I Am Not Finished...Yet

One of the great aspects of my current ministry is the monthly/yearly rhythm of "coming apart before we come apart." That is, each month we are required to unplug from our usual routine so that we can make sure we are still plugged into our relationship with God, with our families, with our District staff and that we have not drifted too far from what we are supposed to be doing in our ministry. It is a day of extended prayer, time in the word, rest and reflection. Once a year we are required to unplug for three days to look at the bigger picture of our life and ministry. It is the one day personal retreat "writ large."

Today is Day Two. Having spent most of yesterday reading through Psalms, walking along the beach in Newport, praying, reading Tom Garasha's book, Vital Signs in which he speaks of those things in our lives that fill and drain us, as well as those leaks we develop, I was once again feeling quite inadequate to the task to which God has currently called me. The task is large. The District is large. The leaders in our EFCA churches are wonderful and, at the same time, quite capable of being thoroughly exasperating. I find myself agreeing with Gore Vidal, "There is no human problem which could not be solved if people would simply do as I advise." And then I remember that they probably have felt the same way about me in the course of our interactions.

Who wants to spend three days being reminded how much further I have to go? Impatience, lack of humility, anger, quick to judge. I've known Jesus for over 30 years. When will I be finished? Then a few minutes ago I read a quote from Eugene Peterson from his book, Reversed Thunder. "No person we meet from the moment we open our eyes in the morning till we shut them in sleep at night is finished." Isn't that part of the good news? We are new creations in Jesus Christ who are capable of being conformed to the image of Jesus Christ. This side of eternity, none of us, including me, is ever finished. But as Paul wrote the church at Philippi, "Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

The Way It's S'posed to Be

Tomorrow I will finish a year-long series of 4-6 hour meetings every other month with a group of 9 pastors from the Southern California area. What brought us together is their desire to improve their theological understanding, specifically as it relates to the Statement of Faith for our denomination. When we gather, we have each written on two of the 12 articles in our SOF. Someone goes first. They read what they've written and then we, as a group, affirm what is positive and ask questions about what is not clear.

My role is that of facilitator. My job in the district is Director of Credentialing. I'm the "expert." But my commitment to the group was to start with a blank sheet of paper and write my own paper as well. It's easier to see what is missing or unclear in someone else's paper than it is to make sure my paper is complete and clear. But that's the point. I'm not the expert. I don't know it all. I'm still figuring out much of what is in Scripture.

I have learned so much from these men. While working on my re-write I've stolen (oopps, used as a resource) their wording on some of the statements or some of the Scripture references that were much clearer than what I had used.

All this to say, this is the way it's s'posed to be. That is, no matter where we are in our walk with Christ, there is more to learn from one another. Paul repeatedly emphasizes, as does Peter, that we learn and grow in relationship with each other. Even the experts have much to learn. God placed us in the family so that we can grow as His children. If only we could all work together in discovering who God is through His word and through our relationship instead of simply setting up classes where we take notes, take tests and assume we've learned. I praise God for these men who continue to challenge me through their questions, their observations and their challenge to go further up and further in to my relationship with Christ.

And Jean Makes 12

I knew it would happen. You know how it is when you get up in front of a group and begin to thank all those who made the event possible. Then you forget someone. And they let you know you forgot them And they mention it so you know they know you forgot them. Well, I forgot to list Jean as one of my readers. So I already have a dozen readers. Who knew I would attract such attention by simply writing what comes out of my mind?

But before I get too excited by this popularity, I need to remember that Jesus had 12. And look what happened to him. Maybe I should have stopped at 5 or 6.

...and Counting

O.K., so we're up to 11 readers of this blog. Sharon, Paul (also known as anonymous), (Although I read my own blog, this Paul is not me.) Dan, Bernie, Christopher, Creig, Kristi, Lana (#8 here), Aaron (Mr. Silent 9), Aileen, Bonnie (the prime number). At this rate, my blog may be read by a dozen people by year's end! I'm going to go lie down until the swoon passes.

Putting the Shotgun Away

In a conversation with an early candidate for the position of pastor at SMCC I was maybe 10-15 minutes into the phone call when he said, "Why do I picture you sitting there cleaning your shotgun while we talk?" Without skipping a bit (since I had used this line with my then future son-in-law) I replied, "If you hurt them, you die."

Last Saturday night Sharon and I had the privilege and joy of sharing a meal with the "pastor-elect" of SMCC. I shared that story with Robert as we were parting. On the way home I told Sharon I can put the shotgun away. This morning I read Robert's blog in which he assured me that SMCC will be safe with he and his family. Let me state publicly (to the 9 of you who read this blog) that we know that God has graciously and providentially brought Robert and his family to SMCC for this new season.

Two years ago as we left Margarita, by faith, I gave each person who attends SMCC a card that read, "He's not Paul and that's a good thing." The Body was told to pull out that card when necessary during the interim pastor's season with them and during the new pastor's first year. The more I know Robert, the more I'm convinced I got it right two years ago before I knew that "he" would be Robert. Chances are good they won't even need the card during the coming year. He's not Paul. And that's a good thing.

