Sometimes people look at the world and the young people of today, and they get all crabby and think things are well on their way to hell in a handbasket. But I see a beautiful, newly engaged young couple, with their eyes full of love and hope and great aspirations. I see 28 youth and their parents spending weeks preparing intensely to lead worship that will change lives of all ages.
And I think the hands that are holding the world’s handbasket will do just fine.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Friday, January 20, 2012
Prison
Yesterday was Jackson County Government Day with the Leadership Blue Springs group that I am a part of this year. Our morning began in the legislative chambers in downtown Kansas City, where we heard from some of the different folks who keep our county humming along. From there, it was just a short walk across the street to the Jackson County Detention Center. After sitting in a windowless classroom and hearing about the facilities, we walked through many different parts of the jail. As I walked past inmates, I couldn’t help but wonder what hope looks like to people who stay there. Even though the day was bitterly cold, it felt good to step outside. In one of those so-fast-your-head-spins transitions, our after lunch stop was Arrowhead Stadium, where we got a tour of some of the luxury boxes. We went from jail to the best seats in town in such a short period of time.
By the end of the day, my cold that had been brewing blossomed from annoying to full-fledged sickness. Today was a day spent at home, mostly in bed with blankets and Kleenex. Even as achy and slimy as I am, I think about where I was yesterday, and I am grateful to be where I am today.
By the end of the day, my cold that had been brewing blossomed from annoying to full-fledged sickness. Today was a day spent at home, mostly in bed with blankets and Kleenex. Even as achy and slimy as I am, I think about where I was yesterday, and I am grateful to be where I am today.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Following, not Leading
Last night at Barnes and Noble, I picked up a book that I am as excited about as any church book I’ve read in a long time, Leonard Sweet’s I Am a Follower. Although I haven’t finished it yet, I love his thesis: we aren’t called to be leaders, but followers of Jesus Christ. In his critique of the church leadership movement, he points out that pastors’ bookshelves (including mine) are lined with business management books. Now that the economic recession has proved many of the Good to Great companies to be flawed, the church is having to come to terms with the weaknesses of many principles they had co-opted. Sweet points out that Willow Creek Church, the source of much of modern church leadership practices, has now led the way in repenting of this infatuation with the business model. What if what we clergy need to do most is not become better leaders, but to make sure that we are genuine followers?
This week has been a challenging one in terms of losses. Usually I love the abundance of relationships and opportunities that this itinerant clergy lifestyle provides. This week, however, there have been deaths of some people significant to me in previous phases of my ministry. It has felt like a multiplication of losses. I was reading Roger Hermann’s obituary today, and it captured him perfectly. “He was a lifelong member of the Trinity United Methodist Church. The church was the center of Roger's life. If the doors were open he was there. He volunteered every Saturday taking care of anything that might be needed to prepare for the next day's service: sharpening pencils, preparing the gifts for service, making sure the pastor had water, etc.” As soon as I read those words, I pictured Roger carrying a brown tray with two small glasses of water each week- one for the pulpit, and one for the lectern. I don’t know that I ever sipped the water that he brought (I’m a dedicated hot tea drinker when I’m preaching), but it was always there. I have a hunch that, if I had sipped it, it might have tasted something like the wine of Cana.
In thinking about the life of this servant of Christ and others that I have been blessed to know, I am certain that Leonard Sweet is on to something. It’s not about leading, it’s about following and serving.
This week has been a challenging one in terms of losses. Usually I love the abundance of relationships and opportunities that this itinerant clergy lifestyle provides. This week, however, there have been deaths of some people significant to me in previous phases of my ministry. It has felt like a multiplication of losses. I was reading Roger Hermann’s obituary today, and it captured him perfectly. “He was a lifelong member of the Trinity United Methodist Church. The church was the center of Roger's life. If the doors were open he was there. He volunteered every Saturday taking care of anything that might be needed to prepare for the next day's service: sharpening pencils, preparing the gifts for service, making sure the pastor had water, etc.” As soon as I read those words, I pictured Roger carrying a brown tray with two small glasses of water each week- one for the pulpit, and one for the lectern. I don’t know that I ever sipped the water that he brought (I’m a dedicated hot tea drinker when I’m preaching), but it was always there. I have a hunch that, if I had sipped it, it might have tasted something like the wine of Cana.
