I'm back...sort of

I'm back at writing and might even publish a piece or two.

moving this blog

Update your feed readers, bookmarks, favorites, or "pages that I want to block"...I'm moving the blog over here...

www.terrymichaelnewell.com

on changing sides

It's official. I've changed sides. I know many folks will be shocked to hear this, but I can't help the way I feel. Sometimes you've just got to go with your gut.

I stopped at one of my (new) remote offices and when it happened I couldn't believe it. I compromised a lot of what I usd to think was good and pure. I may be changed forever.

I now put cream and sweetener in my coffee and it's wonderful. Once a purist of strong, black coffee, I now enjoy the lighter side.

If I've disappointed any you, I'm sorry.

Why Emergent? (the short version)

Some circles criticize those of us who prefer an “emergent” path of the Christian faith. I’m not sure why that is. Are we that easy of a target? Are we really that misguided in our efforts and hopes for the practice of the Christian faith during our time in history? I don’t believe so. Let me say this, I believe God has called me to be emergent because of one word that is used consistently and compellingly. That is, conversation. That’s what attracted me to emergent in the beginning. I decided to attend the Emergent convention in Nashville as few years ago. Furthermore, I decided to go with an open mind, not to be the normal cynic I can be too often. I went to listen, but in the end, found myself in the conversation. I challenged some things and affirmed others. I learned a lot there and the learning continues. I think of it as God’s “call” because of something I read this morning.

"[God’s] appeals come through the conversations of good people, or from sermons,
or through the reading of good books; and there are many other ways, of which
you have heard, in which God calls us." (Interior Castle, Teresa of Avila)

That says a lot.

Criticize all you want. But, the conversations/sermons/books I’ve experienced in the past few years might as well have been a burning bush.

awesome experience

Bailey and I went to see this last week. And now I'm trying to figure out a way to go back.

kim and i just finished watching

this...

this morning i read

the poem "A Color of the Sky" by Tony Hoagland which contains these lines:

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.

quite profound in my opinion.

down the etymological tree from paradox to oxymoron

I was reminded of something this morning. Much of Christian thought and practice involves paradox. And it leads me to some questions that I've probably had before, but didn't spend enough time thinking about to be able to offer myself some credible answer. (I know, questions without answers is paradox too.) Nonetheless, it is still helpful to query.

How do we communicate paradox to a post-Christian world? Is there paradox in other ways of thinking beyond philosophy and theology? More importantly, does paradox exist in other ways of living? (I have some motives for such questions, but I'll hold them for now.)

I see quite a bit of "tension" in many people's lives (and in their ways of thinking) which, most of the time, is understood and explained as "conflict." And, the hope is that conflict can be resolved.

For me, paradox is attractive and helpful. It allows me to let go of some of the conflict and leave it as unresolvable. But, quite honestly, then I feel an internal struggle at other times to make sure all the pieces fit together nice and neatly.

Len Sweet's article in the latest edition of Next-Wave stirred this up in me this morning where he states, among other things, "In Christ all opposites are not so much reconciled as transcended in the Oneness of Twoness. We are born for ontological tension: in-but-not-of the world." I like what he suggests, but find it difficult to translate it into usable language for a pastor concerned with outreach. Lest, we just reach out to those for whom paradox means compromise.

All You Need is Love, Da da da da da

I woke up late on New Year's Day. Our bedroom door was shut (I guess that was a late gift from my wife.) With all the intentionality a 2 year old can conjure up, Zoe enters the room and walks to the side of the bed. She places her hand on my chest and says, "I love you Daddy."

A great way to start the new year.

merry christmas to the blogosphere

ever had one of those days...

when you prepared immensely for something and was very excited about it and then....flop!? You completely missed the mark! That was last night for me teaching bible study for our adults. And the subject (OF ALL THINGS) was the book of Revelation.

Upon reflection on my performance, I think I now do believe in the rapture and that Tim LaHaye is right on target.........................


no, not really. But, I was WAY off in being clear and intelligible. Many apologies to the crowd who attended.

on jordan's stomy banks

I baptized our oldest daughter, Bailey, this past Sunday (a.k.a., Christ the King Sunday.) It was an interesting experience that was the culmination of many conversations about this one of the rites of initiation within the Christian tradition. A quick reflection…

Many from our church community called, wrote, or told me face to face how moving it was for them to experience a father baptizing his child. Oddly enough, I was not as emotional as I would have guessed. Now, my previous experiences with baptism have been very emotional. As a hospital chaplain, I was privileged to baptize persons who were close to death or who had already died. The first baptism I performed was in the Emergency Department for a baby boy born at 20 weeks and my words had to be translated into Spanish. Struggling with the issues of life, death, faith, baptism, and culture all at once overwhelmed me. The folks around me in the ED were full of anxiety since this wasn’t supposed to happen there, but in another area of the hospital. Not getting caught up in that later allow me to feel what was had happened, and feel very deeply. I must confess that as I baptized Bailey, I was caught up in the anxiety of “making sure this all goes well.” Additionally, the morning did not go well getting everyone ready for church. Even more to the point, I’ve been running ragged for over a month now trying to get moved, work effectively, and be a husband to Kim and a father to Bailey and Zoe (who has hit the “terrible twos” with a vengeance!) I’ve had some success and some failure. The lesson is to implement what I already know. That is, a balanced life is a disciplined life. Life is expectedly out of kilter because of the lack of discipline and intentionality. Sitting down to write these reflections is some evidence that I’m moving back to homeostasis.

So, this morning…I cried, sort of a different kind of baptism.

And I am awed by Bailey's faith. By way of testimony, a couple of Sundays before her baptism, she took an offering envelop and filled out her name and put $0 on the amount line. Then, she wrote the following on the back and placed it in the offering plate: "I love this church and I never want to leave!"

And my cyncism, although still very visible, is slowly fading. I must be bound for the promised land

another samuel adams please

the statesman and patriot, that is...who said,

"It does not require a majority to prevail, but rather an irate, tireless minority keen to set brush fires in people's minds."


This gives me hope that even when we're the minority (if we are?), the majority has to deal with us whether they like it or not. Therefore, I mean to start carrying a flask of gasoline and a lighter with me at all times.

It seems to me that that's what the early church did (who was a minority)...and then the reformers...and then the anabaptists...and maybe now, those of us who are emerging.

Burn baby burn!

thinking missionally

AP down with the G-O-D

This is probably the worst written and strangest article I've seen in a while.

Can you make any sense of this?

i don't know what to call this (UPDATE)

Well, the votes were cast and I won. It was a bitter race to the end, but my smear campaign against myself failed. I am now the Pastor for Congregational Care at Zebulon Baptist Church. Officially, October 1.

Last November I posted this. Its amazing what has happened since then and what I was wrong about.

Here's a list:

• We ARE moving.
• We ARE selling our house (and hopefully soon!)
• I did NOT sell my truck (although it was listed on craig's list for a while.)
• The cat quit drinking from the fish bowl once he pushed it off the desk and murdered the fish outright.
• Honestly, I was disgruntled. CPE taught me a lot about being honest with myself.
• I did enroll in counseling class, but dropped them and focused on the CPE experience.
• I have not written any books.
• I did not work at Lowes, Home Depot, or Jiffy Lube.

The big question: Was it the right thing to leave Campbell? I cannot say strongly enough...yes.

I am working through how to explain the decision to work on a church staff. I've titled that unwritten piece, "A postmodern church, or the Church in postmodernity." Surprisingly (to me and others), I have a good amount of excitement and energy about being a part of the latter.

Zebulon Baptist ordained me back in 1994 when I was on staff as Minister to Youth. Serving with them part-time this summer, I have re-discovered this community of faith to be intentional, missional, liturgical, evangelical, while being a part of whatever "mainline" Christianity is. As one example, I was encouraged to teach a seminar for the 20s/30s learning community based on Marcus Borg's "Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time."

My head is still spinning about all this and I wouldn't mind some conversation partners. For those of you uncommitted on Sunday mornings in the Raleigh area, I invite you to come on out to ZBC for worship at 10:00. I preach a few times this fall (including 9/23 and 11/18) and will be "installed" on 10/21 in a service of communion. And by all means, Christmas eve at ZBC is extraordinary (at 5:30 or 11:00!) (You can also subscribe to the Zebulon Baptist podcast to hear a few sermons too.)

Sorry about the rambling. But, suffice it to say (in the words of Maya Angelou), "I wouldn't take nothing for my journey now."

Buddha-bellied buoyancy

Here's how meaningful required worship must have been for one of my former students. The impact I made was remarkable to say the least.

After church this week I headed to visit some folks in the hospitals. I stopped to get a burger on the way. When I went to the counter for a refill on my diet coke, there was a girl standing in line to order and pointing at me. She looked and said, "I think I know you. Don't I?" I did recognize her, but before I could help her she blurted out, "You were my swim coach in high school. Weren't you?" "No," I said. "I was your campus minister when you were a student at Campbell. Remember CEP? That's where you saw me."

