My mother’s birthday is Tuesday, and all of her siblings are coming to celebrate. In many families, it is not unusual for families to gather regularly. Our family has never been one for big reunions. Relatives coming this week to Kansas City from California, North Carolina, and Florida are a Big Deal for us.
I got to spend some time last night with my sister and a California Cousin. Since they live so far away and we see them so rarely, they’ve always been “The California Cousins” to me. Although we’ve been together only a handful of times, I was amazed at how quickly and easily conversation flowed last night. We were laughing at family jokes and talking about the stuff of our lives as if we had seen each other days instead of years ago. What is it about simply being “family” that creates those connections?
The three of us do share similar looks and build. Those Radford genes run deep. We share more than looks, however. We speak the same language. We can talk about Who-Who, Aunt Taddy, Honey and Money with easy familiarity. (Southerners have always been creative at family names.) We know who is married to whom and which children belong to which branch of the family. Our mothers wore the same wedding dress, and all three of us wore it too. There are so many things that bind us together.
While we were talking, it came time to nibble on some cheese and crackers. I demurred. My mouth is healing from some recent gum surgery, and soft foods are still easiest for me. That was when I discovered that my cousin has had the same surgery to fix the same congenital condition as me. As I said, those Radford genes run deep.
What is it that creates “family?” Shared language, wedding dresses, and gum problems are certainly facets of being family. Having those things in common somehow opens the door for deeper relationship that is not affected by distance or frequency of visit.
What is it that creates a church family? Perhaps it is in our genes, since we claim the same spiritual heritage. By sharing in rituals and language, we do forge bonds. We connect as we sing carols by candlelight or go on mission trips together. We become family as we pray for one another, mourn the loss of loved ones, and celebrate resurrection hope together. There may be times when those connections fade, but something still holds us together. I cannot fully define what it is that holds us together, but I know some names of what it looks like: faith, hope, and love.
And happy birthday, Mom! It is great to be part of your family.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Rest in Peace, Charlie O'Donnell
Charlie O’Donnell died. That name may mean nothing more to you than it did to me when I first read it. But then his obituary described who he was. He was the voice of “Wheel of Fortune.” He was the man who announced that a lucky contestant had won “ONE HUNDRED THOUUUUUUUSAND DOLLARS!!!” For 28 years, his voice was tied inextricably to the show, even as recently as Friday night. He was also the voice for the Emmys, the Oscars, “The Dating Game,” “The Newlywed Game,” “Joker’s Wild,” and countless other shows.
Can you hear his voice in your head yet?
In many ways, he was a lot like God. We tend to think of God as the voice of thundering pronouncement. “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you what you are supposed to do with your life.” “Marry this person.” “Take this job.” Even “turn right at the next light.” (Oh, wait a minute, that last one is now handled by GPS.) We understand and long for the deep-voiced God whose voice is heard easily over the cheering audience. And, indeed, at times, that is exactly what happens.
However, the Biblical witness also mentions God in the silence, the God of the still, small voice. God’s voice is sometimes found in the midnight carols of angels. Sometimes, we can only hear the voice of God in the calm after the storm. The voice of God might be deep and thundering, but it also might be found in the timbre of the voice of a friend. And, at times, it might simply be carried on a sigh. If we’re only listening for the big and booming voice, we might miss out on the voice that is speaking to us.
Rest in peace, Charlie O’Donnell. Thank you for the years of tidings of joy that you brought to many people.
Can you hear his voice in your head yet?
In many ways, he was a lot like God. We tend to think of God as the voice of thundering pronouncement. “Pay attention. I’m about to tell you what you are supposed to do with your life.” “Marry this person.” “Take this job.” Even “turn right at the next light.” (Oh, wait a minute, that last one is now handled by GPS.) We understand and long for the deep-voiced God whose voice is heard easily over the cheering audience. And, indeed, at times, that is exactly what happens.
However, the Biblical witness also mentions God in the silence, the God of the still, small voice. God’s voice is sometimes found in the midnight carols of angels. Sometimes, we can only hear the voice of God in the calm after the storm. The voice of God might be deep and thundering, but it also might be found in the timbre of the voice of a friend. And, at times, it might simply be carried on a sigh. If we’re only listening for the big and booming voice, we might miss out on the voice that is speaking to us.
Rest in peace, Charlie O’Donnell. Thank you for the years of tidings of joy that you brought to many people.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Politics and Pastoring
It is an interesting season in which to be a pastor. As the level of political hyperbole reaches a fever pitch, I find myself fairly silenced. There are times when I see a political posting on Facebook that makes me smile or chuckle, and I’m tempted to push “like.” I have a church member running as part of a political party, and a member of a former church running as part of another political party. I like them both as people, but pushing “like” for either can be seen as a partisan statement. There are times when I have had to bite my tongue. (Some of you know that is not always an easy task for me.)
