Meet My Nanny

This is Miss Viola "Nanny Precious" Smith. We sent to Port Arthur to help rebuild her home and she ended up rebuilding our hearts. Her modest, 2BDR 1BA home was shaken off its foundation, nearly 2/3 of her roof blown off, and she was left with no hot water, no kitchen or other livable space for nearly 18 months after Hurricane Rita (the biggest of the three sisters storms of 2005 - Wilma, Katrina, and Rita). She is nearly 90 years old and still smiling. And to hear her story, no storm can shake house that is built by love.

Our job was simple. Jack this house up, re-frame two exterior walls, move those walls back on to the foundation joists and stringer, re-seal those walls, re-side three remaining areas of the extreior, build a housing for the hot water heater in time for the plumers to install the heater, re-frame the kitchen floor and mount the sub-floor, and apply and finish dry wall in two rooms. Six people worked on these tasks, a couple of days into the dinner hour, and to the final minute on Friday. But all of these jobs were done and done well. Plus a few extra screens got replaced and her shutters refinished and painted just for good measure. Soon Nanny Precious will no longer have to be moving aournd her own furniture and appliances (yes, this lady has been doing this to survive for some time now.

Of all that work, though, this and a pantry door were probably our greatest accomplishment. We've all had to replace a roof, and we've prbably experienced some termite damage. We have all replaced siding and window screens. These are maintenance jobs. But what really brought the devastation Nanny Precious and others ahve lived through, was the fact that she had not taken a warm shower from October 2005 when she returned to her home until Tuesday, July 17, 2007. And she was elated to have her floor back in her kitchen and a new pantry door installed. Its the little things that Nanny Precious simles about and appreciates. She knows how to move furniture and refrigerators at age 90. She can do that with ease because she has been handed stones when asking for bread in her search to rebuild her home. She has been the victim of sysetmatic racism as she and her husband were the first of many black households in what was thought to be a new and wonderful addition to Port Arthur. But she and her husband continued on and built that house with love, adding a garage they built themselves and a shed in the backyard.

What they built iwht love, we pray and hope that we rebuilt the same way. Thank you Nanny Precious for showing us how to seek the little things that matter most.

Peace

One Long Summer

Rewarding none the less, this summer has been a long one. Not in the terms of the hours and hours of sunlight calling me to figure out how I am going to waste the day, but in the many experiences that have made the summer seem nearly non-existent. I mean I really cannot believe that it is August already. Football season is creeping up and the fall schedule of events is going to be here before we know it.

I guess the least I should do is fill you in. When we last chatted here, I was just coming out of a funk. A long discernment period came to an end with several influences helping me make some decisions. I am currently in our church's search and call process and having a wonderful time. It has been much of an awakening to me and has led me to believe I may not have the passion I did ten years ago to help build the church as its pastor. Rather I am feeling called to build God's people as I live and work with them. I am excited though about one prospect, though. They are to be contacting me next week to let me know where they are. Last I knew a week ago, I was one of their top and final candidates. There are other options, though. I have found out being young with child and more on the way is not as scary as it seems. That love and trust bind us together in very wonderful ways. For the first time I have actually seriously thought about leaving ministry and being okay with it. That will wait, though. Let's see what is in store for in the ministry forum first.

Act II of the summer helped us make the transition from June to July. During that week beginning late on Saturday evening, June 30, I had a gall bladder attack. It was my second one in about two years, and this one was extremely painful. They kept me in the hospital until removal could be done on Monday afternoon, July 2. I came home on the 3rd and began making final plans for a work trip to Port Arthur, TX, to help with hurricane recovery efforts. What an amazing trip, and an amazing community. I just can't beleive some of that stuff gets lived through. The human spirit is amazingly strong in times of struggle and survival. They are truly folks who understand and even appreciate sacrifice.