We reminisced about all those great Tuesdays and Thursdays and what an impact they had on her life.

Then, I went to the mall and bought me some swim goggles and a speedo.

magic and tragic: preaching buffett on the 9th sunday after pentecost

Yesterday, I preached a revised version of this sermon at our mainline evangelical church.

Any new thoughts?

Other than the comments about my closing song, the one the sticks out to me was from a parishioner who said, "I wasn't real sure where you were going, but you brought it all together in the end."

I've got the audio if anyone can tell me how to get it online.

Plus, it reminded me that I wanted to get this memoir to read.

making the sale and sealing the deal

It's official. The Newell house is up for sale. See it here. The sign went up yesterday and luckily it was shown yesterday too. We've started moving a few things "clear out some clutter" as we were told. So for now, we're just moving our unnecessary junk. Check out our new place! We're in unit 325, so come on by and see us sometime.

And by all means, if you'd like to buy a house contact our realtor here.

will the circle be postmodern, by and by lord, by and by

After a lot of thought, prayer, journal writing, etc., Kim and I have decided to put our kids up for adoption...not really. It's something else I thought I'd never do. (On the topic of "thought I'd never do," I'll have to save that to post later.)

We're hoping to go back to Zebulon, NC where I'll work on a church staff full-time. Yes. That's right. I'm going to be working on a church staff. All the details are pending the process a church needs to maintain order, but it's safe to say that it will happen in some form or fashion.

I was also interviewed and invited to be a resident chaplain at WakeMed for the next year. Somehow, I thought that given this choice I had, I would have gone with the hospital which is a great place. I have no doubt that would have been a profound experience. In the short time I was there, it was a holy and meaningful.

But, I must say, I'm surprised. Surprised at how God works to bring someone "full-circle." (Thanks for that image, John.) When I went back "just for the summer," I thought I'd find an institutional church rooted in modernism. However, what I found was a loving community of Christians who are making a way to serve God in the name of Jesus. They have succeeded and they have failed. They are dreaming and and turning dreams into deeds. They have "Sunday school" and "Learning Communities." They are traditional as well as innovative.

And now the "they" becomes "we" and it feels great to use that word. I am eager to see how the person I've developed into will find ways to follow Christ and lead others in such a context.

In other news, I am still planning (though plans for me change with the wind) to take the counseling classes I had originally planned on to get licensed in some fashion as a counselor/therapist. (That means, however, I've put Jiffy Lube and Lowes on hold at least for a while.)

Finally, Kim and I love our children dearly. Bailey is excited about this. And Zoe just needs a bigger room. But I will donate a very friendly cat to anyone who needs such a burden.

trash talkin’ about emergent folks, or tony jones ain’t worth keeping around

We live in a time in history when “talkin’ trash” is accepted and even expected. But, this was literally a ridiculous example.

Kim and I went out to eat tonight. We met after work for dinner at a national chain neighborhood grill. I got there early so I took a book that I’ll be using in a college-group study later this week. The book was The Sacred Way by our Emergent national coordinator and friend Tony Jones. I’ve read it and it’s a great resource for those seeking to learn about spiritual practices. Evidently, someone on the staff (or a group of co-conspirators) thought much differently.

After dinner, we decided to ride together to get a few things for home. We returned to her car later to go home, but I realized that I had left the book and my cell phone on the table. I went inside only to discover nothing had been turned in. When I asked the host about my stuff, he got visibly nervous. He left and came back empty-handed saying, “I asked my manager and she said that we only found a book.”

“Well, where’s the book?”

“Oh, do you want it?”

“Ummm. Yeah. And my phone too. It was on top of the book.”

“Well, I’ll have to talk to the manager.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

He came back with the book in hand. But no phone. I tucked the book away and the manager and I then checked with the folks sitting where I had been earlier. Curiously, the guests told us that the host in question had picked up a phone and a book “that looked quite interesting” (in her words) when they had been seated.

The short version of the story is that they brought me my phone from the back. The SIM card had been taken out which the “honorable” host ran out to give me a few moments later. I wonder about all that.

But, the part that’s noteworthy is what I noticed on the way home. As I selfishly pondered what was going on with my phone for a hour or so, I glanced to the dashboard and there it was. The book. Front cover face down on the dashboard and Tony Jones looking right at me…sort of. I realized they had thrown the book in the trash. A mayonnaise-soaked lettuce leaf coming from Tony’s ear and smeared across his chin was what I could only hope was the sauce leftover from someone’s Honey BBQ Baby Backs.

And I thought, this was no accident. This was intentional! They couldn’t preach against Emergent because they had no pulpit. They couldn’t leave unchristian comments on his blog because they were too busy stealing cell phones from unsuspecting customers. But, when they found The Sacred Way left on a public table like an evangelistic tract, all impulses led to defamation.

So, I am calling for a nationwide boycott of the Applebee’s in Garner, North Carolina on every Monday for the rest of the month or until an Emergent cohort gets free drinks and appetizers from Applebee's for the next 490 meetings. Who is with me?

anyone else sick of this?

Greg Laurie 07.

I finally saw a poster upclose which said the theme was something like "making God known." But, I've only seen bumper stickers bearing the name "Greg Laurie." Who is it that needs knowing? God or Greg? This seems to be another place for people who are already "christian" to get together and talk about being MORE Christian than everyone else who doesn't attend. I think I'll pass on the piety parade.

a buckhead eucharist

Last night, we ate with some friends in Atlanta. I joined my wife with two of her friends from work along with one of her friend's partner. The five of us enjoyed a great meal...a couple of snapper specials, the salmon, grits of some kind, prickly pear margaritas, a dos equis, a stella artois, and a pint of guinness. Desserts came too.

But, nothing tasted as good as the conversation.

For three co-workers, it seemed wonderful (and necessary!) to commiserate and celebrate about work. The two "significant others" sat quietly, for a little while at least, in support of this make-shift group counseling session. But then, the attention bounced in my direction. What was I up to these days? With genuine interest, affirmation and support, my new friends listened to the tale that is my journey. They also listened to our trials and triumphs of being parents of young children.

We listened to a sense of loss and grief of one whose father recently died and how she's getting away to put her toes in the sand on this "father's day" weekend.

We all then listened to the other couple's struggles at their church. And of course, I offered my take on the problems that arise when folks working for the Kingdom get bogged down trying to run it as a business. Then we all comiserated that something's just not right in the world of Christianity.

And so, a single Episcopalian, two gay Methodists, and two Baptists of some sort gathered at the table giving thanks in a communal sense. Had I known how the night would have played out, I probably should have started by saying, "On the night when Jesus was betrayed, he gathered in an upper room...he took bread...he took the cup...do this in remembrance of me."

update

For those interested in the what's up with me since leaving Campbell, here's a brief post with that info.

I finished a unit of CPE at WakeMed at the end of April. This was truly a profound experience for me, both personally and professionally. So much so, I wanted more and signed up to be the "on-call" chaplain for every Tuesday in May. This was tough, but I still want more. I'm not sure where this will take me. Stay tuned.

After finishing CPE, the Director of Spiritual Care at WakeMed offered for me to be a "contract chaplain" through August 31. If you haven't gotten it...meaningful stuff, folks.

Prayer and discernment has led me to accept an offer to serve Zebulon Baptist Church, as interim associate pastor. I help with pastoral care, worship leadership, and some other stuff ("as assigned by the pastor.") This is a good place and these are wonderful people. I know what some of you are thinking..."I can't believe TM is working for a church again!" A future post might let you in and why I would do this. In short, this is a great church, somewhere between mainline and evangelical (depending on who you're talking too) with good worship opportunities. It's a wonderful staff. And the office space isn't too shabby either.

I'm not enrolled in a counseling program (yet.) More on this in the future. Suffice it to say, I still want to pursue that, but I'm working through some logistical things before taking that leap.

All this means, I commute. And the gas prices aren't great for that. Nonetheless, I am gainfully employed for the time being.

On a spiritual note, I must say (to both of you reading this!), that taking this drastic journey in my life was right. I can't tell you the affirmation I have received since the day I resigned. God is good and my wife is much too gracious for a wretch like me.

gotta walk that road

So, I have finished the unit of Clinical Pastoral Education and I can say a great deal about this holiest of experiences for me. My CPE sojourners are wonderful people and to say that my supervisor is a phenomenal person and spiritual guide is an understatement. Part of the final evaluation is the exchange of images that this experience has been for us. We offered one for ourselves and one was given to us by our supervisor. I may share later what I offered, but here I wanted to share what I was given. She offered me the lines to a song she'd never actually heard musically, but she knew the words. I think she also knew (and still knows) the path of my soul. It's a song by David M. Bailey. He has a tremendous story and is a great songwriter and musician and is now one of my favorites. For anyone who has ever searched for the right path or who, like me, is still searching, you should consider Holy Roads.

simply holy, wholly simple

I was on-call at the hospital this week, Sunday to be specific. A standing responsibility as chaplain on a Sunday is to lead a chapel service in two locations of the hospital. In one setting, six patients and I came together to meet God. No one arrived without help from a nursing aide and I greeted each one as they were brought in.

