local community. The one on Malcolm has a wide variety, from The Poky Little Puppy to Jon Stewart’s America. There are several more of these in the Dallas area; we found one in Garland with a different design and a different mix of books.

As it turns out, the library on Malcom is curated by Hannah Wahl, a 10-year-old Lakewood Elementary School student. (Her story was featured in the January issue of the “Advocate” magazine.) She loves to read, and with the help of her grandmother, she’s sharing her passion with her friends and neighbors.

Which got me to thinking: What if we had a glass panel on our soul that revealed our interests, tastes, passions and beliefs. And what if we allowed people to reach in and experience a part of who we are – like characters in a book, only we are real?

We actually do that all the time because our words and deeds speak volumes about who we are. Like the stewards of the Little Free Libraries, we have to monitor that closely because we may tend toward bad habits or examples that can be picked up and shared with others. And, as with the library stewards, we have to be careful what people drop into us. The libraries promote sharing, and some things just really shouldn’t be shared.

But in the best situations, we offer those around us a little free glimpse of God’s love, mercy and grace, and we should welcome the sharing of that. There should be a sign below our glass window that says, “Take Some Grace, Return Some Grace.”

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The hand of God

Last Thursday I took our two young nephews to the Perot Museum of Nature and Science. We were there six hours, had a great time, and learned a lot.

One of the many exhibits that captivated six-year-old Ethan was a tall, twisting tornado made of hot and cold air and water vapor. Ethan wasn’t so much interested in the tornado itself as the fact that when he stuck his hand into the middle of it, it would disperse and disappear. He’d pull his hand out and let the tornado form, and then stick his hand back in and it watch it disappear. After a few cycles I had to coax him away so that other visitors could watch it twist. After all, the exhibit wasn’t about stopping tornadoes. It was about how they form and their amazing yet awful power.

This all came back to me this morning as I opened the newspaper and read the details of the devastation in Moore, Oklahoma. No doubt there will be some who will ask, “Why did God let this happen? Why didn’t God just stick his hand in and stop the storm?” (I will pause here and ask certain TV evangelists to button their lips about God’s wrath on a sinful world. And politicians can hold their tongues too and not use this for fodder about global warming. A visit to the Perot Museum reminds us that in the grand scheme of things, our knowledge of nature and God is still so limited.)

I don’t have an answer for why God doesn’t intervene. I’m certain that God has the power to intervene – to stop the storms, along with cancer, famine, war, mental illness and everything that grieves us. However, to do so would interfere with the entire system of nature and free will, and humankind has made it clear from the beginning that we enjoy free will.

I believe that God does cause the tornadoes, but only in the sense that our earth was created and is sustained by certain principles of natural science that have been in place since the beginning. We humans were created and placed into this mix and we have to exist and cope like every other living thing. At the Perot Museum we also saw displays about earthquakes, floods, avalanches and volcanoes. The message I get is that if you live in a flood plain, there’s a risk of flood. Same with living on the fault line in San Francisco, or the foothills of Mount St. Helens, or the rich farmlands of Tornado Alley. Most of the time these are wonderful places to live, but the risk is still there.

Ethan lives in an area of rural New Mexico that sees its share of drought, wildfires, blizzards and lightning that can kill crops, livestock and people. He’s already witnessed some of this, but he’s also seen how people come to the rescue by standing guard on the fire lines, sharing their pastures and homes, holding bake sales and benefit concerts, and quietly praying through the night.

He may not yet fully understand that these acts of kindness are in fact “the hand of God,” but in time I’m sure he’ll see that while God does not reach in and stop the tornadoes, God reaches out – with us and through us – to share his love and mercy in the aftermath.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Lessons from mothers

Mother’s Day has come and gone, but it has taken me a couple of days to reflect on what the day means and the three good lessons I received from my mothers this year.

Watch out for those earthly treasures
I’ll start at the end, on Sunday evening during our Mother’s Day cookout at our house, when my mother called her two sons out into the yard for a lawn chair summit. For a few fleeting seconds I was concerned about what the topic might be. And then she said it: “It's time . . . to quit paying rent on the storage unit.”

Whew, nothing so dire after all. Still, a daunting task: to sort through furniture and odds and ends saved from generations of Hamptons and McKenzies and decide what should be kept for future generations, what should be donated or sold, and what should just be discarded.

Mom has always treasured relationships more than things – she wanted family time more than gifts this year – so we should have a pretty good go at the storage clean-out. I’ve had good hands-on experience in recent years with this “trash vs. treasure” exercise, so I’m up for the challenge. Besides, we’ll make some new memories to treasure in the process.

Live every day to the fullest
Earlier in the day I had an unusual conversation with my mother-in-law. The subject was two-cycle engines – the type that are on lawn trimmers and require a mix of gasoline and oil. It’s a conversation that men might have, but Thelma is a take-charge, hands-on woman, and when she had a question about the oil, I was glad I could provide an answer.

More than that, I was glad to be reminded how important it is to be engaged every day. At 89, Thelma is a living reminder that life is what you make of it, and the more you do, the more you live. She teaches Mothers Day Out, works in the yard with her husband, teaches Sunday School, and speaks her mind fearlessly. There’s no “stop” in her, and I love being around her.

Faith is the tie that binds
On Saturday, I had a nice phone call from my other mother-in-law. Terri called to thank me for the card and letter I sent, and then just to talk because, as she said, “we’ll always be family.” In Wilshire’s Epiphany Class we’ve been studying the Old Testament book of Ruth, where Naomi and her daughter-in-law have both lost spouses but are bound together by faith. My relationship with Terri has that “Ruth and Naomi” quality to it because our shared faith is the real family tie that binds.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Advice for the not-so-gifted

In church we talk about our spiritual gifts – those special abilities that we believe the Holy Spirit has gifted us to do through our talent and interest. The list can be long – from teaching and preaching to cooking and hosting – and we tend to include anything that we enjoy doing and can do for the benefit of others.

I am writing this today as a preemptive strike (or prayer) in preparation for what is definitely not my spiritual gift: public speaking. I’ve been asked by some new neighbors who don’t yet know my shortcomings and fears to lead an exploratory meeting tonight for a potential neighborhood association. It’s a cause I want to support, but from the back row and not the podium.

I've sometimes said that my three biggest fears are public speaking, wasps and death. In fact, I’m confident that if I were to be buzzed by a wasp while standing at a podium, I’d probably die on the spot.

The fear of public speaking has dogged me my entire life, and it’s paired with and akin to a fear of attention. I took speech/drama in high school and that didn't fix it. I've pushed myself in other ways over the years with no relief. I thought that age might give me confidence, but that hasn’t helped at all. This is why I don't teach Sunday School and I cringe when asked to pray in public. Although if I can write it down and read it, I have half a chance of getting through it. However, even with notes, I can go mentally blank or get trapped in a verbal cul-de-sac.

I can recall only two times in my life when I had to stand up and speak and was totally calm and collected. One was leading a panel discussion at a conference hosted by the publication I worked for. I'd stuttered and stammered through the event before, but on this occasion I had the flu and I just didn't care. I think some medication had something to do with that.

The other time was while giving a eulogy, and I truly believe the Holy Spirit was resting on one shoulder and the dearly departed was resting on the other. I had asked them to be there, and I believe they honored that request. As a result, emotion and fear gave way to strength and confidence and I was almost flawless in my delivery. On that day I believe I had the gift of the Holy Spirit, which is a step up from a spiritual gift.

I’ve asked for that gift on several occasions since then, but I don’t believe the Holy Spirit is concerned about our performance at business meetings, neighborhood meetings or other trivial pursuits. I think that gift is reserved for times when there are hurting hearts and needy souls in the audience. Otherwise, we just have faith that when asked to do something that is not on our list of spiritual gifts, that those we are working with or for will appreciate our efforts and overlook our shortcomings. So, that’s what I’m praying for tonight.

Still, in the spirit of a blog where comments are welcomed and encouraged, I’d be interested to know: What you do when you're called upon to do something outside of your spiritual gifts? Pray, meditate, study, seek solitude, run away?

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

No trifle, this layered life

I never knew what “trifle” was until LeAnn and I married and several people gave us trifle bowls as gifts. They look to me like giant, squatty wine glasses, but the idea is that you layer them with dessert fixin’s (or salad, taco or other complementary fixin’s) and then you put a big spoon next to it and let your guests dig in and enjoy it.

Some might scoop up one layer at a time, or dig past layers to a flavor they favor, such as strawberries, chocolate, or guacamole (not in the same trifle, of course). But to really do trifle right, you take the spoon and dig down through the layers and get a little bit of everything, because the layers are meant to be tasted and experienced together.

Our lives are built in layers too, with one day and event stacked on top of another through childhood, youth, young adult, middle age, and senior adulthood. It’s tempting to feed off of the top layer, but life is richer when we dig in a little.

At the top of my layered life today is the official release of my book, the day it is said to be “available.” That took a lot of work so today is memorable regardless of whether any books are ever sold. One layer down – a year ago today – LeAnn and I moved into this house. It’s a day to thank God again for his blessings, and thank Steve Conner and others who rolled up their sleeves and turned dreams and drawings into a wonderful home.

If I dig really deep – 30 layers down, in fact – I can taste again the day I set out to make another home. If I were to dig into the years before and since then, I’d find April 30ths that were sweet, and some that were bitter. There’d be proms, breakups, band concerts, A+ papers, botched exams, new jobs, terminations, moving days. Layered between those memorable moments are days so thin and eventless that I don’t have any recollection of their taste. And yet there might have been something noteworthy if I’d been paying attention to God’s simple gifts.

Donald Miller, one of my favorite authors, writes about how our brains develop slowly through age 26. “The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn’t that big of a deal, that life isn’t staggering. What I’m saying is I think life is staggering and we’re just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we’re given – it’s just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.”

I agree with Miller; life is staggering. These days – these layers – are gifts to be tasted and savored. The top layer always gets our attention, as do some of our favorite moments, but it’s good to dig in and remember the full mix of flavors.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Unlatching the windows

We’ve all heard the saying, “when God closes a door, he always opens a window.” Forms of that phrase have been attributed to several people, Including Helen Keller, Alexander Graham Bell, and the Mother Superior in “The Sound of Music.” It’s a great statement of faith, and one to which I would like to add: “and sometimes it helps if we unlatch the window first.”

Case in point: For two years I’ve been writing articles for a group of construction and design magazines based in Chicago. It’s been steady work but sometimes tedious and labor-intensive when compared to the pay I’ve received. Recently I’d thought about declining more assignments from them but I was too timid or practical to just close the door on them. It’s good to have work, after all.

But then something interesting happened last week. With a book to be released soon, I felt a surge of uncharacteristic boldness and talked to the publisher about other manuscripts. Within a day, they chose two they want to work on next. Three hours later, I got an email from the magazines in Chicago. They are reorganizing and they no longer need freelancers. “Thank you for your service. Goodbye.” I was almost giddy because I had unlatched a window just before the door slammed in my face.

This was not the first time I’ve experienced this in my career. On a chilly Monday in December 2002, I was terminated from a communications job at an engineering firm, but four days later I was offered a new job. Once again, I had unlatched a window; six months earlier, I had inquired about a job that didn’t yet exist. I just had to wait faithfully for the window to open.

Admittedly, it doesn’t always work that smoothly. Often the door does slam first, and it slams hard. We have to grope around in the dark to even find a window to unlatch, let alone one that will open and that we can crawl through. Sometimes it can take months, even years, for a window to open, and that’s where our faith comes into play.

I do believe God is in the details, but I also believe God enjoys our participation. Sometimes, that means opening the latches from the inside of our lives and waiting faithfully for God to show us the way.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Silence

It would be fitting, acceptable, understandable for me to use this space today to talk about what happened Monday in Boston. The only problem is, I have nothing to say about it. Prayers? Yes. Fears? Perhaps. Disappointment? Uh huh. Anger? You bet. Questions? Definitely. But words? Nope. I’m totally empty. And that’s okay, because some things are beyond words; some things call for silence. So if you’re reading this now and scroll down and expect to read more but find nothing, then fill the void with your own moment of silence.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Behind the door

On Saturday night we saw "Admission," the new movie with Tina Fey and Paul Rudd about an admissions officer at Princeton University. The film is more serious than I expected, which for me made it a more interesting story and left me with two questions: Was the behind-the-door glimpse of the admissions process accurate? And regardless, what was the university thinking when it agreed to participate in such an odd and confusing “product placement.”

As depicted in the movie, the admissions officers are at times rigid, strict judges of academic achievement and personal character, and at other times they are passionate advocates for applicants based on their own biases and life experiences. As such, the process is capricious, and if I were a high school student applying to universities and especially Princeton, I would find this look behind the door unsettling. As for Princeton, it might have been best to not play along. There are benefits to maintaining an element of mystique.

I have the same feeling about attempts to look behind the door and reveal the workings and motives of God. It’s impossible, of course, but still we try and we overreach. It’s good to pray "thy will be done,” because that is a statement of trust that God’s will is right no matter what it entails and we are ready to live within that will. And it’s okay to pray “thy will be known,” because it’s good to have a road map for the next part of the journey we’re on. But “thy will be understood” is a dangerous prayer. It causes us to fashion God in our own image and put words in God’s mouth. It leads to – dare I say it – religions.

This is especially true when tragedy strikes. We want to find a meaning or reason behind why God would allow or even cause such a thing to happen, and that can spin us around to believing in a God that is as uneven as a college admissions officer – taking this one, leaving that one. And then in God’s defense, we say things like “it was just his time” or “some things are just not meant to be.” I’ve heard these statements at funeral homes and at sports arenas. (Apparently, God has a bracket too.)

Believe what you wish, but I believe that while we can’t always understand why things happen, in God’s strength we can endure and move on. A student who doesn’t get into the college of their dreams will find other opportunities. Likewise, our losses and setbacks can pave the way for new strength and direction. If we trust that to God, of course, because while we can’t fully know God, we can fully trust God. Beyond that, I don't need to know what God is up to behind the door.

For a case study on this subject, read my "Things on My Mind" post for today (April 12).

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Happy 100th Easter!

Sunday morning, as I was walking from the Narthex to the church office with the guest cards in my hand, I looked down at one and was amazed. It had a name, a birthday, and then at the bottom the words: “Celebrating 100th Easter!”

Very cool, I thought, and then I looked again and wondered if there might be a mistake. While 2013 minus 1913 does equal 100, the birth date given was in July, which means she was born after Easter 1913. That would mean she has celebrated just 99 Easters – which is still remarkable.

But the more I think about it, the more I believe she was making a very important point. Or if not, then there is certainly something for us “youngsters” to understand and remember.

In Psalm 139:13-16 we read the familiar words:

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”

It's so easy to gloss over that as pretty poetry, but if we read those words and believe them, then this woman was being nurtured and loved on Easter Sunday 1913, several months before she took her first breath. So indeed, she has celebrated her 100th Easter.

But keeping count is a human compulsion. Christ died for all people for all times. All of our days and years are knit together and redeemed by Christ at Easter. We are woven into every Easter that has been or ever will be – an eternal tapestry. If we’ve celebrated just one Easter or 10 or 50, it’s the same as having celebrated 100 or 1,000, or to quote from “Amazing Grace” – “ten thousand.”

Still, we humans like to keep count, so happy 100th Easter, dear guest, and hope to have you back with us for your 101st!

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Twists and turns

This morning I had a cup of coffee with Cleo Holden, a wonderful new friend of ours and the executive director of Friends of Olde Downtown Garland. We shared our mutual interest in historic preservation, but also the life events that brought her to Garland from Oak Cliff, and me from Dallas. She especially wanted to know how LeAnn and I met, and as I shared our story, I found myself marveling again at the twists and turns that brought us together.

I finished with Cleo just in time to drive the 11 miles to Wilshire for the noon Holy Week service, sitting in the pew with LeAnn of course. And then I was going to rush back to the home office to do some work, but instead I found myself drawn into the quiet of the Columbarium Garden to walk the labyrinth.

In the meditation guide that was thoughtfully placed on the wall next to the path, I read:
“As you walk (the labyrinth) today, put your mind and heart in touch with the mysteries of life and faith . . . the wonder of birth . . . the inscrutability of death . . . the unexpected twists and turns of your path. Ponder the paradox of accepting death in order to live life to its fullest . . . the way suffering and trouble are sometimes a path to joy and meaning . . . how life is a strange mixture of light and shadow.”

It’s difficult to accept – because it’s difficult to understand – that the contentment and joy I’m living now were made possible by excruciating loss. The path I was on was wonderful, but then it took a horrible, jarring turn, and the path I now walk is equally wonderful but in totally new and different ways.

As I walked the labyrinth, I couldn’t escape the sounds of children squealing in the playground down the way. There I was, contemplating the dark mysteries of life, and they were just romping in the bright, crisp sunshine.

When I finished my meditation, I walked to where I was parked, next to that same playground, and saw a little girl crying as a teacher rubbed her forehead. My prayer for her is that a bump on the playground is the only pain she will know for a long time. And, when the real twists and turns of life come, I pray she’ll learn to live the prayer that I read at the labyrinth, and that I’m still learning to live myself:

“Lord of mystery, paradox and shadowy light, teach me to walk in your ways and embrace the fullness of life.”

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Help for that sinking feeling

Ever feel like troubles are swallowing you up? We had that feeling on a recent Sunday afternoon when LeAnn looked out the back window at a dark spot on the lawn and asked, “is that a sinkhole?”

We walked out to take a look and discovered that, yes, we do have a sinkhole – with an opening about three feet across, a depth of four to five feet, and an interior that expands to maybe nine feet across. We backed off knowing we were standing on unsafe ground. The recent news of a sinkhole in Florida that swallowed a home and its owner was fresh on our minds.

Our immediate reaction was to call Steve Conner who built our house – not because he was responsible, but because we knew he’d have great instincts on what to do next, and he did. Steve was out of town, but he got on the phone and consulted with Bob Lydecker, friend and Wilshire member, who has a background in geology. Bob also is a Stephen Minister.

The Stephen Ministry is an ecumenical program in which lay people are trained to provide emotional and spiritual care during a crisis or difficulty such as: loss of a loved one, illness or hospitalization, separation or divorce, loneliness or discouragement, spiritual crisis, job crisis or unemployment, incarceration, aging, birth, adoption, miscarriage or infertility, relocation, recovery after an accident or disaster.

Our sinkhole was not a Stephen Minister assignment, but Bob gave a Stephen Minister-type response. At 9 p.m. on a chilly Sunday night, he dropped whatever he was doing, drove across town, and knocked on our door. A few minutes later he was on his stomach in our back yard, using a flashlight and tape measure to assess our situation and calm our fears. He achieved both.

The good news is that our sinkhole is not the opening to a massive underground cavern but probably the result of underground water eroding the fill-in from a septic tank or cistern that was removed decades ago. And, our house sits on piers that were drilled 28 feet down to solid rock. The whole lot could wash away beneath us and we'd be sitting safely – though strangely – on stilts. “All other ground is sinking sand,” as the hymn goes.

We’re still working on filling the hole (anybody got a dozen yards of dirt you want to dispose of?), but it no longer looks and feels like a crisis. Instead, it’s just something we have to work through, and Bob and Steve helped put us in that frame of mind.

I've not had a Stephen Minister work with me in the past although there are times when I would have benefitted. If I face one of those times again, I might ask for one. Especially one like Bob who would drop everything to come sit down on the ground beside me and help me cope with a hole in my life.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

All kidding aside

It was just a dumb joke, emailed to my longtime friend Paul, a lifelong parishioner at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church down the street from Wilshire: “So . . . the Catholic Church is giving up the Pope for Lent, huh?!”

You can almost hear the moans and the symbol crash. Paul didn’t respond, but he has a wonderful sense of humor so I know he took no offense. And I followed the joke with, “but all kidding aside, this is an amazing time for the church. I'll be praying that the cardinals are wise in their deliberations.” And I meant that, because it is an amazing time, and the Catholic Church does need a great leader. In fact, I believe the whole world benefits from the Catholic Church having a great, Godly leader.

But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I wonder if there’s not something beneficial to this idea of giving up a pope for lent. Not just a Catholic pope, but any person or thing that we’ve put on a pedestal in the name of religious leadership or spiritual advice. It could be a pastor, a teacher, a coach, a friend, a book, a philosophy, a lifestyle. It’s good to have mentors and role models, guidelines and principles, but if we get lazy and let someone else do our thinking or some system dictate our decisions, then we’ve lost the point of the spiritual life. Which is: It is my spiritual life and your spiritual life.

Christ’s ministry illuminated the value of our individual, spiritual life aside from the religious order and structure of the day. What’s more, the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost to imbue each individual with a spiritual flame that is shaped by our unique personalities, talents and gifts.

While we can mingle our flame with others in community and worship, we should never hand our lamp over to someone else for keeping. A pope can help adjust the wick, but we are the lamp, and Christ is always the flame.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Authenticity

A couple of random thoughts today about authenticity:

First: On Saturday afternoon, after much prompting and recommending by me, Allan Akins visited Roach Feed & Seed in downtown Garland. In case you don’t know, Allan is a devotee of feed stores because his grandfather owned a feed store in Hubbard, Texas (on the highway between Corsicana and Waco). Allan has fond memories of spending time there while growing up. So, when LeAnn and I moved to downtown Garland and we started going to Roach for garden supplies –seeds, tomato plants, planting potatoes, etc. – I thought that Allan would get a kick out of Roach.

Well, I saw Allan at church Sunday and he let me know that Roach was not what he considers a real feed store. First, there is a lot of pet supplies, and what they do have in seed and feed is not in 100 pound bags. He said the store is obviously suited more for the urban gardener than for the authentic by-the-acre farmer.

But the most telling thing Allan told me is that when he walked in the front door, there was a strong chemical odor and not the “earthy” aroma that was prevalent at his grandfather’s store. As they say, “the nose knows,” and Allan’s nose knew immediately that Roach was not an authentic feed store – at least not anymore.

Second: Sunday morning, afflicted with a severe case of laryngitis, I couldn’t sing the hymns but I found myself mouthing the words. On the one hand, I felt fake and phony (and wondered if Beyonce felt that way lip-syncing at the presidential inauguration). On the other hand, I thought that by at least mouthing the words as I spoke them in my head, I was giving my faith more than just lip service.

Still, after a verse and a half, I bowed out and just stood and listened. And you, Wilshire, sounded glorious – especially in the singing of “Softly and Tenderly.” Which leads me to the conclusion that sometimes it’s good to participate, and sometimes it’s good to just listen. There’s authentic worship in both cases.

Normally, I’d tie all this together with some type of metaphor or analogy or connect-the-dots construction, but today I’ll just let it be. Like I said, sometimes it’s good to be quiet.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Don’t miss out

We lost a decade. We weren't angry, bitter, upset. We were just busy with life, and a day became a week and then a month and then a year, until 10 years had passed.

I'm talking about me and Ken, my best friend. Somewhere along the way we both got embarrassed and didn't know how to reconnect until one glorious day when one of us finally said “enough” and sent an email. It doesn't matter which one of us, because as it turns out, we both had a finger on the send button. We both knew we were missing out.

It was just in the nick of time, because right as we reconnected Ken lost a close friend and colleague. Not long after that, I had my own loss. Life was twisting and turning and we both needed someone to help keep us steady and balanced – or to be with us if we wanted to rant and cry. We quickly discovered, too, that we both needed someone to laugh with. Our friendship began in the seventh grade and was built on laughter, and we’d forgotten how much we enjoyed that. In time, I needed someone to encourage me as I moved toward a new love and life, and when the big day came, I needed Ken to stand with me as a witness to God’s love and grace.

Is there someone you are missing? Someone who you’ve let slip out of your life? A family member, a good old friend?

Maybe someone at church, because yes, drifting apart does happen at church. We become busy with committees and fellowships and places of ministry and responsibility, and we look up and discover that someone hasn’t been around for a while. We assume they’re okay or that someone else is keeping up with them so we keep pushing ahead because, after all, we’re doing the work of the church, right? Except that keeping up with each other is the work of the church.

If the church is to be the Body of Christ on earth, then we need all of our members – both literal and figurative. We may be the one that has slipped away, and if so, we may not realize how much we are missing and how much we are missed. The fact is that the Body of Christ is never complete so long as someone – anyone – goes missing.

That goes for those who we don’t even know yet. We need your talents, your energy, your ideas; your questions and your answers; your joys and your pains; your successes and your failures. We need you to help us be all that we are meant to be as a community of faith. We need you to help make us whole.

So what does being the Body of Christ have to do with Ken and me? Did I mention that we never lived in the same neighborhood, and until we were roommates in college we never attended the same school. And even then we took just two classes together. Our common ground was the church, and while we don’t attend the same church now, we are bonded by our faith and our friendship.

Don't make the mistake we made; don’t loose the blessings of being the Body of Christ because you are busy or distracted or embarrassed. Make a call, send an email, knock on a door. Reclaim an arm, a leg, a heart, a best friend.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Turning inward

Sitting on the chancel Sunday morning with the assignment of extinguishing a candle for Lent, the view across the sanctuary was dim, flat, without shadows. That, of course, was because the shutters were closed. We do that at Lent to symbolically wait in darkness for the light of Easter.