In thinking about the life of this servant of Christ and others that I have been blessed to know, I am certain that Leonard Sweet is on to something. It’s not about leading, it’s about following and serving.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Facebook for Oldies
They say Facebook was created for the young, but I am glad that it has been co-opted by old folks like me. I have been able, amazingly, to connect with people most of a lifetime and half a continent away. I haven’t been to the Lovett School in Atlanta since my high school graduation in 1980- well, except for a visit in the 1990’s to show my children where I went to school. (Not a single teacher remembered me.) I married and moved to the Midwest, other friends married, unmarried, remarried, moved, stayed, or moved back. Losing track was inevitable. Incredibly, through the magic of Facebook, I’m now able to share witty rejoinders with folks that I was witty with in the hallways of Lovett. I’ve found daily strength from reading a blog written by someone that I was not terribly close to in high school but value deeply now. And I have reconnected with friends that were close enough that we knew our way around each other’s houses. (Susan, I will always love your childhood home for its heated floors!)
Best of all is the chance to catch glimpses of some pretty amazing adults, having shed much of the angst of middle and high school. Who knew that we’d turn out okay? It seems that we have. None of us is perfect, and we may not have the lives we imagined in those days. But here we are, and each new person that I find feels like a new perspective, an added blessing. We’ve made it this far, and I am thankful. And glad to be back in the lives, at least partly, of (as we'd say back in the day) some pretty cool dudes and dudettes.
Best of all is the chance to catch glimpses of some pretty amazing adults, having shed much of the angst of middle and high school. Who knew that we’d turn out okay? It seems that we have. None of us is perfect, and we may not have the lives we imagined in those days. But here we are, and each new person that I find feels like a new perspective, an added blessing. We’ve made it this far, and I am thankful. And glad to be back in the lives, at least partly, of (as we'd say back in the day) some pretty cool dudes and dudettes.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year- Pastor's Version
I love Christmas as a pastor, I really do. Much of what happens is entirely independent of my efforts or skill. Last night was an amazing case in point. It was our annual Music Fest, a programmatic brainchild of my predecessor. Rather than have all of our musical groups hold separate Christmas performances, they are gathered into one program for an great evening of music. Even better, soup (prepared by the UMW) and chili (prepared by the UMM) are served, with tables set up in the sanctuary. People could eat, mingle, and come and go as they listened to some great music. Besides the outstanding music, the best part of the evening from where I was sitting was that I was not necessary to the proceedings at all.
Much of the Advent season is like that. Carols are sung, parties are held, and good cheer is held by all, with or without the pastors. I remember one December over a dozen years ago when I had a sick child, hospitalized for all sorts of testing that revealed no answer to the mysterious symptoms. My attention was not focused on church that year, and that was okay. I knew that Christmas would arrive even without my daily input, and it did. It is the season of music and lights and lessons and carols.
Yes, I still can count 5 different sermons that I will preach (a total of 10 different times) between now and New Year’s Day. I have plenty of planning and writing yet to do, in addition to other pastoral duties. The gift of this time of year is that it reminds me that, ultimately, Christ comes regardless of my efforts or preparation. Christ comes, and it’s not up to me to do anything besides get out of the way and watch with wondering eyes and listen with open ears and heart. Christ comes, and sometimes all we need to do is stop our doing and pay attention.
Much of the Advent season is like that. Carols are sung, parties are held, and good cheer is held by all, with or without the pastors. I remember one December over a dozen years ago when I had a sick child, hospitalized for all sorts of testing that revealed no answer to the mysterious symptoms. My attention was not focused on church that year, and that was okay. I knew that Christmas would arrive even without my daily input, and it did. It is the season of music and lights and lessons and carols.
Yes, I still can count 5 different sermons that I will preach (a total of 10 different times) between now and New Year’s Day. I have plenty of planning and writing yet to do, in addition to other pastoral duties. The gift of this time of year is that it reminds me that, ultimately, Christ comes regardless of my efforts or preparation. Christ comes, and it’s not up to me to do anything besides get out of the way and watch with wondering eyes and listen with open ears and heart. Christ comes, and sometimes all we need to do is stop our doing and pay attention.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Making It My Own
We put up our Christmas tree today, since my son will be returning to his Seattle home tomorrow. It’s a fresh tree, which will be decidedly un-fresh by the time Christmas Eve rolls around. No matter, I love the smell and feel of our tree and will enjoy it every day that it’s up.
There are many new-old additions to my tree. Last January, my sister and I divided up most of my parents’ ornaments after their move into an apartment. This year, it feels special to hang ornaments made my grandmother and my mother. There are some glass ornaments that are older than I am. A new layer of memories now hangs on my tree.
As soon as we were done decorating, I called my mother to tell her that her ornaments were now on my tree. “Oh,” she said, “but you need to make the tree your own.” One of the things I love most about my mother is her ongoing concern for me, even in the midst of her own concerns. I look at my tree again, with her comment in mind. There are first, tenth, and twentieth Christmas together ornaments, and baby’s first Christmas ornaments. I see ornaments made by my children at every age. We have ornaments from Andy’s childhood. There are even some questionable ornaments that we wonder about each year, where they came from and why they’re still on our tree.