One had a hip replacement. Another had heart problems. Others had a stroke, an accident, or some situation they didn’t offer this congregation of saints and sinners. From the first few moments, I wanted to take off my shoes. The holiness of this gathering was almost as visible as the tears that it caused.

I shared a reading from Psalm 139 suggesting that there’s no place we can go to escape the presence and power of God. Before I could ask, others starting sharing their stories, most of which were told through tears. When I was trying to bring things to a close, I asked if anyone had a song they’d like to offer making some joke about not wanting to sing myself. As most everyone laughed, one patient quietly said, “I’ve got something to offer.” And he began to sing. As large tears marked his rough face, his offering marked my soul.

What God has for me, it is for me.
What God has for me, it is for me.
I know without a doubt, that he will bring me out.
What God has for me, it is for me.
(“It is for Me,” Miami Mass Choir)

I prayed our closing prayer calling each person by name. What struck me was that for about 45 minutes that Sunday morning, I was with the church. We normally say “at” church. But, that doesn’t seem to fit much anymore. Church isn’t a place. Nope. For me, church is a communal reality, a way of living, and a way of being human.

Simple stories.
A simple song.
A simple gathering of flesh and blood, hands and feet, hearts and minds.
Simply beautiful.
Simply meaningful.

Simply holy.
Wholly simple.

spring forward, never go back

I've got lots on my mind these days, especially about the church and her future.

I took a picture this afternoon of the first bloom on the dwarf georgia peach tree in our front yard. I am hopeful that spring is soon coming bringing new things. I am reminded that winter brought some things to an end.

In many ways, this peach tree had to die in order to bring something new. And, I am wondering about the church even still...

a fountain flowing deep and wide

I was invited to lead an “Evocative Presentation” for the North Carolina Regional Meeting of the Shiloh Network which I did earlier this week. I thought the task was to talk about how to talk to young people about call and vocation. When I arrived I was reminded that the title of the session was “Recovering the Lost Language of Call.” What I had planned was close enough so that I could make a few extra notes and move forward without too much of a hiccup. Here’s the first point of what I was tried to do in less than 15 minutes. Yeah, I had also planned too much and had to cut how evocative I could be since I was sharing the workshop with another, and evoker. (Maybe I’ll add the rest in a future post to see how provocative an evocative I came up with.)

Point #1 – I read the gospel reading from the Daily Office for the day prior to this event. I had heard this in a podcast and it struck me that this is what should be done when we’re trying to lead others in any way. I read the follow-up verses to the story in John 4 after Jesus had encountered the Samaritan woman. What struck me was what the folks from her village said once they personally encountered Jesus.

They said to the woman, "We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world." (John 4:42, TNIV)

This is a key principle of leadership in most, if not all, contexts (i.e., to help others become able to say, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves.”)

Leading others to Christ has been anything but this for too many years. We’ve tried to make a uniform faith, an orthodox doctrine, or a systematic theology (Uh oh, what did I just attack there??). We’ve attempted to explain the Christian faith in cookie cutter fashion leaving no room for a “see for yourself” gospel reality.

The Samaritan woman teaches a great lesson. Tell others the story, but give them room enough to discover Christ in their own ways. Might this produce richer and more meaningful expressions of faith that aren’t so homogeneous or orthodox?

The richness of a faithful community might best be described by the depth of its diversity rather than the breadth of its conformity.

public and private prayer...you are now free to move around the country...and piss everyone off

I now have Nextel for my wireless phone service. It works fine for the most part. But, I’m not sure about this two-way radio connection. I can talk to my wife and a couple of neighbors, but I just don’t use it much of the time because I get annoyed when others use it publicly with the volume blasting. For most folks in a restaurant (McDonald’s for me this morning) who are having a conversation face-to-face, respectfully they keep their voices low. But, for one woman that was impossible. That piercing beep/chirp unique to Nextel was constantly alerting the entire restaurant that one side of the conversation was over. Her volume was entirely too loud letting all of us in on the conversation about where she was to meet her friend/mother/sister and what time. Also, the restating of every other sentence was equally annoying. To make matters worse as Annoying Person #1 continues her conversation in walks another Nextel user beeping his way to the counter saying something about his many morning tasks that he had to finish before responding to his partner’s radio request. (BTW, this included consuming two McGriddles, a cup of coffee, and some kind of lengthy morning ritual in the men’s room.) By the end of writing this paragraph, three other Nextelians invaded the place chirping their way all of my nerves. Maybe our phones are different, but there is a way to keep these kinds of conversations private (or at least half of it.) We also have volume switches to keep in down in public.

I am reminded of what Jesus said about keeping things to yourself, especially spirituality.

"And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6.5-8, TNIV)

I am afraid we live in a culture that values the public display of piety much more than persons whose inner lives are rich and deep in the ways of God. I am afraid even further that the hypocrites and Pharisees may be winning the public debate on church. It is possible that the majority of evangelicals in America would much rather have a Nextel than a prayer closet. (And I don't think aforementioned "morning ritual" included any sort of prayer."

hiatus over

In an effort get back into the blogosphere, let me offer something of recent experience.

Last Monday night I spoke at the Raleigh area BSU about what Baptist's believe about the Bible. I'm not sure I did what all, or even any, Baptists would be comfortable with, but I really don't care much to do that anyway. What I tried to do was get students to see the Bible and its interpretation in poetic fashion. That is, we should read the Bible with unrestrained freedom as poets. No rules. No boundaries. But, instead community. Loving, intentional communities that are willing to wrestling with these "ancient words." (A really cool song they introduced to me as their closing.) By way of making the experience interactive, I asked a few students to write a few statements that I, on the spot, put into a poem about the Bible. Here's their communal/poetic offering...

When we
read the Bible,
we remember
parents reading the Christmas story.
When we
read the Bible,
its bring hope
from the promises Jesus
made about preparing a place
for us.
The Bible brings us
comfort
and always seems to be encouraging
in our times
of need.
But, we are afraid.
We are afraid
we've missed something major
and got it all wrong.
Yet, we are thankful.
We are thankful that it is
still available
and offers
truth and love.
But, when we
read the Bible,
we struggle
reconciling the judgmental God
with a God who cares and loves.

i don't know what to call this

So, I have resigned as Campus Minister at Campbell. On January 1, 2007, there will be a new way to describe Terry-Michael Newell, Jr. I am not sure what that description looks like. We’re not moving. We’re not selling our house (yet). However, I am probably selling my truck to get something a little older and less expensive and hopefully better on gas and for the environment. My wife is happy. My daughters are happy. And, our cat keeps drinking from the fish bowl (so I guess he’s happy too.)

I was not fired. I was not asked to resign. I am not disgruntled and I am not going to shoot anyone. I love being a Campus Minister. I love college students. I love Campbell. I love coffee. And, I love drinking coffee with college students at Campbell while being the Campus Minister.

This decision comes after a long period of thinking, praying, and writing in my journal. It’s a decision I feel very comfortable with even though there’s a lot that’s unknown in the not-so-distant future. The plans I have right now are these:

---enroll in a couple of counseling classes at Campbell
---complete a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) in the winter/spring
---write a book about why 36 year-old guys shouldn’t quit a good job
---write another book about the risks of following God’s calling
---work part-time wherever I can to make sure our bills are paid (so, come on down to Lowes or Home Depot or Jiffy Lube and let’s chat about nails or screws or home improvement ideas or whether you’d like the full-package that includes your chassis lubed.)

All kidding aside, this is a drastic change. This is an emotional roller coaster (which makes it easier for me to sit in front of this computer and cry than to cry in front of each of you.) The last 10 years of serving in this role have taught me that my gifts and strengths as a person are centered in caring and counseling. I’m just wired that way. And my energy flows rapidly when helping others connect to a loving and relational God during critical times of life. It also runs rampant when someone simply needs to clarify what God is or is not saying about their own vocation. I love sitting with folks and trying to tame the unbridled spirit. I love being guided by the Spirit to stand with those who have been oppressed, mocked, beaten, depressed, suicidal, abused, or demoralized. I may not always have the answer, but I’m sure I have some questions that can help begin the journey of self-discovery.

I am not so clear about my own journey that I can describe it here for the entire world to see. But, I am sure that God is continually faithful to sustain me, whether I’m wandering through the wilderness or wrestling at the River of Jabbok. After the journey, I may be tired or I may be limping or I may be both. Either way, I am going with God.