Where is Our Treasure?

I had a brief conversation recently with a young man who has suddenly found himself unemployed. I was so busy empathizing with the feelings that swirl at such a time that I was caught flat-footed when he mentioned, almost in passing, that he is having a mini-crisis, if not a full-blown crisis, of faith because, after giving of himself to his vocation for more than 16 years, he lives in a "poor neighborhood" and he has "no retirement". He is considering other vocations, among them those that rank high in income and retirement benefits.

What I wish I would have asked, what I wish I had thought of at the time, is the simple question, "Where would you find that in the Bible?" Where stands it written that everyone who follows Jesus and works their job with integrity will end up in at least a middle-class neighborhood, if not an upper middle-class neighborhood? Where stands it written that a good retirement package awaits those who are faithful to Jesus? Where stands it written that we're supposed to "slow down" in mid-life and live off our investments? How do we explain the millions of Christians throughout the world who walk in faith and trust Jesus and go to work every day and give of themselves to their jobs, families and churches and go home to barrios and squalid high rises and simple grass huts? How do we explain the millions of Christians throughout the world who go to bed hungry and give what food they have to their children?

I had to wonder if he has been reading books that promise a "better you."? Did he miss the part at the end of Hebrews 11 where Christians, of whom the world is not worthy, were tortured, mocked, flogged, chained, imprisoned, stoned, sawed in two, killed with the sword, wore skins of sheep and goats, were destitute, afflicted, mistreated, wandered about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth?

In his defense, he is still trying to figure out what to do next and he does have children to feed and a wife to support. But therein lies the power of his statements. In his pain he speaks what he believes. In his distress he speaks without screening his words. In his worry about providing for his family, he removes the mask. And it is in recognition of that pain, distress and worry that I find myself moving from dismay to compassion for this brother who has a lot to sort through and figure out (about himself and about God) during this season of transition.

Release

Last Sunday, Santa Margarita Community Church overwhelmingly voted to call Robert Campbell as their new pastor. I will always love and care for the people whose lives are so immutably intertwined with mine, but with the beginning of this new season in their history, I can also release them to Robert's love and care under the Great Shepherd who loves and cares for them far more than I or Robert ever could.

Vacation Reading

While Sharon took her class at Regent this summer, I got 3 (mostly uninterrupted) hours of reading each afternoon.

The first book was "The Year of Living Biblically: one man's humble quest to follow the Bible as literally as possible" by A.J. Jacobs. A fun read and a reminder that we all read Scripture with presuppositions and we all explain away aspects of what is there. It may be one of the strongest arguments for having an intentional hermeneutic when you come to the Scriptures.

The second was "Dialogue, Catalogue and Monologue: personal, impersonal and depersonalizing ways to use words" by Craig M. Gay. More technical than I expected, but a vivid picture of how we have all been impacted by our culture's use and abuse of words. Rather than bringing us together, they can divide us or are simply used to sell us something.

I am halfway through "Bowling Alone: the collapse and revival of American community" by Robert D. Putnum. I have gotten through the "What" section, am beginning the "Why" section and then I'll finish with his "So What?" and "What is to be done?" sections. It is based on much research and though it is not written from a "Biblical" position or, as far as I know, by a Christian, the author points us to the wisdom behind God's calling us into His family and emphasizing the necessity of living our lives in community.

My Lover, My Best Friend

Well, we're home. This morning Sharon went to work, facing a couple large tasks. I arrived, opened Outlook and watched the inbox number reach 240 and the Junk E-mail go to 18. Not bad for two weeks. We had a wonderful vacation and we discovered, once again, that we not only love each other after 34 years, we also like each other and love to spend time together. We even had things to talk about when we got home after all those hours in the car.

If you're reading this and are not yet married, look for a person of the opposite sex who is a good friend. If you're already married, work on the friendship. It's interesting to me that when Paul writes Titus about what older women should teach younger women, it is to "love their husbands." But Paul doesn't use the word "eros" which has to do with sexual attraction or "agape" which has to do with unconditionally loving or "storge" which refers to natural affection (like what most people feel toward children and pets). He uses "phileo" which refers to side by side, working together camaraderie and friendship. Paul's intentional use of this word tells me he knew that amid everything else, couples need to be friends. I thank God often that I married my best friend.

Like George Foreman?

At our B & B in Vancouver I've made the mistake twice now of asking the couples at the table what they do for a living. Not that that is a bad question. But socially it requires them to reciprocate. And then I'm stuck. What is it I do and how do I describe it to those who have no church background (which it was quickly clear these couples did not)? In the past it was awkward when I said pastor, because sometimes they weren't sure what a pastor was or did and other times because it carried negative connotations for them. Now I work for a District in a Denomination. How do you describe that in English, let alone to someone for whom English is not their first language. I oversee the credentialing of our pastors. What does that mean to someone who is unchurched? Too late I realized I should have stayed with questions related to home countries, vacation plans and the weather.

