A little help from my friends

When I was a latch-key kid, I would hurry home from the bus stop, call my mom to reassure her I had made it home, then turn on the TV. One of my favorite shows was about to come on, and I would just have time to feed our dog as the theme song played.

          “What would you do if I sang out tune?
          Would you stand up and walk out on me?
          Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song
          I will try not to sing out of key, yeah
          Oh, baby I get by with a little help from my friends
          By with a little help from my friends.”

I later learned it was Joe Cocker’s cover of a Beatles’ tune that opened every episode of The Wonder Years. I just remembered loving the story of an ordinary boy with an ordinary family. There were squabbles, friendship, first love, and everything in between. It was life, translated and broadcast in a way that was sometimes more honest than the stuff we get with all the “reality” shows we have now.

This was the song that came to mind this past week as I had a little “procedure” at the hospital, their code word for surgery, just like “minor discomfort” means pain. I had mentioned it to a few people in my church as well as my friends and family. Mostly for their prayer support since my mother was coming to town to take care of me. But what continued to astonish me was the response, “If there’s anything you need, just let us know.”

And they meant it. I could see the sincerity shining from each person who offered food, childcare, lawn care, or just a hand to hold, in addition to their prayers on my behalf. In our American culture, it’s easy to fall for the myth that we’re all supposed to be self-made men and women who pull ourselves up by our boot straps to earn everything we have. That’s just never the case. Yes, hard work can pay off, but there’s also a lot to be said for inherited opportunities such as married, educated parents who chose to have a child or the socioeconomic status of your family of origin. Those things are going to offer opportunities for one child that may not come easily for another.

None of us do life alone. That’s just not how we’re made. God created us for relationship – with God and with each another. The echoes of our American mindset can be seen in our faith when we emphasize the personal relationship with our God over the relationship between a believer and their community of faith. Yes, my relationship with God is important, but God is going to make God’s self known in my life through the hands and feet of my brothers and sisters in Christ. Our spiritual journeys are poorer when we go it alone.

“If there’s anything you need, just let us know.” It can be hard to take up the offers, to admit that we don’t have it all together and figured out, and that we need someone’s help. It can wound our pride. It can make us worry that others will think less of us. It can give us the opportunity to feel vulnerable when we’d rather pretend to have it all under control.

This past Sunday was the second Sunday in Lent and if you follow the lectionary, we had the opportunity to follow Nicodemus as he comes to Jesus under the cover of darkness to ask questions of this young rabbi. He gets confused and he misunderstands, but he has the audacity to admit that, even as a Pharisee and a leader of the Jews, he has questions. While he may not yet have faith in Jesus, he has faithful curiosity, which is a great start.

Which leads to one of the best, most often quoted scriptures in our Bible: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life” (John 3:16). It can be hard to hear a familiar verse say anything new, but consider this – God doesn’t ask you if you need anything. God doesn’t ask if you need to be loved. God doesn’t ask if you need to be saved. God loves you, loves everyone, whether you like it or not. And that’s good news.

Stump the Pastor

Our church has a Midweek Miracle each week. It’s our LOGOS program, which offers a variety of activities – crafts, games, stories, dinner – for children and youth for a nominal fee. As a part of LOGOS, I have about 45 minutes with the youth every Wednesday. The previous senior pastor used this time to work on worship leadership skills and rehearse plays with them, but I’m trying a few different things to see what feels best. After all, every time you get together with 15-20 middle and high school students, it’s a different adventure.

We've gone outside to play, despite freezing temperatures, because students this age miss the time to just be, without structure or expectation, and to rejoice in the strength and abilities of their bodies. We've done a guided meditation, which was old hat for some of the senior high students, but a novel experience for many of the middle schoolers. Slowing down, getting in touch with your body, and moving your mind and spirit into an encounter with God is a healthy practice to try. I was delighted when one student showed up late that time and another said, “Ah, man, you missed the fun part!”