I hope I get to see you along the way.

getting my toes wet

On many occasions, I reflect with folks about the issue of calling or vocation and over the last year or so, or even just in these moments of writing, I am reflecting on this issue myself. A new metaphor was given to me in book I’ve been reading. Calling is to “step into the flow of the river.”

As a youth minister in past years, I took a group to the New River in West Virginia to go whitewater rafting. It was on that trip that I had one of the scariest experiences of my life.

We expected to see mostly class 2 and 3 rapids, but because of huge amounts of rain, this portion of the river was experiencing class 5 rapids meaning they were more intense and more difficult to maneuver. As we approached each rapid, our guide gave us the necessary instructions on how to paddle, which side of the river we were to go on, and in case of an emergency, how to get out of trouble should we fall into the raging waters. Approaching a rapid named the Middle Keeney, our guide gave us the normal rundown and I remember him saying something that didn’t mean much until later. He said, “If you come out of the raft in this rapid, you will need to swim Olympic style to the eastern bank. There’s a huge hole on the left that you don’t want to have anything to do with.”

We hit the rapid and flipped over. Everyone was ejected from the raft including the guide. Having gone underwater just briefly, I surfaced only to see that I was moving very quickly to the forewarned place on the west side of the river. Likewise, one of my youth was moving in the same direction just ahead of me. I remember the waters forcing me in circular motion and after a few rotations, I began being pulled downward. The water was brown, then black. I was so far down I couldn’t see the sunlight and I thought life was over for me. But, the drain-like hole that was sucking me down spit me right back to the surface. If you believe that the creation of the life-preserver was a miracle, then this was a miracle. God acted on my behalf.

As soon as I could, I swam to the western bank and got out of the river. I could not see any of our group, boats, or guides. I was alone and out of the river. An emotional basket case, I hiked up the mountain to a set of railroad tracks. Crying. Praying. Cursing. Doubting. I wasn’t sure if I’d survived while someone else didn’t. I was afraid and although I’d come back to see the daylight, it felt dark outside. It felt dark inside too.

Once I saw some familiar looking rafts, I slid down the rocks and mud to the river and found our entire group safe and looking for me in the water. I flagged them over and when they reached the large rock I was sitting on the guide put out his hand to help me back in the boat. I asked him, “How far is it to hike from here?” “A long way,” he replied. I asked, “Is there any other way besides getting back in that boat?” “Realistically? No,” he said. I had to get back into the boat, back into raging, deep waters, and face my fears in order to continue the journey.

Over the last year, I have felt much the same way I did once I reached the shore after our raft capsized and stepped out of the water. I have been hiking here and there, wandering and wondering about life, ministry, and vocation. Crying. Praying. Cursing. Doubting. And, now I’m facing this new image of calling, stepping into the flow of the river. I can see the movement of the water, but I can’t measure its depth. I can see ahead for just a short distance, but I don’t know where the river goes.

To quote myself in conversations with others about life and vocation, “the life of faith is a life of taking risks.” Maybe it’s time to listen to the Guide saying, “It’s a long way to get where we’re going. Realistically? You can hike your own way if you want. Or, you can step into the flow of the river and I will be your Way, Truth, and Life.”

hunger pains

I give a lot of advice in response to email. What follows is an excert from a recent response that I thought might be worth sharing about church. How far out there am I?


Don't feed yourself off someone else's plate. Fix your own. The buffet bar is open and has lots of choices. Plus, you can order from the menu or even go home and cook from exotic cuisines available from all kinds of places. Your palette is unique. God made you (us?) that way. You might call this "Kingdom Feasting" or "Dining with Jesus." A "traditional" meal sounds boring, but a meal rooted in a certain tradition sounds adventurous, and I think church is the intersection of faithful lives setting out on an adventure.

hunger pains

I give a lot of advice in response to email. What follows is an excert from a recent response that I thought might be worth sharing about church. How far out there am I?


Don't feed yourself off someone else's plate. Fix your own. The buffet bar is open and has lots of choices. Plus, you can order from the menu or even go home and cook from exotic cuisines available from all kinds of places. Your palette is unique. God made you (us?) that way. You might call this "Kingdom Feasting" or "Dining with Jesus." A "traditional" meal sounds boring, but a meal rooted in a certain tradition sounds adventurous, and I think church is the intersection of faithful lives setting out on an adventure.

taste and see...living like a refugee

Sunday morning at church my oldest daughter asked if she could take communion. Now, remember she's not been baptized, confirmed, or anything of that nature. Pausing during worship, I took out my "notes" journal (to be distinguished from my "narrative" journal.) I don't really refer to either in this way. Most of the time it's "the little journal" and “the other journal.” But, you probably get the picture of the difference. Anyway, here's what I jotted down...

7/2/06

Is the Eucharist a rite of initiation or is baptism the only one?

I think that taking communion can be a profession of faith as well as a symbol of faith.

Can Bailey have the Lord's Supper?

By all means!!
*****************
I guess I'll be labeled a heretic for sure, but for some reason that doesn't bother me in this case (or any others to be honest). Bailey is too curious and hopeful to give her some doctrinal supposition on initiation, rites and rituals. I am afraid of what that would do to her spiritual curiosity which, as I have said before, is just as much a spiritual gift as anything else.

So, she took the bread up to her 9 year old mouth and placed it on her tongue. As it dissolved, she said, "Mmmm, that was good bread." As she held her cup (yes, the tiny baptist shot glasses), she quietly stared at it. I have no idea what she was thinking, but when the pastor gave us the liturgical nod to partake of the cup, Bailey didn't gulp it all down at once like most of us did. She took one little sip, then said, "Ahhh." She looked back at the rest of the cup's holy contents, paused, and then finished.

Am I a horrible theologian/father? Probably. Breaking with church tradition seems my style while simultaneously confessing a firm connection to the ancient church and her practices and teachings. But, never risking the chance to practice evangelism with my daughter. Inconsistent? Yeah, probably that too. But, constantly hoping that the Christian faith is more about discovery than dogma.

I reflect on Sunday morning's experience remembering the words of the Psalmist, "O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him." (Ps. 34.8)

Taste and see...

emergent and humpty dumpty...putting the pieces back together

What's your theological worldview?

Contrary to local myth, I'm no liberal.

My results...

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern.
You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this.

Emergent/Postmodern - 86%
Neo orthodox - 64%
Classical Liberal - 61%
Modern Liberal - 50%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan - 50%
Roman Catholic - 39%
Charismatic/Pentecostal - 29%
Reformed Evangelical - 18%
Fundamentalist - 4%

differences between old monkeys and young dolphins

When I was 7 years old, I was scheming to see how my friends and I could swing from tree to tree in the forest behind our houses.

Here's how 7 year olds have changed...

Gloria, In Excelsis Deo

Most Mondays are too long. And this one was no different. After a long day of office work, teaching my evening religion class, and praying with our worship team following their practice, I needed a little decompression time. Somewhere close to 10:00 p.m., I sat down for the first time in several hours, flipped over to “Family Guy,” and started to unwind.

Our oldest daughter had stayed up too late working on Valentines for classmates and other friends (which by the way meant that I had to make a 9:30 p.m. run to the store to get blow pops to attach to each Valentine.) “Time for bed,” I said, reminding her that mom and baby sister were already asleep. “Can I watch a little bit of TV?” she asked. “Sure, but just for a little while.” This meant that I could withdraw to loosen whatever was making my neck and shoulders tight.

Back to “Family Guy.”

Not even 60 seconds after tuning in and moving pillows to make sure I was comfortable, I heard the TV from my daughter’s room. It was a great organ rendition of “Angels We Have Heard on High.” My first thought was, “How nice? Disney is getting religious in some way.” The organ prelude continued and I knew something else was going on. I went to her room and found that she was watching our wedding video!

I saw our wedding attendants entering the sanctuary on a cool December day in 1992. I saw a beautiful bride escorted down the aisle to marry me. I saw my sister shed tears of joy as her baby “bubba” married his high school sweetheart. I saw great granddaddy sitting with his daughter my grandmother. I saw Grandma Duffy. I saw children who are now adults. I saw young men and women who are now dead. I saw gay folks who were still in the closet. I saw marriages that are now divorces, teachers that are now friends, and friends that I wish I knew their email addresses. I saw Ken who died of something I can’t remember. I saw Bethany who died because a drunk man decided to drive. Bethany used to call me Elvis. I saw my sideburns which is probably why she called me Elvis.

We watched the vows. We heard “for better or worse, in poverty or wealth.” But, the most striking thing came as the bride and groom prayed on the kneeling bench. One of our friends sang a long, slow version of “The Lord Prayer.” I sat on the edge of the bed with tear-filled eyes knowing that I was watching the most significant worship service of my life.