I’ve sat on the chancel before when the shutters are open. In that state there is a lightness and airiness – in the physical environment but also the perceived mood. From sitting there, you see the faces of the people bathed in light. Looking out the windows, you can see the sky, the trees and even the birds flitting around. There’s a sense of the world outside the church mingling with the world inside.

When the shutters are closed, however, there is a feeling that the church has turned inward on itself, and that is an appropriate feeling to have during Lent. As we sit in the symbolic darkness awaiting the brightness that comes on Easter morning when the shutters are thrown open, the darkness turns our focus and attention inward.

It’s a feeling that reflects the Gospel stories, when Christ begins to prepare his disciples for what will happen in Jerusalem. There’s a lot of confusion and questions in the growing darkness. There’s less outreach – the miracles and spectacles fade from view – as the talk turns to what is coming and what roles the disciples will play in the coming days and in God’s new kingdom. It’s a somber and unsettled time, no more so than in the upper room and later in the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus bows his head and turns inward in prayer.

But this darkness is more than symbolic; it has a very real physical effect. In the dimming light we lose our depth perception. Distances, divisions, even colors become flat. In that environment we are less bold, less sure-footed. We take steps more carefully, deliberately, even tenuously. Our instincts are to look around and see if we are alone, and if needed, to look for someone to lean on or at least walk with us.

And isn’t that the point of this season?

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

The sign of the cross

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the Lenten season that culminates with Easter. Many Christians will stand in line to receive ashes on their foreheads, acknowledging the truth of what we are told in that moment: we have come from dust, and we will return to dust.

It’s a sobering statement, and for many people the observance is discomforting, awkward, even creepy – so much so that they will avoid the ritual altogether. That reaction may be a symptom of what poet, essayist and, yes, funeral director Thomas Lynch calls “the estrangement between the living and the dead.”

In an excerpt from his forthcoming book, The Good Funeral, published recently in “Aeon” magazine, Lynch writes: “For many bereaved Americans, the funeral has become instead a ‘celebration of life’. It has a guest list open to everyone except the actual corpse, which is often dismissed, disappeared without rubric or witness, buried or burned, out of sight, out of mind, by paid functionaries such as me — the undertaker.”

He continues: “The bodiless obsequy, which has become a staple of available options for bereaved families in the past half century, has created an estrangement between the living and the dead that is unique in human history. Furthermore, this estrangement, this disconnect, this refusal to deal with our dead (their corpses), could be reasonably expected to handicap our ability to deal with death (the concept, the idea of it). And a failure to deal authentically with death might have something to do with an inability to deal authentically with life.”

There is a similar tendency to disconnect during the weeks leading up to Easter; to celebrate the glowing Christ of the resurrection and hide the bloodied body of the crucifixion. By doing so, we ignore the fact that we can’t put on our heavenly garments until our earthen body dies. As Lynch puts it: “Ours is the species bound to the dirt, fashioned from it according to the Book of Genesis. Thus human and humus occupy the same page of our dictionaries because we are beings ‘of the soil’, of the earth.”

Instead of facing the gritty, earthy reality of the crucifixion, and with it, our own death, our nod to the earth and soil is store shelves stocked with baskets full of bright green plastic grass, pastel pink eggs, yellow chicks made of marshmallows and brown bunnies made of milk chocolate. All of that is mostly the modern, day-glow version of ancient spring celebrations that centuries ago were grafted to the holy days of Easter.

True enough, Easter Sunday is and should be a grand, bright celebration of God’s love through the resurrected Christ and the promise of eternal life. But while Easter tells us that death has no ultimate sting, neither does death have any consequence for the present if we don’t acknowledge it. Only then can we face life – and our brief opportunity to love, share and minister to others – with any authenticity and urgency.

That is why we stand in line for ashes tomorrow. It’s grim and sober, yes, but if you use all of your senses, you can feel the ashes etched onto your skin in the sign of the cross. It’s a good feeling – a feeling of life that has purpose now and forever.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Glancing back, moving ahead

I recently drove for a week without a rear view mirror. It was broken in a cracked windshield replacement operation and I had to wait for a new mirror to be delivered. My state inspection sticker got shredded too, and interestingly, you don't need a rear view mirror to be legal on the road. But that doesn’t mean you are safe.

During that week of driving, including an 800-mile roundtrip to the Texas coast, I was surprised at how impaired I felt – and actually was – without a rear view mirror. Sure, I had the two side mirrors, but they didn’t show me what was directly behind me. If there was a vehicle or two on my back bumper, I couldn’t see them until they came around me, which startled me a few times. I tried to see behind me using the appropriately named “vanity” mirror and all I could see was my own big head.

To compensate for this sort of “blindness” I was experiencing, I turned to look over my shoulder. That’s not a safe way to drive either. If someone slams on the brakes ahead of you and you’re looking backward . . . crash!

I was so relieved when I finally got the new rear view mirror. It allows quick backward glances while focusing on what’s ahead. It provides a balanced view.

That’s true in life as well. While we’re racing into the future, it’s important to keep some perspective of what’s behind us – where we’ve come from and what we’re leaving behind. As the saying goes, “if we don’t know where we’ve been, how will we know where we’re going.” It’s also good to know what is still pursuing us – bad habits, addictions, guilt, sad memories – so that we can keep moving toward a better tomorrow.

And that’s the point of life; that’s the flow of life. It’s always moving forward, and too much backward glancing can cause you to crash into the future. Balance comes when we trust God with both the past and the future so that we can live fully in the present.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Keeping our voice

A recent article in the Los Angeles Times supports what I’ve believed to be true for a long time. Under the headline “Texas talk is losing its twang,” the article explains how the in-migration of people from different parts of the country – and the world for that matter – has diluted the historic Texas accent.

The article states: “Back in the 1980s, about 80% of Texans interviewed by researchers at UT Austin, including many students, had traditional Texas accents. Now that’s down to a third. The uniquely Texas manner of speech is being displaced and modified by General American English, the generic, Midwestern dialect often heard on television.”

I began to sense this change in the mid-‘80s while working at the Dallas Chamber of Commerce. “Sun Belt mania” was in full swing with corporations from the northeast and Canada coming to Texas with their headquarters – and employees with their unusual accents and dialects. Even at the Chamber, our publishing group got out-sourced to an outfit from San Diego, and those folks didn’t sound like Texans either.

I don't know if I'm glad or sad about the change. After all, Hollywood film and TV producers have had a field day (or century) making fun of our twang. It’s been a stereotype in which “twang” equals “hick” equals “dumb.” On the other hand, the twang has pointed to our rich history as an independent republic that embraced big characters with big ideas and dreams.

Some say there’s been a similar change in American spiritual life; they say the Christian voice has been diluted by the influx of other faiths and religions, not to mention those with no beliefs at all. They point to the banning of prayer in the classroom and other public venues as proof. (Listening to the presidential inauguration, I clearly heard an invocation and a benediction – the former being as long as a speech.)

What many are worrying or complaining about is actually a decline of what they believe is the appropriate moral code that their specific religious practice promotes and dictates. That's a whole other situation that involves more than religion and is a discussion for another day. My point is that just as the Texas twang has been joined by a broad mix of dialects, our Judaic/Christian voice has been joined by a broad range of religious expressions. While Christianity may no longer be the dominate faith in the United States, that doesn't mean that godliness and faith are receding.

What we as Christians need to do is make sure we don't silence our voice in fear or make it too shrill and loud in protest. Perhaps the best way we can do this is to let our actions speak louder than our words.

Suzii Paynter, nominee for executive coordinator of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship (CBF), speaks eloquently about this in an interview posted on YouTube. She talks about the work that CBF is doing to address poverty, transformation, peace making, justice, education and health care. “It’s about action and doing things that make a difference,” she says. “The era of the passive listener is over.”

So too is the era of the passive speaker – the one who declares the Gospel but does nothing to back it up. Certainly the CBF has been active in this regard. So too have been organizations like Texas Baptist Men, who serve food in areas hit by storms and other natural disasters. The same is true with Buckner International through its historic work with children and seniors and more recently with community development here and abroad. At Wilshire we’ve joined this active voice through our financial support of these organizations but also our hands-on partnerships with Buckner, Esperanza, Healing Hands and other local organizations.

If we continue in this way, we need not worry about losing our Christian voice or our relevance in society.

In the Times article, Lars Hinrichs, an English language and linguistics professor at UT Austin, says: “The Texas accent has great symbolic value. It has a local identity versus, say, Arizona English. That makes Texas English more resilient.”

Hmmm . . . “symbolic” value? What about real value? Being “Texan” has never been just about the way we speak. The same should be true for being Christian. It should be about our actions. That’s what has made the faith resilient . . . and real.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Separating fact from fiction

As a writer, I spend a lot of time creating fictional characters and events. I do the same thing in real life, as was evident this past weekend in a trip to the Texas coast.

LeAnn and I set out on Saturday with two goals: do some research on a novel I’m writing based on an encounter I had in Port Aransas in 2009, and stop on the way in Victoria to visit the mother and brother of Debra, who died in 2008.

Regarding the novel: After churning out almost 140 pages, I needed to go back and make sure my fictional settings bore some resemblance to reality. As it turns out, my memories from three years ago were pretty sharp. We saw locations and scenes that I have described well, but we also saw good examples of places that I had painted with my imagination. We took lots of pictures that I will turn to for inspiration as I continue to write.

However, the more important reality check came in Victoria. In the four-plus years since Debra’s death, I had created a fiction in my mind that my new life with LeAnn was painful to Debra’s family. Even though they have encouraged my happiness, have met the news of my relationship with LeAnn with interest, and at our invitation came to the wedding, I’ve been self-conscious about this new life. I was troubled that while I could have a new love and a new wife, they could not have a new daughter or sister.

Sadly, Debra’s father passed away last year and never got to meet LeAnn except for in the reception line at our wedding. But this weekend Debra’s mother and brother welcomed us with open arms. They treated me as a son and brother the way they always have, and they were gracious and loving to LeAnn. I felt like they see her as a welcome addition to the family.

I’m embarrassed that in wanting to make sure I honored Debra’s life appropriately, I had limited the resiliency and love of her family. Most of all, I had discounted their faith in a God that is big enough to carry us through our grief and on to bright new days with families that are changed but are no less lovely.

Perhaps the moment that settled my heart once and for all came Sunday morning with Debra’s mother on my right shoulder and LeAnn on my left, in the church where Debra and I were married. Preaching from the same Gospel passage that was read at Wilshire this past weekend – the wedding feast in Cana – the pastor talked about how in that event, Mary, the mother of Jesus, gave her only “commandment” that is recorded in the Bible: “Do whatever he (Jesus) tells you.”

As I listened, I felt him telling me: Live and love and be at peace with this family I have given you. Sitting on the beach at Port Aransas the next morning, watching the sun rise with LeAnn, I had a new sense of the fact of God’s infinite love and the fiction of my limited understanding.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Coming clean

If the news we are hearing is correct, cyclist Lance Armstrong has finally confessed to altering his blood chemistry in some manner to win the Tour de France seven consecutive times. Some have received the news with a loud “duh?!” and “what took him so long?” Some are cheering him for finally coming clean, and others are cynical and skeptical that the confession is not a soul-cleansing event but more of a career/finance-saving event.

I can’t judge Armstrong’s motives, but I do want to defend the concept of confession in whatever form it takes and no matter what the initial motive may be. Jesus was all over confession, because he knew that once the cat is out of the bag, it’s hard to tote that baggage again. Everyone knows who you were and what you were doing, and going back to the old way and the wrong way is much more difficult when everyone is watching. If allowed to compete again, Armstrong likely will give samples in front of witnesses.

And if he’s clean, maybe Armstrong will have the opportunity to prove that he actually is a gifted athlete. The sad thing is that had Armstrong done nothing more in his life than survive cancer, which he did, he would have had a wonderful witness and testimony to share. And if he’d gone on to compete as a cyclist and simply finished the Tour – even just once – he would have been an inspiration to so many.

But for whatever reason Armstrong wanted to be superhuman, and perhaps that is his greatest misstep. God doesn’t want us to be superhuman; God just wants us to be human – even frail and fragile if that is our condition – to let his presence be seen in our lives. I’ve seen the cancer war up close and personal, and the greatest inspiration has been seeing someone share their faith even as their body was failing. We all want miracles, of course, but God doesn’t need miracles to make his case. God’s definition of “live strong” is different from ours.

The worst cover-up may not be Armstrong’s complex doping scheme; it may be hiding his God-given humanity. Now, with the awards stripped, the facts revealed and his blood and conscious clean, Armstrong has an opportunity to be what God intended – a man, on God’s terms, which are the only ones that count.

And by the way, lest you think I’m waving a self-righteous finger at Armstrong, you don’t have to dope your blood to be a dope for control and attention. I’m guilty in my own way.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Watching church

I missed church Sunday for the first time since I can recall. The flu or something like it kept me home. However, it gave me a first opportunity to watch the 11 a.m. worship service live on the Internet. And you know what? Wilshire puts on a pretty good show. Beautiful music, great preaching, strong reading, thoughtful prayers, reverent moments, and attractive people leading the way.

Great production values too. I’ve sat in the balcony sometimes and watched the monitor as David Hammons and his videographers switch between cameras for different views and angles, but you don’t get the full affect – along with scripture references, hymn titles, and people’s names – until you watch it on the computer. It’s all there; it’s all good.

But then Wilshire does something sneaky: At the end of the hour, during the organ postlude, there’s a cutaway with George in the James Gallery thanking Internet viewers for tuning in and inviting them, if possible, to visit Wilshire. Suddenly it gets personal, and that’s when it hits you that what you’ve missed in the previous hour is the live, personal touch.

I’m not one who believes that you absolutely must be in church every Sunday without fail to have a rich, meaningful spiritual life. I think there are times when some time away in a different but equally stimulating setting is appropriate and beneficial – time alone in some sort of silent retreat, for example. But there are times when you need to be with God’s people, and there’s just no substitute for being in a real church – and a church that fits you and feels like home.

I’ve watched other church services on television and they can help fill an hour and to some degree make you feel a little bit like you’ve been to church. You hear the scriptures and the sermon and the hymns – you can even sing along if you wish – but when you don’t know any of the people you are watching, well, it feels like a show.

The disconnect I had Sunday was that as I watched, I was seeing people that I know. From the chancel to the choir to the pews – there’s Doug, and the other Doug, and George and Jeff, and Linda and LeAnn, and Steve and Carol Ann, and so many others. I saw them but I wasn’t with them, and that’s what I missed.

I’ll be back at Wilshire “live and in person” on Sunday, but I’ll bring with me a new appreciation of the human touch of church. Also, I’ll have a stronger sense of how important it is for those who are our guests on the Internet to make the transition, if they are able, to come through the doors and be a part of something very real and personal. And, I have a stronger sense of how important it is that we reach out to those who can’t be with us regularly so that when they worship with us on the Internet, they feel more of that personal touch.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Black Friday

“When Black Friday comes,
I’m gonna dig myself a hole,
Gonna lay down in it ‘til
I satisfy my soul.”

The song by Steely Dan is said to generally be about economic excess and financial disaster, and since it was recorded in 1975 it’s definitely not about our current cultural tradition of shopping mania on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Still, I won’t let that stop me from using it out of context to make a point.

I don’t want to condemn Black Friday completely, because many well-intentioned people take advantage of the discounts on that day to buy nice gifts for their families and friends. And the stores they visit employ people who need the paycheck to provide the basics of life for themselves and their families. That’s all good. Still, the day carries a strong scent of self-indulgence and out-of-control consumerism that is troubling.

As a society, we have twisted the meaning of success to focus on what we have rather than who we are and what we do. The result is that we want and want and buy and buy in hopes of satisfying our souls, but instead we find ourselves laying in a hole. It may be a financial hole from spending what we don’t have. But it also may be an emotional hole from discovering that all that stuff doesn’t make us happy or whole. What’s more, that gift we bought someone doesn’t secure or mend a relationship after all. It’s a sad irony that some people go to their graves already trapped in a hole of impossible expectations.

Okay, now I’ll twist the song in a positive direction. The hole to lay down in during Black Friday is the one that the Apostle Paul wrote about – the one where you die to your own ambitions and society’s temptations and follow Christ in a life focused on relationships. It’s a life where satisfaction comes from spending less time shopping for gifts and spending more time gifting yourself to others – in whatever form that may take.

I’ve never participated in Black Friday, not because I’m a good person but rather because I hate shopping. That’s an easy way for me to avoid the mania (and wag a condemning finger at everyone else). Still, even someone like me who won’t go near the malls on Friday needs to look closely at what kind of hole I’m digging and where I’m laying my life.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

A few words about words

For the past six months I’ve worked on a project to rewrite descriptions of award-winning engineering projects from the past 60 years. While some are truly remarkable (moving the 130-year-old, 10-million-pound, 208-foot-tall Cape Hatteras Lighthouse 3,000 feet inland without cracking a brick), many seem mundane to a lay person such as myself. Even so, the text I’m working from is peppered with the word “special” – as in “specially designed,” “special equipment,” “special preparations,” “special challenges.” The word is used so often that, frankly, nothing seems special at all.

We’re surrounded by a pop culture where over-the-top gushing elevates the common to exceptional and cheapens the truly exceptional in the process. This is prevalent in entertainment and sports reporting, where a high-energy solo or a shoestring catch is called “incredible.” The truth is that if the performers or athletes have practiced and conditioned themselves, then these feats are quite “credible” and in fact expected. In these cases wouldn’t a word such as “outstanding” suffice? Even “breathtaking” if that is your actual physical reaction.

The worst offense is the rush to use the word “miraculous.” A last-second, game-winning touchdown run through a wall of seemingly impregnable defenders might be “spectacular” or “unexpected,” but it’s not “miraculous.” Can we save that word for events that can’t be explained with any common knowledge or past experience – events that just might have the fingerprints of God?

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Change and hope

Tuesday morning I walked through the neighborhood to our polling place, just as I did four years ago, and cast my vote for president, senator, and all the state and local offices being decided. The process was much the same as last time, and yet there was nothing at all the same about it.

When I voted in 2008, I was a freshly minted widower, uncertain of what the next day would bring, let alone the next four years under a new president. I made my choices in the voting booth so as to be counted alongside my fellow citizens, but I really wasn’t interested in the outcome. On that day the nation chose big-picture “Hope and Change,” but I was fixated on change and hope of a more personal nature.

And, mercy me, there’s been a lifetime worth of change in these four years. When I walked to the polls this week, I walked through an entirely different neighborhood in a different town and zip code. I did so as a relatively new husband, living in a new house. After I voted, I walked home to a different job.

As for hope, I never bought the idea that one man could fix everything. This year, as four years ago – and four years from now – my hope is in the one true God who can be trusted with our tomorrows, and who calls on us to share that hope by sharing ourselves.

Former U.S. House Speaker Thomas “Tip” O’Neill famously said that “all politics is local.” So are most of our joys and heartaches. We may cheer or cry collectively for a cause, but most of the things that matter most to us are local. More than just local, the things that impact us most are felt deep in our hearts.

Not coincidentally, the heart is where God works best; that’s where we are transformed. If we embrace life’s heartrending changes and learn and grow from them, we can reach beyond ourselves and do what no politician can do – bring real hope to others. And not by walking through our neighborhood to the polls every few years, but instead by stopping and knocking on our neighbor’s door.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Already home

I almost jumped out of my chair last week when I typed our address into Google Maps and there we were, finally. The satellite image of a vacant lot had been replaced with the image of a house with sidewalks and trees and the beginning of landscaping. On the driveway you can even see the truckload of decomposed granite that was sitting there while we put down flagstone.

When I saw that image I felt like we finally had arrived. No matter that family and friends had visited us, or that we had already received five months of utility bills and our tax assessments. In the Google age, you don’t quite feel like you belong until the “eye in the sky” documents your presence.

As I looked at the image, I also fantasized that this is a God’s-eye view of us based on the ancient belief that God is “up there somewhere” in the cosmos; like in the song from a few years back, “God is watching us . . . from a distance.”

Honestly, it often can feel that way when the storms of life are howling – whether through the chaos and destruction of a hurricane like Sandy this week, or the cold winds of heartache that come when we watch helplessly as someone we love is taken away by illness. In those times it seems that while God may be looking down on our house, there’s no interest or care about what is happening beneath our roof.

The truth is that God is not way up there somewhere, looking down on us. He’s not just under our roof, he’s under our skin. He’s in our heart, and from there he sees us and knows us from the inside out. He’s there when we’re awake and when we sleep, when we succeed and when we fail, when we are joyous and when we are overwhelmed with sorrow.

We know this through his son, Jesus, who in the Gospel of John described God’s presence in the context of “home”:
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.”

Jesus wasn’t just talking about the future; he was talking about now. Through the Holy Spirit, God already resides with us. We don’t have to wait for him to take us home; his home is within us.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Pelicans

Cold weather is coming. How do I know? The pelicans have arrived at White Rock Lake.

We saw them late Sunday afternoon while walking up the east shoreline. Dozens of them. Big and white with black wingtips. Elegant and dignified. They sat quietly on floating logs while the ducks, geese and coots squawked in the water around them. As visitors, they have the good sense to keep their opinions to themselves.

The pelicans come every year, flying in over the lake in formations of three or four like bombers coming home from a mission. They circle a couple of times and then come in for a landing on the water. I don't know where they hail from, although I’ve read they may come from as far away as Canada. Apparently they come for the warmer weather and the excellent year-round fishing. They stay until late March or early April, hanging out mostly at Sunset Bay on the east side of the lake. They must like the afternoon sunshine there, or perhaps they enjoy preening for the paparazzi.

In a world where there seems so little that can be counted on – where leaders disappoint, heroes stumble, businesses fail, markets fall, towers crumble, friends forget, health fades – it’s good to know we can count on God.

God brings the day and the night, the sunshine and rain, the summer and winter . . . and the pelicans.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Dancing through life

Monday night we turned on the television to watch “Castle” and caught the last minute of “Dancing with the Stars.” If I heard right, one of the female contestants said, and I’m paraphrasing, “this program has nothing at all to do with dancing. It’s all about the relationships and bonds we form.”

Really? That sounded like a stretch to me because it does seem to be a competition where you get booted if you don’t dance well. But the more I’ve thought about it, that statement has intrigued me. I’ve started to wonder what would happen if we applied that philosophy to everything we do. What if when we go to work, when we go shopping, when we go to the football game, when we work in the yard, when we do whatever we do . . . it’s not really about the product we make or the things we buy or the game we win or the tasks we complete but instead it’s about the contacts we make and the relationships we create?

Earlier Monday, LeAnn and I went to the State Fair, and while we had a great time, two things stand out when viewing the day through the prism of “relationship.” First, we rode the train from Garland and when we stopped at Mockingbird Station, our friend Paul hopped aboard and we had an unexpected and enjoyable conversation until we parted ways downtown. Paul sent an email later telling us how much he too enjoyed the visit.

Late in the afternoon at the fair, a man in an apron asked if we could help him with bus fare to get home. I gave him some loose change, and then as he walked away I grumbled that perhaps he found the apron and his real “job” at the fair was shaking people down. But our paths crossed once more and he said, “thank you again for your help.” We stopped and talked for a moment, found out he works in food service at the fair, and we let go of the dollar coins we forgot were in our pockets. He thanked us again and said, “God bless you.”

Jesus demonstrates the relational mindset throughout the Gospels when he sets aside the rules and expectations of the day and focuses on the people he encounters. Relationships were at the heart of his ministry and witness. We have trouble following that model when we’re rushing to meet deadlines or racing to win a competition. The result can be that we ignore and even run over people as we check off our “to do” list or jump on the podium to claim our prize.

It can even be a struggle to keep relationships front and center when we’re trying to get church just right. But throughout the Gospels Jesus seems to be saying, don’t just “do” church; “be” church instead. Or as that dancer on television might say: don’t try to be the best dancer; be a great partner.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

The corner of perhaps and maybe

Now that the weather is turning cooler and the grass isn’t growing as fast, I may use my weekly lawn mowing time to sit in a chair on our corner with a sign that reads “Get Directions Here.”

I say that because on a recent Monday, four people pulled up to the corner, rolled down their windows, and asked me for directions. When they named the business they were looking for, I couldn’t tell them, but when I asked “what street is it on?” and they told me, I could at least get them close to their destination. A lot of the streets around here are either numbered or lettered (our corner is Ave. E at 9th) so it’s not hard to help someone count or spell the way toward their destination.

Still, before I go into the “directions and answers” business, I need to study the landscape more. I’m still new to downtown Garland and I need to drive around and learn where the key businesses and government offices are. Otherwise, I might point someone in the wrong direction or get them more lost than they already are. Phrases such as “perhaps it’s over there” or “maybe it’s around the corner” aren’t much help when someone is desperate for directions – such as the two men who were looking for the state employment office.