One my return home, then I am playing catch up and anxiously waiting the calling of my future, and just exactly how to handle all of the details. The work trip really was a fasting moment for me and I have opened myself up to the fact that it is time to either move on in ministry in another place or move out and reamin faithful to God by using my gifts in others ways. I should know in a week or two what that decision is. In the meantime I will just fill you in some insights from the Gulf of Mexico.

Peace

Keeping In Touch

I have recently been quite surprised by the number of surprise calls from friends and folks whom I think of often, yet fail to keep in touch with very readily. These are actually people I consider friends and even family. I have been in their weddings, they in mine, I have even officiated a couple of them. And what a wonderful feeling it is to be extended God's grace in this way. To be thought of also in the same way your are thinking of them, yet something in life seems to get in the way at that moment you decide to reach out and touch them by phone. And I just don't care for the e-mail thing. That's for work in my opinion - a convenient way to help pass information that the world seems is important more quickly (i.e. get the crap out the way quicker).
I have decided that it is an important spiritual discipline to "keep in touch." Jesus was always reaching out and touching. That was the helaing ministry. And though in these relationships I have not been worthy to touch the hem of Christ's garments, I have been turned upon and healed wiht grace all the same. Of course, this may not be news to many. Of course it is spiritual to be keeping in touch. But I mean deeply touching each other, not just constantly or rapidly. I mean taking time every other night and devoting the kind of time you devote to your children or spouse - the kind of time where nothing else matters.
I am looking forward to my new practice. I am going to make it a priority to take time and call those who have recently contacted me first and work form there. As I enter more and more into this pastor stuff I am beginning to understand more and more the wise words Garrison Kiellor uses to sign off each morning from NPR's writer's almanac: "Be well, do good work, and keep in touch." And for those who think, "2 out of 3 isn;t bad at all," I'm here to tell you of these three none is greater than the other.

What Was Up There?

I was recently asked by a friend regarding my "bridge" post, what exactly I saw up there on the bridge. Here are just a few things:

I saw what time it truly is in my life...

someone who needs a little more guidance and attention now...

celebrations of life that are taken for granted (and two parades)

The endless possibilities that the priority of happiness has to offer

some things are just too much of a sticky situation

you'll always have your friends ... I love this pic by the way... I call it 'Livy E' because they look so natural and wonderful in this picture plus it looks like an album cover and their duet would be called 'Livy E'...

God's helping hand is ready for those willing to take the journey

Peace to you my Friends.

Diversity Management...

In recent months I have been blessed with a great deal of revelation and spiritual renewal, hence the previous post of crossing the bridge. Part of that renewal has been through defining things that have been with me and agitating me all along without a full understanding. One of these "defining" moments came through a mix of understanding the need for particular shifts in church culture, a slight discontent with youth ministry experiences, and the quote a quote from Ed White that recently lit up over my head.
Ed White was one of the facilitators at the missional/emerging church conference I attended in Princeton back in April. He is retired Presbyterian minister who still does consultation with Presbyteries and churches through Alban Institute. He was in a dialogue with Brian McClaren when he asked if Brina agreed with this statement: "Would you say that churches and the whole Christian faith are overmanaged and underled?" Of course, everyone in the room agreed. I agree, but was only seeing half the picture. I was seeing how the congregation I serve overmanages with none of its leadership positions neither currently functioning nor envisioned to function as leaders. The chruch overmanages and underleads. And here is how it has transformed my life and ministry.
I was also recently engaged in some sort of middle judicatory argument over the involvement of several generations in the discernment of some serious regional decisions. The "young adults" in the region got up in arms about the lack of "young adult" representation in this discrernment. On one hand, it is a theologically valid point in many ways. However, on the other the proposal of the said discouragment was sinful and simply a carry over of past overmanagement of different groups of people. Beside the fact that there is no clear way to define "young adult" except by age, and that age range is different with every person you ask, there is a problem with leading us all together into one vision of what God desires of all people. My friend April icnurred me to think the following: (mostly her thoughts adopted ofr my own spiritual renewal - thanks Pastor April!) At what point am I no longer a "young adult" and fenced in by all the misgivings and generizations aht come with that title. I am 33, a father of one and one on the way, married for 71/2 years, have nearly twelve years of experience in pastoral leadership, have been through college, seminary, and continuing ed seminars at some of the finest insititutions in the world, have lost a mother to terminal illness at 19, baptized a 4-month still born fetus, layed to rest an 8-month pre-mature baby, led younger and older couples than I into marriages that will certainly last longer than a lifetime, sandbagged a river with Desmond Tutu, paid off three automobiles, and have purchased a house, just to name a few things. At what point can I no longer limit myself to being a "young adult" and be considered a child of God with knowledge, wisdom, experience, wit, energy, and desire that is worthy enough to make my gifts considerable beyond my demographic? I have been offended by many older folks in my pastoral positions, but I have really been recently offended by my own "clan."
Thus the problem with the whole church. We do a great job of managing programs, age-defined groups of people, as well as gender and culturally-definded groups. But we are doing a poor job as doing the one thing we are supposed to do the most - lead all of God's people, diverse in more ways than just culture, race, and gender, into one holy and "catholic" union of believers bound together for the purpose of making disciples and presenting the good news of Jesus Christ. I know, I just started to meddle and even made a broad sweep at a theologicla statement. OOPS. I'll just go back to pastoring now. I am sure there is someone who needs me to take care of them in some way. Time to go change another diaper.