Most recently, we played “Stump the Pastor.” I enjoy this tremendously since I want to be open and honest with my church. Honestly, it’s probably not that hard to stump me since I would be the first to say I don’t know everything. But with my trusty friend, Google, and a week’s notice in the form of index cards that the youth wrote their questions on, I was ready to go! So, here’s a sample of the questions that were asked and my responses.

What is rat poison made of? This was definitely a question for Google, since I’m no pest control expert. According to the online expert, most rat poison is made from warfarin, an anticoagulant, or blood thinner, which is also used as a medication for some people. Cyanide is also used in some rat poisons.

Have you ever had a hamster? No to the hamster, but I could tell you a funny story about how I agreed to take care of the class pets over a school holiday break when I was in 1^st grade. The pets just happened to be a pair of rats. My mom was not thrilled.

When is anything too much? As Methodists, we’re great believers in moderation. We tend to follow the via media, the middle road, which was a great trend of thought out of the Protestant Reformation, particularly in the Anglican Church, to which we can trace our denominational roots. However, we also recognize that there are times when even a little bit can be too much, such as alcohol at the Lord’s Table for those who struggle with addiction. That is why we use the unfermented juice of the grape, i.e. grape juice.

Why do I matter? You were created by God. You are precious and beloved. Even if it doesn't feel that way sometimes, if things here are rough, God loves you so much that God would die to save you. Psalm 8 says it this way, "When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor. You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet."

How are babies made? Oh, goodness. Dear parents, if you haven’t had this talk yet with your child, please do! Otherwise, send them to the theologically grounded but anatomically accurate workshop our church will be hosting soon.

Why do we need to eat? Our bodies need fuel - calories, nutrients, vitamins, etc. - to keep us healthy and strong. Do you know what a calorie is? (Something that makes you fat!) No, not necessarily. A calorie is a measure of energy - like volts. And your body needs energy, so you need a certain number of calories each day. It's when we take in a lot more energy than we use that we have trouble. 

Why do people think God is a man? Back in Bible times the most powerful people tended to be kings, so when they talked about God, it was natural to talk about God as a mighty king. But there are other was of describing God. Jesus describes himself like a mother hen who longs to gather her chicks under her wings (Matthew 23, Luke 13). I also like to read this section from Genesis 1: “Then God said, 'Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness…So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”

So are all made imago Dei, as in we all look like God, whether we’re male or female, tall or short, young or old. And while, ultimately, I believe God is beyond gender, God also contains the creativity and limitless possibility to know what life is like for all of us. It may not be what we look like on the outside that’s most important, but how we love others that makes us look most like God. 

If you could live anywhere, where would you like to live? Anywhere would be fine with me as long as I was with my family and near my friends. I only have one of those right now, and it's ok, but I'd love to have both.

What are your thoughts on tattoos? Here are some very practical things to consider: 1) it's permanent - even if you get it "removed" the skin will never be the same as it was before; 2) be very careful what you choose to put on your body and where, especially considering a future career; 3) be mindful of gravity and the effects of gaining or losing weight on body art. With all that said, I think tattoos are a unique and often beautiful way of expressing yourself. And it gives others the opportunity to know or ask about your story that they may not have otherwise.

Have you ever had a bad hair day? Umm...are you looking at me? Of course! 

They had a lot more questions and I do, too. When have you been stumped? Do you have a place to ask your questions? 

The Up Side of Down

Is there an up side of down? I was returning to Krum from a clergy meeting and listening to NPR when I heard a report from an author who was making just this claim. Between the winter membership drive invitations, Megan McArdle made various points on while failure is so essential to human growth and well-being. It sounds counter-intuitive, but as I listened, I understood.

When we fail, we have the opportunity to learn from the mistakes we made. When things come easily to us, we actually may not learn as much. It’s the difference between seeing the results of our attempts as the outcome of hard work and effort or natural ability.