Our Christian witness works much the same way. We can be well-meaning but lead people astray with fragments of scripture or half-learned theology. I don’t know if I’ve ever made that mistake because, first, I’ve never been very dogmatic, and second, I just don’t know enough. I’d be more prone to keep my mouth shut or say, “why don’t you come to church with me and we’ll find out together” than I would be to give an answer that includes “perhaps” or “maybe.”

On the other hand, I don’t know how many times I’ve led someone in the wrong direction by saying or doing something that doesn’t match my professed faith. That may not include seriously inappropriate behavior, but I’m pretty sure I’m guilty of hurtful snubs, sarcastic remarks, impatient snaps and irritated growls. Sometimes that’s just human nature, but the result can be that people decide to bypass my corner.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

A holy voice

Once a month I meet my friend Paul downtown for lunch, but we always start at the Catholic cathedral where Paul reads the scripture during the noon mass. I usually get there 10 to 15 minutes early and enjoy sitting in the large, dark sanctuary to pray, think or just experience the quiet.

On my most recent visit, the quiet was interrupted by a toddler, standing on the pew next to his kneeling mother, making popping noises and short shouts. As he did so, he twisted his body to look up at the ceiling, apparently intrigued by the echo of his own voice.

On Sunday at Wilshire, guest preacher Peter Marty spoke to a luncheon group about church hospitality, and when asked to critique what he observed at Wilshire he said he would like to see more small children in the worship service. He reasoned that even if children don’t understand the hymns, scriptures, prayers and sermons, they begin to experience the sights and sounds of church, and that begins to become a part of who they are.

I suspect many churches keep children out of “big church” until they reach an age of understanding and discipline precisely to prevent the disruptive behavior that I witnessed at the cathedral. I do understand that and I respect the expertise of child development experts and parents who know more about this than I do.

Still, I’m intrigued by Peter Marty’s perspective. I wonder if what I witnessed at the cathedral was a little boy’s first rough attempt at prayers – sending his voice upward and hearing it echo back. Perhaps some day he’ll be there as his mother was, praying and listening for the response of the Holy Spirit.

And, perhaps what I saw was a middle ground that more parents can explore. To be fair and honest, I’ll report that the mother and child left the cathedral before mass started. I don’t know if that was to prevent further disruption or just because the mother had concluded her prayers and was ready to move on. Either way, it was good for her to expose her child to the sights and sounds of church, even if not during a worship service. Wilshire parents might be interested to know that our sanctuary is open at times other than just during Sunday worship. A visit during one of those times might be a good opportunity for children to start getting a feel for church – and testing their holy voice.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Going the extra miles

Years ago my buddy Ken and I rode bikes from Waco to Dallas. The total distance on the back roads of Central Texas was 124 miles. I think we did it in about 12 hours. Understand – this wasn’t one of those big organized rides with aid stations and mobile mechanics and friends and families waiting at the finish line. This was just a couple of guys who wanted a good challenge on a hot summer Saturday.

Until that ride, the longest distance I'd ridden was 30 miles, and that was a reconnaissance trip for the big ride – to check out the route from Red Oak back into Dallas and up to Richardson.

I discovered in that experience that the only thing I needed to do differently from a physiological perspective to stretch myself from 30 to 124 miles was to keep my body well-fueled. So, in addition to a lunch break at a café in Whitney, we drank plenty of water and ate fruit and energy snacks as we rolled. At the end of the 124-mile ride, I was no more tired than I had been after 30 miles.

However, there was one other factor that was crucial to survival and success: camaraderie with someone to help keep me going. When I made the 30-mile ride, I was alone, and I recall it was a hard, stressful grind. I could never have done the 124 miles by myself. I wouldn’t have even tried.

In similar fashion, we had 80 people at our house on Monday evening, but prior to that the most we had hosted was 30. We weren’t sure if we could do it on that large a scale, but once more the keys to success were plenty of good nourishment and camaraderie. In this case I’ll call it great fellowship – with all the guests but also with those who helped us prepare. We couldn’t have done it alone.

There are so many things in life that seem daunting and even impossible on a large scale. However, if we have sufficient nourishment – be it physical, spiritual or emotional – and if we have good folks with us to help carry the load and push us along, we can get through it. We can even enjoy it and make a great memory.

The bike ride was one of the best days of my life. I’ve added the house party to that list.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Singing by heart

As the bright, familiar guitar intro to Van Morrison's “Brown Eyed Girl” came across the speakers at Einstein Bros Bagels, I looked up from my sandwich to see two men bobbing their heads. One was sitting at a table with his teenage daughter, and the other was waiting for a to-go order. As Van began to sing, so did they: “Hey where did we go, days when the rains came . . .”

I was asking myself that same question – “hey where did we go?” – the previous night at a football game when the halftime announcer said the marching band would be playing Billboard Top 40 hits of the past decade. I didn’t know the songs at all, and when one was introduced as a “smash hit,” I grumbled aloud that I'd never heard of the song or the artist. LeAnn explained: “that’s because we’re old.”

No wonder that I felt redeemed at Einstein’s the next day. I felt I belonged because I knew the song.

Popular culture divides us by age, gender, race, size, education, geography – every imaginable division. Sometimes it can turn groups against each other, and at the least it can leave us asking ourselves, “hey where did we go?”

Our faith, on the other hand, can erase the lines that divide us. It can draw us together to a common God and a shared future in Christ. I experienced a piece of that on Sunday morning as I sat on the floor with three year olds to listen to Paula Woodbury read a picture book with snippets from the Biblical stories of Adam, Noah, Moses, Samson, Joseph, Ruth, John and Jesus. Already, the children were raising their hands as they recognized pieces of stories that I’ve known for years. It’s like we knew the same song, just at different levels of understanding.

In a larger way, our church sings in unison with churches around the world. At Wilshire, while we are Baptists and have the freedom to shape our own worship experience, we often follow the lectionary of the church universal. That puts us in tune with millions of Christians around the world. Imagine that: On any given Sunday, more of us are tuned into the same scripture than the number of people watching the all-time highest rated television programs: Super Bowls, Oscars, royal weddings, World Cup championships. In other words, we are never more united – and we never belong together more – than we do when we worship the same Lord.

Sadly, we’re never more divided than when we fight over the same Lord, creating divisions that are more dangerous than any created by popular or secular culture. Christians, Jews and Muslims should be singing the praises of the one true God instead of bludgeoning each other with intolerance fueled by pride, greed, ignorance and fear. We Christians might lead the way, but even we are on different pages of the hymnal sometimes.

I’d settle for a head-bobbing rendition of another Van Morrison tune:

“These are the days by the sparkling river
His timely grace and our treasured find
This is the love of the one great magician
Turned the water into wine”

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

A Jesus house

On a recent Sunday morning as we were getting ready for church, our doorbell rang and LeAnn opened the door to find Mrs. Ortiz, our neighbor across the street, with a foil-wrapped package of homemade tamales in her hand. As she handed them to LeAnn, she said, “this is a Jesus house, right?”

“Yes,” was the answer. After all, we were getting ready for church. But truly, we do want ours to be a “Jesus house,” and with God’s help and grace it will be.

We don’t know Mrs. Ortiz very well. Our conversations have been limited due to a big language difference so we mostly just wave from across the street. One day we tried to help her catch her runaway dog. We failed, but Mrs. Ortiz thanked us with a hug and an “I love you.” On many Saturday evenings members of her church arrive at her house with Bibles and casserole dishes. When the weather is cool, we hear songs of praise in Spanish coming through the open doors and windows. I suspect that if we were to go over there during one of those worship gatherings we’d be welcomed enthusiastically, even though our language and worship style is different. I say that because I believe hers is a “Jesus house.”

LeAnn related that story to the Wilshire deacons recently with the encouragement to continue striving to make Wilshire a “Jesus house.” So what does a “Jesus house” look like? I believe it is welcoming – as welcoming as Jesus was to everyone he met regardless of their background, transgressions, afflictions or shortcomings.

It’s in that spirit that on Wednesday we will vote on a church bylaw change that, if approved, will extend our church membership to those who have been baptized in other Christian traditions, who do not wish to be re-baptized by immersion, but who affirm their profession of faith in Christ as their Lord and Savior. The bylaw change will not change the way we have always baptized those who come to a faith in Christ through the doors of Wilshire: believer’s baptism by immersion.

We hold tightly to that tradition because it is the Baptist way, but it’s not necessarily Jesus’ way. The Gospels tell us that Jesus was baptized by John in the River Jordan, but nowhere does Jesus say that we must be baptized in precisely the same manner. Even John downgraded the role of baptism when he said to his followers, “I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

And while baptism was one of the instructions that Jesus left with his disciples – “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” – there are no specific instructions for how and when baptism should occur.

So what did Jesus command? When asked about the greatest commandments in the Law, he was very clear: “’Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

I believe the proposed bylaw change honors those commandments, and in doing so, I believe it brings Wilshire closer to being a “Jesus house” and not just a Baptist church.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Hard act to follow

The big question in Waco on Sunday night was whether or not Baylor quarterback Nick Florence could handle the job vacated by Robert Griffin III – RG3, the phenom who last year broke school records, led the team to a 10-3 season, won the Heisman Trophy, and this Sunday starts for the Washington Redskins. As the cliché goes: Griffin will be a hard act to follow.

As it turned out, Florence did just fine: 341 passing yards, four touchdowns, no interceptions, and a 59-24 win over SMU. That’s just 18 yards and one touchdown less than Griffin’s performance last year against TCU. Granted, SMU is no TCU (yet), but anything can happen on opening day in college football, and at Baylor a win is a win.

After the game, Baylor coach Art Briles said of his new quarterback: “Nick was Nick. That’s what you all are going to find out about Nick and what we love about Nick. He’s an intelligent, passionate, driven player who puts himself second.”

On Monday I started thinking about others in a variety of genres and fields that have had hard acts to follow but excelled in their own special way. In professional sports, there’s no better example than Steve Young who followed Joe Montana at the San Francisco 49ers. Super Bowls, franchise and league records – Young made his mark in his own way.

In 1975, fans of the TV series “M.A.S.H.” were devastated when McLean Stevenson’s loveable “Lt. Col. Henry Blake” left the show. It didn’t take long for Harry Morgan’s fatherly “Col. Sherman Potter” to win our hearts and stay there for eight years.

In real life, the nation grieved in unison when Franklin Roosevelt died, and yet Harry Truman stepped into the Oval Office and became one of our most revered and quoted presidents. Many dynamic business leaders have been followed by others who have been successful but in their own unique way. At Dallas-based Southwest Airlines, Herb Kelleher was a shrewd business mind and congenial cheerleader who transformed the airline industry while building a perennial winner. Gary Kelly has continued the Southwest success story in his own steady, quiet manner.

We’ve all had new teachers, principals, coaches, bosses or colleagues that we’ve been uncertain about at first, but then we get to know them and realize, “this is gonna be good.” When I was in Scouts, we got a new Scout Master one year and he seemed tough and rigid at first. Today, Joe Sullivan is on my short list of major influences in my life.

At Wilshire, we’ve had four pastors, each with their own gifts. When Bruce McIver retired after 30 years, some said nobody could fill his shoes. George Mason has led well in his own shoes for 23 years. His style has been different, but the focus has been the same: to glorify God and build a community of faith.

In sports or business, education or religion, as parents, siblings, spouses or friends — we may follow someone into a position or role, but we don’t have to follow their “act.” We just have to follow God’s call to be the individuals we were created to be. We’re not meant to mimic or duplicate anyone else. Instead, we’re to use our unique gifts and talents to create our own place in the world. If there’s anyone we should emulate at all, it’s Christ himself, who empowers us with his spirit to be the person we are meant to be.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Got questions?

Bumping around on the internet recently I came upon a web site called GotQuestions.Org, which says: “The Bible Has Answers. We’ll Find Them For You.” What’s more, it claims “323,510 Bible Questions Answered!” The exclamation mark is theirs because this is, after all, exciting stuff. I mean, what could be more exciting than having all our questions answered, right?

Okay, if it sounds like I’m making fun or making light of this and similar web sites, I’m not. This site says it’s a “volunteer ministry of dedicated and trained servants who have a desire to assist others in their understanding of God, Scripture, salvation, and other spiritual topics.” That’s a worthy endeavor. They also say, “We are Christian, Protestant, conservative, evangelical, fundamental, and non-denominational. We view ourselves as a para-church ministry, coming alongside the church to help people find answers to their spiritually related questions.” Again, all good.

Most important, it says, “it is not our purpose to make you agree with us, but rather to point you to what the Bible says concerning your question.” I like the first part of that, because whether or not we agree with someone is up to us and shouldn’t be forced. The second part of that is a little fuzzy, however, because “what the Bible says” is very much dependent upon interpretation, historical context, emotional health, spiritual maturity, life experience, etc.

Resources like this are helpful if they point us to scriptures where we can begin to study. But we need to be careful when someone – anyone – purports to have an iron-clad answer. We have to ferret that out for ourselves – each one of us with our God-given mind and led by the Holy Spirit.

Post script: In the month since I first visited GotQuestions.Org, their tally of questions answered has increased to 328,680. That’s 5,170 more questions answered. I suspect that for every question answered there are more questions raised. That’s daunting, and humbling. It’s another reason to consider making Bible study at Wilshire a weekly habit. We’ll never get caught up, but perhaps we’ll fall a little less behind. At the very least, we’ll be closer to the truth.

Wednesday August 22, 2012

Sunday School vs. Bible study

I have a confession to make. I haven’t attended Sunday School in years, decades actually, even though I’m in church most every week. Oh yes, I come an hour before the worship service and I get some coffee and I sit in a room with a bunch of people. But it’s not “Sunday school,” or that’s not what I like to call it. I call it “Bible study” because that’s what it is.

For me, “Sunday School” brings to mind sitting in a semi-circle of little wooden chairs and hearing stories like the one about baby Moses floating in a basket in the bulrushes. It was a starting place for me as a child; it’s where children should and do start today; and our Wilshire teachers do a wonderful job in getting children started on the basics in this way. But while the children on the first and second floors are learning about how the “Good Samaritan” helped a man he didn’t know, up on the third floor we’re talking about what the Bible has to say about getting along with the person in the next cubicle at work who wears us out with unethical practices and a total disrespect for everything we hold important. Or, while the children are learning how “God loves everything he makes,” we’re grappling with whether or not God plays a specific roll in the minutia of our lives and how we are to extend God’s reach in a world that sometimes seems godless. It’s meaty, weighty, important stuff.

I call it “Bible study” because while “school” implies questions with specific answers, “study” brings to mind a Pandora’s box of information and ideas. And while going to “school” eventually leads to some form of graduation, “study” has no end. Learning is a lifelong process, and all the more so with matters of faith. The longer we live, the more we experience, the more questions we have and the more we long for answers. Studying with people of varying perspectives enriches that experience.

Wilshire has an exhaustive and varied selection of adult Bible study groups to choose from. Some are attended by people of the same general age group, while some are multi-generational. Some follow a set curriculum, and some are more freestyle. The class I attend – or more accurately, the group I study with – is Epiphany. The name implies “discovery or realization,” and indeed we have lively Bible-based discussions that often lead to new ideas and perspectives. Sometimes the biggest epiphany we have is that someone we know has a different point of view, and that’s OK because God gives each of us a unique way of seeing the world and reading the Scriptures. In Epiphany we may debate issues at times, but there’s no debating that it’s an hour that expands us and enriches us.

So, if the words “Sunday School” turn you off, then do like me and quit going. Instead, come to “Bible study.” It meets at the same time, same place. If you’ve never attended, this Sunday is a good time to start. Or if you’ve been absent for a while – or if you feel like you’re in rut – it’s a good day to restart, because at Wilshire you’re free to choose, move around and explore. The important thing is to attend, study and grow.

Wednesday August 15, 2012

Called by name

“Florida Stranger.” That's the name I have in the contacts list on my cell phone for a woman in Florida who has called me more than a dozen times since mid-June. When I first answered the phone, she said she had misdialed. The second time, she apologized and said she had reversed the last four numbers. Third time, same thing. Sensing that the errant calls would continue, I created a contact name for her so I would see it and ignore it in the future.

The problem with that is once you give something or someone a name, they gain a personality and you no longer feel comfortable ignoring them. That happened with “Florida Stranger.” The very next time she called I felt bad about ignoring her and I answered. We chatted a moment. She apologized again and said she’d try to stop making that mistake. I wished her luck and a good day. The calls have kept coming (including this morning) and each time I see her name I feel like I’m ignoring someone I know.

In the 1980s I met a homeless man downtown and when he asked me my name, I had to return the favor and ask his. For the next couple of years Dane Clark and I had an on-going relationship in which I tried to offer him friendship and a little help here and there. Sometimes it was fulfilling and sometimes it was aggravating, but I couldn’t ignore him because I knew him by name.

Recently we’ve come to know many of our new neighbors by name, and that leads to waving and “hellos” and helping each other in little ways like digging holes and chasing dogs. We went to Shakespeare in the Park recently and I ran into one of these folks in the crowd and we simultaneously called each other by name.

The same thing can happen and should happen at church. Wilshire is big compared to some churches, and small compared to others, but there are some among us who make sure nobody is ignored in the crowd. Our greeters do a wonderful job of this at the doors on Sunday mornings. And anyone who has sat down in the sanctuary at 10:40 a.m. has seen Wanda Veal going up and down the aisles, greeting members and guests alike, asking their names. It’s her ministry and gift to make sure nobody is anonymous in God’s house.

That’s important because none of us is anonymous in God’s eyes. Through the scriptures we see numerous times how God called people by name – Samuel, Moses, Jacob, Jonah, David, Israel – and made the relationship personal. In Isaiah we read: “I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” Those words became flesh in the New Testament with Jesus calling his disciples, his followers, and even those that official religion had ignored into a personal relationship.

Just as we each are called, we can help call others into the community of faith by first calling them by name.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Running with the saints

This morning we witnessed one of the rites of early August in our new neighborhood: a strung-out, raggedy line of high school girls running down our street. Actually, some were running and some were stopping and bending over to catch their breath. Driving alongside them was their coach, who slowed down at our house and shouted to me, “this year’s cross country team.” I gave her a “good luck” and a thumbs up.

Good luck indeed, because these were not the muscular, toned, confident young women from Garland High School who last May chose our front porch to pose for a picture as the State Championship Track Team. Maybe in nine months some of them will be ready for that photo. In the future one or more of them may stand on a podium at an NCAA meet, or the national championships, or even the Olympics. But this morning, some of them were just struggling to stand at all.

I never ran track in school, but I was in marching band so I know a lot needs to happen before any medals or trophies can be claimed. First, there will have to be practice, practice, practice until the weak become strong and the timid become confident. Along the way, the strong will have to become leaders, and the leaders will need to become selfless and humble if they are going to have a winning team.

That last part may be the most difficult, because our human tendency is to keep running and not look back once we get out in front. But as we saw in the Olympics recently – where some of the U.S.’s top gymnasts needed the talents of their teammates to help them win a gold medal – even the strongest need help.

It’s true in athletics, it’s true in business, it’s true in life, it’s true in the church: At some time or another each of us will need the help of someone else to get us up on our feet and running again.

It’s that humanity that keeps Baptists and some other Christian denominations from formally singling out people as “Saints” the same way we induct athletes into halls of fame. By avoiding that practice, we acknowledge that each of us is prone to stumble and fall, and yet we’re also imbued with the Holy Spirit and capable of leading and serving in important ways – some that will get noticed, and some that won’t.

That leaves room for canonized “Saints” like John the Divine and beloved “saints” like John Menton, whose life of service we recently celebrated at Wilshire. And it leaves room for the high schooler I saw this morning who slowed down a little, turned and shouted, "come on Becky!"

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Forgetting to remember

I almost forgot to remember today. I feel sort of foolish about that, but at the same time, I think it’s a sign of healing. It may even be a miracle.

Four years ago this morning I sat in a chair in the dining room and watched two funeral home attendants carry Debra out the front door of our house. I was relieved that her struggle with cancer was over, but mostly I was numb. As I sat in that chair, I felt like I might just sit there forever and do nothing. What could I possibly ever do again that would be worthwhile, interesting or enjoyable?

I almost forgot about all of that in the rush of a trip to Austin and work deadlines and still unpacking and moving in to a new house with LeAnn. But then I got an email from my mother asking if I wanted to meet for lunch today, and I remembered that she had stayed up with me and the hospice nurse through all of that long night and morning four years ago.

Sunday our pastor George Mason spoke about the nature of miracles and how they are evidence of God’s future perspective as he works in ways that we can’t yet comprehend. He was speaking from the well-known New Testament story about how a boy’s small ration of loaves and fishes were multiplied to feed 5,000 people with plenty left over. While we can’t comprehend that – and some people therefore look upon the story as myth or fable – the fact is that God can manipulate the world in ways that we can’t comprehend because it is, after all, God’s creation.

The same can happen with our baskets of heartbreak and disappointment. Placed in God’s hands, they can be dealt with in ways that we can’t imagine. If the people of Aurora, Colorado have any doubts that they will ever feel peace and joy again after the tragedy of 11 days ago, they only have to look down the road at the people of Columbine, who have been healed in ways they couldn’t have imagined 13 years ago. Some would say that’s just the progression of time and life, but that in itself is a miracle.

On Saturday I unpacked some boxes of CDs and came upon a compilation CD of songs by Chris Rice, a Christian artist that I really like. I haven’t listened to it in three years and haven’t been able to because of a song called “Breakfast Table.” It’s about a man talking to his dearly departed and asking her to “save him a place at the breakfast table” in heaven. This morning I found the courage to listen to the CD again, and rediscovered that the song is preceded by “When Did You Fall (In Love With Me),”a song about a guy who has just discovered that he is in love and he can’t quite figure out how it happened.

The miracle for me is that I no longer live in the longing of “Breakfast Table” but instead in the joy of “When Did You Fall?” because I recently celebrated my first anniversary with LeAnn. It happened so slowly and easily and comfortably – so miraculously. As Chris Rice sings, “right here before my eyes, you’re my beautiful surprise.”

God doesn’t want us to forget what’s happened, but God also doesn’t want us to forget how to live. God even will lead the way if we let ourselves believe in miracles.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Great summer reads

It took me 53 years and 49 pages to learn that Long John Silver is not just a fast food fish franchise but a conniving character in a classic novel. LeAnn and I were sorting through boxes of books, looking for candidates to resell at Half Price, and we came across her paperback edition of Treasure Island. I’d never read it but certainly knew of it, so I decided to read it.

I enjoyed Treasure Island, but I was surprised to find that it’s not the long-winded swashbuckling adventure I thought it was. I guess the movie adventures of the past 30 years – from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and “Star Wars” to “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Chronicles of Narnia” – had me expecting a sweeping adventure with fast-paced chases, bloody fights, narrow escapes, dark villains and plucky heroes. Instead it was mostly a tale of interpersonal relationships in which the characters band together for a common cause and then complicate things with lies, double-crosses, misdirection, ignorance and greed. In that regard, it more resembled a day at the office than something from the “Pirates of the Caribbean” films. But I liked it because there was plenty of character development. I like to know what people are thinking, what motivates them, what bothers them and what inspires them.

A couple of Sundays ago the kids from Wilshire’s music camp presented their annual musical. This year’s offering was “Old Testament Fast Forward,” a fast-paced telling of the Old Testament, from Adam and Eve to Noah’s Ark, Moses and the 10 Commandments, David and Goliath, Joseph and his coat, Sampson and Delilah, the good and bad kings, even the “miner” prophets.

The kids performed wonderfully and it was entertaining to be sure, but more than that it was a great reminder that the “Good Book” really is a good book. It’s full of drama, intrigue, deception, love and hate, war and peace, heroes and villains, mystery and miracles, and . . . well . . . I don’t want to spoil the ending so you’ll just have to read it yourself. You can get a copy in the church library if you don’t already have one. Hopefully, your copy isn’t like Treasure Island, sitting at the bottom of a box.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

From Steven Covey to prayer

Steven Covey died on Monday. He’s the management guru who taught a generation how to be more productive and prosperous with his 1990 bestseller, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.

I never read that book or any of the ones that followed because I was too busy using my time ineffectively to carve out enough free time to read his books. But I saw his books in the hands of many eager readers, especially on airplanes, trains and buses, or during noontime lunch breaks in restaurants and food courts. The fact that those people were reading his books while commuting or eating—what we now call multi-tasking—is probably one of the habits he championed.

As I write this, I’m staring down two major projects with deadlines on the same day. One is a project I’m doing for a longtime friend and colleague who I never would want to hurt or disappoint by being late or sloppy. It also will help put bread on our table. The second is a personal project I've promised myself and others I'll complete. It will feed my soul and may pave the way for the future I want to have. There's no way I'm going to let that opportunity slip away. And weaving in and out of those two projects is all the daily work and routine commitments that help keep the world as I know it turning.