Crossing the Bridge...

Alright, already! I heard the hints of freinds lately to get back into this thing. And just today I was inspired to do so with some new direction. I want to introduce you to some things that have been ddep and rich in moving my spirit lately. But before I do that, bid me a time to ramble about my pitiful self for a moment.
I have been on teh bridge lately - right out in the middle. I wasn't looking down in contemplation, but certainly looking all around. Bridges are beautiful places to be if you are not afradi fo traffic and are not seriously yearning to jump off. But the surface is a juxstiposed reality of solid ground and engineered freestance that certainly puts a anyone who crosses in a vulenrable position that is often overlooked. But I have been crossing a spirtual bridge recently and I decided to stop and look, discover the view from such a high place, arching over the world that I might go into and the one that might be left behind regardless of which way I decide to exit. It has been marvelous up on the bridge. I never knew just how much you can discover, though it is hard to keep your focus with all the impending possibilities of danger. But now I am coming off the bridge, confident of the direction I am heading, and that the side that I am leaving will be there when I cross back across this bridge from time to time to gather more of the stuff I may have forgotten or couldn't find down the road a ways. The journey to God's heart and wisdom is full of bridges. And even these vulnerable places are built and sustained with God's ever-present, all encompassing love. But you can only stay on the bridge so long as traffic moves all around you, above you, and even beneath you. Yet it is one of the best places to be to discern.
How do I know that I am coming off the bridge? I ahave made a few affirmed decisions lately, I am not at all worried about those decisions, and my yearning and open heart has introduced me to new paths for the journey that I am excited to take, and am preparing for as we speak. Among them, a trip to Princeton Seminary, a trip to Eureka, Il, during Memorial Day weekend, and a tour of the thousands of findings after googling "missional church."
1. The trip to Princeton was for a learning experince on missional/emerging church leadership and a soul searching trip through the PhD program while I was there. I came back with the affirmation that what I have been learning, praying, teaching, shepherding, thinking, believing, etc. was all good and well, and that there are some minor adjustements I need to make in myself to move into the future - the first being stop trying to deny yourself and be yourself. And though I want to seek knowledge at higher levels, I can't stand to write down anything in academic form as to prove my intellect. I find it ironic that the church is being called to change by practicioners and academia alike, yet the academy thinks that certain forms and structures of communicating one's intelligence should remain for ions.
2. the trip to Eureka was filled with relaxation though not through a great deal of sleep, but simple affirmation that you don't need a Rose Bowl parade to be reminded of what binds humanity together. You simply need a small high school marching band that only marches to a drum cadence and never toots a single note the entire parade route, a few emergency response vehicles, military and patriotic plumage, a candy-wielding mayor on the back of an open convertible car, and some family passing through on their way to Arkansas that realized they were in a prade route so they jumped out and ran and got some candy for everyone along the way. Oh, and you need friends and family, breakfast and coffee on the front porch, pizza with all new generations at the favorite old place, the sharing of tasks to get children to bed, the 15-minute catch up conversations before the adults have to go to bed to prepare to get said kids ready whent hey start screaming our names in the morning, and a hug a kiss, and a "good to see you, friend," and a few, "noticed you haven't been blogging in a while."
3. And finally, I have no time to go into it all, but much will be following my recent surfing into a huge world of missional apologetics that is unbelieveably moving and affirming. More about this as I get things set up on this blog to direct you to some of the places I have been, and will contineu to be going.