Then, in a tone that is unique to an eight year old, our daughter says, “Aren’t you glad you broke up with that other girl?!!”

Yes. I am.

behold, i am making all things new

Our 8 year old daughter said something interesting to me last Sunday night. She said she wants to be baptized. The minister and theologian in me wanted to turn this conversation into something significant and enlightening where she could grow in her understanding of Christ and the symbol of baptism. The skeptic in me wanted to root out the real reason she wanted to take this step. The daddy in me just wanted to grab her, hug her, and rush to the church right then to splash around in the ritualistic pool.

Is this because one of her best friends was baptized last year and she's trying to keep up? Is this because she saw two children baptized this past Christmas Eve? Or is Jesus really stirring around in her in some significant ways? Is it all of this? Is it something else?

I am curious to see where this goes.

I am not sure there's a connection (but maybe there is!) but a few weeks ago I was giving our newborn a bath. Washing her. Playing with her. Laughing at her. The older daughter was nearby, doing something with mommy and maybe? taking in what was going on in some way. As the bath came to its end, baby sister became irritated and fussy. Like most parents, when this happens you do whatever comes to mind to bring this kind of experience to an end. QUICKLY! Our habit is to sing. The song that came to my mind was based on a passage Paul wrote in the New Testament. I have no idea if I'd heard this elsewhere. Almost in good spiritual form, I began to sing...

There is no condemnation for you.
There is no condemnation for you.
O, there is no condemnation, be ye reconciled to Jesus.
There is not condemnation for you.

We are reconciled to Jesus today.
We are reconciled to Jesus today.
We are reconciled to Jesus, there is no condemnation.
We are reconciled to Jesus today.

Paul put it this way in 2 Corinthians 5: 16-20...

From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.

Perhaps, there's a spiritual awakening going on in our family that will lead one of us, or all of us, to spiritual rebirth as we continue to recognize our role as Christ's ambassadors being re-created. And everything becomes new.

house repairs

"The time to repair the roof is when the sun is shining." John F. Kennedy

More and more I think it is time to fix the roof because there might be a deluge coming and no one likes getting that wet.

This I Believe on NPR

I found this essay very interesting this morning as I listened to NPR. Check it out here. This is a great program called "This I Believe." It advocates making personal statements of belief. Maybe I should submit an essay of my own. What in the world might that look like?! Below is the portrait "Freedom of Worship" by Norman Rockwell that mentioned in this essay.

With Kindness

Here's a song I heard last week based on a prayer by St. Teresa of Avila.

With Kindness
Christ has no body here but ours,
No hands, no feet, here on earth but ours.
Ours are the eyes through which He looks
On this world With kindness.

Ours are the hands through which he works.
Ours are the feet on which he moves
Ours are the voices through which he speaks
To this world With kindness.

Through our touch, our smile, our listening ear,
Embodied in us, Jesus is living here.
Let us go now, Filled with the Spirit.
Into this world With kindness.

i just don't get it

Two great friends gave me a really cool ipod shuffle for my birthday.

But, now this has got to be one of the dumbest things I've seen this week!

And check out the scripture reference!!!!

I'm not that kind of Christian.

Spiritual Life as Journey

Here's a little talk I did at the Baptist Student Union tonight. Any thoughts?

The Spiritual Life as Journey:
Curiosity and Community while Wandering in the Wilderness

Speaking to you students tonight is a great opportunity. I know how valuable your time is. Furthermore, I know that you came here tonight for a couple of different reasons. Of which, one of those, is not necessarily to hear me speak. (That’s just a little bonus at no extra charge.) But, I have come to believe that you are here week after week looking, for two things…communion with God and a community with others.

I have a sense that both are taking place.

So, I speak to you tonight as one experiencing communion with God in so many different ways AND as one from the community of people following in the way of Jesus.

I want to talk with you about something very personal, that is, my spiritual life, my spiritual journey. You should understand, first, that this is a journey in progress. I have not yet arrived, nor have I succeeded at anything spiritual, and I am not an expert. I am a sojourner…just like you.

There are lots of biblical images of journeys (e.g. The Exodus from Egypt, Wilderness Wanderings, the Temptation of Jesus in the Wilderness, the Birth of Jesus (from Nazareth to Bethlehem), Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem…Triumphal Entry, journey of the church in Acts, Paul’s missionary journeys, etc.)

(Story #1)
The beginning of my spiritual journey is rooted in my curiosity. (arguably, a spiritual discipline)

As a kid, I remember going into my parent’s room to look at books. I looked through my mother’s and father’s high school yearbooks. I saw the lives of young people in the late 1950s and early 1960s. (Or I , at least, saw it through the eyes of each yearbook’s editor.) No one was smoking. No one was strung out on crack cocaine. Maybe there was some drinking, but certainly there was no casual drug use or sex! Beyond the yearbooks, there were books about sex too. And my parents had a few…not the pornographic kind, but the educational kind. There were four, maybe six volumes, that could give me all I needed to know about my body parts, a girl’s body parts, and how they worked together to bring about a baby. As a kid, that’s what sex was for…babies. I don’t remember anything about intimacy, love, or “how far is too far?”

More to the point, there were still other books, about Jesus and Christianity (which, by the way, is my topic tonight, lest, you thought I wanted to talk with you about sex, sexuality, and that good ole question of “how far is too far?”) The books about Jesus were what captivated my curiosity and my journey began. I remember one book in particular that had a picture of Jesus on the cross complete with bloody hands and feet, a crown of thorns, and a few mourners at the foot of the cross. Oddly, I remember “sneaking” into my parents room, not to look at the yearbooks and sex-books, but to gaze curiously at, even meditate on, this picture of Jesus whom I had heard about at church.

(Observation #1) – about curiosity
They say, “curiosity killed the cat.” While that cliché may be true, I also believe that curiosity can carry us to some interesting places of a spiritual nature. So, the next step is the questioning and the searching, but not necessarily answers and discoveries.

Too many times in our lives, our Christian lives, we are focused more on the final result, the end of the journey, the right answer, or the destination. In doing so, we risk missing much of what God is doing by way of our spiritual formation.

In the Exodus story, we don’t just move from Egypt all the way to the Promised Land. We wander in desert places. We journey through dry times. We question. We doubt. We are uncertain. We are afraid. It’s what one of my favorite writers, Parker Palmer, calls the “Journey through Darkness.” And any experience of living in light is better understood when we’ve experienced that pain of being in darkness. (Repeat)

(Story #2)
What am I curious about now? (Lots of curiosity in between) For now…church. Communal Christian faith.

I didn’t always like going to church, but when I became a minister I felt like I had to go. Growing up in North Carolina made it easy to be a Christian. Children went to Sunday School every Sunday even if your parents just dropped you off then joined you later for “big” church. You didn’t have to stay in “big” church long. The minister welcomed people, prayed a prayer and everyone sang two hymns. During the second hymn all the children came to the first few rows to hear a special message just for them. I cannot remember any specific lesson taught during these moments. I remember it being a time when bible stories were told. Stories about Jesus that we had just heard in Sunday School were retold with the minister’s explanation tagged on the end. After the children’s time in worship, we were led back to the Sunday School rooms for Children’s Church. (Did you go to this?) Perhaps, this is where the idea of “church” was formed. Church, for children, meant sitting back in the Sunday School rooms waiting for our parents to finish whatever church meant to them. Children’s church consisted of playing “Bible” Football or “Bible” Charades or “Bible” Baseball. It was all knowledge-based. Therefore, church meant knowing something.

I wanted to go to church. More specifically, I wanted to go to Sunday School. Every quarter there was a special assembly held in the fellowship hall to honor attendance in Sunday School. Pins were awarded for perfect attendance. I cannot remember in what increments awards were given, but I certainly remember that I earned the “one-year” pin. However, it was a lie. It was not a lie that I told or my parents, but my Sunday School teacher fudged the books a little in my favor.

One winter Sunday morning, I remember both of my parents coming into my room. After waking me up, they informed me that it had snowed all night and that we might not be able to drive to church safely. Knowing that my sights were set on the attendance award, they asked very gently if it would be okay to stay home. I agreed. The following Sunday the Sunday School teacher asked me if I would have come to Sunday school if it had not snowed. I said yes. She changed the attendance book and some time later, I was awarded a pin for perfect attendance at Sunday school for one year. And so I was taught another lesson about church. Church meant achieving something.

(Observation #2)
These are not bad memories, but ones that come to the forefront of my mind as I think now about the nature of church. Is church about knowing something? Is church about achieving something? For many, I am afraid it is. Church is about knowing AND agreeing with a statement of faith. Many use wording such as, “We believe in….” or “We confess…” But, isn’t it true that many of these statements of faith could be said, “We know this about God,” or “We know that about the Bible,” and so forth? The implication, then, is that they know something I (you?) do not. I am not interested in that. (Don’t misunderstand…there is a place for doctrine and orthodoxy). Furthermore, the Christian life itself is characterized by achieving something (e.g., a better relationship with God, a revelation of life’s purpose, or the satisfaction on Sunday afternoon that I actually went to church and everyone saw me there and I can speak all next week with the piety of the Pharisees).