Getting the big projects finished on time and keeping up with the daily stuff will take all the concentration and creative energy I can muster. I’ll need to lean hard on some of Steven Covey’s habits, even if I don’t know what they are. But I have a suspicion that while Covey wrote the book on the subject, those habits are actually lurking within each of us, just waiting for us to tap into them. They can be found deep within our subconscious, filed somewhere between “common sense” and “fight or flight.” We just have to make sure we don’t bury them under distraction, fear, and most especially, laziness.

But there’s a habit greater than all others that can be the foundation supporting all others: prayer. I’m not talking about prayers for success, the right answers, the miracle finish. I’m talking about those quiet prayers where we ask God for the peace and calm we need to focus and concentrate on the task before us. I’m also talking about those humble pleadings where we ask God for that little spark of indefinable magic or inspiration or talent that we recall was present on our best day ever—when we knew exactly what we were doing and why we were doing it, and we knew we were driven by something bigger than ourselves and we accomplished something truly grand and perhaps a little miraculous.

If we can pray for that and then trust it all to God, then we will experience a contentment that is greater than any measure of success or effectiveness that any book has to offer.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The Spirit and the law

Sunday in Epiphany Class, we began a two-week study of the Baptist distinctive of separation of church and state. Baptists have played a significant role historically in defining and defending the principle that government should neither establish a state religion nor meddle in religious organizations or practices. However, many Baptists have had difficulty knowing where to draw the line in the church’s role in the political process.

We’ll continue the discussion on Sunday and no doubt poke some more at the paradox that while individual Christians have the freedom and the moral obligation to address social issues and injustice through the political process, it is not the Baptist way for a pastor to endorse a candidate or party platform from the pulpit, or an entire church to present itself as a voting block. The paradox gets more difficult because another Baptist distinctive says that the local church can do what it wishes, which seems to pave the way for political endorsements and voting blocks.

It’s a timely discussion in a political year when everyone from the local doctor’s office to the U.S. Supreme Court is voicing an opinion on how to best design and implement a health care system that is accessible to all. It’s an issue that is all wrapped up in our American ideal of equal justice under the law and our Christian desire for an abundant life for all.

By coincidence, on Monday I dug into a box of Life magazines I had taken from my grandparents’ house, and I came across one with a headline: “Morality and Segregation: A Round Table of Southern Churchmen.” The cover date was Oct. 1, 1956, and the editors of Life had gathered a group of white church leaders to talk about the role of the church in the two years since Brown v. Board of Education, the landmark 1954 U.S. Supreme Court decision that desegregated public schools.

After a lengthy discussion in which the participants agreed unanimously that there is no place in the Christian faith for discrimination of any type, up popped the dilemma of who should lead the way in breaking down barriers.

Bishop Paul Neff Garber, resident bishop of the Methodist Church in Richmond, Va., said: “I cannot accept a Supreme Court decision as having spiritual authority for me ... . I think we will get our churches in trouble if we say what the Supreme Court says is the last word on spiritual matters. It is wrong also to give most of the credit for better race relations to other groups and take the attitude that the church has done little about this whole matter. I think the church is the spiritual basis for all social changes.”

To which responded Mrs. Spann W. Milner, vice president, United Church Women: “I certainly agree with you that the Supreme Court should not be my spiritual guide. But I have a feeling that, just as Paul said, the law is a yardstick for us. I think the Supreme Court is a yardstick in showing how we in the church have failed.”

Now, as 56 years ago, the church knows there is more work to be done to stop injustice—whether it’s related to health care services or lingering prejudice. The “how” and the “how much” is still the big issue.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Lunch with a stranger

We weren’t looking for extra conversation – or advice, opinions, perspective, or anything else – but that’s what Tom and I got Monday at lunch.

I met Tom last year in one of Laurie Taylor’s Grief & Loss Center support groups and we sort of hit it off. But then the group meetings ended and we got busy and we let too many months slip by without checking on each other. So we met Monday at a restaurant in Plano. It was crowded, and a man sat at a small table next to us with two plates of food and an apparent hunger for conversation.

He asked, “What brings you two here today?” I answered with a vague comment about “just getting together for lunch” and then I tried to continue my conversation with Tom. But the man was close enough to hear snippets of what we were talking about and he kept interjecting, although without the full context. When I asked Tom whether anybody had tried to set him up on a date – a serious question for a widower who is trying to ease back into a social life – the man interrupted by telling us how he had helped a 40-year-old friend start dating for the first time via an internet dating services.

Finally, when Tom got up to get a beverage refill, I told the man, “we both lost wives to cancer and we’re just meeting for lunch to check on each other.” I hoped that topic would scare him away, because frankly, it does scare most people away. Instead, it drew him in even further. “My wife is a six-year cancer survivor,” he said, and over the next 20 minutes he shared details about that, his own serious health scares (heart attacks, diabetes), and his strong opinions about the state of health care in America.

Tom was a better sport about the intrusions than me, but he was the one who finally signaled it was time for us to leave. We talked some more in the parking lot and then shook hands and said goodbye.

The good thing that came from this is that the interruption prompted Tom and me to agree that we’ll try to get together again in two weeks rather than six months. But on top of that, we were reminded by our uninvited lunch guest that we live elbow-to-elbow with people who have survived crises and people who are still in the thick of crises. That’s good reason to feel less alone, and even better reason to be more sensitive to strangers. You just never know what they’re going through.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Service with a smile

Last week I had the honor and privilege of coordinating the ushers for the main business sessions and worship services of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship’s General Assembly in Fort Worth. I also had some anxiety and heartburn, but in the end I learned a lot about the servant spirit.

I’ll start by admitting that I over-planned with hopes of getting everything just right. Armed with a seating chart for the assembly hall, a list of volunteers for each of the five sessions, and instructions for what we were to do at each session (distribute brochures, collect offerings, etc.), I spent several hours in the days before the meetings plotting exactly where and how each person would serve. Understand that most of the volunteers were people I had never met before, so it seemed like a good idea to organize everything on paper.

All the planning was for naught. When I entered the main assembly hall early Thursday morning before the first session, I found that two large sections of seating had been eliminated, rendering my carefully labeled charts obsolete. On top of that, some of our duties changed before we even got started, and the volunteer mix was in flux as happens when people have last-minute conflicts or become ill.

But then something interesting happened. As I stood over a table in a small meeting room, trying to rearrange everything on paper, I glanced up and saw one of the volunteers smiling patiently at me. Others were talking and laughing among themselves, and that’s when I knew it was time to put away the charts. We all walked over to the assembly hall and the volunteers paired up and chose the sections they wanted to serve. The three sessions that day proceeded without a hitch.

I had an entirely new crew on Friday, and I told them our main objective for the morning business session was to prepare ballots to distribute quickly to every person in the hall. But then I added that the ballots are rarely needed and probably won’t be needed this time, but we still had to be ready. So everyone jumped in and began counting out stacks of ballots for each row, talking and visiting all the while. Nobody said, “this is silly” or “this is a waste of time.” They did the work willingly, and later in the morning when the ballots weren’t needed, they helped box them up for next year.

Evening worship was very busy for us with an offering to collect, a communion service to help guide folks through, and a special brochure to distribute. I was worried when we had more people than we needed, but some gave up or shared tasks so that others could experience the joy of serving.

The lesson I learned in all of this is that truly cheerful servants roll with the punches, go with the flow, bend with the wind, rise and fall with the tide. They're not worried about perfect plans, clean divisions of duty, clear lines of command. They just want to be in on the action, there on the scene, working shoulder to shoulder with each other. Perfect results are not the goal; completing the mission is what matters, even if the mission changes.

We’re going to be hearing more about “serving” in the coming months at Wilshire. I’m looking forward to seeing how we all jump in together as a community of Christian servants.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Breathless

Staggered breathing. That’s what musicians in a section who are playing or singing the same part do when they need to take a breath but don’t want to create a gap in the music by everyone inhaling at the same time. By alternating their breaths, they create a seamless note or phrase.

The technique took a profound turn recently at the conclusion of a Wilshire Winds rehearsal. We ended the hour as we always do by sharing concerns, and then someone was asked to pray. But a few sentences into the prayer, the person praying was overcome by emotion and gently nudged the adjacent player in that section. That person continued the prayer immediately and carried it all the way to the “amen.” The result was a continuous, seamless prayer.

We’ll call it staggered praying, and that’s what we can do when we pray with each other. Instead of letting someone get fatigued or distracted or overcome, we can continue a thought and even expand on it to create a continuous flow of petition, thanksgiving, blessing, or whatever the focus of the prayer time is.

There come times in most of our lives when we’ve prayed about something so long and so hard that we’ve run out of words and we’re prayed out. That’s a good time to have someone close by whom we can nudge to continue the prayer on our behalf. In that way, we can help each other “pray without ceasing,” as Paul said.

With staggered breathing, the more people playing in a section, the less winded they become and the better they are able to perform. The flutes, clarinets and trumpets often benefit the most because those are the biggest sections. Playing the baritone saxophone, I’ve rarely had a section mate, but I often have the same melody or harmony lines as the euphoniums, trombones or tubas, so I try to stagger my breathing with them. Since we don’t sit together, I do it without them knowing it. Similarly, we can stagger our prayers with those in need without them ever knowing it. That’s what prayer lists and “CareNotes” are all about.

Immediately after the final “amen” of the staggered prayer I described, someone else in the band said, “Now that’s a section!” When we pray together at Wilshire in the same way, it might be said, “Now that’s a church!”

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

In praise of fathers (in-law)

I don’t care much for those Father’s Day cards that stipulate “Dear Father-in-Law . . .” because it sounds so legalistic. It’s true that the role of father-in-law is created by the legal marriage contract between two people, but I prefer to buy cards that just say “Father” or “Dad.” That’s because I’ve been blessed to have two wonderful fathers (in-law).

Popular culture paints the father-in-law as a strict, overbearing man who puts the son-in-law on notice that he will never be good enough for his daughter. Nobody portrayed that better than Robert DeNiro in “Meet the Parents” and the sequel. Those movies were comedies, but I know real men who have lived under that kind of pressure from their wives’ fathers. Not me.

First came Dick Wearden, who accepted my Baptist ways in his devout Catholic family and always focused on our common faith rather than our different practices. For 25 years he gave me the love and respect of a favored son. When Debra became sick, he helped me stand strong. And, when I married LeAnn, Dick was sitting near the front to endorse my new beginning. That’s the father he was.

And now there’s Perry Kite, who greeted me with a hearty handshake and a friendly chuckle the first time we met. He’s provided constant support and encouragement during these years as I’ve grown to know and love his daughter. He’s been our biggest cheerleader as we’ve taken on some ambitious projects as newlyweds. That’s the father he is.

As for my own father, one of the greatest gifts he has given me has been to be a loving father (in-law) to both Debra and LeAnn. What’s more, he’s accepted Dick and Perry as brothers in the mission of seeing that we’re safe, happy and loved. When Dick passed away last year, Dad didn’t hesitate to make the 300-mile trip to pay his respects. That’s the father he is.

This Father’s Day, don’t forget to show some appreciation for your father-in-law if you have one. And if you are a father-in-law, know that the role you play is much more important than just that legalistic “in-law” thing.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The value of being nice

I left the dentist on Tuesday with tears in my eyes. No, it wasn't because of pain, and it wasn't because of the bill. But, the visit did touch a tender nerve.

You see, my longtime dentist Dr. Milvern Harrell announced in January that he was bringing a new dentist into his Casa Linda practice so that he could spend more time with grandkids and traveling. Tuesday was going to be my first visit with the new dentist, but as luck would have it he was on vacation so Dr. Harrell was filling in. A generous man, Dr. Harrell told me how much I was going to like the new "big dog" and how sharp and smart he was. My response: "If you hand picked him, then I know he's a kind man too."

That's when I lost it. My point, which I made when I regained my composure, was that a few years ago when Debra died, Dr. Harrell was very kind to me. I don’t recall exactly what he did or said, but I still remember the feeling I had when I left his office that day – that things were going to be okay. On a subsequent visit, when I asked him about a potential tooth problem, he said, “my advice to you is to go out and have a great day.” That’s the kind of man he is, so with Tuesday perhaps being the last time I would see him, I wanted him to know how much I appreciated that. His always-upbeat reply was, "and you remarried and life is good." And yes, it is.

From there I rode DART downtown to Inge's Barber Shop for a haircut. I've been visiting Inge and Lydia (who cuts my hair) for 10 years, and like Dr. Harrell they've lifted me up in ways that I can't define. Maybe it's just that they are so dependably and consistently nice, but I’ve always left their shop feeling like my attitude has been straightened up along with my sideburns.

All I can do to repay any of these folks is to be loyal and spend half a day going to the old neighborhood for a cleaning and downtown for a trim. And perhaps I can learn from them and make sure I’m being kind to the people I meet every day, no matter whether they’re friends or relations, strangers or clients. Because sometimes a haircut is more than just a haircut.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Mileage

Monday on ABC’s “Nightline” there was a remarkable story about “frequent flier millionaires” – people who accumulate tens and hundreds of thousands of frequent flier miles so they can jet off to exotic places for just the cost of the sales tax on the ticket. The remarkable thing is that these are not people who earn the miles through extensive business travel or in some other productive effort. Instead, they are everyday folks who work really hard at gathering the miles every way they can.

Some make “mileage runs,” which are simply flights out and back again to gain miles. They don’t visit cities, sightsee, shop, or explore. They spend their time between flights at airport gates waiting for flights, such as the man whose itinerary took him from Austin to Dallas, Orange County, Chicago, Frankfurt, German, Chicago and back to Austin – all to gain the frequent flier miles to use someday on another trip.

Or they make “mattress runs,” like the father and son who went to Disney World for 13 days and stayed in 13 different hotels to get bonus miles at each location. The interview with the father was in the hotel hallway and not at the Magic Kingdom. Or the man who rented 15 cars for one day to earn bonus miles on each rental. The report didn’t say whether he actually drove any of the cars, but I believe the answer is that he didn’t. And last but not least are the people who apply for every credit card they can to collect the sign-up bonus miles.

It’s mind-boggling to me because whenever I am standing in lines at airports, at car rental counters, in hotel lobbies, on the phone waiting for a confirmation, or on-line filling out forms, I can almost feel my soul being drained from my body. And on top of that, the seminars some of these people attend in hotel ballrooms to lean more about how to accumulate miles . . . well, I’ve made it a personal goal in recent years to never again attend a seminar in a hotel ballroom.

The questions I’m asking myself are: What deserves this level of energy, effort, commitment, devotion? What is worth the irritation, frustration and time spent? Who am I ultimately serving? Feel free to ask yourself these questions too.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

What’s bugging you?

“Were there bed bugs at Pentecost?”

The question came a couple of weeks ago from a child in Wilshire’s kindergarten Sunday School Class who had been paying close attention. She’d heard from her parents that in places where lots of travelers gather, such as New York City, there are bed bugs. So when she heard in Sunday School that thousands of people traveled to Jerusalem for Pentecost, the question made perfect sense. The answer from LeAnn, her teacher, was simple and straightforward: “We just don’t know.”

With Pentecost Sunday coming in a few days, the question has been gnawing at me. What we do know about bed bugs is that they don’t differentiate between income or social status. They can invade everything from apartments and small houses to mansions and posh hotels. They travel with ease in the clothing and luggage of their hosts, so it’s definitely possible that the people gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost were susceptible to infestation. We don’t know for sure because with the exception of a few stories such as the plague of locusts that God put on Egypt, the Bible is not an entomological study.

And what we do know about Pentecost is that the Holy Spirit descended on people of all nationalities, races and cultures. The Holy Spirit did not come just for the wealthy or the influential but for everyone, so that all might have an intimate relationship with God. Just as bed bugs might be found on Park Avenue or Broadway, Swiss or Sylvan, in an upper room or inside the Temple, so the Holy Spirit is found everywhere.

And what does the Holy Spirit do. You had to see the pun coming: It bugs us . . . in a good way, of course. It gives us an itch to pursue a Christ-centered life. It reminds us of whose we are. It provides comfort when we’re broken and hurting. And when we get off into the tall grass of our own ambitions and appetites, it makes us uncomfortable and even keeps us up at night.

So, what’s bugging you? How is the Holy Spirit keeping you up at night? Are you feeling the Holy Spirit pulling you toward a new ministry or a career change that will lead you from a job to a vocation? I got that itch a few years ago and while the way has seemed uncertain at times, it’s always been fulfilling and meaningful. After almost three decades of preparation, I feel like God has finally matched my God-given talents with a God-given calling.

Perhaps you feel the urge to pursue a new relationship or rekindle one that has been lost or soured. I lost touch with my best friend Ken for almost 10 years out of busyness and neglect, and when we finally reconnected we said “never again” because we’d forgotten how much we love and need each other. As it happened, we reconnected at a time when we both needed the support of someone who knew us well. Indeed, the Holy Spirit was at work.

Maybe you’ve collected some baggage – bad habits, poor choices – that you need to carry to the dump and leave behind. I know that sounds like a New Year’s resolution and not something you normally consider at Pentecost, but when the Holy Spirit starts chewing on you, the only way to stop the rash is to pay attention and take action.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Leaving the island

“No man is an island.” That was the subject of an email from Kathy Alverson on Friday morning, and the irony couldn’t have been greater because at that moment I was mopping up water from a washing machine leak that had covered our new utility room floor and had oozed onto the hardwood in the kitchen.

Beyond the visual irony of me standing in a pool of water, Kathy's email was about generosity and I was fighting the demon that most keeps me from being generous: obsessive cleanliness. I've always liked to keep things neat and clean, fresh and new, and that's been a deterrent to so many good and enjoyable things. I’ve never gotten into cooking because you can’t be clean at the same time. My Bible doesn’t have scribbles in the margins. My blankets don’t have grass stains where I dragged them out into the lawn to lay on and look at the stars like we did as kids. My vehicles don’t have food crumbs and stains on the seats that say, “we’ve been on a rollicking carefree road trip.” The list goes on and on.

But most of all, this obsession has prevented me from being a good host, or at least a comfortable host. You can't be hospitable and obsessive at the same time. Caring too much about the condition of your stuff stands in the way of sharing your stuff with others. To be truly generous in sharing, you have to invite someone to enjoy it, not the way you enjoy it or the way you want them to enjoy it, but the way they would enjoy it if it was truly theirs. To be generous and hospitable is not to say, “come in and have a cup of coffee but only if you sit at my table and don’t spill it,” but rather to say, “come in and grab a cup and sit back on the sofa and put your feet up if you want to.”

That goes for a house. It also goes for our other possessions, our church, our faith, our love. To be truly generous is to say, "what’s mine is yours without limitations or parameters.” And, as Kathy says in her email, “generosity requires relationship; the giver to the receiver.” You can’t hold back.

I was discussing this with my brother Friday night as I helped him unload his car. He and his wife and two young sons were our first overnight guests, and I confessed that the morning flood and now the family visit was going to be a good test for me because I hate being so protective of things. He told me that he too tried to keep their new house in perfect condition when they first moved in some years ago, but with five boys and lots of house guests it was futile. Besides, he said, he couldn't be a good host and worry about that.

And then he reminded me of the first time we visited his house and he offered us their master bedroom, which we accepted and enjoyed. He said, “you know, I can still see the wheel marks on the floors from the luggage that you rolled into our bedroom.” I cringed at the damage we had caused and that he had never mentioned until now, but he just smiled at the memory of the visit.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Careless living

“Careless living.” That's how LeAnn and I jokingly explain how we got to where we are today. It all started innocently more than three years ago with a casual dinner between a widower and a single woman to mark each other’s same-week birthdays. But then we got careless and started spending time together, which led to dating, engagement, marriage, selling two houses and building a new one together. We moved in on April 30.

It was actually intentional carelessness, as in not over-thinking everything, not trying to control things, not worrying about the outcome but instead just going along and trusting our lives and our hearts to God. Had we been more careful and controlling, it’s doubtful we would have gotten to this place.

You see, I wasn’t looking to get married again. If life had gone a different way, April 30 would have been my 29th anniversary with Debra. That changed, and if I had followed the new script that I thought I’d been given, I'd have been into my fourth year alone now. There’d have been nothing wrong with that. Similarly, if LeAnn had stuck to what she thought was the script for her life, she’d have been on her own today as well. But by carelessly throwing away all the scripts and expectations and trusting God, we’ve started the next chapter of a story of faith, hope and love together.

On a similar note: Saturday evening before we moved we placed a bird bath and bird feeder in our new back yard and sat on the porch to watch the birds. The few that came hopped around in the grass but apparently were too busy looking for food on the ground to notice the banquet right above their heads. By the next day, the birds had discovered the feeder and they’ve been feasting ever since. All they had to do was quit trying so hard and look up.

Sometimes that’s all we need to do.

Tuesday, April 23, 2012

Humbled

I was at Wilshire late one afternoon last week and saw something interesting: A woman leaving the south lobby pressed the blue automatic door opener button and made the sign of the cross on her forehead, heart and shoulders as she walked out. I was amused at first by what looked like an act of mistaken church identity because she did what Catholics do as they dip their fingers in holy water and leave the church. But the more I think about it, the more I see it as her silent testimony.

First, this woman was obviously a person of faith because there's no reason a non-believer would make the sign of the cross. Even if it was just a habit from the past – because the door button is just about where a font of holy water would be – we usually don't do something out of habit unless there is a seed of connection planted deep inside us. In this case, that seed is faith.

Second, the sign of the cross is a symbol of blessing, and perhaps in some way this woman experienced a blessing while at Wilshire. Before leaving she commented to the office staff that she hoped she didn't miss her bus, so perhaps the blessing was simply a pause from the heat, a cool drink of water, or just a chance to sit and rest for a while.

Third, the sign of the cross is a gesture of reverence, and she may have been acknowledging that she had been inside a church – one that doesn’t have holy water but nonetheless where the Holy Spirit dwells and where people of the Spirit congregate.

Finally, the woman was dressed as someone who might be homeless or of very limited means, and yet her expression of faith was strong as she walked out of the church and back out into a challenging and uncertain world.

Maybe it was all just a clumsy mistake, but it witnessed to me just the same.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Behind the scenes

Late Monday morning I drove past Wilshire on my way to an appointment in Lakewood and saw Tim Alexander, one of our facilities staff, walking past the front of the sanctuary carrying a long ladder. I don’t know his destination or his specific mission at that moment, but I’m certain it had something to do with making our time at Wilshire comfortable, enjoyable and safe.

It’s easy to take for granted how much planning and physical effort it takes to keep a church open and operating. If you come just before worship or Sunday School and leave immediately afterward, you won’t see the coffee getting made, the chairs and tables being set up, and all the other vital functions that Dale Pride, John Jost, and their facility and food service staffs perform on our behalf.

If you’re only at Wilshire on Sunday morning, you may not be aware that Sunday is just one day out of a busy week. Look at the calendar in the Tapestry or at wilshirebc.org and you’ll see there are events at the church all day every day: early childhood learning and MOPS, grief counseling and support groups, computer classes and knitting, music lessons and rehearsals, Scouts and scrapbookers, to name just a few. While some of these activities come under the familiar heading of “church,” many are part of our mission of building community not just among ourselves but in our neighborhood and the broader city around us. That takes a lot of hard work behind the scenes: setting up and arranging rooms; preparing and mixing ingredients for luncheons and banquets; and climbing ladders and wielding tools to make repairs and improvements.

That’s something to keep in mind when the offering plate goes by – that our gifts are not just taking care of what we experience at Wilshire on Sunday mornings. And next time you see one of our facility or food service staff, a handshake, a hug or at least a hearty thank you would be a good thing too.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

He is risen. She is too.

There was no sunny joy on Easter Sunday, 1971. Instead of going to my grandparents’ church and then hunting Easter eggs under the East Texas pines, we were at our home church for the first time that I could remember. A car wreck on the road to our annual Easter celebration had ended my sister Martha’s life and changed our lives forever.

As we sat in church that Sunday morning, the congregation around us celebrated Christ’s resurrection and the promise of eternal life. I’m sure that someone said to me, “she’s alive with Jesus, and that’s the joy of Easter.” At age 12 I knew that was the center of our faith, but I felt cheated. While the tomb in Jerusalem was empty, the grave at Restland was full.

From my perspective, we couldn’t have been farther away from Martha on that resurrection day, but the miracle of Easter is that she was and is as close as a breath of air. Like the disciples, I needed help understanding that. For them, it came at Pentecost. As Jesus promised them in the Gospel of John, “the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”

For me, that truth didn’t come in a mighty wind or in tongues of fire but in the gentle love of those around me. In that regard, being “the hands and feet of Christ” is not just a neat idea; it is very real and should be taken seriously.

And the truth came in simple moments that helped point the way for the future. On that Monday after Easter when I went back to school, a fellow sixth grader named Ricky walked up to my desk, said “I’m sorry,” and then sat down. Class began as usual and I knew that while life was changed, it wasn’t over.

Indeed, that was 41 years ago and there’s been plenty of living. In those years I haven’t been to Restland more than a dozen times. I know that the grave is as empty as the tomb in Jerusalem. I don’t have physical proof of that – that’s why we call it “faith” – but I know that Martha’s spirit lives because I’ve felt the Holy Spirit inside of me, and I’ve seen it at work through you.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

What do we do now?