But right now I have to go and work some more on my next sermon series. Oh, and by the way, I am continuing to go completely across the bridge and not go back, in case you were wondering.

To Feine, or Not to Feine

...as in to drink lots of caffeine, or not. That is the dilemma as we approach Holy Week. Between leading two different services in the community that week and trying to get the word out about our own 4 services from Thursday through Sunday, what will I do to keep from a trip to the ER for exhaustion? This has never happened in all my years of ministry and all its stresses. I usually do a good job and it's usually more stressful approaching and thinking about things more than anything else. But caffeine would help even though I am trying to stay away from it.

But one other thing gets in the way here, and I am having problems with this new admission in my life. I am a coffee snob. Yes, I said it. As I opened up the other day, the cupboard in our kitchen specifically packed with shelves full of coffees, teas, and their different paraphernalia, I was looking for a good decaf that had been requested. As I stumbled through, I noticed the two small plastic containers of brand name consumer grade coffee. On the cans was the "F" word of coffee drinkers. I actually thought for a moment, 'I can't believe this stuff exists in my coffee cupboard.' In fact I was taught recently that this stuff isn't even coffee. As remarked by a local barista friend I frequently visit, "I make and serve coffee, other people serve Folgers." We both laughed that better than thou ha-ha-ha that sounds like a cross between Lurch from the Aaddams Family and the millionaire on Gilligan's Island. And this thought regressed into other conversations that have made me silently reel with disgust in my mind, while politely listening with smile to others applaud certain brands of coffee served in the dives and restaurants, and gas stations. My stomach has always churned at the thought of a fancy named brand that is served at the local jiffy mart and gas mall. Or even worse, when I have witnessed people actually drinking out of those machines that spit, gurgle, and steam some brown liquid into cups. Not only does the product look disgusting, but I have a rule about drinking anything from something that sounds like my grandmother nagging at me - eeennnnnnnn - plplpl - eeennnnnnn - gurgle - zerbert.

SO. There you have it. I am a coffee snob, who by the way, refuses to also drink Starbucks for ethical reasons. If it's not tasty without cream and sugar, doesn't have a spirit-lifting aroma, isn't brewed in conventional way, can be purchased at a gas station or even some certain fast food chains who are claiming to have "premium" coffee, and does not excite the palliate and call for conversation about it, I don't want it. So what's this have to do with me trying to stay away from caffeine? Why do you drink coffee, anyway? Duh.

Excuses, Excuses...

I am so unbelievably behind on this posting stuff. Believe me, lots of interesting and noteworthy things have happened recently - dinner with Jimmy, the snow angle saving me and my family and Jimmy from a nearly stupid drive North (thanks, April), and church in the fellowship hall because of the new "weather policy" defining when and when not to use the sanctuary in order to save money on heat. I will note that no matter hwo theologically or ecclesiologically wrong said policy sounds, I will say that it does lend to creativity in the worship space and is gracious to the opportunity to try new things that might become staple in the "big room."