My husband is a saxophonist and currently teaches students from middle school to undergraduate. We have had many conversations about effort versus talent. From his perspective, he would gladly take the student willing to try and try hard rather than one who coasts on native ability. It’s a lesson that translates well beyond music. We all run out of talent at some point, whatever we are attempting, and it’s then that our effort must kick in.

Or worse, suffering and tragedy come through no doing of our own and we must be resilient. And resilience is built through failing, dusting ourselves off, and trying again. I’ve reminded myself of this lesson as I watch my son grow. It’s tempting to hover over him, to use my strength, resilience, and maturity to shield him from all harm. My hands instinctively rose to catch him whenever he was learning to walk and would stumble. While some measure of safety is important, I must allow him to try, to fail, and to learn. It’s the way that all of us become resilient individuals.

Resilience is about more than being strong. It’s the difference between the oak and the willow trees, if you’ve heard that old story. The two trees are standing on the bank of a river and the oak is bragging to the willow about how beautiful and strong it is, how its branches reach up to the sky, and its roots hold deep within the earth. The willow agrees, its branches sagging with sadness, brushing the face of the river. That night, a powerful storm comes with ripping winds. The willow’s branches are tossed by the wind, but its supple frame bends. The oak is not so lucky. With a mighty crack, the rigid oak breaks before the storm. That’s not to say that the willow is unscathed, but it survives because of its resiliency.

It can be the same way for us. Last year was an incomparably hard year for me and my family. I lost my grandfather, my baby, and my father in just a matter of months. While I was bruised and battered by the waves of loss and grief, I also recognized something profound. My spirit was like a weeble-wobble, those little toys that may sway and teeter, but don’t fall down. And eventually, by God’s grace, I began to be righted.

Especially in the loss of our baby, I recognized the healing capacity of our wounded places. My grief, and my willingness to be open about our story, gave others the permission to share their stories of pain. I heard so many stories from men and women who had finally found a safe place to share and be heard. While I don’t believe God causes the pain and brokenness we experience in our lives, I do believe God redeems it.

Christ is the exemplar of this redemptive power of God through the cross and resurrection. “He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds [we] have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24). In Jesus’ woundedness for our sake, we are offered grace upon grace. God can transform our wounds, our failures, our weakness into avenues of grace for ourselves and others. May we find that grace and claim it, wherever we find ourselves in this season. 

New Year: One Word

Just after the first of the year, the words started popping up on my Facebook and Instagram. Just one word to share what my friends, colleagues, and family members were going to intentionally focus on in the coming year.

I love this idea. I’m starting this new year with a whole lot of new – new appointment, new church, new house, new routine, new role, new people – so the first sermon series I’m offering is about new year’s resolutions for Christians. It’s really good for us to set goals, but so many times our new year’s resolutions become an unfortunate avenue for our negative self-talk by trying to push ourselves into becoming the people we think we should be. I hope I’m offering something life-giving as we talk about recognizing Jesus, embracing our baptism, living the life, etc.

But I kept coming back to this one word idea. Looking for its origin, I found a couple of websites: One Word 365 and My One Word. So maybe not a completely a new idea, but another thing that is new to me. I liked how One Word 365 said it:

“Forget New Year’s Resolutions. Scrap that long list of goals you won’t remember three weeks from now anyway. Choose just one word. One word that sums up who you want to be or how you want to live. One word that you can focus on every day, all year long. It will take intentionality and commitment, but if you let it, your one word will shape not only your year, but also you. It will become the compass that directs your decisions and guides your steps. Discover the big impact one word can make.”

Honestly, I want God to be my compass, but there is power in words. So I prayed. For days. I asked God what I would need in the year ahead, how I might grow, who I might become with all the opportunities and challenges ahead. This scripture passage kept me company in the incubation:

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, 

and do not return there until they have watered the earth, 

making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; 

it shall not return to me empty, 

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, 

and succeed in the thing for which I sent it. (Isaiah 55:10-11)

This is my word:

I will check in on how this one word guides me this year. I invite you to consider finding your own word. There aren’t any fancy rules. The word doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone but you. It can be simple, it can be another language, it can be an action, a thought, or an emotion. But spend time in prayer, find the word that God is speaking into your life, the one that will not return empty, but accomplish what God has in mind. 