I often feel a heaviness during Holy Week that is tied explicitly to this week, but not in the way you might think. I’m not pondering the suffering and death of Jesus, but instead I’m recalling the death of my sister Martha.

It was Easter week, 1971. We were making the annual drive to spend the week with my grandparents in Orange, Texas, when another vehicle tried to cross the highway in front of us. Martha suffered internal injuries that couldn’t be repaired. The rest of us had minor cuts and bruises, but our hearts were broken in a way we never anticipated.

Until then, life was great. I had a loving mother and father, a brother and sister, four doting grandparents. We had a nice house in a new neighborhood with good schools and plenty of playmates. It was all so perfect. And then all of that was shattered and the life we thought was going to stretch out before us was gone forever. There would be life, but it would be different: sad, empty and far less than perfect.

I believe what we felt at that time is not unlike what Jesus’ disciples and close followers felt when they saw him die on the cross. I imagine that as they huddled in a room together, the waves of sorrow and disbelief washed over them time and time again, much like it did that first night and the nights that followed Martha’s death. Not only was their relationship severed, but their vision of God’s glorious kingdom on earth was shattered. Nothing would be the way they thought it would be. How could they possibly go on? Why would they even try?

They did, and we did, because there’s a second half to this story that I’ll share next week. But right now, like the disciples, we must wait in the dark for Easter.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

In the transition

Spend a few days imbibing in March Madness and you’re exposed to a maddening collection of sports cliché and jargon. Analysts, coaches, even players talk endlessly about what happens “in the paint,” “on the perimeters,” “from the top of the key,” and “from way downtown.”

I ignore a lot of it, but there’s one phrase that intrigues me: “in the transition.” There’s a lot of commentary about what a team does “in the transition” between defense and offense. The good teams apparently do more than just amble to the other end of the court. They use those brief seconds to assess their competition and set up the next play. If they’re paying attention, they may see an opportunity to eliminate the transition completely with a “half-court lob” and a “rim-rattling dunk.” When that happens, the broadcasters say “they’re winning in the transitions.”

As important as transitions are in basketball, they’re even more so in life. The long stable periods of life can become times of routine, complacency, lethargy, laziness. Transitions are times when we can make adjustments, get ourselves back on track, maybe choose a new track. Transitions are when the real action takes place.

In my own life there have been long spans of time when, in retrospect, I didn’t accomplish much. Separating those periods have been times of transition brought by job changes, health crises, other life events. Some transitions have been exciting, some have been tragic. Some I instigated myself, and some were forced on me. I didn’t know it at the time, but all have been opportunities for new direction and energy.

Some people go so far as to say we’re living in one big transition. Perhaps that is what John Lennon was expressing when he sang, “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” But plans for what? Heaven?

Maybe so, but there’s still much to do now. We’ve not been created to dribble in place and run out the clock. If that’s what we’re doing – or if that’s what it feels like we’re doing – then it’s time for a change. It’s time for a transition that will put us in position for a rim-rattling dunk.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Preparing rooms

We’ve come to a stage of home building that I find very tedious: painting. Earlier stages were exciting as the structure grew out of the ground and took shape with ever-changing layers of concrete and wood, wallboard and windows, roof deck and shingles, woodwork and cabinets. But now, everything is covered with plastic and tape as the interior is painted. We no longer can see the wood floors and countertops. We can barely see anything at all because we can’t stay inside long with the heavy fumes that burn the eyes and nostrils.

At this stage it feels like the house will never be finished and we’ll never move in. In fact, I’ve had a persistent fantasy that the house isn’t even actually ours. We started it and we’ll see it completed, but then someone else will swoop in at the last moment, take ownership, and lock us out. It’s just one of the games the mind plays when you’ve been involved with something for a long time and can’t imagine the long-hoped-for conclusion.

There’s something of Easter in all of this as we see Jesus’ ministry growing and rising, bringing such promise and hope for a new kingdom on earth. But then comes Gethsemane, arrest, and the cross. The tomb is sealed shut, and it feels like the kingdom will never come.

Then, Jesus does as he promised and breaks out of the tomb. What’s more, he says, “My Father’s house has many rooms . . . and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me.”

That’s the great news of Easter: The doors of the kingdom are open and there’s room for all to enter. And shortly after this Easter, we’ll finally get to move into the new house. That’s good news too.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The real Jesus?

On Monday “The Huffington Post” news blog announced the winner of their “Best Jesus Movie Bracket Challenge.” Apparently, the NCAA’s March Madness basketball tournament has people creating brackets for just about everything. In this case, 16 movies about Jesus were paired up for on-line voting, and after elimination rounds, the winner was “Jesus Christ Superstar,” which beat “The Life of Brian” in the finals.

Other contenders were “The Last Temptation of Christ,” “Superstar,” “Jesus of Nazareth,” “The Gospel According to Matthew,” “Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter,” “Jesus of Montreal,” “Godspell,” “The Life and Passion of Jesus Christ,” “King of Kings,” “Color of the Christ,” “The Passion of the Christ,” “The Messiah,” “The Greatest Story Ever Told” and “Jesus.”

I’ve seen roughly half of the movies listed, and some of the ones I haven’t seen sound ridiculous. “Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter” – really? Still, I won’t judge them without seeing them, because I can vouch for some of the others. For example, “The Life of Brian” was called sacrilegious by many people, but behind the silliness was some serious business. In a scene where Brian, the main character, is running from those who mistake him for the messiah, he loses a sandal and drops a drinking gourd. One group of pursuers picks up the sandal as the artifact to follow, while another group lifts up the gourd as the object of their devotion. It’s a sharp commentary on who we choose to follow as messiah, and what part of the message we focus on.

One night at summer youth camp my youth minister Kenny Wood showed a double feature: “Jesus Christ Superstar” and “Godspell.” Both films were based on Broadway musicals and spun off popular music. “Superstar” gave us “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” and Godspell had “Day By Day.” More important, the movies gave us two different views of Jesus. The Jesus of “Superstar” was troubled, irritable, confused, often angry. The Jesus of “Godspell” was happy, playful, a merry clown.

The point of the double feature that night – and of all these different film depictions – is that Jesus is a complicated character who has been explored, studied and preached about for more than 2,000 years and still not completely figured out. The Gospel writers gave us differing views, and so do modern storytellers.

The challenge and the opportunity for us is to explore these depictions with an open mind and allow the real Jesus to reveal himself.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Recruiters – and recruits – welcome

Yesterday I got an email from the Baylor Alumni Network with the subject line “Baylor Bears Fans – Reminders About Recruiting.” What followed were 17 commandments on how and why Baylor fans and boosters are not to make any attempts on their own to recruit athletes. The fear, of course, is that some well-meaning but over-zealous alum will do something that violates NCAA rules and casts the university back into the dungeon.

Reading it made me laugh because, frankly, recruitment violations have not been a potential danger at Baylor until recently. We Baylor grads have been proud of our university and our degrees, but athletics? There’s been little incentive for star high school athletes to take their talent to Waco. Now, with nationally ranked teams in a variety of sports, it’s a new day at Baylor. We’re proud and loud, and to make sure that enthusiasm to keep the momentum going doesn’t get out of hand, the administration has asked the faithful – in a message topping 1,100 words –to leave the recruiting to them.

Contrast that to Jesus’ brief recruitment statement in the Gospel of Matthew: “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” No stipulations, no warnings, no fine lines to walk. Just a 35-word charge to go out and do it.

Recruiting couldn’t be any easier than that, and yet I’m guilty of keeping my mouth shut and keeping my faith to myself. I try to witness by lifestyle and behavior, but I don’t readily say anything outside of forums such as this. I know I’m not alone.

The main reason is probably the same thing that has kept Baylor boosters quiet for years: the fear of not being taken seriously. Unfortunately, the Tim Tebows of the world who aren’t shy about symbolic demonstrations of faith are more likely to draw skepticism than honest consideration of faith. It doesn’t help that plenty of high-profile Christians have brought ridicule to the faith by mean-spirited and sometimes ridiculous statements, not to mention their holier-than-thou posturing.

The truth is we Christians are a flawed and broken bunch. We’re no better than anyone else. All we have to offer is a community where we strive together to live in the way that Jesus taught and demonstrated. We often fail at that, but rather than condemn and reject, we pick each other up and encourage each other to do better.

There, I’ve said it. Consider yourself recruited.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Don’t give up; give in

What are you giving up for Lent? It’s a common question for many Christians during this season leading to Easter, and the answers can range from the superficial, such as candy and burgers, to the more meaningful, such as wasted time, vanity, and truly harmful habits. The purpose of this giving up is to turn away from distractions and turn toward God. It is a form of fasting.

It seems easy enough, but giving things up can be difficult. We’re prone to clutch things so tightly that even if we do give them up for a while, we find ourselves gathering them up again once the season is over. If we don’t do it intentionally, we do it by gradually slipping back into our old habits.

Maybe there’s a better way. Instead of giving up something, what about giving in – to the full in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit. Instead of depending on our wavering will power to let go of the things that come between us and God, how about inviting the Holy Spirit to fill us so completely that there is no room for the clutter that pollutes our lives.

How we get to that in-dwelling and filling up is a whole other matter. It doesn’t just happen. It requires some preparation, some house cleaning of sorts with prayer, quiet meditation, perhaps the singing of a favorite hymn. Often a hymn and prayer are one in the same, and none is better for opening our doors to the spirit than “Spirit of the Living God” with its plea to “break me, melt me, mold me, fill me.”

If we ask that honestly, we’ll surely be filled with far more than we can ever hope to gain by just giving up a favorite pleasure or a bad habit.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

In unison

Last Friday, during the memorial service for Bill James, we recited the 23rd Psalm, and while the order of worship said “Unison Reading,” for a brief phrase or two the sound was anything but that. Like joggers starting a run together, we started at different paces.

A tall man with a strong voice sitting close to us pulled out in front, headed for “green pastures” while some of us were still making the turn at “I shall not want.” But then, as if looking over his shoulder, he slowed down a little and let us catch up. By the time we reached “the valley,” we all indeed were speaking in unison, arriving at “the house of the Lord” at the same time, together.

That is the joy and miracle of being church – whether the church in the world at large, or a single congregation. If we’re listening to each other and watching each other, we start to move as one body, and preferably the body of Christ. It can happen when we recite a Psalm or the Lord’s Prayer. It also can happen when we plan ministries, go on mission or make decisions together.

All it takes are ears for attentive listening, mouths for honest sharing, heads for faithful discerning, and hearts for trusting God and each other.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Troubleshooting

Monday was to have been a day devoted to nothing but writing. No appointments, interviews or errands. Just a day of knocking out some article assignments and working on other projects – including my weekly contribution to this space. But when I turned on the computer, the monitor blinked, the picture froze, and the screen went black. Restarting the computer didn’t fix it, and during the brief moments when I could see anything at all, it was covered with green vertical lines.

I couldn’t work that way so I jumped into serious troubleshooting mode. Some research using my iPhone and a visit with the repair experts at a big electronics store indicated that I needed a new monitor. I bought one, took it home and hooked it up. No change. I went back and bought a new graphics card. It didn’t fit my machine. (In both cases, the salesmen were too eager to sell, and the customer was too eager to buy.)

Tired, frustrated and resigned to the reality that I probably would lose more days waiting for a new graphics card from the manufacturer, or, waiting for a repair shop to fix it, I set the issue aside and went to Wilshire Winds rehearsal.

That must have been good medicine, because while driving home I had a clear, sudden epiphany: In storage I had an old computer box made by the same company. I could pull the graphics card out of that box, put it in my computer, and get back to work. And in 20 minutes on Tuesday morning, I did exactly that. This story is proof of my success because I can see what I’m writing.

This story is also a confession of my rush to solve a problem without taking sufficient time to consider all the options. If I’d stopped, taken a deep breath and thought it all through, the epiphany might have come Monday morning and I might have lost just 20 minutes rather than an entire day.

That’s a common problem. We feel the need to rush to fix something and we end up rushing right past the best solution. Certainly, there are emergencies when immediate action is needed, but in many situations the old saying is true: haste makes waste.

In many of these cases, a little prayer time might be helpful – not to ask God for the answer, but to ask God to clear our minds. We might do that with an actual prayer, by just being still and quiet for a while, or by doing something else that we enjoy and that brings us peace. I think God will work with us in that way if we let him.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Instruments

Sunday morning while most of the grown-ups were sitting in the sanctuary learning about parables, I was sitting in a grown-ups’ chair in the kindergarten Sunday School department. The children were learning about how Solomon obeyed God, built the temple, and celebrated with prayer, songs, and the playing of instruments. I was there at LeAnn’s invitation to illustrate the instruments part of the story.

Before I opened my large black instrument case, the children were asked to guess what was in it, and the answers included a guitar, a trombone, and even a piano. When I opened the lid and pulled out the bright brass baritone saxophone, there were gasps and immediate requests to touch it. They got to do that, but first I played the lowest note I could, and then the highest, and then a scale from bottom to top and back again. And then I played “Jesus Loves Me This I Know” from the old Baptist Hymnal with the children singing along.

It was fun, but I have to admit that I wasn’t keen on the gig at first. I have a lifelong aversion to speaking, singing, playing or doing anything solo in public, and it doesn’t matter if the audience is preschoolers or corporate executives. In fact, I made that point at the first meeting this year of the Adult Education Committee. When we went around the room to introduce ourselves and various people mentioned their teaching backgrounds, I rather bluntly said, “I’ve never taught a class, and you shouldn’t want me to teach a class because I can hardly speak in public.”

But on Sunday, somewhere between low A and high F#, I had a flickering memory of sitting in a Sunday school room when I was a child and watching a man play a long brown bassoon. I recalled feeling some fascination with the mechanics of the silver keys pressed by the man’s hands to produce different sounds. I joined the band in sixth grade and played through freshman year in college and then took a 25-year break before coming back to music and playing with the Wilshire Winds for the past nine years.

It’s possible all of that occurred because a man took the time to play a few notes on the bassoon for a bunch of squirmy kids. And maybe my five minutes of discomfort will start one of these kids on the path to music. Perhaps you can do the same thing by sharing a hobby, talent or skill – something you love to do. It’s worth the effort.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Hearing is believing

Last week our Epiphany Class concluded a four-week study on the push and pull between reason and faith, science and religion. At one extreme are those who say they have proof that we are just complex masses of tissue brought to life with an electrical charge, and there is nothing after we die. At the other extreme are those who have faith that we are divinely created by a God who has breathed into us an eternal life.

At one point in the discussion it was mentioned that science and reason cannot explain the human urge for artistic expression. That was brought home to me on Friday night when we heard the Dallas Symphony perform Mozart’s beautiful Clarinet Concerto in A. Here is how the science/reason school might explain what I experienced:

In 1791, a randomly evolved organism named Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart heard some sounds in his brain and, using a complex code created by other organisms, transcribed those sounds onto pieces of paper so that yet more organisms that had learned that code could replicate the sounds with the help of instruments carved out of wood and hammered out of brass by yet other organisms. And now, 220 years later, a thousand more organisms sit in a room (designed and built with perfect acoustics by yet more organisms) and listen to the decoding of Mozart’s sounds. And when hearing those sounds, they are stimulated in a way that causes their skin to tingle, their eyes to water, their hearts to race, and their beings to generally feel as if they are floating above the ground.

All of that just the evolved biological response to environmental stimuli? I don’t believe so.

When we came out of the concert on Friday, we turned on our phones and learned of the passing of Bill James, Wilshire’s music minister emeritus. Like the musicians performing on that stage, Bill was a master of the musical code and used it in ways that filled our hearts and lifted our spirits, whether singing, leading worship, or even playing the clarinet. Bill’s sharing of the musical code was not motivated by a drive for food, shelter, rest or domination – the prime motivators of purely biological beings. He was motivated by a love for the God who created him and with whom he dwells now.

Mozart, James – hearing is believing.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Building a community with heart

Kneeling with our fallen brethren,
Pressing, breathing life anew . . .

Sounds like the words to a hymn, but it’s actually my own two-line summary of two hours of instruction in CPR (cardio pulmonary resuscitation) that 20 of us received Sunday afternoon during Wilshire Academy. I’m heartened – and you should be too – to know that there are people among us who are trained to give this life-saving aid.

While Linda Garner, our parish nurse, was putting us through the paces with plastic CPR dummies, another group down the hall was brainstorming the future of Wilshire. From what I’ve heard, the concept of “community” was a focus of that discussion. Specifically, “what can we do to build a true community of faith.”

I believe one of the things we can do to achieve that is to practice another type of CPR: compassionate personal response. With the leadership of Tiffany Wright, we’re doing this in meaningful ways with trained Stephen ministers and Care Teams, and periodically there are training sessions for these wonderful ministries. But, all of us are capable of providing compassionate personal response at different levels, and I think there are parallels to the key steps of cardio pulmonary resuscitation.

1. Make sure the area is safe.

That one is easy, because Wilshire is a safe place, and Wilshire folk can be trusted with your pain and your distress. I know that from experience.

2. Tap and shout, “are you okay?”

Community is a two-way street, and this is where things can break down, even at Wilshire. As a member of our Epiphany Class has commented on several occasions, we’re very comfortable sharing our physical ailments, but we’re not so open about our spiritual and emotional pain. Nobody really wants to admit they’re hurting or broken. We want to appear buttoned down and together, and when somebody asks “how are you doing?” it’s easy to stoically reply “fine” even if we’re not. If we truly want and need help – and if we want to build true community – we need to be more honest with ourselves and with each other.

3. Yell for help. Send someone to phone 911 and get an AED.

We’re not all equipped to handle complicated situations. Thankfully, Wilshire is peopled with professionals at every level: pastoral counselors, psychologists, medical doctors, Stephen ministers, Care Teams. If you’re in over your head, or you’re uncertain about the situation, you don’t have to go it alone.

4. With the heel of your hand on the breast bone, compress the chest hard and quickly 30 times, then stop and give two quick breaths.

This is where both types of CPR get risky. With cardiopulmonary resuscitation, it’s possible to break someone’s rib, bruise them, expose them to embarrassment by opening their shirt. The same is true with compassionate personal response; we can cause discomfort and embarrassment by asking questions. But as Linda says, it is better to risk injury and embarrassment and save a life than to do nothing and lose a life.

5. Trust your instincts

This is not one of the actual steps of CPR, but it is something Linda emphasized during our class. She said that in a real emergency, our mental recall will kick in and we’ll know what to do. I believe the same is true when being “community” with each other. And with both types of CPR, we can go a step further and trust God with the results.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

A day on the journey

I failed to read the fine print and didn't realize until I got to the airport at 5:30 this morning that my one-stop flight to Washington actually included brief stops in Little Rock and Kansas City in addition to Chicago. The people paying my way made the arrangements, so I can't really complain. Besides, there's a lot to observe and learn along the way.

Dallas to Little Rock:

Sitting in front of me are two young businessmen who speak with authority and use terms such as "negative arbitrage” and “game on.” Interestingly, the latter is used by one to describe his battle with his 13-year-old who wants a smart phone. With gelled hair and starched shirt, he clearly has the world by the tail.

As the sun rises, a storm lights up the tops of clouds on the horizon and a shooting star briefly blazes. In my earphones, David Gilmour sings “so much behind us, so far to go.”

On the ground in Little Rock, the man next to me calls the office and asks them to “process the pay vouchers.” He reports on the trade show he attended and goes through a stack of business cards he collected. "Yes, I got the motorcycle license, but I'm not feeling very confident yet.” He's wearing one of those brightly stenciled long-sleeve T-shirts that motorcross racers wear. He's also wearing jeans and penny loafers. I'm guessing he’s the dependable boss back at the office, but out on the road he's a rebel.

Little Rock to Chicago:

Two women behind me never have met, but they woke up this morning one street apart in a Dallas suburb. “What a small world. We could have commuted together,” one says. She had been visiting her brother, and the other was a newcomer to town, having transferred after her husband died. “I love Dallas,” she says. “The women are so jazzy with all their jewelry and big hair.”

It's sunny above the clouds but the pilot warns of cold rain and turbulence on the way into Chicago. The ride is smooth, but we spend 30 minutes in the thick gray clouds before landing in the rain.

In Chicago, I walk a mile to change planes, get coffee and a giant oatmeal cookie for breakfast, and juice up my phone so I can text LeAnn and answer emails. Everyone around me is doing the same, or sleeping. An announcement on the public address system provides important instructions on the proper way to sneeze.

Chicago to Washington, D.C.:

Boarding the plane, I learn that we're not stopping in Kansas City after all. Good news, but the flight is packed. Maybe it’s the gloomy weather, or the cramped quarters, or the fact that we're no longer in friendly Texas, but nobody is chatting ambiably anymore. The serious mood puts me on guard. They tell us to turn off our cell phones, and I rat out a woman two rows up because I see a green light blinking in the top of her purse. I want to arrive safely. Fifteen minutes after takeoff, we burst through the clouds into the sunlight and I hear people talking again. Interesting how the sun can do that. Landing in D.C., I'm eager to get to work so I can turn around and go home.

What's the point of this uneventful travelogue? We're all on a journey. Some of it we control, and much of it we don’t. We'll meet fellow travelers and maybe bond for a while or perhaps a lifetime. There'll be bright sunrises and dark clouds, smooth rides and turbulence, real battles and invented conflicts, shooting stars and planeloads of travelers headed in other directions. Some stops will be scheduled, and some will be unexpected. Through it all, we can’t really complain because the one who gave us life made the arrangements. It’s good to be along for the ride.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Still, waters run deep

Sunday I had the privilege of holding one of the bowls of water in the narthex as congregants came forward to dip their fingers and “remember their baptism.” It was a moving experience for me as men and women, boys and girls, came forward.

I said “congregants” rather than “Wilshire members” because the invitation was made to all who had been baptized. That included a man I know who was baptized as a Catholic and is active at Wilshire but is not a member. He could be a member if he accepted our requirement that he be baptized by immersion, but he prefers to remain a non-member and honor his baptism. And he did so Sunday in the traditional Catholic way: he dipped his fingers in the water and then touched his head, heart, and shoulders to form the sign of the cross. Nobody else at my bowl did that.

I understand and respect that deep sense of honor. In my previous marriage to Debra, we honored our baptisms and our Christian roots by me remaining Baptist and she remaining Catholic. We could have met in the middle somewhere, or one of us could have joined the other’s church, but that wasn’t our way. Interestingly, if I had become Catholic, I would have had to take months of classes to get up to speed on the ways of the Catholic faith, but I wouldn’t have had to be re-baptized; they would have accepted my baptism by immersion. On the other hand, had Debra become Baptist, she would not have been required to take classes of any kind, but she would have been required to be re-baptized.

So I ask: Are we putting symbolism over substance when it comes to baptism and church membership? We say in our literature that “the water of baptism does not save,” but yet we require that it be done our way. We invite all Christians to participate in our worship and Bible Study, the Lord’s Supper, even tithing. And then on Sunday we invite them to “remember their Baptism” – even a baptism that we don’t accept. Really?

Please don’t get me wrong. Believer’s baptism by immersion is a wonderful and meaningful tradition and a focal point of our identity as Baptists. I will always remember and cherish my own baptism as a defining point in my life. We should encourage it, promote it and certainly keep it as an entry point for those who have come to the Lord through the doors of Wilshire. But for those who come to us as mature and committed Christians with proven hearts for ministry and service, shouldn’t we honor the baptism and faith that has nurtured them and ultimately brought them to us? Shouldn’t we accept the baptism that we invite them to remember?

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Bridging the seasons

Here we are once again on the cusp of the holidays. Thanksgiving is Thursday, and Advent begins Sunday. In between is the retail madness of Black Friday, and then there is Saturday.

I googled this particular Saturday and from what I can tell it hasn’t been branded yet. Liturgically, it is the last day of Ordinary Time – the period stretching from Pentecost to Advent – but there are no special observances that go with it. For many people it continues the Thanksgiving celebration, and for others it is just Day 2 of Black Friday with more shopping and the related traffic and hassles. You’ll likely see some people out in the yard or on the roof hanging lights and putting out decorations.

Since nobody has pinned a marketing name on this day, I might suggest that it be called “Bridge Saturday” because of the way it connects the gratitude of Thanksgiving with the reverent waiting and hope of Advent.

Observing “Bridge Saturday” doesn’t require that we cross an actual bridge, although symbolic actions can be powerful tools for transformation. Rather, the crossing can be as simple as taking time to reflect. As we cross this imaginary bridge, we can pause at the midpoint, lean over the rail, and drop into the muddy water all of the baggage and freight that can slow us down and distract us on our Advent journey.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Mass changes

“The Lord be with you.” For almost 50 years, the response to that blessing in the Catholic mass has been “and also with you.” Starting Nov. 27, the response will be “and with your spirit.”

Another change: “I have sinned through my own fault” will now be “I have greatly sinned.”