It is not that I do not have strongly-held political convictions. I do. I will be exercising my right to vote tomorrow morning, and I will be watching the election returns with definite hopes for the outcomes.
However . . .
My role right now is not to push my political convictions onto others. My role is to talk about faith and life and hope and God in such a way that it might speak to the souls of people. Not every person that I have the privilege of speaking such high truths to will share my same political worldview. I would hate for someone to be unable to hear the Gospel from me because of something as transient as politics. You can be Republican, Democrat, Tea Party, Libertarian, or even part of “The Rent is Too Damn High” Party (which really does exist), and you will still be welcome in worship with us.
Other colleagues of mine (including my bishop) have spoken eloquently about the unhealthy climate that passes for political discourse in these days. I would echo their words and encourage us to treat each other with love and respect, even when we are talking about our political differences. Beyond that, however, there is not much more that I have to say publicly. Except for this:
Be thankful for the gift of a democratic vote. Use it well, vote your convictions boldly. And, when all of the shouting is over, let’s get back to the important business of sharing God’s love with the person next to you. Even if they voted differently than you did.
It is not that I do not have strongly-held political convictions. I do. I will be exercising my right to vote tomorrow morning, and I will be watching the election returns with definite hopes for the outcomes.
However . . .
My role right now is not to push my political convictions onto others. My role is to talk about faith and life and hope and God in such a way that it might speak to the souls of people. Not every person that I have the privilege of speaking such high truths to will share my same political worldview. I would hate for someone to be unable to hear the Gospel from me because of something as transient as politics. You can be Republican, Democrat, Tea Party, Libertarian, or even part of “The Rent is Too Damn High” Party (which really does exist), and you will still be welcome in worship with us.
Other colleagues of mine (including my bishop) have spoken eloquently about the unhealthy climate that passes for political discourse in these days. I would echo their words and encourage us to treat each other with love and respect, even when we are talking about our political differences. Beyond that, however, there is not much more that I have to say publicly. Except for this:
Be thankful for the gift of a democratic vote. Use it well, vote your convictions boldly. And, when all of the shouting is over, let’s get back to the important business of sharing God’s love with the person next to you. Even if they voted differently than you did.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Good and Faithful Servant
Although I have been a part of many, many funerals, today is one of the few times that I have officiated at a funeral for someone with “Rev.” in front of their name. I had the chance to know Rev. Marvin Fortel only for the few months that I have been in Blue Springs, but that limited acquaintance has been a joy.
The only reason that I can blog about him is that I am fairly certain that Harriet, his wife, does not read these writings. I have rarely met a more modest couple. Even today’s funeral is supposed to be a modest, dignified, and simple affair. I will do my best to abide by their wishes, but I have no control over the number of people who attend. Harriet’s expectations are that only family and a few others will be there. Based on the phone calls that we have had at church, she is mistaken.
My visits with Marvin were a delight. I got to hear some wonderful stories about his life in ministry. For instance, I got to hear about the time when Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated. He partnered with the African-American leaders in his community for a peaceful march. The members of his church were less than pleased to see the pastor of their church splayed across the front page of the paper the next day, co-leading the march. I got to hear about appointments that were easy and joyful, and those that were less so, as is true for every pastor in our system.
Best of all, as pastors are wont to do when together, we talked about current church issues and politics. He had a marvelous take on the whole Koran-burning mess that still makes me smile to think about. (I would tell you, but I still see Harriet elbowing him, saying “Oh, Marvin!”) I always left his house feeling better than when I arrived, and I believe that there are many people out there who would say the exact same thing about his years in ministry.
One day, our associate pastor made a request when visiting him. Rather than Choong-Ho praying for him, would Marvin offer a blessing for him? Marvin did, and both of them were affected by that experience. It was an Elisha/Elijah moment, and I believe that Choong-Ho’s ministry will be more powerful for the blessing of a man such as Marvin. I wish I had thought of it myself. Failing that, however, I am certain that I have indeed been blessed by my too-short friendship with an amazing man.
Today, we will lay Marvin to rest. May his witty, engaged, energetic, forward-thinking, compassionate, obedient, and loving spirit continue on in all of those whom he has blessed in his ministry.
The only reason that I can blog about him is that I am fairly certain that Harriet, his wife, does not read these writings. I have rarely met a more modest couple. Even today’s funeral is supposed to be a modest, dignified, and simple affair. I will do my best to abide by their wishes, but I have no control over the number of people who attend. Harriet’s expectations are that only family and a few others will be there. Based on the phone calls that we have had at church, she is mistaken.