Blessed Be the Tie that Binds

I live a tethered life. That’s become my working shorthand for the complex web of relationships that have created and connected me in this life. And those of you who know me know that when I commit to a relationship, professional or personal, I tend to go all in. There’s not any part of my heart that is left fenced off, with a “do not disturb” sign on the gate. I associate this “all in” willingness with not being a lukewarm Christian (as we read in Scripture, lukewarm persons of faith make Jesus want to throw up – “"I know your works; you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth." (Revelation 3:15-16).

This past summer, I almost lost the feeling of all my tethers. I was like some ridiculous life-sized balloon, adrift in the atmosphere, until I felt the steady tug and tie of two bright stars, grounding my life and calling me home – the love of my son and husband. Of course there were other tethers still there, but in that bleak moment, I confess that I felt like I was coming undone, all the knots were slipping. It is often the relationships we knit together in our lives that can become the echoes of God’s love for us. And sometimes we need those echoes to be as loud as a freight train!

So now, I find myself in another time of transition. I have been appointed to serve as the senior pastor at Krum First United Methodist Church effective January 1. You can read more about this transition from the perspective of the Krum church’s current pastor, Christy Thomas, here. For my part, I am so humbled and honored by the opportunity. I am also simultaneously breathlessly excited, shaking in my boots, and snipping the beautiful tethers that have bound me in ministry at First UMC-Denton. It brings this hymn to mind:

          Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love;

          the fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.
          Before our Father’s throne we pour our ardent prayers;
          our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, our comforts and our cares.
          We share each other’s woes, our mutual burdens bear;
          and often for each other flows the sympathizing tear.
          When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain;
          but we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again.
                                                                      United Methodist Hymnal #557

I was looking over the order of worship planned for January 5 at the Krum church, so I could have an idea of what lies ahead. Tears pricked my eyes as I read the liturgy through which that body of faithful people will welcome me as their pastor – that I shall baptize new Christians, that I shall preside at the table to feed the family of faith, that I shall lead them in ministry to the community and to the world – these are all things I knew in my head, but I feel blessed beyond compare that they are receiving me for this ministry. I am tying all sorts of new tethers of relationship.

This is the church I chose, our United Methodist Church, and this is what I signed up to do. Our theology is sound and we are still called to spread Scriptural holiness over the land. Despite all the global church’s warts and failings, the movement of pastors, so that each one’s unique gifts and graces might continue to build up of churches (i.e. the people of God) can be an amazing, Spirit-filled thing. And I’m all in!

Just a Day in the Life

I always know I find it intriguing when other folks share an average day. In my line of work, there really is no such thing as average, but I started this note yesterday morning, having no idea what lay ahead. So, here it is, just a day in the life:

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

6:30am – Andy's alarm goes off, roll over, go back to sleep
7:00am – my alarm goes off, reach across the bed to turn it off, and head to the bathroom for a quick shower
7:15am – out of the shower, head to the living room to see James, my 3-year-old son, is already up and sitting with daddy on the couch
7:30am – juice and Alphabits for James, bowl of cereal for mommy, kiss daddy good-bye
8:00am – dressed, made up
8:20am – pack up James’ lunch, remembering he needs wipes for school so I pack those, too
8:35am – pause Caillou so James can brush his teeth, then back to the couch to put on shoes
8:43am – out the door, only running a few minutes late…