Part of this journey for me now is waiting for an experience, a revelation, a vision of what church means. So, I go back to a biblical image.

Like the Israelites wandering through the wilderness, I am afraid. I am terrified that what I might find along this journey is not what I set out to see. I’m afraid that what I might actually see is a church that is radically different than the way it looks now. Different means change and change is hard! I am not suggesting “going back” to anything, to the way things used to be. That’s what the miserable Hebrews wanted, grumbling that things were better being slaves in Egypt than nomads in the desert. No. I am hopeful and trusting in God’s faithfulness who always leads people from the desert to an oasis. I believe that even though we may be facing darkness, a light still shines. And the light is found in Jesus. Communion with God is found in a relationship with God through Jesus. It’s not knowing about Jesus. It’s knowing Jesus. It’s not about some personal pious achievement. It’s relating to others who are wandering (or wondering?) in the same way, the way of Jesus.

(A Final Image)
There’s a final image or impression I’d like to give about this idea of the spiritual life as a journey that begins with curiosity, leads through darkness, encounters Jesus all along the way, and calls us into faithful community. It comes from philosopher/theologian, Jimmy Buffet, in his song “He Went to Paris.”

He went to Paris lookin’ for answers
To questions that bothered him so
He was impressive, young and aggressive
Savin’ the world on his own

But the warm summer breezes
The french wines and cheeses
Put his ambition at bay
The summers and winters
Scattered like splinters
And four or five years slipped away

Then he went to england, played the piano
And married an actress named kim
They had a fine life, she was a good wife
And bore him a young son named jim

And all of the answers and all of the questions
Locked in his attic one day
’cause he liked the quiet clean country livin’
And twenty more years slipped away

Well the war took his baby, the bombs killed his lady
And left him with only one eye
His body was battered, his whole world was shattered
And all he could do was just cry

While the tears were a-fallin’ he was recallin’
Answers he never found
So he hopped on a freighter, skidded the ocean
And left england without a sound

Now he lives in the islands, fishes the pilin’s
And drinks his green label each day
Writing his memoirs, losin’ his hearin’
But he don’t care what most people say

Through eighty-six years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he’ll smile and he’ll say
Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic
But I had a good life all the way

Coda:
And he went to paris lookin’ for answers
To questions that bothered him so

(Conclusion)
The spiritual life is a journey. (Even a journey as Buffet describes here.) It’s about questions, searching, and even wandering. Growth happens in the midst of the journey even when you find yourself journeying through the wilderness. Remember, “some of it’s magic and some of it’s tragic.” Certainly, the spiritual life is magical, mystical, and full of experiences to celebrate and glorify God. But, it’s also tragic, full of doubt, fear, unanswerable questions, and desperate times in the wilderness that can lead us to Promised Land, or allow us to sing, “I had a good life all the way.”

From my perspective that I’ve tried to share here…Curiosity gets things moving. Along the way, we come to know Jesus and relate to God through a relationship with him that leads us into relationships with other sojourners.

recommended reading

Here's a blog from a good friend about the Enter the Worship Circle event BSU held last Sunday. You really should read his blog. He's one of the most insightful people I know.

Read the BSU blog here.
Read his other blogs here.

church planting vs. conceiving a new church

Two things that are worth sharing.

First, a psalm from U2/Bono & The Edge…a song that, as Bono introduced it in Philadelphia back in May, is a “new song that feels like an old song.”

Yahweh

Take these shoes/Click clacking down some dead end street
Take these shoes/And make them fit
Take this shirt/Polyester white trash made in nowhere
Take this shirt/And make it clean (clean)
Take this soul/Stranded in some skin and bones
Take this soul/And make it sing

Yahweh, Yahweh/Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, Yahweh/Still I'm waiting for the dawn

Take these hands/Teach them what to carry
Take these hands/Don't make a fist (no)
Take this mouth/So quick to criticise
Take this mouth/Give it a kiss

Yahweh, Yahweh/Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, Yahweh/Still I'm waiting for the dawn

Still waiting for the dawn... sun is coming up
Sun is coming up on the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean
This love is like a drop in the ocean

Yahweh, Yahweh/Always pain before a child is born
Yahweh, tell me now/Why the dark before the dawn?

Take this city/A city should be shining on a hill
Take this city/If it be your will
What no man can own, no man can take
Take this heart/Take this heart/Take this heart
And make it break

Second, a poem that I read in the recent edition Sojourners magazine. Read “Come As You Are” by Debra Elramey here. It really is worth the time.

Always pain before a child is born.

Just come as you are.

Here’s the connection…that which is born is a community of faith built on mouths that kiss instead of criticize, hands that bring help instead of violence, hearts that break instead of harden. Even further, it is a community where…

You have nothing to fear, nothing to dread
There is no religion here, but for the laying
on of hands and the resurrection of the dead.

Sweet Home…Kentucky, Where the skies are so blue…

Last night a commercial came on for KFC (I guess still standing for “Kentucky Fried Chicken”), but the background music without lyrics was unmistakably, “Sweet Home Alabama.” I guess there’s a little identity crisis in the marketing department. Or, maybe it’s now acceptable to send out a mixed message, confusing communication, or perplexing point of view. I’m not sure KFC remembers who they are.

What about Christians? The church?

I’ve said it before in different places and various contexts that I think that much of religion today, Christianity specifically, is schizophrenic. Put more plainly, I really don’t think we know who we are. More times than not, we choose our religious associations based on what we’re not, rather than what we are, what we embrace, or what we embody.

Too many times, the “commercial” that advertises who we are shows one thing yet has the background music that tells a different story.

Sporadically, I watch The Daily Show with John Stewart. On one particular episode, Stewart (the show's host) made a music recommendation that I must acknowledge gratefully. He recommended two new CD releases and after a few weeks now, I have purchased them and, I must say, I am enjoying them very much.

The first one was Coldplay's new release, X&Y. I like this CD all the way through to the hidden 13th track, "Til Kingdom Come." It is a mystery to me how fresh, but familiar this song is. I think you can watch/hear it here.

The other recommendation was the dual disk "In Your Honor" by Foo Fighters. Disk one rocks. Disk two sooths. Curious words..."Mine is yours and yours is mine/There is no divide/In Your Honor I would die tonight." I can see why they've put additional digital files on their CD to keep it from being ripped. Had this been released years ago, this is one I would have definitely stolen from my sister. (I would have also taken her Coldplay CD...along with her copy of the Sugar Hill Gang's album, "Rapper's Delight!")

I am hopeful, if not certain, that as I listen more closely I'll find a few more pearls from Foo Fighters and Coldplay. I am also certain that I'd sell the Sugar Hill Gang's album on ebay for less than $9.99.

ponce de leon and a guy called skud

The first time I went to Disneyworld was when I was in elementary school. My parents took my sister and me out of school for a numbers of days for the road trip, park visits, and additional stops along the way. I don’t remember anything about the trip driving down I-95 southbound for Orlando. But, I do remember going to St. Augustine, Florida to visit the Fountain of Youth. Like all other visitors, we drank with the hopes of staying young.

It seems that in the past several months I have been hoping that this Fountain of Youth thing really works.

I have played golf with my best friend from high school twice this summer. He knows me. He knew me at 12 years old. We lived together during Freshmen year. We did the beach thing as teen-aged boys. We were very good at baseball, fair at football, and pretty much sucked when it came to going along with the crowd. I invited him to youth church camp. He ran over me with a motorcycle. We both played guitar and we finally learned to sing and played simultaneously. I still remember the first song I sang while he played,…the classic rock ballad from Night Ranger called “Goodbye.”

"Yet it's hard/Living life on this memory-go-round/Always up, always down/Turning 'round and 'round and 'round/And all this could be/Just a dream so it seems/I was never much good at goodbye."

The walls of Burkot Hall 114 begged us to stop until our first floor fan club came to offer their own harmony and humor.

On one particular gift-giving occasion, I gave him a Bible. But before giving it to him, I highlighted Philippians 1.3, “I thank my God every time I remember you.” This was sort of a promise I wanted to make to him. And it’s still true. I thank God to have had such a friend. I thank God even more that I still have him as a friend. I thank God because every memory of him makes me feel 13 all over again.

So, in the last weeks, we’ve played golf. We talked. We laughed a lot. And yeah, we cussed a lot too. It’s what we did when we were 13, so it certainly can work when we’re 34.

No one likes to say “goodbye” to their youth. But, life’s not a dream. Life is real. Life is two nostalgic guys in their mid-thirties with beautiful families, large mortgages, and enough memories in the bank to stay young even without Ponce De Leon’s elixir.