My visits with Marvin were a delight. I got to hear some wonderful stories about his life in ministry. For instance, I got to hear about the time when Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated. He partnered with the African-American leaders in his community for a peaceful march. The members of his church were less than pleased to see the pastor of their church splayed across the front page of the paper the next day, co-leading the march. I got to hear about appointments that were easy and joyful, and those that were less so, as is true for every pastor in our system.
Best of all, as pastors are wont to do when together, we talked about current church issues and politics. He had a marvelous take on the whole Koran-burning mess that still makes me smile to think about. (I would tell you, but I still see Harriet elbowing him, saying “Oh, Marvin!”) I always left his house feeling better than when I arrived, and I believe that there are many people out there who would say the exact same thing about his years in ministry.
One day, our associate pastor made a request when visiting him. Rather than Choong-Ho praying for him, would Marvin offer a blessing for him? Marvin did, and both of them were affected by that experience. It was an Elisha/Elijah moment, and I believe that Choong-Ho’s ministry will be more powerful for the blessing of a man such as Marvin. I wish I had thought of it myself. Failing that, however, I am certain that I have indeed been blessed by my too-short friendship with an amazing man.
Today, we will lay Marvin to rest. May his witty, engaged, energetic, forward-thinking, compassionate, obedient, and loving spirit continue on in all of those whom he has blessed in his ministry.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Difference Between 48 and 22
The difference between 48 and 22 is 26. This weekend, I discovered that the gap is much larger than that in human years. My 22-year-old son, Winn, was home with us. One day, he went out for a run. After running a few miles around our neighborhood, he discovered a 5-mile long trail in a nearby park, and so he ran it, also. After he got back from his long run, he told us what a beautiful trail it was.
Yesterday, Andy and I decided to hike the trail ourselves. If our son ran it at a pace of about 6 minutes per mile, we figured we would walk about half as slow, so the trail would take us a little bit more than an hour. We took off at a brisk pace, enjoying the beauty of the fall woods on a beautiful afternoon. We saw woodpeckers, groundhogs, and gorgeous lake views. We talked about work and life. We walked. And walked. And walked some more. The sun began to sink lower in the sky. Conversation slowed perceptibly. I stopped noticing the wildlife, and instead I focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. We decided that we must be most of the way there. I kept looking hopefully for any sign that the end of the trail was near. Finally, we emerged from the woods into a parking lot.
Except that it wasn’t our parking lot. It turns out that the trail included a mile of walking on the shoulder of a busy road. Watchfully keeping an eye on the speeding, oncoming traffic, we trudged the mile to the next parking lot. Which, once again, wasn’t our parking lot. We saw a map, showing us that we had almost another mile to go to our parking lot. Finally, two hours after we started out, we made it to the car, where I gratefully collapsed.
Last night, our muscles moaned and groaned. Today, I’m still a little stiff. Mainly, I’m put out that my 48-year-old body can’t romp through a long hike the way it used to. After all, if my son could run it, I should be able to walk it without thinking twice. It looks like some things don’t come as naturally at 48 as they did at 22. I’ll have to work a little harder on working out. However, the increase in wisdom, experience and joy that I have earned over the years- I wouldn’t trade them for anything!
Yesterday, Andy and I decided to hike the trail ourselves. If our son ran it at a pace of about 6 minutes per mile, we figured we would walk about half as slow, so the trail would take us a little bit more than an hour. We took off at a brisk pace, enjoying the beauty of the fall woods on a beautiful afternoon. We saw woodpeckers, groundhogs, and gorgeous lake views. We talked about work and life. We walked. And walked. And walked some more. The sun began to sink lower in the sky. Conversation slowed perceptibly. I stopped noticing the wildlife, and instead I focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. We decided that we must be most of the way there. I kept looking hopefully for any sign that the end of the trail was near. Finally, we emerged from the woods into a parking lot.
Except that it wasn’t our parking lot. It turns out that the trail included a mile of walking on the shoulder of a busy road. Watchfully keeping an eye on the speeding, oncoming traffic, we trudged the mile to the next parking lot. Which, once again, wasn’t our parking lot. We saw a map, showing us that we had almost another mile to go to our parking lot. Finally, two hours after we started out, we made it to the car, where I gratefully collapsed.