But recently, and today is no exclusion, I have been studying like no other time in my life as pastor and preacher. Instead of preaching the lectionary for Lent, I arranged a new sermon series. It has been over a year and a half since I had done a non-lectionary based sermon series, and I have forgotten how ridiculously difficult it is for a variety of reasons. Most prominent of those reasons is the task of isolating yourself from the word that needs to emerge from the texts and the focus of the theme. Preparing these sermons has almost like doing weekly research papers all over again, and strangely enough that has been exilerating to the soul. Don't get me wrong. The lectionary demands it's own amount of study and isolation all the same, but not near this much. And where the lectionary has gotten so repetitive and dry (even in all the commentary and updated dialogue resources), the sermon series has given me excuse to interview and talk to people in new and deeper ways that have been renewing and revealing, challenging and deepening faith experiences, and I have had to take time to read old "stuff" again, and discover new "stuff."

Don't worry. I can't do this forever. I am sure that by Holy Week, the winter relief of the sermon series will have run its course, and I will be bitching and begging for lectionary summer to come again. I have to go study some more before the library sells my bookbag.

Some excuse, huh? Take time out from writing, so and go write...

That's My Boy!...

This is what Sabbath is about! And this exactly what this blog is about. This is one of those rare, hard to capture moments. No posing, no posturing, no coaxing. Just real, raw humanity at its best. Trina, my wife, Ethan's mommy, and now photographer extraordinaire took this picture at random and cpatured one of my favorite Ethanisms, with Oreo gotee to add. It will forever be captured now as the site's new logo, and it will soon be making me millions! Yes, that's right. No way I'm not cashing in on this one. Ethan has inspired me once again to capitalize on life's little moments of grace.

I will soon be working on a full line of greeting cards using this image. We already experimented this week for Grandma's birthday. The outside of the card read: "Might I be obtuse and ask a lady such as yourself exactly how old you are, today?" Then open card to see this image staring at you with the text: "WHOA! Oreos and firetrucks, Grandma! I think I just pooped my pants!" Needless to say Grandma and I both rolled around laughing hysterically for long periods of time. And every time I see this picutre I chuckle. It is by far my most favorite image of all time.

Other cards coming to a greeting card supplier near you will be assorted birthday greetings such as: cover with this image, open to read "Oh. I just saw your underwear" (It might be time to finally stop wearing low riders and high risers. Glad you are as wise as you are old.) Happy Birthday!

That's my boy!

Choo-Choos and Church Bells

As I stare out my window this morning to see the beautiful rays of sun casting warmth and welcome to the soul upon the stone arch pillars of our church edifice, I can't keep from revelling over this thought in my heart: "Holy Crap! What a week or so it has been! I need some sacred space for the love of Pete!" What has happened to make my heart so alive?
1. The bathroom I remodeled is still not finished and is need of some repair already.
2. I became a Godfather, and a being a single Godparent in today's world is not easy. It has been quite an adjustment.
3. Lent started and there are still membership classes to get planned for the array of folks wishing to join us in this most festive season.
4. It snowed more, but now is beginning to thaw and the extreme change in weather has started to fill my sinuses with gunk that will certainly drain into my chest causing agony for days to come.
5. Meetings until 8:00 plus making for 12 plus hour days the last two weeks.
5 1/2. And Jimmy bought ANOTHER - yes ANOTHER Cadillac. It's Lent, friend! Give it up!

Boy do I need to be in sacred space today. And I guess I shouldn't ponder the beauty too long because I am sure to fall asleep. I do give thanks though for the time to stop, because inthe midst of all the chaos, the day started the same today. Ethan decided to wrestle and have a fit over taking his medication this morning which involves him sitting patiently on my lap and sucking medicinal steam from a tube for twenty minutes. Though a complete joy I am sure for a 2-year-old, he is usually quite patient and available to the task. But not today...Noooo! Then the running in circles and demanding he wash his hands for 15 minutes in the new bathroom sink. It is his new rite of passage - being able to carry a stool and independently turn on and shut off the flow of water, but we still have to work with the shutting off part. By the time the coat was wrestled on, the morning dance session to the Sesame Street closing theme was finished and the fit was reconciled at the turning off of the tellie, we were on our way. Nothing more please a this point. But low and behold, he decideds to dawdle and take his sweet time walking to the car. I filled the void with getting some things ready, and then waited. The seconds seemed an eternity until the distant sound of a train beckoned him to shout, "Whoa! Choo-choo! Wooooo-wooooo!" Yes choo-choo, let's go play with our friends now. I turned by back hoping he would conitnue the journey with me. Of course he did not. But then I turned to see him dancing again. To what I did not know until a moment that faint church bells tolling the new day and grace of God's presence was apparent. Ethan danced and I cared no more of how long it might take us. Dancing in God's grace is what I intend to do today. I am so glad I took this moment to remember that of all the things that I have remebered this morning.
You hear the church bells? Yeah, chooch bizz. You hear Grace? Yeah, Grace.