Thanks Franki! (by the way, which one of us is "skud" anyway)

where's the emergency exit? we can't take this anymore!

Last week we went on vacation to Orlando. Mostly we stayed by the pool, but a few times we ventured over to Disneyworld. Among the many trips down the waterslide with Bailey and float-side conversations with Kim, I had another memorable experience.

One night we made our way to Magic Kingdom and got there just in time for the nightly Spectromagic parade. The music soared through the air. "On this magic night, a million stars... da da da da..." What made this a neat experience is that 12 1/2 years earlier in just about the same place, I stood with Kim on our honeymoon having just been married a day or so before. Same place. Same music. Same parade. I remember holding her hand then. But, this time I watched the parade holding our daughter's hand. Bailey had her other hand on her mom's shoulder who had sat down on the curb placing her own hands close to our unborn daughter who I imagine felt the rhythm of the parade inside the womb.

It's amazing how fast 12 years can fly by. It's even more amazing how slowly that parade went by. I wish that more often I would take the time to soak in the richness of life's moments.

Whether ironic is the right way to describe what we did next, it was nonetheless, equally enjoyable. After living in the moment, we went to Tomorrowland and experienced the Carousel of Progress. The robot-like host sang, "There's a great big beautiful tomorrow shinin' at the end of ev'ry day. There's a great big beautiful tomorrow and tomorrow's just a dream away." I must say that everyone in the Newell family shared the same opinion. This was the cheesiest thing at Disney. We laughed. We mocked the characters. We sang the song with more than an ounce of sarcasm in our tone. And we laughed some more.

We missed the fireworks because the Carousel of Progress was creeping from the future back to the present. Nonetheless, we held hands while leaving the park walking through thousands of other families and honeymooners. And at least for an hour or so, I think we were the happiest family at Disneyworld.

Given the choice between living in the moment or visiting Tomorrowland, I'm pretty sure I'll go with living in the moments where a family can hold hands and sing of the magic nights and star-filled skies without being rushed into doing whatever comes next.

i hope i'm still married after posting this

You know how Taco Bell’s sauce packets have funny little sayings on them? Last night here’s the conversation I had with Kim, the mother of my daughter, who is now pregnant with our second offspring, and who is also smarter than I am.

Kim: (reading the taco sauce) “If you throw me across the room, does it mean I’m a flying saucer?”

Kim: (in her own words) But, it’s not even shaped like a flying saucer.

TM: KIM, It’s “sauce.”

Kim: Oh.

She’s also the funniest person I know.

She also sent me this...which is pretty funny too.

Watch.

everyone

please watch this

"remember when the days were long and rolled beneath a deep blue sky..."

Memory is a wonderful gift. Get any group of old friends together and it will not be long before someone and everyone begins sentences like, “Remember when…” or “Do you remember the time we…” or “I remember the last time we..” Memory is something often taken for granted. I came to realize this as I watched my wife’s maternal grandmother slip into a form of dementia at the end of her life. It really is a terrible disease. During that time, I read an article about the pastoral care of persons suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. The point was made that forms of dementia, such as Alzheimer’s disease, are unique from other diseases. Some diseases rob persons of the present in that the present misery lasts only a short time. Other terminal illnesses deprive a person of the present and the future in that they not only feel bad now, but they also ultimately take away the future ending in death. Dementia is unique because it denies one of the present, future, and the past. The ones who suffer cannot remember.

I performed the funeral service for Kim’s grandmother. This was hard for me. I never grieved her death. I never sat next to Kim, held her hand during the service, and cried with her. I only saw her cry. I put Myrtle Boyd’s life into words to help those who were grieving to remember her. We remembered her sense of humor. We called to mind her love for fishing perhaps only because she married a fisherman. We recalled how she loved Kure Beach Pier who served the best cone of ice cream and how the salt air of the seaside would cure any kind of ailment - physical, mental, or spiritual. I believe she was right about that.

I remember growing up going to Atlantic Beach on the coast of North Carolina. We would spend a week at the oceanfront Oceania Motel. I remember eating breakfast outside. I remember the motel had bikes, a playground, shuffleboard, and a fishing pier next door. I remember sleeping in the same room with my mother and father and sister. I remember having fun. The pool was small, but adequate for the families staying there with us. My mother never much liked to swim. She always swam trying to keep head out of the water. It seems my father always loved to play and make us laugh, and was responsible for taking care of my sister and me while in the pool. I remember laughing at him when he jumped from the diving board. I hope our children remember our family beach trips with the same fondness that I recall my own childhood vacations.

In May of 1987, Kim and I went to the Junior-Senior Prom. We had had a couple of dates prior to that, but I think this was the first event we attended together. Kim wore a white dress with a pink bow which she borrowed from a friend. Of course, I wore a rented tuxedo. We went to eat supper at Northgreen Country Club. I think we both ate lobster. I had never eaten lobster tail and was unaware how much it cost, but my parents paid for supper so I do not remember worrying too much about the extravagance. After the prom, perhaps even a few years later, Kim told me how embarrassed she was when the server came to remove her plate and she had crumbs all around her plate. I did not notice.

I remember meeting Kim’s father, “Toejoe,” for the first time that night. I believe he was more nervous than I was. (Having a daughter now, I realize why he was so anxious.) I picked Kim up about 3:30 in the afternoon so we could have our pictures made before supper. This must have been a good thing since Kim thought she was such a messy eater and might have spilled food on her prom dress.

The day after the prom Kim and I went with my best friend Franki to Atlantic Beach. As soon as we reached Morehead City which is directly across the bridge from Atlantic Beach traffic came to an absolute halt. There was a beach music festival the same day and we received word that a boat had over-turned on the only bridge accessing the island. We waited for some time until we could reach the beach. We went to the Fort Macon beach access, fell asleep, woke up, and went home. Kim looked wonderful in her dress the day before, but as a 17 year old male, I remember how wonderful she looked in her bathing suit. She still does.

At least for me, the beach is a way to remember. The beach is therapeutic. It brings back differing memories each time I step onto the sand. I remember this trip and that one. I remember this day and another one. If anyone could read my mind, they would hear a conversation beginning with sentences like, “Remember when…” or “Do you remember the time you…” or “I remember the last time you…” The beach can heal all your ailments, Myrtle used to say. Perhaps, it could even cure dementia, or prevent it.

questioning ecclesiology in the wilderness

I didn’t always like going to church, but when I became a minister I felt like I had to go. Growing up in North Carolina made it easy to be a Christian. Children went to Sunday School every Sunday even if your parents just dropped you off then joined you later for “big” church. You didn’t have to stay in “big” church long. The minister welcomed people, prayed a prayer and everyone sang two hymns. During the second hymn all the children came to the first few rows to hear a special message just for them. I cannot remember any specific lesson taught during these moments. I remember it being a time when bible stories were told. Stories about Jesus that we had just heard in Sunday School were retold with the minister’s explanation tagged on the end. After the children’s time in worship, we were led back to the Sunday School rooms for Children’s Church. Perhaps, this is where the idea of “church” was formed. Church, for children, meant sitting back in the Sunday School rooms waiting for our parents to finish whatever church meant to them. Children’s church consisted of playing “Bible” Football or “Bible” Charades or “Bible” Baseball. It was all knowledge-based. Therefore, church meant knowing something.

I wanted to go to church. More specifically, I wanted to go to Sunday School. Every quarter there was a special assembly held in the fellowship hall to honor attendance in Sunday School. Pins were awarded for perfect attendance. I cannot remember in what increments awards were given, but I certainly remember that I earned the “one-year” pin. However, it was a lie. It was not a lie that I told or my parents, but my Sunday School teacher fudged the books a little in my favor.

One winter Sunday morning, I remember both of my parents coming into my room. After waking me up, they informed me that it had snowed all night and that we might not be able to drive to church safely. Knowing that my sights were set on the attendance award, they asked very gently if it would be okay to stay home. I agreed. The following Sunday the Sunday School teacher asked me if I would have come to Sunday school if it had not snowed. I said yes. She changed the attendance book and some time later, I was awarded a pin for perfect attendance at Sunday school for one year. And so I was taught another lesson about church. Church meant achieving something.

These are not bad memories, but ones that come to the forefront of my mind as I think now about the nature of church. Is church about knowing something? Is church about achieving something? For many, I am afraid it is. Church is about knowing AND agreeing with a statement of faith. Many use wording such as, “We believe in….” or “We confess…” But, isn’t it true that many of these statements of faith could be said, “We know this about God,” or “We know that about the Bible,” and so forth? The implication, then, is that they know something I (you?) do not. I am not interested in that. Furthermore, the Christian life itself is characterized by achieving something (e.g., a better relationship with God, a revelation of life’s purpose, or the satisfaction on Sunday afternoon that I actually went to church and everyone saw me there and I can speak all next week with the piety of the Pharisees).