Last night, our muscles moaned and groaned. Today, I’m still a little stiff. Mainly, I’m put out that my 48-year-old body can’t romp through a long hike the way it used to. After all, if my son could run it, I should be able to walk it without thinking twice. It looks like some things don’t come as naturally at 48 as they did at 22. I’ll have to work a little harder on working out. However, the increase in wisdom, experience and joy that I have earned over the years- I wouldn’t trade them for anything!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Something I Never Do
Having served churches in and around the urban core for many years, I have become hardened to the various hard-luck stories that have come my way. More than once, I believed someone and gave them money, only to have them show back up at church a few hours later, their breath reeking of what my money had purchased. I have been burned enough times that I decided I am not a very good judge of human character. Rather than buy alcohol and drugs for whoever has the best story, my default setting has been to not help anyone.
In this church and my previous church, the office staff handles the requests for assistance. There are guidelines that they utilize. When someone seeking assistance gets me instead of the office staff, I refer them back out to the people that can actually help them.
Until today. I first saw the woman’s face as I was in a pastoral conversation with someone else in the sanctuary. She was clearly lost, trying to find her way into the mostly-locked church building. There were tears on her face as she asked if there was a prayer service going on somewhere in the church. Failing that, she asked where the office was. I directed her there as I finished my conversation, but I knew that she and I would end up talking. Sure enough, she was waiting for me when I returned to my office.
I’ve heard it all. I’ve been lied to by the best. I can’t define why her story was so compelling for me. Her face was kind. She didn’t talk about faith in the way that people do when they want something from a preacher. She didn’t exhibit signs of substance abuse. Or maybe it did not have entirely to do with her. On this sunny autumn day, I am so blessed in so many ways. My car runs, my health is fine, I have a job I love. I know where I’m going to sleep tonight, and with whom. So spending my birthday check on a woman who might get a little closer to those things because of my gift makes a certain kind of sense.
At least, I hope so. Ultimately, hope is all I have to give.
In this church and my previous church, the office staff handles the requests for assistance. There are guidelines that they utilize. When someone seeking assistance gets me instead of the office staff, I refer them back out to the people that can actually help them.
Until today. I first saw the woman’s face as I was in a pastoral conversation with someone else in the sanctuary. She was clearly lost, trying to find her way into the mostly-locked church building. There were tears on her face as she asked if there was a prayer service going on somewhere in the church. Failing that, she asked where the office was. I directed her there as I finished my conversation, but I knew that she and I would end up talking. Sure enough, she was waiting for me when I returned to my office.
I’ve heard it all. I’ve been lied to by the best. I can’t define why her story was so compelling for me. Her face was kind. She didn’t talk about faith in the way that people do when they want something from a preacher. She didn’t exhibit signs of substance abuse. Or maybe it did not have entirely to do with her. On this sunny autumn day, I am so blessed in so many ways. My car runs, my health is fine, I have a job I love. I know where I’m going to sleep tonight, and with whom. So spending my birthday check on a woman who might get a little closer to those things because of my gift makes a certain kind of sense.
At least, I hope so. Ultimately, hope is all I have to give.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Facebook Birthday
I think I am pretty convinced that a Facebook birthday is one of the best gifts of this new information age. I am just a few hours into my birthday, and already I have heard from: the girl I sat next to in the flute section of our high school band; someone I scrubbed bathhouses with at a KOA campground during a college summer; my General Conference roommate; the president of my seminary; a niece in Florida; my sister in St. Louis; an assistant general secretary of the UMC (who is way cooler than her title sounds); clergy colleagues; and members of churches past and present. In other words, I have heard from friends from almost all walks and stages of my life. Wow.
It kind of feels like “This is Your Life” for normal people.
If birthdays are about celebrating where we’ve been and looking forward to the year ahead, then Facebook provides the perfect way to do just that. I may look like I’m busy at my desk today, working hard on church matters. Actually, I’m thinking about interminable high school band rehearsals made easier by surreptitious whispering. I’m remembering college summers spent cleaning up after campers. I’m thinking about churches I’ve served, and trusted colleagues who understand what this ministry thing is about. Mainly, I am thinking how blessed I have been by all of the people who have been in my life at just the right time.
I am blessed. Truly. If that’s the only thing that I’ve figured out in these 48 years, then that’s enough.
It kind of feels like “This is Your Life” for normal people.
If birthdays are about celebrating where we’ve been and looking forward to the year ahead, then Facebook provides the perfect way to do just that. I may look like I’m busy at my desk today, working hard on church matters. Actually, I’m thinking about interminable high school band rehearsals made easier by surreptitious whispering. I’m remembering college summers spent cleaning up after campers. I’m thinking about churches I’ve served, and trusted colleagues who understand what this ministry thing is about. Mainly, I am thinking how blessed I have been by all of the people who have been in my life at just the right time.
I am blessed. Truly. If that’s the only thing that I’ve figured out in these 48 years, then that’s enough.
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