The Fairy Godfather...

I get to dress in drag again! Oops. I guess I shouldn't say that with such great enthusiasm. It's really not as much a fetish at all as it is a scene from my seminary days. I was in a group of cross-dressing lipsyners and dancers known as "The King James Version." It was 1.) a spoof on the Christian Coalition's announcement that they no longer accepted the KJV as the only irrenat and holy version of scripture since it had been proven in some form that King James was bisexual in orientation, (2.) a celebration of life and the joy of inviting of all of God's people to Christ's table for all that shall be. But, boy did I look good. If I find the pics, I will be glad to post.
However, the reason for this cross-dressing event is for an even greater honor. My God child was born yesterday, and I am the single Godparent to Daniel Robert 'McStew.' Actually I think it is just now official since there is a small conglomerate of us who have simply covenanted to be the holy reminders of God's persence and accountability in each other's lives and the lives of our children. We are collectively, along with our own families, the village that has taken the task of nurturing these chidlren together. And until the offical word, I was simply the village idiot. I like being the village idiot, however, I will likely take this role much more serously.
But what do you get for Godchildren? How do you discipline them? How do you feed them and clothe them and bathe them?
...What? Oh, this just in. A word my conscience tells me that stuff is not neccesary. You just have to flash pictures along with pictures of your own chidlren and claim them before all the world. I think I can do that. But, before I go, does anyone know where I can get the boy some Colts gear. It's momentous since they won the big game while mom and dad were pining for the Bears from their hospital room. At least all are well and ready to go back home with big sis. Can't wait to see you, Danny Bob! Love, your fairy Godfather!

toe-chu mi gokko sish to you, too

Tonight I took time to do something a little different and I am so glad I did. Since Ethan is in a new place, and there was still a bit of commotion at bed time, I laid down on the floor next to him and we shared and I learned from my 21-month-old son. Ethan has always been able to confidently look me eye to eye and boldly proclaim prophetic and profound statements like, "bogo eetch-o-beyoo." And when he says things like this, his posture and expression show that he means what he says.

Tonight was not much different. As we lay in the semi-dark room he and I talked about important father-son stuff. We talked about the Chicago White Sox pitching rotation for next season, and he was as concerned as I was about the departure of Brandon McCarthy. He said, "Bligga-pleetch-okko gox." I agreed. In fact I was quick to inform him that I really hadn't looked a the situation from that perspective. I was worried about the point spread I had given my friend Mark for tomorrow's Super Bowl. I picked Indianapolis by 11. Ethan was quick to answer with a clear, "nooo," when I asked him if the point spread was too much. Then he said some off color things about Rex Grossman - "Toggachech shom-ee kotewas," I think was the exact quote. We bantered some more about girls, the Illini basketball season, his mom and how lovely she is, and a few other things. He squirmed a little bit more, and finally took my hand in his and said, "sish-a-bog oof," took a couple of tugs on his pacifier and fell asleep.