One of the biggest changes is that in the Nicene Creed that has been recited since the 4th century, the phrase stating that Jesus was “begotten, not made, one in being with the Father” will now be “begotten, not made, con-substantial with the Father.”

Why the changes? When the mass was translated from Latin in the early 1960s, all English-speaking nations went their own way with their own vernacular. The new changes unify the English translations.

Why am I talking about it? Because the changes have sparked much discussion, grumbling, even debate among clergy and laity alike. Some of the discussion predictably has been about the shock of change in general: “Why change what we know and understand?” And some has been about the inclusion of theologically cumbersome words like “con-substantial,” which means “substances that are the same.”

My own opinion is that there is an upside to the changes and the discussion well beyond having a uniform translation. The changes have caused people to give new thought to their traditions and practices and what they mean. A word like “con-substantial” might not roll off the tongue as eloquently as “one in being,” but the conversations about it have caused people to think about the meanings of the words. In that regard, the debate might help turn rote recitation into intentional, thoughtful prayer.

We Baptists like to declare ourselves free from the bondage of rote and repetitious practices, but the fact is that we have some set pieces in our worship each week that can become too habitual and familiar if we’re just going through the motions. We have the flexibility to change things, but the value of our communal worship starts with what each of us brings to the service.

I have friends and family in the Catholic faith who go to mass every day with fresh vigor and interest, and I’ve been guilty of sitting in church on Sundays with glassy-eyed indifference. In the end, faith and worship is not about what we read from the missal or the worship bulletin; it’s what we bring with us into the experience.

For the record, I do like the old words in the Catholic mass better than the new ones. “I have sinned through my own fault” seems to carry more personal burden than “I have greatly sinned.” And “con-substantial” sounds like theological jargon, whereas “one in being with the Father” paints a picture that I can see – even if I still can’t fully grasp or understand it.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

If I could say it over again . . .

“Are you okay?” In the split-second after I asked that I wanted to take it back because I knew it was insanely stupid. The friend I was speaking to was grieving the loss of his wife, and his answer was honest and expected. “No, I’m not okay.”

Of all people, I should know better, but it was a reflex response to seeing someone in distress. What I meant was: “Is there something I can do at this precise moment to help you in any way?” but that would have been a ridiculous question too, because there was nothing I could do short of bringing his wife back that would be any help at all. All I can do – all any of us can do – is be there and let the person know that they are not alone. And if possible, when the time is right, we might say something or do something that makes sense.

Such as the advice I got a couple of months after Debra died. I was trying to track down some of her long-ago friends and let them know what had happened. One of them, Kathy Wise, who Debra knew at Baylor and who now is assistant director of Mission Waco, emailed her condolences and then she said, “grieve well.” I wish I had kept the email, but I can paraphrase the rest of what she said: Experience your grief fully so that God can work through you and with you to memorialize her appropriately but also to draw meaning, consolation, and faith in your own life from the entire experience.

I can’t say that I followed that advice explicitly, but I don’t think it is something that a person can really work at. Rather, it is something that you have to let happen to you; you have to open yourself to what God will do.

On Friday night at a 30-year reunion dinner at Baylor, I saw Kathy again. I thanked her once more for her advice and then I introduced her to LeAnn. “God has been good,” I said. And then just 40 hours later, I asked the stupid question, “are you okay?”

So now, I’d like to pass Kathy’s advice to my friend and add my own testimony that some day – in God’s good time, and in God’s good way – you will be okay.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Hearing the words

I don’t often pull my iPhone out of my pocket during church, and I’ve never pulled it out to make a note about a hymn, but that’s what I did two Sundays ago.

We had just sung “Sing the God of Love Creating,” a new hymn for Wilshire, and I was stumped by a phrase in the third verse: “Serve the world, in God confiding: Love and joy and peace eliding.” Actually, I was stumped by one word: “eliding.” It is a word that I have no recollection of ever using or even hearing, so I pulled out my phone and typed a note to myself to look it up later. When I did, I found the following definitions: leave out; suppress, omit, or ignore; slur over in pronunciation; merge; cut short; abridge.

Not exactly what I expected, but plugging the definitions into the hymn, I came up with two potential meanings:

1. We are to serve the world, confiding/confessing to God that we humans have eliminated love, joy, and peace from our world.

2. We are to merge love, joy, and peace into a single gift to be shared with our world.

I wasn’t satisfied because those are two completely different meanings. That led to more Googling, and with no further clarification, I decided to go straight to the source. A great thing about singing new hymns is that the author is usually still living, so I emailed my question to the author: Paul Richardson, professor of music, Samford University.

Prof. Richardson graciously responded and said that the correct meaning is the second one I proposed: merge love, joy, and peace into a single gift. And then he explained the concept of merging a little further, as well as his inclination for using unusual words:

“In my day job as a teacher of singing, I work a lot with diction, helping singers apply the International Phonetic Alphabet to master the sounds of languages that are not native to them. Particularly in learning French, they must learn how to link words in a phrase while maintaining the specific sounds of the individual phonemes. The technical processes involved are known as ‘liaison’ and ‘elision.’

“I recognize that this concept is a couple of steps beyond the experience of the typical worshiper. However, I’ve always thought it was a good idea as a writer or speaker to include one word that might prompt the curiosity of the reader or listener. I’m not certain that this is as useful in a hymn. However, it seems to have had the desired effect with you!”

Indeed it did. I’m glad I was paying attention – hearing the words and not just singing them. Perhaps you’d like to join me in that exercise?

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Fast-forward?

Sunday night I drove to the top of a mountain and when I started back down a blizzard engulfed my car and my windows fogged up until I couldn’t see anything. For a split second I was filled with terror because I knew that if I kept driving I’d plunge blindly off the mountain and surely die. But then I said “this dream is over” and I found myself in the comfort and safety of the bed. No more danger, no more stress.

It’s a new super power I seem to have developed in my dream life: When the going gets rough, I can simply will the dream to be over. If only real life were that easy: just end a conflict by declaring it over and stepping out of it. But life doesn’t work that way. And if it did, we’d miss a lot of good things too.

That was the message of “Click,” a 2006 movie starring Adam Sandler in which his character is given a sort of remote control for life. If he doesn’t like something that is happening, he can just push a button and fast forward past it. The movie was billed as a comedy, but it was actually quite tragic because the device begins to self-program to the man’s selfish preferences, and soon he is an old man, dying with the realization that by clicking past life’s messy moments he also missed out on births, weddings, anniversaries, children growing up and other joyous moments.

Thankfully, God doesn’t give us such power. We have to live through every day we’re given with all its bumps and bruises, but in doing so we find that sunshine follows rain, success can be built from failure, loss can give birth to new joy. Even when there seems to be nothing left, there can be treasured moments.

Monday – after awakening from my dream – I went to the memorial service for a woman who didn’t click past anything. In fact, written across the photo of the woman in the full glow of health and happiness were the words, “God just gives you the grace.” That had been her lifelong testimony to how she got through tough times, and it became the faith of her family as they slowly lost her to dementia. But even in the bleakest days, the beautiful woman they loved came shining through. They would have missed those bright moments if they had just fast-forwarded to the end.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Keeping up with family

“Looks like most of the family is here!” That was the enthusiastic observation from the 30-ish young man who settled in behind us in the metal bleachers at Baylor’s Floyd Casey Stadium last Saturday evening. “I mean, as season ticket holders we’re sort of like family here, right?” he added.

This is my first experience with season tickets of any type, and after a few games I understand what he is saying. Beside us, behind us and in front of us are individuals and groups that are in the same location week after week. To my right and in front of me are LeAnn and some of her long-time friends who have been true “family” to her over the years and have adopted me now as well. The rest are strangers – but familiar strangers just the same.

Behind us is the young man and his friends who we enjoy because of their energy and hilarious wisecracks about the games. To my immediate left is a family with a teen-age boy who I’ve witnessed eat everything on the concession stand menu board. And radiating out are others whose names we don’t know, but we recognize them, say hello and goodbye, share high-fives when something great happens, and join in a collective groan when things go bad. When one of these folks is absent, we take notice and even worry a little. We miss them, and we’re sure to welcome them back next time we see them.

Wilshire recently started a “pew shepherd” program that asks members who sit in the same vicinity each week (isn’t that everyone?!) to keep a caring eye out for their neighbors – to greet guests in their midst, but also check on regulars who might be missing. It’s a great idea and a wonderful way to build “family.”

One of the prime reasons I joined Wilshire 21 years ago was that former member Paul Mansfield treated me like family. I had visited a few times, and one Sunday when he needed an usher he recognized me and put his trust in me. “But I’m not a member,” I said. “Doesn’t matter. I need you,” he replied.

Contrast that to me running into a church member in downtown Dallas who I hadn’t seen in a long time. When I asked “where have you been?” she replied, “I had to be away for a while and when nobody checked on me, I figured that I wasn’t really missed.” She quit coming, and I was among those who carelessly let that happen. That’s not the way to be a family – whether connected by faith, blood, or school colors.

We’ll be back at the stadium in a few weeks and I’m going to strike up a conversation with that young man – the one who said we are family – and find out his name, where he lives, what he does. And on Sunday at Wilshire, I’m going to try to be more aware of people who haven’t been there in a while so I can check on them and make sure they’re okay. Or if someone has been absent but returns, I’m going to try to do a better job of letting them know we missed them. That’s what families do.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Keep your head on

I laughed out loud this week when I read actor Ryan Gosling’s description of growing up as a child star on the set of “The New Mickey Mouse Club.” He said: “Backstage at Disney World, there are stories. Mickey Mouse with his head off, drinking coffee on break. Pirates on the phone. Ghosts in line for food.”

I had the same feeling as a kid when I saw Jerry Haynes, aka “Mr. Peppermint,” out of his signature red-and-white striped jacket shopping at the mall or eating at a restaurant. Haynes passed away last week, and it was a reminder that the people we idolize or revere at different times in our lives are, in the end, just flesh and blood humans. Take off their costume and they eat and drink, live and die, just like the rest of us. It’s in those unguarded moments off the stage when a person’s true character is in the spotlight. Reading Haynes’ obituary, it’s clear that he was the same decent, generous man with or without the candy-striped costume.

So it is for us outside of the church and out in the community where we can behave – or misbehave – just like everyone else. I’ll admit that for the most part, my childhood in the church has influenced my actions outside the church. I’ll also admit that there have been plenty of times when I’ve totally forgotten who I am and where I am and have behaved in a way that would embarrass my pastor, Sunday School teachers, parents and friends – not to mention disappointing God.

The Gospels and Paul’s letters to the early church have plenty to say about the dangers of hypocrisy, bearing false witness, and being a stumbling block to the faith of others. The notion of “sinned on Saturday, saved on Sunday” was as prevalent then as it is today.

Paul writes of a “thorn in the flesh” – an unspecified weakness – that kept him from being conceited because it was only through God’s power that he could overcome it. My biggest weakness is impatience, which itself is a form of conceit. It looks like irritation or frustration, but the underlying feeling is superiority: I’m more intelligent, my way is best, my time is more important. It’s the reason people honk their horns, bark at waiters and huff and puff when the checkout line is moving slowly.

So how do we keep from losing our heads when we take off the costume of a Sunday saint? The simple answer is that we keep the costume on and grow into it until it is no longer a costume but who we really are. The more human answer is that we just keep working at it and remain mindful of our own failings. And we do as Paul suggests and lean on God’s strength to overcome our weaknesses.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Almost left behind

“We forgot the refrigerator!” We realized that hours after we’d moved out of LeAnn’s house and moved everything to an apartment and storage. We went back for it the next day. Our Realtor said that it’s not unusual for people who are moving to leave behind dishwashers full of dishes. The mover who came back to put the fridge into storage said he’s seen people leave attics full of boxes of belongings.

Life is full of comings and goings, gatherings and leavings. Sometimes we gather things out of need and sometimes it’s just plain greed. Sometimes we leave things out of hasty forgetfulness and sometimes out of willful separation. We do it with possessions, and we do it with people.

And then there comes a day for each of us when we leave everything behind. Recently I attended two funerals – for a 46-year-old who left us far too soon, and an 85-year-old who lived long. Both left behind possessions, but both left us with memories to cherish.

I like what Don McLean says about it:

“The book of life is brief,
And once the page is read,
All but love is dead,
That is my belief.”

Years ago when we cleaned out my grandparent’s house, we were getting ready to drive away when we realized the brass door knocker engraved with my grandfather’s name was still on the front door. We grabbed a screwdriver, loosened it, and took it with us. It would mean nothing to the next occupants, but to us it represented a wonderful life and all the relationships that were entwined with it.

Love and relationships are for keeps.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

The shelf life of fame

The shelf life of fame is short and getting shorter all the time. A visit over the weekend to Half Price Books points this out. On a cart I saw “Glee – The Ultimate Guide to the Smash-Hit High School Musical,” and when I noticed it tagged for just $3, I was curious because the show (which I’ve never watched) is all the rage. I picked up the book and saw that it sold for $14 just last year when it was published. The book, at least, is no longer the rage.

Browsing further, I noticed politicians are not immune to diminishing interest. Karl Rove, who once had a president’s ear, can be bought for $7.99 compared to the original $30 cover price. Ted Kennedy, a senate legend, has dropped from $35 to $9.99. Bill Clinton’s 957-page life story can be had for $7.99, down from $35. And Dan Quayle’s memoir? Originally priced at $25, you can get it for 98 cents.

Even Barak Obama’s best-selling “Audacity of Hope” is now half priced at just $7.48. Hmm . . . the audacity of people moving on to other things. But they do, and that’s daunting for anyone who bases their self-worth on the adulation and attention of others. While it’s especially true for celebrities, we mere mortals are not immune. Work, school, church, even volunteer organizations provide plenty of opportunity to get the big head about who we are and what we do.

While fame ultimately ebbs, our ability to make a difference still flows strong as long as we don’t lose sight of what’s important and where our energy and gifts come from. Micah said it famously this way: “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Good advice for how to be content and satisfied long after your book – or whatever you’ve put your energy into – is sitting on the discount cart. Meanwhile, justice and mercy never go out of style.

After writing that, I went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and looked out the window to see a squirrel sitting on St. Francis’ head. The beloved saint had some good things to say about how to live too.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Flat wooden people

If you’ve never been in the children’s or preschool resource rooms at Wilshire, you’ve missed two magical places. It’s where all the goodies are stored for the Sunday and weekday preschool and children’s classes. From floor to ceiling these rooms are organized with bins holding everything needed to stimulate young minds: colored paper, pipe cleaners, Play-doh, paint and brushes, toy trucks and airplanes, puzzles, drums and rhythm sticks, blocks and balls, magnetic letters and numbers, glitter and bric-a-brac, and odds and ends that only children know how to transform into temples, chariots and scrolls.

I was in the preschool resource room early Sunday morning helping LeAnn gather materials for Sunday School and came upon a bin labeled “Flat Wooden People.” Looking inside, I found exactly what the label said: flat wooden cut-outs of people. I assume they are used for role-playing lessons, but my grown-up mind went somewhere else.

Too often Christians are looked upon as flat wooden people. It’s a stereotype that comes from certain groups of us who equate righteous living with humorless living – who tamp down smiles and laughter in favor of a strict and stern demeanor. It also comes from those who point boney fingers of judgment at people who don’t act and behave exactly as they do. That sometimes includes those who don’t worship and pray the way they do.

The stereotype leads to comments such as, “Oh, you’re one of those people,” when you try to help someone or share your faith. It also leads to charges of hypocrisy when you fail to match the stereotype to the letter. Worst of all, it leads people to think they don’t belong in church because their lives are too messy; they aren’t buttoned-down enough.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus fought against this flat wooden stereotype. He dared to throw open the doors of the Kingdom of God to everyone, especially flawed, hurting, flesh-and-blood people. And he dared to throw out the rule books that based faith on a strict lifestyle and focused instead on relationships that bring a rich, joyful style to life.

The truth is that the least flat, most three-dimensional people I know are Christians. They like to laugh, they like to work hard and play hard, and they find Sundays at church to be the highlight of the week. That doesn’t mean they aren’t reverent or they don’t share serious moments. It means they help each other get through those moments and figure out how to smile again – often with humor that pokes fun at themselves.

From what I can see in the resource room, that type of Christianity is taught early at Wilshire, where the only flat wooden people to be found are stowed back in their bin at the end of Sunday School.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

From one extreme to another

There’s been a lot of interesting discussion at Wilshire recently about how we read and interpret the Bible. It was touched upon in George’s sermon on Sunday, and it has been part of the Wednesday noon and evening Bible studies. In the study last Wednesday night, there was mention of the Branch Davidians and how David Koresh and his followers turned themselves into an armed compound based on their interpretation of the book of Revelation.

That brought back a flood of memories because I knew the Branch Davidians before Koresh came on the scene. In 1982 when I was covering religion for the Waco newspaper, I was visited periodically by a man named Perry Jones. He’d come into the newsroom dressed entirely in white, with white hair combed straight back in theatrical fashion. Accompanying him was a little blond-haired girl who he introduced as his daughter.

Jones was the spokesman for the Branch Davidians, and he always brought the latest copy of “Shekinah,” a magazine presenting their views on the equal role of women in the church based on their belief that the Holy Spirit is uniquely and specifically feminine. They believed that the Holy Trinity provides the model for the perfect family: God the father, Christ the son, and the Holy Spirit mother. They based all of this on their interpretation of the scriptures.

Because the message and the messenger were all about peace and love, I had no fear in visiting their headquarters – a couple of small buildings outside of town – and writing an article about them. The last time I saw Jones and his daughter was when he came to tell me that a fire had destroyed their publishing office. “Shekinah” was no more.

Eleven years later, when law enforcement agencies raided the Davidian compound, I had no clue that this was the same group. The Davidians I knew were docile and peaceful, and Jones was their gregarious hippy PR man. I didn’t make the connection until I saw him listed among the dead in the initial raid, and his daughter – who had become one of Koresh’s wives – among those who perished in the fire that followed.

I was baffled by the evolution of the Davidian’s message from the equality of spiritual gifts among men and women nurtured by a feminine Holy Spirit, to male dominance and holy war. I was especially puzzled by how a gentle man like Jones had made that transition himself. The reports that have been published since then make it clear that the Davidians were corrupted by the same forces that have corrupted people for centuries: false prophets pushing false biblical interpretations, emotional and spiritual manipulation, physical domination and intimidation, bullying and greed.

There was sabotage too, because it was Koresh who allegedly torched Jones’ printing press. It took him several more years to woo the Branch Davidians over to his teachings, but silencing their voice was the first step. Koresh was charismatic, to be sure, but Jones and the others lost their way by following a man instead of God. At the very least they should have listened to the Holy Spirit that they held so dear. After all, it is that spirit that calls each of us to study and interpret God’s word for ourselves.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Membership has its responsibilities

Last week, as Wilshire’s 60th anniversary celebration approached, I noted to myself that my 21 years at the church has been my longest-running membership of any sort, excluding family of course. However, I had to revise that when, digging through my wallet, I pulled out the plastic card that says I’ve been a member of the American Automobile Association for 26 years.

I don’t recall what prompted me to join AAA, but I know why I’ve kept the membership. Over the years I’ve benefitted from travel discounts, and once in a while it gets me a much-needed jump start, a tow out of traffic, or a fixed flat when I’ve not been in a position to roll up my sleeves and do it myself. In that regard it’s mostly insurance.

Some would say that church membership is insurance too. The truly misguided or cynical would say that it’s “heaven insurance” (or “blessed assurance”?), but that’s not accurate. Churches don’t save people eternally. Faith and grace do that. Churches can be the place where people discover their faith, and learn about and accept God’s grace. And churches can be a wonderful place of fellowship, discipleship, encouragement and support.

Meanwhile, God works outside the church as much or more than he works inside the church. Or better yet, he works through the church. In that regard, church membership is not like the American Express promotion that says “membership has its privileges.” Rather, church membership has its responsibilities. As Bill Leonard said in his anniversary sermon on Sunday evening, we need to be roaming our community in search of people to serve.

That makes us less like AAA members and more like AAA tow truck drivers. I’ve always suspected that the best of them are the ones that are out in traffic, looking for people who need help rather than sitting back at the garage waiting for the phone to ring. The same is true for the church and its members. We need to be out looking for people who need a tow to safety, a lift when life has left them flat, and a jump start when their spirit is weak.

Tuesday, August 24, 2011

Walking the Wilshire way

It’s been way too hot in recent weeks to walk Wilshire’s labyrinth – unless you climb the fence and walk it before dawn. But the celebration of Wilshire’s 60th anniversary this Sunday has me thinking about a similar walk of prayer and thanksgiving that can be completed in the relative cool of the early morning.

Start at the columbarium garden on the south side of the building near the porte-cochere. Stop to read the scripture at the entrance, and then looking in at the niches reflect on Wilshire members you know who, while gone, still loom large in your life.

Walk to the corner of the garden and turn left up Springside Street. When you come to the playground, pause and think about the children of our church who represent our future. Pray for them, as well as the parents and teachers who are entrusted with their care.

Continue on to the corner of the building and turn left. On the right you’ll see the house where many youth activities take place, and on the left, the entrance to the youth center in the basement. Pray for the leading of the Holy Spirit in the lives of our young people as they face the challenges of this age and as they discern God’s plan for their lives.

Proceed to the corner and turn left in front of the north wing of the church. Coming out of the trees, stop for a moment and look up at the steeple. Consider the cross and what it represents. While doing that, you’ll no doubt see and hear the traffic on Abrams Road. Reflect on Wilshire’s role as a place of peace and fellowship in a busy world.

Meander on to the prayer garden, following the curve around the inside of the courtyard. Look at the bubbling water in the center of the landscaped cross and notice how it washes over the stones – like the grace of God washing us clean. Also notice the sculpture of children playing. Reflect on the child-like joy that we have in Christ.

Continue around to the front of the sanctuary. Stand on the sidewalk and look upward at the columns. Think about our leaders – past and present, ministers and lay people alike – who have stood tall throughout the church’s 60 years. Consider your role – what it has been and what it can be – in our joint mission of “building a community of faith shaped by the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”

Finally, proceed across the parking lot to the front of McIver Chapel. Reflect on the words inscribed there: “I am the vine, and you are the branches.” Offer a prayer of thanksgiving for our senior members who truly are the branches of Jesus Christ and who gather faithfully in the chapel on Sunday mornings.

If you aren’t up to a long walk around the church, most of the symbols of “the Wilshire way” can be experienced indoors during normal church building hours. From north to south: the preschool and youth areas; the prayer garden and steeple viewable from the James Gallery; the interior columns of the sanctuary; McIver Chapel and the parlor with views of the columbarium garden.

When the heat wave finally breaks and it’s cooler, add a labyrinth walk to the experience, following the suggestions at this link: http://www.wilshirebc.org/article249105.htm.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Storing up treasures

I recently visited all my stuff – everything I own that I put into storage after I sold the house and married and moved in with LeAnn – and I was surprised to find how detached I have become to it all.

When I opened the padlock, slid the latch, and rolled up the door, I stood for a moment and just stared into the darkness of that 10 x 30-foot space. It might as well have been someone else’s stuff for all I cared. I hadn’t seen it in seven weeks, and I’ve become accustomed to living without it. Don’t need it, don’t miss it. Don’t want it.

Okay, that last “don’t” statement is a stretch, because some day I will want some of my stuff. We’ll need some of my furniture and knick-knacks to fill out the rooms of the home we’re building. And some of what I have in storage is family heirlooms and special mementos of loved ones that I would never dream of parting with.

Ironically, I went to the storage unit to retrieve some documents, including my will, which needs to be updated. And a will, of course, is a document that indicates what you want to happen to all your stuff when you depart this life.

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus tells the wealthy ruler that he needs to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor in order to prepare his heart for heaven. And in Matthew he says: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.”

Those words weren’t on my mind when I rented the space, when I bought the padlock, when I asked about pest control, and when I wrote down the password to the gate of the alarm-protected facility. I was definitely concerned about thieves, moths and vermin messing with my treasures.

That’s what makes my “who cares” attitude so unexpected and refreshing. And so important. I consider this period of “separation from stuff” a gift from God designed to keep me focused on relationships, and especially this new life with LeAnn.

Of course, LeAnn has her own stuff and we’ll sort through it just like we’ll sort through mine. And we have lots of beautiful new things together that many sweet friends have given us. We’ll enjoy those gifts, not just for what they are, but for the relationships that they represent. That’s the real treasure.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Making connections

LeAnn and I couldn’t help but smirk at each other last night, going back over the series of unexpected connections we’d just made. And we couldn’t help but think that God is in the details.

It started 48 hours earlier, when a phone call told us that our house would be shown from 3 to 5 p.m. on Sunday. (The house is on the market as we begin to build a new home together.) As we cleaned and tidied things up, we planned our exile: run some errands, check out the sale at Borders, and perhaps look at the new apartments in downtown Garland. If we sell the house, we will need a place to live until the new house is built.