I wait for an experience, a revelation, a vision of what church means.

Like the Israelites wandering through the wilderness, I am afraid. I am terrified that what I might find along this journey is not what I set out to see. I’m afraid that what I might actually see is a church that is radically different than the way it looks now.

Is the “promised land” just another place to rest in our unfaithfulness until we’re wiped out by the Assyrians, the Babylonians, or whoever comes along with a bigger army than ours?

liberation theology

When I was younger, I thought growing up in Rocky Mount, North Carolina was not as good as say growing up in Atlantic Beach, NC or California. Like every kid, I guess I had some sense that life would be better somewhere else. I did not necessarily want to be away from my family. In fact, the opposite was true. I liked being home. I just thought that home would be better at the beach or in California.

Saturday nights were sacred especially in the summer. They were ritual. Mama would cook baked potatoes and make a tossed salad. She always made me a salad that I never ate. She made salad dressing and stored it in a yellow Tupperware container. The tea was sweet. Daddy would cook steaks on the grill. It was a charcoal grill that my maternal grandfather (“Big Daddy”) bought or had made somewhere. One for us and one for grandma and him. The steak was always good. Mostly we cooked sirloin steak as opposed to strip, filet, or rib eye. Of course, Daddy would always cut off a few pieces to eat right from the grill. It tasted better that way. I guess every family has rituals. Perhaps even the most sporadic families has them as well.

Our backyard was large enough for a kickball/baseball/football field. Actually, it wasn’t that big, but it was for eight-year old professional athletes. Sometimes we would play in the neighbors’ back yard since it was free from any trees, storage buildings, or workshops. They did not have any children and never seemed to mind. Our sports changed with the seasons. In the fall we played football complete with uniform, protective pads, helmets, and the fights that came when we tackled each other too hard. In the winter, we tried to play basketball though besides the weather being cool, our abilities were frozen in some respects. The spring and summer were the best. We played baseball and always ran the risk of breaking a window with an extreme foul ball or long home run. I cannot remember ever breaking a window.

My great granddaddy lived “across the railroad tracks.” This meant he was white, lived in his home in the neighborhood where he had lived for many years, and had new neighbors due to the fact that the old ones had either died or moved away. I loved visiting his house. He had a garden, a work shop, and lawn chairs to sit in outside and talk. Rarely, do I remember going to visit him and talking inside. Although I do remember that the kitchen always smelled like great grandma’s biscuits and country ham. The entire family on my father’s side would cross the tracks every year on the Saturday following Thanksgiving for an oyster roast. We would eat, talk, catch up with cousins, uncles, and aunts. The day would end with two other rituals – shaking the pecan trees and taking the family photograph for that year.

I cannot think of any real reason that I believed growing up somewhere other than Rocky Mount would have been better. Life creates rituals. Rituals, sometimes, keeps life interesting and familiar. Wherever we are we probably create rituals that connect us to home and family. Ritual gives a sense of meaning and purpose and understanding. Ritual makes an imprint on our memory perhaps so that when we’ve grown up and recall our childhood, the rituals are now liberating.

ashes to ashes, dust to dump

I think I have made hauling trash into a ritual. Most often, I take our household trash to the Harnett County Landfill on Saturday mornings. I get up, put on my ratty jeans, a t-shirt, and my work boots. I gather the trash from inside the house, bag any loose rubbish from around the garage, load my truck, and head to town. As a habit, I stop at the T-Mart for a country ham and egg biscuit which I eat in the cab of my truck in the parking lot. Most of the time, I do this silently while watching the blue collar folks. They enter for their breakfast, coffee and morning cigarette before heading off to do their Saturday chores or to punch their six-day a week time clock. I then drive to the outskirts of town where the land has to be cheaper the closer it is to the dump. At the scale house, I inform the county employee of my desire to leave my trash in his possession. He checks for my landfill permit and instructs me where to put my trash. With all landfill authority, yet with a hint of mundane repetition, he says, “In the building” or “Box number one.”

The box is preferable to the building since the latter is normally wet and smells exactly like what it contains. There’s a mixture of Tuesday night’s fish and last Sunday’s chicken bones. It’s a stench, a disgusting odor, that no amount of potpourri can redeem. Nonetheless, I drive from the building leaving behind everything I don’t want anymore, everything I can’t keep, and even some things that I’ve held on to for a while, but need to let go. There’s a relief. Relief comes from knowing that the trash is gone from our house, that we don’t have to deal with it anymore, at least until we create more of it. And the ritual repeats itself the next Saturday.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Like most of us, I reflect on my sin, the dark side of life, and my need to get rid of some of junk that clutters my life with God. Like taking off the trash, forgiveness has its rituals too. It’s the ways we prepare ourselves to worship, ratty jeans and all. It’s the ways we acknowledge our place in the community with a morsel of bread and sip of wine. It’s the ways we let go of the past and live in the present. These rituals, too, lead us to relief. The relief is in God’s grace. Grace comes from knowing that the sin, the junk, the clutter, and the obstacles, no longer confine us to misery, that we don’t have to deal with it anymore, at least until we create more of it. And the ritual repeats itself…

In case of an emergency, please tell my story

I held my grandfather’s wallet the other night. It is black leather and worn smooth from a few years’ use. Curiously, I held it in my hands a moment or two before exploring its contents. I saw his membership card to the National Letter Carriers’ Association as well as the receipts for the annual dues he’d paid. I read a notice raising his salary to just above $5,800 a year. In his own handwriting, he'd filled out the “In case of an emergency” card to say: Mrs. Hazel C. Newell. I saw pictures of her and their three sons. He also carried there his driver’s license and social security card.

I imagined it was the same wallet he’d used when buying his three sons each an Almond Joy as a gift upon his return from World War II. I wondered if that was the same wallet from which he took his tithe to the Clark Street United Methodist Church. I speculated further that this money pouch was never really used as a place to hold his money, but was used to hold pieces of his identity.

I held in my warm hands links to a person I'd never met. He died before I was born, but he was most definitely someone I knew. From my early years as a child, I was told story after story about the character of my grandfather - the veteran, the church leader, the coach. Introducing me to him, folks would say, “I played ball for your grandfather. He was a fine man.” I held in my hands something that had been in his hands the last day he lived. That day he got up, got ready for work, winded his watch and put his wallet in his pocket. He went off to deliver the day’s mail and was killed when another vehicle smashed into his mail truck. It was then, perhaps, that his wallet was taken from his pocket to notify his nearest kin.

On Thanksgiving night, the same wallet that was pulled from my grandfather’s lifeless body was now in my hands telling his stories one more time.

living alone with a stranger is no fun place to be

I continue to think that the most central question we ask or think about is one of identity. Who am I? The question has been asked in other ways. “What do you do?” or “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I might ask it this way, “Who do you want to be when you grow up?” Do you want to be who mom and dad say you should? Do you want to be who your friends say you should? Do you think in terms of “I want to be like this person or that one?” Many of us do. Our identity is wrapped up in what someone else thinks about us or wants/hopes for us. The question of identity is rooted in our decision to please them or have them like us.

The book I keep saying that everyone should read is Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation, by Parker Palmer. He gets at it this way. In all of our lives, we may find that we are “wearing other people’s faces,” rather than revealing who we really are and showing our true selves. We wear the faces given to us by our parents, our teachers, our ministers, our peers. As time goes on, it becomes more and more difficult to wear our own God-given faces, to see the “image of God” in which we were created.

So, the challenge is this, begin a journey of self-discovery. As it has been said elsewhere, life is best understood as a journey rather than a destination. Along the journey you might just find a little more of who you are.

you may say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one

I admire poets. No. That’s not quite accurate. I envy poets. The spring from which their work flows is the imagination. The source of the poetic is imagination. There’s no clear set of rules to be a poet. There’s no boundaries to speak of. There’s only the imagination, a pregnant world of ideas that gives birth through creativity. Poets know this. But, I wonder about those of us who read the Bible.

I think that imagination is the key to understanding such an ancient text as the Bible. While some suggest that proper interpretation requires certain theological borders, I believe the word from God comes in a “still small voice” which makes one free rather than captive. It is a voice of liberation, not oppression. It’s the difference between knowing what the Biblical text meant and imagining what it means. Albert Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world." It is one thing to “know the Bible.” It’s another thing to engage in imagining what it means.

Does this mean that anything goes or that whatever our imagination creates is justified? By no means! It is God’s voice that speaks, not our own. It is the faithful witness of a community that leads us from self-centered pride to self-sacrificing humility. Pride asks the question, “What does this mean to me?” Humility asks, “What can this mean for us?”

Imagination unlocks interpretation. Reading the Bible in the same way a poet fashions a poem opens the possibility that mere words on a page may reveal the Word of God.