My mom told me that I need to make the tree my own. As I look at it now with my mother’s ornaments, I feel confident. I see past, present, and maybe even some glimpses of future. It is indeed my own, my very own.
There are many new-old additions to my tree. Last January, my sister and I divided up most of my parents’ ornaments after their move into an apartment. This year, it feels special to hang ornaments made my grandmother and my mother. There are some glass ornaments that are older than I am. A new layer of memories now hangs on my tree.
As soon as we were done decorating, I called my mother to tell her that her ornaments were now on my tree. “Oh,” she said, “but you need to make the tree your own.” One of the things I love most about my mother is her ongoing concern for me, even in the midst of her own concerns. I look at my tree again, with her comment in mind. There are first, tenth, and twentieth Christmas together ornaments, and baby’s first Christmas ornaments. I see ornaments made by my children at every age. We have ornaments from Andy’s childhood. There are even some questionable ornaments that we wonder about each year, where they came from and why they’re still on our tree.
My mom told me that I need to make the tree my own. As I look at it now with my mother’s ornaments, I feel confident. I see past, present, and maybe even some glimpses of future. It is indeed my own, my very own.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Bane or blessing
I’m sitting in the dealership, having brought my car in for their “Fall Service Special.” They opened at seven this morning, and I felt very virtuous about getting my car serviced in advance of the winter season. When the service person summoned me, I assumed it was for what my husband terms the “visiting the patient;” that part of the oil change where I am made to examine my dirty air filter and- if I care about my car and have any human decency- agree to pay for a new one.
“Your battery is dead,” the service guy informed me in low tones. I looked at him blankly. “When we tried to take it back to the service area, we had to jump it to get it back there, and now it tests at 0%.” Huh? “Are you sure you’re talking about my car? I haven’t had any battery problems.” I ended up going out to the service area and trying to start my car, simply to see for myself that it really was dead. To be fair, the battery is over 4 years old, and it had taken a little longer to crank a couple of times. I had never, though, wondered if it was going to get going. Now it is dead in the dealership, beyond any hope of life support. Or so they tell me.
As I sit here while my new battery is installed, I have a couple of choices. It could be that I have just had the wool pulled over my eyes, something I fear in general when getting my car serviced. (“You say that my floozefluffer is misaligned . . .uhhh, sure, better repair it, whatever the cost . . .”) If that is the situation, I could snarl out of here angry about the %^&* crooks at this dealership, which I would start naming all over cyberspace.
Or I could tell myself, “Wow. There are so many awful times and places to be stuck with a dead battery. How wonderful it is that it was actually sitting in the shop when it died.” That mindset transforms me from someone who was ripped off into someone who was blessed. I think I prefer to start my week off blessed.
So, today I am blessed. If my floozlefluffer goes out anytime soon, though, I may have to rethink this position . . . Nah, even then, I’ll still be blessed. It turns out that blessing- the real kind- has absolutely nothing to do with circumstance and everything to do with God. I am blessed.
“Your battery is dead,” the service guy informed me in low tones. I looked at him blankly. “When we tried to take it back to the service area, we had to jump it to get it back there, and now it tests at 0%.” Huh? “Are you sure you’re talking about my car? I haven’t had any battery problems.” I ended up going out to the service area and trying to start my car, simply to see for myself that it really was dead. To be fair, the battery is over 4 years old, and it had taken a little longer to crank a couple of times. I had never, though, wondered if it was going to get going. Now it is dead in the dealership, beyond any hope of life support. Or so they tell me.
As I sit here while my new battery is installed, I have a couple of choices. It could be that I have just had the wool pulled over my eyes, something I fear in general when getting my car serviced. (“You say that my floozefluffer is misaligned . . .uhhh, sure, better repair it, whatever the cost . . .”) If that is the situation, I could snarl out of here angry about the %^&* crooks at this dealership, which I would start naming all over cyberspace.
Or I could tell myself, “Wow. There are so many awful times and places to be stuck with a dead battery. How wonderful it is that it was actually sitting in the shop when it died.” That mindset transforms me from someone who was ripped off into someone who was blessed. I think I prefer to start my week off blessed.
So, today I am blessed. If my floozlefluffer goes out anytime soon, though, I may have to rethink this position . . . Nah, even then, I’ll still be blessed. It turns out that blessing- the real kind- has absolutely nothing to do with circumstance and everything to do with God. I am blessed.
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