9:02am – arrive at the church, put James’s jacket on for the walk in, grab my cup of tea, my work bag, and his backpack and make our way to Children’s Day Out
9:10am – make it to the church office, answer a question from our lead pastor, then head to my office to put my bag down and check some e-mail
9:20am – remember that I’m almost out of contact lenses, so call my eye doctor’s office to order more
9:30am – extended staff meeting, share the exciting things going on in my ministry areas (successful Alternative Gifts Fair, Advent devotional coming out soon with companion photo-a-day challenge that I’ve created, Advent vesper services, etc.).
10:55am – after staff meeting, touch base with a couple of staff members about some pastoral care concerns – a young woman who recently lost her baby and who I might be able to help and a young man who is homeless and in a medical crisis
11:10am – get the message from our receptionist that a representative from a Methodist helping agency has stopped by to see me
11:12am – work with a member who has dropped off their Salvation Army angel gifts, to make sure they are “checked in” although I don’t have the registration sheets…
11:15am – talk with a woman who attempted suicide last week, work to ensure her personal safety, offer referrals, pray with her, and get her where she needs to go today
11:35am – talk with our office staff regarding our big Evening in Bethlehem event coming up in a couple of weeks, promise to e-mail other staff and volunteers to coordinate details
11:40am – talk with a church member about seeing if one of our First Meal guests would be a good possibility as a house-father/mentor for young men getting out of prison
11:45am – work on my e-mails!

12:05pm – get a call from the Conference office
12:20pm – heat up my can of soup for lunch, find some chocolate cake in the fridge and cut myself a slice – take my lunch to eat with a few staff members in the main office
12:55pm – clean up from lunch, grab my things for the next meeting…
1pm – meet with our clergy, music director, and worship assistant for worship planning! We get all the way through Christmas Eve (very impressive…)
2:15pm – put my resources down in my office, then go check my mail. There’s a check for the conference clergywomen’s lunch for which I’m receiving reservations.
2:20pm – touch base with our director of communications & marketing to go over the Christmas offering brochure. Make a couple of edits. Brainstorm some ideas.
2:40pm – drop off a video to our lead pastor for his upcoming sermon series
2:45pm – get the request to write the weekly message from the pastor since I’ll be preaching this Sunday. I’m excited about preaching, but have yet to find time to write the sermon down, so this should be interesting…and I remember I’m leading Bible study tomorrow at noon on this text, so it may also be helpful
2:50pm – finally sit down at my desk again – need to finish some e-mails and follow through on some promises!
4:55pm – pack up my things and head down the hall to pick up my boy!

5:10pm – pulling out of the parking lot, singing silly songs, and heading home
5:25pm – arrive home, we watch the men across the street put up lights while we check the mail. Then we go inside and I try to figure out what’s for dinner – baked ravioli (nothing needed to thaw, easy, but takes a while to bake)
5:45pm – Andy gets home, James is chowing on some leftover macaroni and cheese since dinner is still a little ways off
6:20pm – Dinner time! James rejects the ravioli, so he gets to have as many cheerios as he would like. Argh, it’s so frustrating when he won’t eat what I cook!
6:25pm – a good friend calls. I talk with her for a moment while Andy oversees dinner eating.
7:00pm – out the door to run some errands
7:55pm – Home again, time for a quick bath for James since he also would like to watch “a little bit of Caillou” before bed
8:20pm – Little boy bathed, drinking milk, and in his pajamas. Do a quick run around the house to make sure all his friends and blankets are on his bed, nightlight and monitor on, etc.
8:30pm – James picks “My Many-Colored Days” by Dr. Seuss for his bedtime story
8:35pm – James goes to give daddy a hug and a kiss, then we go to his bedroom for prayers, night-night song, patting, and eventually, mommy leaving his room to do some chores!
8:45pm – start the dishes
9:05pm – done with the dishes, in my jammies, ready for some grown-up TV time with Andy.
10:00pm – Conan!
11:00pm – head to bed and get ready for another busy day!

For All the Saints...

All Saints is a church observance that falls on November 1 each year, but in my experience, is typically observed on the Sunday closest. This year, as I anticipate that worship service, my heart aches and throbs within me as I face a day to be in front of my congregation, broken and human. Each new strength test has given me this anxious feeling, especially when I see them coming for some time.