After taking care of the errands, we decided to skip Borders and go to the apartments. We toured a model and as we were leaving the leasing center, another potential tenant came in, saw us, and said, “LeAnn?” Quick introductions revealed that the woman, Carol, is a downtown resident with a house that a mutual friend encouraged us months ago to look at for ideas. We mentioned that and Carol said, “I’ve been wanting to show you my house.” Within, minutes we were at her house looking around.

In the midst of talking about home building, we explained that our vacant lot had to be replatted with a vote from the Planning Commission set for Monday night. She said, “you probably know Louis Moore on the commission, because he went to Baylor just like you did.”

Incredulous, I said, “you mean the Louis Moore who was the religion writer for the Houston Chronicle at the same time I was covering religion at the Waco newspaper?” And she said, “Yes.” I haven’t seen Louis since our career paths crossed almost 30 years ago, but I know him by reputation and in fact I mentioned him in a June 21 post on this blog.

Last night we went to the Planning Commission with Steve Conner, our builder, and sure enough there was Louis sitting with the other commissioners. They were having a pre-meeting conference and he asked city staff why our property was being replatted. They explained their process, and when it came time for a vote, it was approved unanimously. We didn’t have to stand up and explain or defend anything.

After the meeting, LeAnn, Steve and I went down front to introduce ourselves to Louis. I made the “former religion writer” connection with him, and then more conversation led to more connections, including the fact that we’re all Baylor grads and Louis and Steve are fraternity brothers. We walked out together talking about downtown Garland (where Louis and his wife also live) and our common dreams for the neighborhood. We left city hall feeling that perhaps we have an advocate for our little part of helping revitalize old downtown Garland, and we left with mutual promises to stay in touch and get together as new neighbors.

We also left feeling God’s presence in bringing us to an intersection of people and places where exciting things are possible. Without question, God is asking, “what will you do with this now?” The answer is up to us.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

To every time there is a season

Monday, after finishing a big deadline and clicking the “send” button on e-mail, I tried to switch gears and work on some fiction I’ve been picking at, but new ideas weren’t coming. I decided what I needed was some exercise. Nothing clears the cobwebs better than exercise, and aside from vacating a house and moving, I’ve pretty much abandoned all forms of real exercise over the past six weeks.

So on the hottest afternoon of the year so far, I set out on a 2.5-mile walk up the Duck Creek greenbelt trail and back. Back in the old neighborhood, White Rock Lake was my destination and it doesn’t get much better than that for urban walking. To be honest, my only regret about leaving the old house was not being near the lake, although I see it every time we go to Wilshire. But on my hike down the Duck Creek trail, I was relieved to find it satisfying in its own way.

For starters, it’s all in the shade, and that was welcome when the temperature hit 105. There was a nice breeze and not the howling wind at White Rock that can scald your lungs in the summer and give you freezer burn in the winter. And, there aren’t the pelotons of cyclists that can run you down as they race toward an imaginary finish line somewhere. Most of the Duck Creek trail is isolated from any kind of traffic so in that regard it’s more rural than White Rock.

There’s plenty to see, too, although wildlife was absent I’m sure because of the heat. As I walked, the creek came in and out of view through the trees. It looked still and stagnant 20 feet below until I stopped and noticed bubbles and dry leaves floating down the middle of the channel. As hot and dry as it is, the stream is still coursing with energy. Overhead, scraps of white paper tangled in the trees reminded me that in a couple of months the rain will come again, filling the creek to overflowing and making the park a very different place.

In another six to seven months, life will be very different too. We’ll move into a new house in a different neighborhood. Moving and unpacking will probably take the place of real exercise again, and then I’ll be looking for a new route to walk with new scenes to stimulate new thoughts.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Love wins

For the past month the Epiphany class has studied universal salvation – the belief that in the end all will be saved because God is too loving and merciful to condemn any one of us. Much has been said and written about this concept over the centuries, and the recent book Love Wins by Rob Bell has renewed the debate.

On one side are the advocates of God’s final judgment, who believe firmly that you must be “born again” through Christ to gain eternal life in heaven. On the other side are the universalists who believe that God will ultimately redeem everyone. And in the middle are those who want it both ways; they want God to separate the sheep from the goats but continue to work with the goats until they are ready to rejoin the flock.

The push and pull between judgment and mercy – justice and forgiveness – is at the heart of the film “Heaven’s Rain,” which Wilshire screened on Friday and Saturday nights. In this true story, Brooks Douglass visits a prison to confront one of the men who killed his parents, raped his sister, shot her and him and left them for dead. During a Q&A session after the screenings, Douglass said that when he went to the prison, he didn’t know what he was seeking or what would happen, but he was totally surprised to be overcome by a wave of forgiveness. He discovered that while he had condemned himself to a life of anger, the prisoner had been freed by a genuine conversion that led to remorse and confession.

Douglass’ experience echoes some of the discussion in Epiphany class – that while we do want justice, we seem to be wired for mercy. Like Douglass, the longer we wait for justice, the heavier the burden of anger becomes. At some point we have a choice: Collapse under the weight, or let it go and trust God with the final decision about judgment and mercy.

Despite our class name, we didn’t have any great epiphanies on the subject. If there was a consensus, it’s that nobody this side of heaven knows for sure how God sorts these things out. There are still mysteries about God that will always remain mysteries as long as God is God and we are not.

Meanwhile, a belief that “everybody gets in” does not release us from the charge by Christ to treat our neighbors justly and with compassion and mercy; as Christians we still have to stand for something. Nor does a belief that Christ is the only path to heaven give us license to condemn those who live justly while following our God in a different way or even not at all. We can still hand out tracts or witness to others in whatever way we wish, but we must at least offer a hand of kindness and compassion while doing so. To offer salvation at the point of a sword – or with sharp words – is as wrong today as it was during the Crusades. In that regard, love does win.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Musical roars with truth

Those of us who were at Wilshire on Sunday evening to see the children’s MusiCamp presentation of “Rescue in the Night” were treated to a delightful hour of entertaining worship.

The kids were in great voice and full of energy as they told the story of Daniel in the lions’ den. There were plenty of light touches and comedy, but at the heart of it was the well known story about a man who put his faith in the one true god above his desire for safety. His faithfulness was rewarded with God’s miraculous mercy and an opportunity to demonstrate that mercy to others.

None of the children who performed on Sunday night will ever be forced into a den with real lions, but it’s guaranteed that they will face situations that pit their understanding of what is right against their instinct for survival in it’s many forms: popularity, fitting in, getting ahead. There will always be a King Darius and his advisors lurking in the guise of classmates, coworkers, bosses and neighbors. By now many of the children who performed Sunday night have met some of these types of people, and the temptations to choose the safe and easy way will only increase as they get older.

Wilshire’s music staff deserves plenty of praise for making sure this entertaining presentation was grounded in Biblical truths. They’ve proved once more that Bible study and worship can be exciting, and entertainment can be deep with valuable life lessons. In this summer of Harry Potter and Captain America, these Bible tales are still worth telling.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Journeys

As you read this, LeAnn and I are on a journey – a road trip for a few days to rest and relax after months of planning a wedding and then the event itself. The first two days of the trip were planned in advance, but after that we have left things a little bit to chance and whim. We have a general list of places we might want to go and things we might want to see, but we’ll go where the traveling muses lead us.

In some ways this loosely planned trip is like life itself. You can do some planning in advance, set some goals, makes some assumptions about the future, but at some point you have to be flexible and leave things to fate, or better yet, faith.

I’ve not yet met an adult of a certain age who can say their life has played out exactly the way they planned or hoped. They were traveling along just fine and then something happened to knock them off course: they lost a job or a loved one; health issues threatened their lives and their resources; relationships changed; the storms of life blew away their dreams and aspirations. Good things can happen too that none-the-less change the direction we were headed: an unexpected love, an unexpected child, an exciting career opportunity, a transfer to a new city.

Some say that God is in every detail, and I believe that many times that is true. I also believe that sometimes life just happens, but even then God is there to help lead us in a new direction. And I believe that God is full of surprises if we’re open to them.

A couple of years ago, Preston Bright saw me at one of the Holy Week services and leaned across the pew to declare, “Easter always comes just in time.” I didn’t ask him what he meant, but what I got from those words was that God’s grace always arrives just when we need it. Preston knew that LeAnn and I were beginning to spend time together, and his words hinted that God was leading us on a new journey together.

And as the journey continues, I’ll sign off with the verse that we printed on our wedding program:

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.” Ephesians 3:20-21

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Foundations

The news last Tuesday morning wasn’t good. The men drilling holes for soil samples on the lot where we plan to build a house had to go down 28 feet to hit solid rock. They found white shale higher up, but it is soft and brittle. They had to go down 28 feet to find harder, stronger gray shale – the type on which you want to build a foundation.

One street over, a man building a new house for himself and his wife said he only had to drill down 12 feet to hit rock. We were hoping that would be the case on our lot, because deeper piers require more concrete and steel, and that means more expense. But when building a house, the foundation is not a place where you want to skimp or cut corners. You can settle for less inside – less expensive fixtures, hardware, appliances, floor coverings, furniture – but if you go cheap on the foundation, you put everything else at risk.

We saw a sad example of this before we decided to build, when we were looking at existing houses. We visited a large red brick house in a nice neighborhood that from the street looked like a great home just waiting for a family. But as soon as we stepped inside, we saw the ravages of a poor foundation. Above our heads, cracks cut across walls and ceilings, splitting sheetrock and marring what once were ornate hand-painted murals. Below our feet, floors had buckled and tiles were loose. In some cases there was an inch or two of change in elevation from one room to the next.

Just like our homes, our lives and our aspirations are built on foundations: education, nutrition, exercise, integrity, spiritual formation, faith, relationships. We build on different combinations of these, and in every case there are opportunities to cut corners, but at what cost? Short-term savings in time and effort almost always result in new expenses further down the line. Home foundations can be stabilized and improved, but it’s not as easy with our minds, our bodies, our relationships. Sometimes the damage is fixable, but it can be costly. In worst cases, the damage can be irreparable.

We’re still waiting for the final engineering report to determine what will be needed to build a firm foundation for our house. There may be new technologies and options available that will help reduce some of the cost, but we won’t skimp. We want to build a house that will be standing long after we’re gone.

Meanwhile, we wonder now if the man one street over drilled deep enough? Did he really hit gray shale at 12 feet? Did he mistake the weaker white shale for the gray? Did he decide that the white shale was sufficient? If that was his decision, he may wake up one day to discover that his home is in danger.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Connections

I’m constantly amazed at some of the connections that present themselves in this life, and I wonder what they will mean in the next.

On Saturday we went to Weatherford to hear my brother perform a concert, and as he sang a pair of songs by gospel songwriter Stuart Hamblen, I looked over and saw LeAnn with tears in her eyes. As it turns out, the songs are among her father’s favorites and ones that she often heard him sing while growing up.

When LeAnn and I first began getting to know each other, I learned that her father and mother met in Sherman, and her mother was raised in the tiny town of Whitewright nearby. My father grew up in Sherman, I lived there for a short while on the same street where LeAnn’s aunt lives today, and my grandfather was raised in Whitewright.

LeAnn didn’t know Debra but she has worked with people who knew her through religious education and publishing. LeAnn never worked with my mother, but as educators they have many close ties and connections in that community. That includes my mother’s cousin Ginger, who we rode with to Weatherford and who is a speech pathologist by education just like LeAnn – as was my grandmother.

LeAnn and I didn’t know each other at Baylor, but there is a thick web of shared experiences that brings smiles and generates conversation. That was the case on Saturday as we drove to Weatherford with my parents and cousins. The three couples were at Baylor during the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, but we walked the same hallways and had some of the same professors.

I could go on and on with more examples of these connections, but the point is that they are everywhere and they are part of the connective tissue of our lives. We don’t live alone, and if we look closely we find our paths crisscross and parallel each other in amazing ways.

I sometimes wonder if these connections are a foretaste of what heaven is like. We’ve been talking about that recently in Epiphany Class and have wondered aloud who we will know and how we will know them. Will we be organized in family units, or will we be connected more generally through our mutual love of God? I tend to think that the people we rub shoulders with now – and the way we interact – will have meaning beyond this life.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Cooperating for the kingdom

As the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship celebrates its 20th anniversary in Tampa this week, my thoughts go back to the summer of 1982 and the annual meeting of the Southern Baptist Convention. The SBC was in the midst of upheaval over doctrine and dogma that in time led to the formation of the CBF and the decision of churches like Wilshire to align with the new organization.

I focus on 1982 because I was sent to New Orleans that year to cover the SBC for the Waco Tribune-Herald. For a rookie newspaper reporter who had just been handed the religion beat as a way out of late-night police reporting, it was a plum assignment. The SBC was making lots of noise and lots of news, and there was a lot of interest not just in Waco but nationwide. Everyone wanted to see what the Baptists were going to do – not as a convention reaching out to spread the Kingdom of God, but what they were going to do to each other.

In New Orleans I found myself rubbing shoulders with the luminaries of the religion media: Helen Parmley from The Dallas Morning News, Louis Moore from the Houston Chronicle, George Cornell from the Associated Press, Richard Ostling from Time magazine, reporters and columnists from coast to coast. They were all there to witness the denominational fireworks, and I was excited to be there with them, taking notes and writing stories with a new-fangled electronic typewriter that let me send news back to Waco over the phone lines.

I don’t recall what the big issues and decisions were that year. Instead, I remember the atmosphere: politics, plain and simple. I have two vivid memories: being in the press room at the Louisiana Super Dome and seeing a well-known Baptist personality walk in, stretch out his arms, and draw the media to his side to spin the day’s events; and walking through the atrium of the Hyatt late one night and seeing groups of people huddled in whispered conversation. It looked and felt like a political convention. As a reporter, I was intrigued. As a Baptist, I was dismayed.

I never covered another SBC meeting, and I’ve only attended a CBF meeting once – when the Wilshire Winds played for the gathering at the Gaylord Hotel in Grapevine. It felt like church.

I think one of the best decisions the CBF made in its first 20 years was to put the word “Cooperative” in the name. Keeping that at the forefront is a great way to keep folks working together, and by most accounts that’s what the CBF has done. As a result, the CBF has never received the widespread media attention that the SBC did back in the day. Cooperating for the sake of missions and the Kingdom doesn’t generate a lot of column inches, and that’s okay. It’s quiet work, but it’s good work.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Optimism

In an interesting new book titled The Optimism Bias: A Tour of the Irrationally Positive Brain, author and neuroscientist Tali Sharot advances the long-held belief among scientists that the human brain is hardwired for optimism.

I’ve only read an excerpt in Time magazine, but Sharot writes: “Collectively we can grow pessimistic – about the direction of our country or the ability of our leaders to improve education and reduce crime. But private optimism, about our personal future, remains incredibly resilient.” She goes on to say that “. . . a growing body of scientific evidence points to the conclusion that optimism may be hardwired by evolution into the human brain.”

Sharot cites studies and experiments pointing this out, including an interesting phenomenon where our brains repaint our memories of hard times in a more positive light, which in turn helps feed our optimism for the future. As a result, something that was difficult in the past is looked upon as something that we can cope with again in the future if need be.

Sharot doesn’t address the role of faith in all of this – at least not in the excerpt I read – but I believe there is plenty of evidence that faith in an eternal God adds to our optimism in a way that is above and beyond whatever is happening chemically or electrically in our brains. Our faith gives us a long view beyond the trials of this lifetime. It binds us together corporately in positive ways that we don’t experience in our civic and social lives. While jobs and the marketplace can pit people against each other, our congregational faith has us working together in ways that are usually harmonious. We support and hold each other up during crises, and we work together on mission projects and other activities that are positive and beneficial.

If nothing else, our faith prompts us to lean hard on the words of Christ: “Let not your hearts be troubled.” And we can identify with the psalmists, who constantly moaned and groaned about their troubles but always returned to their hope and faith in God’s mercy and grace.

Maybe those rose-colored glasses we are born with are not just some evolutionary neurological hardwiring in our brains, but perhaps the moving of the Holy Spirit as well.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Basket case

Recently I spent the better part of a day and on into the wee hours of the morning shredding documents and throwing things away in preparation for moving and getting married. The clean-out was long overdue after 18 years in this house, but like so many people I tend to hang on to things too long – even things that I’ve stopped using or really don’t want to look at again. God’s given us a good mind for memory, but we still want to keep physical proof of the journeys we’ve made.

I shredded bank statements, cancelled checks, credit card reports, telephone bills and business receipts going back 30 years. I tried not to look at them, but I couldn’t help but notice how little I was earning at the start of my career and how seemingly happy I was with so little. And I saw again the snowballing of debt over the years.

And then I pulled down from the closet shelf two square baskets. One held doctor bills and medical reports from a few years ago. I kept them in case some auditor came along insisting that something else was due, but I also think I kept them as proof to myself that we did everything we could do.

The other basket held hundreds of cards expressing prayers and support, and later, condolences. I kept the cards out of remembrance for those tender and emotional times, but also out of respect for all the kind people who had sent them. When someone writes such sweet and personal messages, you feel like you want to keep them forever. That’s certainly what they insinuate on the Hallmark card commercials.

Looking at a few of the cards again, I realized that the same people who sent such lovely and touching messages have more recently been lifting me up with expressions of joy and anticipation: well wishes on the phone and by email, hugs and handshakes in the hallways at church, cards and gifts at showers, even an invitation to borrow a guest room between the move and the wedding.

Any hesitation to hold on to the cards was removed. It was clear what I had to do: empty the basket of sadness so it could hold all the joy I was receiving.

So here’s my question for you: What’s in your basket?

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Heeding God’s call

Sunday in the Epiphany Class we concluded a study of Genesis with a look at Genesis 12, where Abram answers God’s call to leave his home and “go to the land I will show you.” Paul Skelton, our teacher, asked if anyone has ever experienced a specific, unmistakable call. Several people gave examples, and although I was silent I was thinking about how my current occupation – freelance writing and editing – is my answer to a very specific and dramatic call I felt in the wake of losing a loved one and turning 50.

Following is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote in September 2009, a few weeks before I gave notice at my full-time job to begin this journey. In a way it was my personal “declaration of independence,” and I return to it every so often to remind myself why I am here:

“We think that we are supposed to live a long, fun, healthy, prosperous life, and when a life ends early, we say, ‘oh . . . tragedy.’ Sometimes the cause of death is truly tragic or horrific, but none more so than Christ’s crucifixion. So who are we to cry out and wail over the early loss of a loved one or even ourselves. We’ve not been guaranteed a long life. It is not our birthright. What we do have is an opportunity to live well for as long as we have. And since we don’t know the numbers of our days, living well must be a daily commitment, especially since a day lived poorly might be our last.

“So how do we live well? Kindly, patiently, generously, thoughtfully, lovingly. We drop the ‘what ifs’ and focus on the ‘can dos.’ We don’t put off and put aside and put away. Rather, we push to the top of the list those things that have been gnawing at us that we know we are meant to do, born to do. Most important, we listen to God’s call in whatever form it may take. It may be a whop on the head, a gentle nudging, a string of events that are pointing in a direction that we can’t ignore or avoid. It’s unmistakable, there’s no question that it is right.

“Then comes the hardest part: Trust. Trusting that God’s direction is real, that his voice or nudging is truly his and not our own. Trusting that he will supply our needs, catch us when we fall, and fill in the gaps that we can’t see. Trusting that the talent or abilities or resources that he has given us are up to the task – his task.”

I wrote that late at night while sitting on the couch watching a music DVD by one of my favorite musicians. I was moved not just by what he was playing, but by the skill, confidence and ease of his performance. It seemed to me that he was using his God-given talents to do exactly what God had created him to do. I believe when we align ourselves with God’s calling, each of us can experience that.

But like I said, the hardest part is trust.

Tuesday, May 25, 2011

Pomp and circumstance

It’s graduation season and that often brings a push and pull between church and state with questions about what's appropriate and what should and should not be allowed during these events.

These questions came to mind on Saturday as I attended commencement at UT Austin and specifically the College of Natural Sciences. This is the part of the university that produces the next generation of doctors, biologists, chemists, physicists, astronomers – the scientists and researchers who will change our world in amazing ways.

As a former liberal arts student, much of what I heard might as well have been a foreign language. But while I didn't understand all the talk of nano particles and small radicals, I did notice what was not said. There was no mention of God or country, no expressions of faith or patriotism. Just school pride, with the singing of “The Eyes of Texas.” (As a Texan I sang it too, but as a Baylor grad I abstained from the hook'em horns sign.)

Every year there are always people who make a big deal of this absence of God and country. They ask: What's happened to our values? Why have we pushed God out of our schools, and what can we do to get him back in? Some even make apocalyptic pronouncements that we’ve gone too far, we’ve lost our way as a “Christian nation” and thus we’re doomed.

I disagree. Setting aside for a moment the fact that UT Austin is one of the largest publically funded institutions in the world, and also acknowledging that God will be invoked at schools like Baylor and Uncle Sam at Texas A&M and elsewhere, it’s important to remember: These UT graduates were being celebrated for their scholarship and academic achievement. That's why they spent four years and thousands of dollars there.

The hope is that civics and history are still part of the curriculum in primary and secondary schools. And faith? That's why we go to church. That's why we have Sunday School at Wilshire and religious education down the street at St. Thomas and elsewhere. That’s the place for those lessons, and if we do it right and do it well then those beliefs and the values they engender will permeate children’s lives to the point where we don’t need to worry about that instruction and influence at the university level.

Most importantly it’s the responsibility of parents and extended family to teach the foundational lessons of faith and not just provide food, clothing, shelter and entertainment. The teaching of values – both civic and spiritual – begins at home. It always has.

I believe that is still happening. At a brunch for 19 Dean’s Honored Graduates, each student (including my nephew Matt) introduced their parents and family and thanked them for their love and support in helping them get to this place in their lives. Each statement of appreciation was unique. One student even introduced his pastor.

I believe that most of these students know the true source of the love they received at home. I also believe they know that their intelligence and talent is God-given. I have no empirical scientific proof. I just have faith.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Random beauty

Sitting in the chapel Sunday afternoon before Tasha Gibson’s ordination service I found myself continuing a study I began during one of the noontime Holy Week services: looking for a pattern in the stained glass windows. (It’s an odd habit of mine, along with counting things.)

The first task was to determine how many colors there are, and there are six: soft shades of pink, orange, green, white, blue and yellow. With that resolved, I looked at a green pane in one window and a green pane in another to see if the colors touching them match. They don’t. I did this several times on several windows and found there is no pattern at all. The six colors are set into the lead frames in a beautifully random fashion.

I saw the same random beauty as I watched the line of well wishers quietly moving down the aisle to lay hands on Tasha: people of different ages, sizes, colors, backgrounds, interests. Ours is not a cookie-cutter faith, so it makes sense that we’re not a cookie-cutter church. We fit together, not because we look or sound alike, but because we complement each other. Side-by-side, we bring out the best qualities in each other like the panes of glass in the chapel windows.

The older I get the more I appreciate these differences. When we’re younger we tend to seek out those who look and act like us, or who we want to look and act like. We’re Dr. Seuss’s “Sneetches,” wanting a star on our belly that looks just like the stars on all the other bellies. But beauty is more than skin deep, and our ideas are beautifully different as well. This comes to light every Sunday in our Epiphany class when we share our diverse views on whatever scripture we’re studying. I never leave feeling alienated or disillusioned. Rather, I’m provoked and challenged.

I believe that’s exactly where God wants us to be: Thinking, pondering and questioning; not passive, submissive or ambivalent. Just as a car steers more easily the faster the wheels are turning, it’s easier to steer our hearts toward the truth when our minds are engaged and active. It also takes friction to gain traction, and sometimes the best friction comes from those who rub us in a different way – even the wrong way.

Consider the one little pane of glass in a window on the north wall of the chapel that is a much deeper shade than any of the others. I don’t know if it is a replacement pane or one that was set in the window from the start, but it catches my attention every time I’m there. In fact, it was that unique pane of glass that provoked me to look for patterns and discover the random beauty.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Try to remember

In his sermon on Sunday, George mentioned the benefits of learning and even memorizing Bible verses. I agree that’s a good thing, and I wish I could do that but I’ve always had difficulty absorbing and recalling scripture. I know the biggees – Psalm 23, John 3:16, Luke 2, the Ten Commandments, pieces of the Beatitudes – but I can’t recite much else.

I’ll admit that some of that is because I’ve not taken the time to sit down, study, read and re-read the scriptures until they are burned into my memory. But also I believe it’s because I don’t learn well that way. I’m a listener; I remember the way things sound.

A lot of what I remember comes from listening with my mind automatically absorbing through repetition. For example, I still know the phone number of the Dallas Times Herald classified ads from the catchy jingle they played on radio and TV – “Call 748-1414, get results like you’ve never seen before.” I can roll off the 12 points of the Boy Scout Law in four seconds and in perfect order (trustworthy, loyal, . . . reverent) because I had to stand and deliver it so many times. But ask me to list the 12 disciples and I start to stumble after the four who wrote the gospels. (I used to be able to recite all the books of the Bible in order, but I was bribed by a Sunday School teacher with a silver dollar in his pocket.)