That whole time I was not really worried about the Sox, the Illini, the Colts, or the girl troubles he is having at daycare. I was most worried about twenty years from now. I want to make sure we can still sit together in some intimate father-son way and talk about those same things the way we did tonight. Tonight he was in a place where he needed 'daddy,' and when he needs daddy, he gets daddy. Especially now, at his young, vulnerable, and innocent age. I want him to know, though, that twenty years from now and beyond, he can still know that when he needs dad, he will get dad. And no, I didn't understand a single word he said in his own little language this evening, I heard him loud and clear. I heard a message that all the world might want to hear. It is a message that calls us to nurture and give of ourselves so that our children can know that they are loved. As my wife and wonderful partner in this task of parenting say, "fill them with love and they will overflow with love." And maybe if we are lucky maybe they will only know how to love each other one day.

Being daddy tonight, gave me hope for that day. With every babbling sentence, smile, laugh, and pick of the nose (mine and his), I heard the message - toe-chu mi gokko sish. Translated, thank you, I love you, too.

Far Cry From The Rest of Us..

Far - go is certainly a far cry from being isolated from the rest of civilization. I realized on our recent North Dakota excursion when I ran into a former and re-discerning Lutheran pastor. Imagine that - being in North Dakota and running into a Lutheran pastor. That's like walking into a convent and spotting a nun. Anyhow, it was such a pleasure to have broken bread (beer is bread, right?) with him and to have gotten acquainted with him. His experiences of Fargo were truly enriching and his sharing truly empowering and renewing. Fargo, is in fact, filled with great culture and people of tremendous intellect and concern for God's creation and community. And they say you can only get that stuff out East.

Yes, the drive is a Far-go into the heart of nowhere, but certainly where two or three of those willing to imbibe in the spirit are present truly there is God among them also. And if the inhabitants of nowhere can care for life and all that is God's as much as those I met the other evening and communed with, then nowhere is not a bad place to head. In fact, I think I may just go ahead and do as the old saying insists - be in a hurry to get to nowhere. Thank you, nowhere man ... I mean, Pastor.

You Can Dance If You Want To...

I couldn't believe Toby's band didn't play the song "Safety Dance." Well, I guess, for one they are not that kind of band, and two that song is stupid. I write to you from the havens of Minneapolis, Minnesota - Eden Prairie to be exact. As we stop for a short visit and to witness the baptism of our niece/Trina's goddaughter, I must regress upon notes and wonderful memories in order to bring you all up to date.

Toby is Trina's friend from college and a music professor at Minnesota State University, husband to one of Trina's closest friends from college (Patty), a friend of mine, a wonderful musician and artist, and one kick-ass bass player and band leader. Besides jazz ensembles he leads a "horn band" sort of like the P-Funk All Stars, Chicago, Earth, Wind, and Fire, Tower of Power, etc. In fact they cover a lot of these great bands and have a few originals - all 100 of them. Okay, maybe not 100, but it sure looks that way once you get a five-piece band plus the whole brass and wind sections of the Fargo Symphony Orchestra on a 9' by 15' platform suspended on a balcony over a bar crowd. While in Fargo we got a chance to go out and see Toby's band, "Post Traumatic Funk Syndrome," perform. What a blessing. And what a calling that Toby and these musicians have responded to faithfully. And all the while humbly, as they all dropped their titles, their Ph.D.s, their acheivements to help us enjoy. Because of their faithfulness to respond to their call and to rigorously practice their trade in all that is necessary to spread the good news, we were able to meet new friends, dance, and have a good time even though it was a balmy 22 below zero outside with a slight wind chill.

I remember telling Toby before we left, as he and I scanned the bar together, "Well, they are all drunk and dancing, so your work here is done, huh." We laughed, And Trina and I then gathered ourselves along with Patty, bundled up, and headed to collect the babysitter and remunerate her with proper penance. Because Patty had to attend to a tireless infant, Trina and I had the task of returning said babysitter back to her abode with no clue where we were going in this city we had only spent about 20 hours awake. We tried to help the teenage girl in the backseat relax with conversation about her future and her likings, et. al. She was an enjoyable and mature young lady. It was fun, we did get her home safely, and ourselves back to our temporary home in the Tundra. And all that with a great deal of peace and faithfulness that all was well.