So, I decided to process the deaths of the men in my life before I get there, hoping that while I’ll still be my messy, human self that morning, perhaps I can preserve a bit of the face I’ll paint on since I definitely don’t have the complexion of a soap opera actress and I get rather red and puffy when I’m tearful.

I’ve done enough funerals to know that those who have died and gone on to glory were still human. As a wise Methodist pastor once said, you don’t make a saint out of a sinner at the funeral. You honor who they were. And we are all sinners and saints, simultaneously, falling short and beloved of God. So here goes:

My grandpa

 

I have such great memories of my grandpa, many of which I tried to share by sending him cards as the end approached. I wanted him to know that I remembered him even before he’d gone. He was a gruff man, never saying, “I love you.” He was a war veteran and didn’t sit with his back to any room. He had some falling out with his parents and left home. I always wonder about the unspoken stories of his life since he shared so many other wonderful stories. I remember lingering around the table after dinner when I was growing up to hear him talk about family I had never seen, tell dirty jokes, and laugh. There was always so much laughter.

This saint always believed in me and was so proud of me, no matter how I fumbled along the way. If I said I thought I might go to Dartmouth after my undergraduate work, that Christmas brought me warm gloves for northern climes. If I said I might like to buy a house after seminary, my graduation present was a significant gift toward a down payment. If I asked him to walk me down the aisle, he did so, even though he never liked being the center of attention, making jokes and letting me know if I wanted to turn around right there, it would be ok. He may have been a cantankerous old man and hard to understand at times, but I know he loved me deeply and truly. That is a gift to me, solid ground in a stormy world.

 

My dad

It’s hard to conjure up memories of my dad because he left our family when I was entering middle school. It was better for my parents to divorce, but I never did understand why he couldn’t or didn’t love his children enough to stay in our lives, in whatever way he could. I remember my dad taking me fishing – I would run up and down the creek banks, eating wild blackberries, while he trolled the eddies trying to entice some crappie to bite. I remember helping him grease a brown paper back with Crisco in preparation for the Thanksgiving turkey that would bake in the oven. I remember the bite of his belt and his admonishment not to cry. I remember him leaning over to kiss me good night with a halo of alcohol around him. I remember the faded green tattoos on his arms and the scars from many surgeries wrapping around his body. And then, later, when I was a grown up, I remember seeing him small and frail and weak and I felt the fear and bitterness toward him evaporate, leaving me with only regret and pity.

This saint reminded me that we are all broken, struggling in our own journey and often bruising those closest to us as we grope toward grace. When he died this year, the 20 year estrangement was finalized and I was left to wonder that that was all there was to our story. Really? That’s it? The man who helped bring my flesh and blood into being and I have no more than a handful of memories and some scabbed over scars to show for it. It’s a cautionary tale for how I am in relationship with others.  

My son

This story was over before it started. I remember so many things, though, like the joy of seeing that positive pregnancy test and always knowing the start date of my last cycle before his conception since it was my birthday. I remember drinking so much water I thought my bladder would burst so that I could be sure to see my little baby at a 13 week ultrasound since I was nervous that it might be twins, which run in my family. I remember wondering why I didn’t get the super-sniffer or the thicker hair that had accompanied my first pregnancy. I remember being startled when my waistline disappeared almost immediately, although I was losing weight. I remember the joy I shared with my husband, son, and mother when we got to see his ultrasound at nearly 21 weeks, and I saw that I was expecting another son. I still have the list of names we were considering and there’s a closet full of baby things in the room that would have been his.

This saint reminded me that I’m not in control of my life, however much I may struggle to grasp it, mold it, and even at times convince myself that I’m the boss in my corner of eternity. This world is broken, twisted and contrary to the good creation God made, and we all feel the aftershocks of sin. My heart continues to break and I still cry a good deal, but I also feel stronger, more faithful, and more compassionate. In this loss, which shook me to my roots, I had to reach further down, further into true reality, to find my bedrock in God.

I encourage you to take time this day, this week, this season, to consider what all the saints in your life have given you – good, bad, or indifferent. We are who we are because of them.