Most definitely I can remember the lyrics to hundreds, maybe thousands, of songs. The key is the rhyme and the melody, and if it rhymes well and sounds good then my brain tends to remember it. A lot of that is useless information or at most just fun and silly, but then I find myself thinking about a lyric or quoting it like scripture when it fits a certain context of life. That’s actually not bad if the lyric has a depth of truth to it – and if you listen closely to a lot of music, you find that there are some beautiful truths to consider:

Can you remember who I was? Can you still feel it?
Can you find my pain? Can you heal it?
Then lay your hands upon me now
And cast this darkness from my soul.
You alone can light my way.
You alone can make me whole once again.

Sounds like it could be from a psalm, but it’s from “Crossroads,” an end-of-Side-1-song on Don McLean’s “American Pie” album. I know it by heart because it moved me the first time I heard it and I listened to it over and over again. I can relate to the narrator’s longing for healing, and while I know he may be talking about the healing power of human love, I hear it and know that God alone is the one who can make us whole.

I’m not advocating setting the Bible aside and listening to music instead. I’m saying that God’s truth can be found in many places, God has gifted some with talents to express and share those truths, and we’re all gifted with unique ways of finding and learning those truths.

And since I’m a listener, I’m going to dust off the New Testament CD that Wilshire distributed last year and see if I can absorb more of the scriptures and add them to my memory.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

A tale of two boys

On Sunday morning LeAnn and I had the pleasure of taking care of two bright-eyed, playful, energetic boys. It was a busy hour of bouncing, running, tumbling, throwing, playing and puzzling. It was “boys being boys” the way God meant for boys to be.

But boys grow up to be men, and often they stray from God’s plan. Take, for example, two men who made headlines this weekend. Their childhoods were similar in so many ways, but their paths diverged in ways that are hard to comprehend.

Both knew family sorrow early in life. One lost his mother at age 8 and his father at age 21. The other’s parents divorced shortly after his birth and his father died when he was just 10. That’s a lot for any child to endure, but both were anchored by strong faiths that kept them on track as they worked hard in school and went on to attend universities.

One studied the classics and became fluent in 13 languages. The other studied economics, business administration and engineering. They both enjoyed writing poetry and both were at home in the outdoors.

They both knew early in life what they wanted to do and adopted the characteristic garments of their vocations. Both rose through the ranks and eventually became international leaders. At different times they both fought against Soviet communism and warned of the excesses of Western capitalism. But one had a heart for people, and the other a mind for dogma. The former became a globe-traveling ambassador of God’s love and mercy; the latter became a reclusive voice of un-godly hate and terror.

On Saturday, Karol Jozef Wojtyla – Pope John Paul II – was beatified by the current pope before an estimated crowd of 1.5 million people. It was the next big step toward him becoming the Church’s newest saint.

On Sunday night, millions watched on television around the globe as news came of the death of Osama Bin Laden. It was the final sentence in the life story of one of modern history’s most reviled characters.

But once upon a time they were both bright-eyed, playful, energetic boys.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Good news?

The media drives me crazy with their seeming desire to keep us on edge with bad news.

In last week’s issue of Time magazine there was an update on the damaged nuclear power plant in Japan. The headline was “Upgrading the Disaster: Officials rank Fukushima’s hazards on par with Chernobyl’s.” The article explained that the crisis has been raised to Level 7 on an international scale of nuclear-incident severity. But then two dozen lines down, at the end of the next to the last paragraph, was this piece of news: “Despite the new assessment, the Fukushima accident has released about 10% as much radioactive material as Chernobyl did and so far poses fewer health risks.”

Oh really? Why bury that fact? Why not lead with the good news – or at least hopeful news – for a change?

Ironically, right next to that article was one titled “Re-evaluating The Oil Spill One Year On.” It said that a year after the BP oil spill, “though there’s still a lot of uncertainty, the Gulf appears to be bouncing back.” A year ago the magazine and others stated that the Gulf might never recover. I wonder how they’ll “re-evaluate” Fukushima a year from now?

It’s not my intention to get political or environmental here, or to downplay the severity of these incidents in our world. It’s also not my intention to put all the blame on the media, because the public is complicit in this trend toward negativism. We reward the media and their sponsors with our interest in stories and shows that highlight disaster and the worst of human nature.

We do need to know what is going on, we do need to know the risks and dangers of life and the lifestyles we’ve chosen, but we don’t need a constant diet of negativism. We need to know that there is cause for hope and joy – that there is still beauty, joy, success, relief and recovery in the world today. We also need to know that we play a role in bringing those things to light, making them happen, sharing them with others. People need to know that while sunset brings darkness, the sun also rises.

The son rises too. If today’s media mindset and our modern consumption habits had shaped the gospels, the resurrection might be a passing footnote to a story about a prophet who had plenty of fine ideas but in the end didn’t live up to expectations and was put to death. “Some people reported seeing him a few days later, but then he quickly disappeared.” End of story. No interviews with witnesses to explain how, when and where he was seen. No re-evaluation of the incident on the one-year anniversary.

Thank God that God was in charge of the story back then, planting it in the hearts of those who would make sure the whole story was told. And the story continues – through the Acts of the Apostles and on through the ages to you and me.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Oh, Hosanna!

Sunday morning we learned a new song to sing during next year’s Palm Sunday procession. It was introduced by a child in the kindergarten Sunday School class in the following way:

Marco: “I know a song about Hosanna!”

LeAnn: “Okay, why don’t you sing it for us.”

Marco: “Oh, Hosanna, oh won’t you marry me, ‘cause I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee!”

LeAnn was able to get out a “well . . . that’s VERY interesting” without bursting into laughter, and I turned my face to keep from doing the same.

The ditty was on my mind the rest of the morning as I pictured the traditional scene of Jesus riding a donkey into Jerusalem, with palm fronds falling before him and the air full of the sound of plucked banjos. But then it wormed into my mind in a more serious way – and on several different levels – as the words of children often do.

First, the scene that is painted enhances the sense of just how chaotically triumphant that ride into Jerusalem may have been. People waving and shouting, clapping their hands, making noise with whatever they could find – including a banjo if such an instrument had existed back then. Heightening the excitement of the moment helps to intensify the rejection, anger and torture that came later. Have any of us ever experienced a turnabout that dramatic and horrific? I certainly haven’t. People will grow cold or indifferent, but it’s rare for adulation to turn 180 degrees to total disgust and hate.

Then looking at the song as a whole, it almost has the ring of a Psalm to it – like the ones where David implores the Lord with lyre and lute to come to him and be with him, and using “marriage” as a metaphor for the most intimate and infinite of relationships. And isn’t that what God wants with us: A marriage of our souls?

And then there’s just the sweet innocence of a child who hears a big word like “hosanna” and mistakenly injects it into another phrase or song that he’s heard. I somehow think that our adult faith would benefit from making those types of haphazard connections – putting Christ into places where we don’t usually expect him to be.

So, thank you, Marco, for giving us a Palm Sunday smile. And thank you, too, for reminding us that God indeed wants to be close – so close that he sent his son down a street ringing with “Hosannas” (with or without banjos) to a death on a cross that marries us to his love forever.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Unfinished Business

I’ve put my house on the market, and I’m using a system where I can get a call at any moment telling me that a realtor and client are coming to tour the house. They may come in two hours, or in 15 minutes. For people who work at an office it is just a courtesy call since they’re away and won’t be bothered. But for me, working from home, it can cause me to scramble. I can’t leave any unfinished business laying about.

Whether at home or already gone, the goal is to leave the house in neat, show-able condition. No dishes in the sink, no clothing on the bed, no newspapers on the floor, none of the typical signs of life in a typical home. Instead, it’s seats and lids put down, books and magazines put up, closets closed and curtains opened.

This daily exercise has me thinking about the scriptures in the New Testament stating that Christ may come at any time and we have to be ready, we have to have our house in order. There are also the interpretations in books and on film of the rapture with people being plucked away without notice. And then there is real life – the diseases and accidents, tornadoes and tsunamis that can strike swiftly and leave behind nothing but our unfinished business.

By “unfinished business” I’m not talking just about contracts in the in-box or casseroles in the oven. I’m talking about words of love that haven’t been spoken, hugs that haven’t been shared, encouragement that hasn’t been offered, help that hasn’t been given, gifts that haven’t been delivered.

I’ve experienced this in a very real way with the loss of a spouse. She left plenty of paperwork, documents and clothing to sort through. That’s to be expected, and I’ve been able to handle that. More difficult has been the feeling that I’m the one with the unfinished business; I’m the one who left too much unsaid, unshared, undone. To quote singer-songwriter Robert Keen, “leaving never hurts as much as being left behind.”

So I’m striving to empty that out-box every day. It’s much more difficult than keeping the house clean, but it’s infinitely more important.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Of trees and growth

Early Monday morning during the big thunderstorms, as the lightning strikes seemed to get closer and the wind got stronger, I contemplated moving to another room. My concern was the large pecan tree just outside. Neighbors’ trees have been struck by lightning and blown down, and in one case a tree crashed through a roof. I didn’t want to be laying in bed when that happened.

The tree is one of three large pecans that frame the front and side of the house and were part of the attraction when we bought the house in 1993. This particular tree is the best of the three – an elegant double-trunked specimen that is beautiful whether fully leafed out in the summer or bare in the winter.

This pecan was the focus of concern one year when a tree man wandering the neighborhood looking for business noted that two steel cables installed high between the trunks by previous owners had snapped. He said the situation was dangerous and he recommended that the cables be reconnected. Not sure about that remedy, I contacted another expert and he said the tree will split some day and so it needs to come down completely. I didn’t like that idea at all, so I sought a third opinion. This man said the cables had snapped because the tree is growing. “Leave it alone,” he advised.

That was more than 10 years ago. I left the cables alone, the tree has thrived, and it is more beautiful than ever. That’s not to say that the tree hasn’t received the attention it needs. Every few years it gets a healthy pruning to make sure that winds like we had Monday morning blow through it rather than blow it down.

Sometimes it’s hard to know how much attention and care to give to a potential problem. Discerning the best solution often comes with combinations of research, expert advice, instinct, common sense and faith. Turning your back and doing nothing is never a good solution. That’s true whether raising children, nurturing relationships, building businesses or growing churches.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Intangible religious benefits

Ever noticed at the bottom of your quarterly contributions report from Wilshire the line of text that states: “Unless otherwise noted, the only goods or services provided are intangible religious benefits”?

I know that statement is required by the IRS to remind us (and them) that Wilshire is a non-profit church and not a for-profit business, but I disagree with the statement. I find there are plenty of tangible goods and services offered at Wilshire.

At the minimum, the large cup of coffee and donut I consume each Sunday morning is worth at least $3 at Starbucks. The $7 meal on Wednesday nights would cost at least $10 at a restaurant. I serve on several committees and every time we meet there’s a meal and we aren’t asked to pay.

Add it all up and I’m getting at least $400 in food and beverages for free at Wilshire annually.

What else? We get to hear great speakers and thinkers like Ellen Davis and Robert Benson for free. Walk into a lecture at Arts & Letters Live at the Dallas Museum of Art and they’ll ask you for $25 or more. Speaking of art, we’ve had some outstanding exhibitions at Wilshire over the past few years – all for free. Go to the DMA or Nasher and be ready to pay.

And then there’s music. Aside from wonderful music every Sunday morning, Wilshire hosts a variety of high quality choral and instrumental concerts and programs on a regular basis. Ever walked into the Meyerson and not paid to hear the Dallas Wind Symphony, the Symphony Chorus or the Choir of St. Olaf? It can’t be done.

All of that is what marketers might call “value added” services, because that’s not at the heart of what Wilshire is here for. Wilshire is here for the truly intangibles: worship, discipleship, Bible study, spiritual formation, fellowship, pastoral counseling. But “intangible” doesn’t mean they aren’t worth anything; intangible means there’s no way to measure their value.

I’d argue that some of these things are truly priceless – as in valuable beyond our ability to pay. However, if we let our conscience and the Holy Spirit sit down together and talk about it, they can usually come up with a value that communicates our appreciation and commitment. Then it’s up to us to see that the church gets that payment. And the church? That’s very tangible. That’s you and me.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Frieda

“Frieda appeared today! She was out walking along the fence in our backyard!” That was the brief email message I got on Sunday from my mother under the subject line “A Springtime Report.”

Frieda is a large box turtle with a distinctive white lower jaw that has been living in my parents’ backyard for more than 40 years. As best we can recall, we found her in 1970 on a Sunday morning on our way to or from church. She was crossing Greenville Avenue near Campbell Road when it was a still just a two-lane blacktop. We originally named her Fred because, well, we didn’t know anything about turtle gender. We didn’t discover that he was a she until other turtles were found and put in the yard with her.

Frieda is now the queen of a herd of turtles that has surpassed 30 and shrunk down to as few as five depending on the weather, scavenging raccoons and escapes under the fence. A lot of the loss is due to youth and inexperience. The turtles dig down into the ground and hibernate in the winter, but the younger ones may venture out too early and risk getting zapped by a late freeze. Not Frieda. She knows when it’s time to come up and walk the fence line.

When I read my mother’s email, I immediately thought of C.S. Lewis’ “The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe,” where the clarion call for the coming of a better day is “Aslan is on the move.” The Pevensie children hear it long before they know who Aslan is, but the other creatures and characters know that Aslan is the great lion who rules all and will change everything. (And readers of the book come to understand that Aslan is Lewis’ representation of Christ.)

Similarly, a report that “Frieda is on the move” is a sure sign that spring is finally here and better days are coming. But more than that, it’s a reminder that nature continues to cycle in the glorious, refreshing manner that God planned from the beginning.

Here’s wishing you a springtime in which you feel the spirit of God on the move!

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Keeping an Eye on the Cross

I’m having some repairs made at my house in preparation for putting it on the market, and I groaned when I came home one evening and found that the painters had cleared a corner of the kitchen where a dozen or more crosses had been hanging. They needed to repair a crack high on the wall and they moved the crosses so they wouldn’t get spattered with texture and paint. They also pulled out all the little nails so they could feather and blend the new paint. I appreciate all of that, but unfortunately I don’t have a photograph to remind me of how I had the crosses arranged.

I don’t have a mental picture either, and that’s sad because that means the crosses had become just another decoration that I rushed by on my way to seemingly more important things – eating, sleeping, watching TV. I missed the opportunity to make that corner a place to meditate, perhaps sitting at the kitchen table with an open Bible and a cup of coffee. Had I done that, I probably would have developed a pretty good mental image of the crosses and their arrangement. More important, I also would have thought more about what they represent.

During this season of Lent we’re encouraged to deliberately consider the cross of Christ. And what we’re asked to consider is that it’s not just a decorative symbol to hang on a wall, dangle from a chain, or inscribe with ink into our skin. Instead, it’s the fulcrum of our faith – the pivot point on which God focused all his love and mercy to lift us out of the despair of sin and death.

So I’ve decided that when the painters are finished and time comes to put everything back in its place, I’m not going to recreate the cross corner in the kitchen. We can do it in a new way at a new house if we want to. For now, during these days leading to Easter, I’m going to try to slow myself down and spend more time contemplating the real cross rather than just rushing past the decorative ones. Although I may select a favorite one from the kitchen on which to focus my attention.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Doors

Sunday at the Wilshire Youth Choir spaghetti lunch and silent auction, LeAnn and I bid on a mahogany house door. In case you haven’t heard, we’re getting married and we’re building a house. So when we saw the door, we thought, “Why not? Every house has a door. A front door is a great place to start. ”

Life is full of doors and windows. Sometimes they open wide and invite us in, and sometimes they slam shut in our face. God does a lot of the opening and closing, but sometimes we can miss that if we’re not paying attention. We can stubbornly push through a closed door and end up somewhere we don’t belong. Or, we can spend our entire life huddled in one room and never know what lies just beyond the open threshold – new opportunities, relationships, adventures, memories.

Jesus said, “In my Father's house are many rooms . . . I am going there to prepare a place for you.” Metaphorically or not, those rooms have doors, and we have to be ready and willing to walk through them when we see them open. We have to be attentive and trusting too.

Even so, sometimes, all we get is the door. We walk through it and find an empty lot on the other side. Instead of backing out of it, we have to roll up our sleeves and do the hard work of building the home or life that it will ultimately lead to. But Jesus was a carpenter, so we have pretty good help if we’ll let him.

By the way, we didn’t get the door on Sunday. Someone out-bid us. That means the youth got more money, and that’s a good thing. Meanwhile, there will be many more doors to choose from. God is good with doors.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Focus on the Fundamentals

On Friday I joined family and faculty at Baylor University to dedicate a journalism scholarship in Debra’s memory. In conversations with the chairman of the department over the past year, I learned that while the department’s new name – Journalism and Media Arts – is a nod to all the new media that exist, the focus is still on the fundamentals of strong reporting and writing. For that reason, The Baylor Lariat – the daily newspaper that we worked on 30 years ago – is still the centerpiece of the program. That’s remarkable given that the paper’s primary readership has grown up with texts and tweets.

“Focus on the fundamentals” and “stick with the basics.” We hear coaches talk about that all the time as the key to success. It’s trite, it’s cliché, but it’s true. Whether you’re talking about education, parenting, medicine, sports, banking, politics, whatever, there are always some foundational principles or disciplines that shouldn’t be overlooked.

I believe it’s true for what we do on Sunday mornings too, and for me the chief fundamental of good worship is reverence. Without reverence, I believe worship drifts into the realm of entertainment, and what’s the point of that? Do we really need more entertainment? We spend the week bombarded with images and sounds that push, prod and provoke us, and every source of this input tries to be louder than the next. Can’t we set that aside and give God an hour of our reverent attention and devotion? Or more time than that if we break away during the week for quiet worship on our own?

Call me old fashioned but I prefer serious pulpit preaching to casual coffee talk, hymns and anthems to praise songs and choruses, reverent head-bowing to hand-raised hallelujahs. That’s just me. And thankfully, it’s Wilshire too. At least for one hour on Sunday mornings; we still have plenty of time for fun and fellowship too.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Praying With St. Francis

Backing down the driveway yesterday evening to go to our weekly Wilshire Winds rehearsal, I glanced to the right across the corner of the yard and saw a squirrel sitting squarely on top of the head of St. Francis.

The 18-inch concrete statue of St. Francis of Assisi has been standing beside the pecan tree for 10 years. I’ve seen him visited by squirrels, birds, even a football-sized turtle that crawled up from the creek. But a squirrel perched on his noggin? That’s a first. From a distance, all that brown fur wrapped around his scalp made him look less like a 13th century holy man and more like Davy Crockett. It was a ridiculous sight, and I put my foot on the brake long enough to take a fuzzy photo with my phone.

Back home later, the picture of that squirrel had me reaching up on the shelf and pulling down a decorative book made of hinged wood. Opening it up, there’s an illustration of St. Francis feeding the birds on one side, and on the other side are the words of the prayer attributed to him. I was struck by this dual personality we’ve given him: lover of all God’s creatures, and saint who some say was most Christ-like in the way he lived. The fact that we’ve frozen him into yard art seems to indicate we focus more on the former. But stop a moment and read his words again:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.

I don’t think those words were written to remind us to be kind to the birds and the squirrels. But, yesterday it took a squirrel to remind me of our higher calling.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Writer’s Block

When people ask what I do for a living and I say “I’m a writer,” their follow-up question often is, “do you ever get writer’s block?” Apparently it’s a well-known malady, and my answer is “yes, I do.”

Writer’s block is a real ailment that’s best described as a total vacuum of any creative thought. You sit down to work on something and you find that your thoughts are empty. And like a bad stutter or stammer, the more you try to break through it and gain control, the worse it gets until you find yourself losing hours or even days just staring at a piece of paper or a computer screen.

However, I’m pretty sure that anyone who sets out to create something – and that’s more of you than you may think – experiences a similar block at some point. And if we don’t go through it in our work, we go through it in our lives; we go through a time when we’re not feeling creative, expressive, motivated or inspired. It can occur in all aspects of life, including our spiritual life. We can get stuck, going through the motions of worship and prayer but not feeling anything.

I don’t know what causes writer’s block, but I’ve found the best way to break through it is to get as far away from writing as I can. For me that means taking a long walk at White Rock Lake, working in the yard, cleaning house, running errands I’ve been putting off, taking a drive somewhere, getting out and being around people. I find that when I put my hands and my mind to doing other tasks, the ordinary things that I see and hear begin to connect in new ways and creative thoughts come tumbling back to me. Before long I can’t wait to get back to my desk and write them down.

Some of the things I do for writer’s block can break the spiritual block too. Sometimes the best solution is to get out of the pew and into the community – whether that’s the immediate Wilshire community, the neighborhood or the world. Wilshire provides lots of opportunities to do that, from serving on committees and care teams to going on mission trips to volunteering at Genesis Women’s Shelter and other organizations. Manual labor is a great way to clear the head and gain new perspective, especially if it is directed toward helping someone in need. Habitat for Humanity is just one avenue for doing that.

The point is that wherever you take the body, the spirit is sure to follow. And if it is a new, meaningful experience, the spirit will be refreshed.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Perfect Pitch

It began with a single, soft note . . . a brief pause . . . and then a perfectly formed chord of four, six or even eight notes. And from that single chord a perfectly lovely melody was built, ebbing and flowing, rising and falling, drifting through the symphony hall and into the ears and down into the souls of all who were listening. It was moving and stirring. And it all began with a single, soft note.

A good number of Wilshire members were at the Meyerson Symphony Center last night to hear the magnificent choir from St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minn. Many had heard the choir before, but last night was my first experience, and the choir exceeded all expectations.

Most of the selections were sung a cappella, and I found myself watching each time for a young man on the second row to render that single, soft note from a pitch pipe before each piece. At first I thought two things: Either he’s the most trusted member of the college choir, or he’s a freshman and this is some kind of initiation ritual. Later it was revealed by the choir’s director that the young man is a gifted composer and arranger – the choir sang one of his compositions – so it’s likely that playing the pitch pipe is a role of high honor and trust.

It’s a simple task, really, but a critical one. Without that first perfect note, the choristers might start in different places and fill the hall with dissonance. Even if they have perfect pitch (and many surely do), some might start a half step high or low of the intended mark. They might eventually find their way to harmony, but there’d be a moment of bent notes, swooping and searching before they all got in tune. Or they might have wandered aimlessly until the director silenced them to start again. And if not trustworthy or serious, the young man with the pitch pipe might have blown the wrong note and started them off equally lost.

To get it right, the person with the pitch pipe must play the right note, and the choristers fanned out around him must listen intently, draw that sound into their mind, place their own first note alongside what they’ve just heard, and then voice it as precisely as they imagined it. It’s actually a very complex process.

I’m not a singer and you may not be either, but we all listen to others at different times and in different ways in search of the perfect pitch for our lives. We key off others as we seek harmony in our relationships, careers, vocations, daily movement through this world.

None of us are solo performers; we interact with others all the time. So . . . who are we listening to, and how well are we listening? Are we being led to harmony, or to dissonance? And, who is listening to us?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Joy of Living Debt Free

As our church begins a capital campaign to pay off our debt, some among us may be grumbling that it’s not a very exciting campaign. There’ll be no new facilities, no new parking spaces, no fresh paint or attractive new decorations. I might be grumbling too if I hadn’t experienced first-hand the freedom and joy that comes from living debt free.

I came into this freedom under the worst circumstances. It was near the end of Debra’s struggle with cancer, and realizing that we both would need to stop working and yet have funds on which to live, I cashed out an old IRA worth $30,000. But the months I expected to have with Debra at home became just weeks. That left me with a decision to make about the money: put it back into savings, spend it on whatever I wanted or needed, or pay off my debt.

I chose to pay off my debt, and it was considerable. A lot of it was credit card purchases and a bank loan related to major home remodeling from six years earlier, but the truth is that over time debt rolls up into a big ball and you don’t know exactly what you’re paying for. Worse, the debt ball can get so big that you’re paying off the interest while the original expenditures remain.

I hated to see that $30,000 in savings go away, and with the bills I paid and the penalty and taxes on the early withdrawal, it all did go away. But it didn’t take a month to see the upside. I was no longer paying a thousand dollars or more a month in interest. My only expenditures were basic costs of living. With good advice from a financial planner, I began saving money at a greater rate than I was with that old IRA. And I had funds to give to causes I believe in – such as Wilshire.

I’m not advocating that everyone cash in all their savings for the sake of eliminating debt. Every household financial situation is unique. But I believe it’s worth exploring with a competent financial professional. If the interest paid on debt is out-pacing the interest gained on savings, then it may make sense to use savings to pay off debt and start saving afresh.

And living afresh too. When you eliminate debt, you become protective of your new freedom. You start making more honest decisions about needs versus wants. You begin to live within your means, and you find that you have resources to direct toward the things you believe in – including the church.

And so it can be for Wilshire too. With the weight of debt lifted, we can focus our attention and resources on our shared mission of “building a community of faith shaped by the Spirit of Jesus Christ.”

And that is definitely exciting.

Copyright © 2013 Jeff Hampton