Why? Because we had heard the good news that we are called to dance. Toby and his band had done there job well that evening. they reminded us that we are to dance, and to help others dance as well. Our shared vocation is to bring humanity hope by making the music that makes people dance. In dancing there is many things, but most of all peace; and in peace there is hope that all can yet be reconciled for a better world. In making music in whatever way we do so, it is not our job to worry about who shows up, but rather to sing, "You can dance if you want to. You can leave your cares behind." Those yearning for the peace that surpasses all understanding will respond. It may take them a few drinks, but they will respond. Thanks, Toby, for inviting the world to dance, good and faithful servant.

How Cold is Frozen Dog Crap?

That is the question of the day. Because right now in West Central Illinois where are experiencing "river-effect" winter winds dropping the already low temp of 12 all the way down to single digits and likely negative ones soon. This weekend it is supposed to get colder. And guess where me and my lovely family are trotting merrily off to for a short getaway? That's right - Fargo, North Dakota. That's right the one place in the world where dog crap will likely freeze before ever touching the ground. I feel so bad for those doggies who live in the North.
Don't get me wrong. I am looking forward to the trip. We are going to see some friends that we haven't seen in a while, venture to Minneapolis on the way back and witness the baptism of a niece that is the Goddaughter to my wife. And, if all is well in other parts of Illinois, we will stop and see our good friends April and Dennis, and possibly my Godson. It will certainly be a lovely trip, but a cold one. Thankfully the baptism is indoors.

But what is even going to be colder is the fact that we have a congregational meeting and a board meeting this Sunday that I won't be around for. Though the date was announced long after we had this trip planned, I am sure there is going to be some major belly-aching and possibly even some nice back-stabbing suggestions that are aimed at me from some of my dearest congregants. I call them dearest because I do try to draw near to them. But what a heartaches sometimes - trying to love people with the integrity fo the gospel and not given the opportuinity to do so. I kind of take it personal. It's like someone not liking the handstitched frozen dog poop collector you made them for Christmas. And that is why I have such a love-hate relationship with systems theory. It, like the gospel is always calling you to own your own anxiety, draw near to those who cause you the most anxiety rather than running from them, and responding always with peace and love. And sometimes that loneliness that you feel can be a cold place. Colder than frozen dog crap, even.

I will be travelling. Please pray for us on our journey. Go Colts! Peace to you.

O Ralph, The Pipes Are Calling You

Okay, okay. I'm back, and I get the point. And thank you to April, Steve, Amy, Jimmy, and others who have reminded me why I wanted to start this adventure in the first place. SO no that I am back from my own long hiatis of a sabbath here goes...

Ralph died on Thursday. Who is Ralph? I have no damn clue even though I buried him today. And even after a two hour phone conversation wiht his 75-year-old daughter, I really have no clue. I know that he was 100 years old and an avid St. Louis Cardinals fan. I know that he was greatly admired and cherished by his family and friends, at least the 13 that were present for today's festivities. He was a humble person who sold his car to help pay for his wedding. And he never owned another auto until his chidlren were grown, married, and moved away. He walked to work each day, about a mile and a half one way, and he stopped on the way each evening to pick up the block of ice for the icebox. No, I never met the man, and I have no clue who he was. However I am fully aware by the witness of those around his casket today, that he did all that he was called to do in such a way that all the hosts of heaven gave thanks with us this morning.

The conversation with the daughter and the small worshipful moment for rememerbing made me think of how wonderful it is to know that I too can hope. I can hope that one day, even though many will never know who the hell I am, that someone might be able to tell the story of my life in a way that captures the full essence of my calling and my being upon this earth. I too hope it is my children and friends, and possibly my spouse. I too can hope that the fruits of the spirit ripen within my soul so that they might be harvested by my choices and deeds for all humanity's sake. And I can hope that those same fruits ripen abundantly so that the harvest might feed more than just myself.

Thanks Ralph, for a job well done good and faithful servant. And thank you for leaving an impression upon this world that has reminded me what it truly means to be fully and truly known.