With the first couple I fumbled through descriptions of what I did using analogies. The second time I simply said, "Pastor" thinking that would be easier to explain. Except that the second couple was from Spain and looked blankly at me. I didn't want to say, "Priest" to try to further explain as this would have confused further since I was there on holiday with my wife. I tried, "El pastor" which generated a flicker of recognition, followed by the question, "Like George Foreman?"

I have been in pastoral ministry for 34 years. In all those years as I have been outed on airplanes or around a breakfast table or in other settings I have never once been asked if I was a pastor like George Foreman. But think about it. They couldn't have asked, "Like Eugene Peterson?" "Like John Piper?" "Like Paul Schliep?" Evidently the only pastor they know about is the former heavyweight champion of the world who currently pastors "The Church of the Lord Jesus Christ" in Houston, Texas. Funny, when I think of George Foreman I think of his boxing career and his grills. For this couple from Spain, they thought of his role as pastor. In a way, I'm glad that his role as pastor was as well known to them as his career as a boxer. What do people think of when they think of me?

Chopsticks Update

I know that both of you who read this blog are wondering if we ate at the Ethiopian restaurant. Due to scheduling issues, we were never in the Commercial Drive area again when it was time to eat dinner. So, unfortunately, we never had the opportunity. We'll have to scour OC for an Ethiopian restaurant. A couple who are staying at the B & B ate at the Nepalese restaurant last night and loved it.

I Guess He Didn't Get It

Last evening Sharon and I stayed at Regent for an evening lecture entitled, "Downloading our Spirituality: Why Going to Church Doesn’t Seem Necessary in this Virtual Age." It was a fascinating lecture I would recommend you download (ironic, isn't it?), but one of her main ideas is that we need community. We need people with skin on. We need to relate face-to-face. It is the way we were created in God's image. The Trinity models it. We reflect it. And we need to move away from looking at Scripture as simply the place to get answers and view it, as did the reformers, as the place to encounter the living God.

Following the 50 minute presentation, questions were taken from the audience. A twenty-something went to one microphone, and while the presenter was answering a question from the person at the other microphone, he stood there typing notes on her answer. When she finished answering the question and turned to him for his question, he was unaware of her because he was still typing the answer to the other questioner. She waited patiently for him to look up. When he did, he confessed he was busy typing her answer. He asked his question (a good one, by the way) and as she began to answer, he dropped his eyes to his laptop and proceeded to type her answer instead of remaining engaged with her as a person who was answering his question.

Had I been the presenter I think I would have stopped with my answer and patiently (I'd like to think) explained to him that I would be happy to buy him the MP3 of the lecture if he would simply stop taking notes and listen to the answer in real time from a real person. But instead she soldiered on and gave an excellent answer to his question. He thanked her and sat down.

Maybe its because of my age, and my own inability to multi-task very well, but I think the questioner vividly proved the presenter's point. As a culture we have stopped connecting with real people and simply want to get the top layer of information. As evangelicals we have done the same thing in our churches. We rate the church on the quality of the sermon, not the level at which I was able to encounter God. We don't go to participate, we go to listen (and maybe to watch). We have become passive in our worship instead of active as God intended. We have traded content for relationship.

A Certain Irony

(Before you read further I need to stress that the friend referred to in this blog is, indeed, a friend. If he ever reads my blog, he may wonder, but I really do consider him a friend. Really. I just found the following incident ironic.)

A couple of weeks ago I received one of those forwarded e-mails from a friend of mine. It was entitled, "Too Busy for a Friend." It told a story, real or imagined, of a teacher who assigned each student the task of writing down the names of the other students on a piece of paper and then writing the nicest thing they could say about that student. The teacher collected the papers and the following day passed back to each student what their classmates had written about them. The students were surprised and pleased with what their classmates had written. As the story unfolds one of the students is killed in Viet Nam and at the funeral the deceased's parents pull the teacher aside to tell her that the student had carried that paper in his wallet all those years. One by one the classmates tell her that they, too, have carried that paper with them and have read it time and again.

The e-mail closes with these words, "So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late. And one way to accomplish this is: forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful. If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care. If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships? The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about."

Now here is the irony for me. I would have felt more appreciated if he had actually taken a moment to write something nice about me to me. He thought of me, yes, but what did he think about me? The closing of the e-mail intimates that he thinks I am "special and important", but why? Maybe I have a different Love Language, but I didn't feel particularly special or important since I'm technologically savvy enough to know he may have forwarded this to everyone on his e-mail list in less than a second. (Fortunately he BCC'd me so I didn't have a list to scroll through before I got to the forwarded e-mail. The downside is I also don't know if he sent it only to me because I am so "special and important" or if he included everyone in his address book.) I wish he'd taken a minute to actually replicate the real or imagined scenario and written "the nicest thing he could say" about me. Maybe he was "too busy".

Out of Town When the Big One Hits

Sharon checked her e-mail in Vancouver, B.C. today. A friend from the Central Coast of California had written to describe her mom's experience of today's earthquake in Southern California. Both because we are in British Columbia and because we are on vacation, we had no idea. We called Sharon's mom, and she's fine, but we both mused on what it would be like to be in British Columbia when California falls into the ocean.

As a sidenote, our son, who is staying with Sharon's mom while we're gone, called her from work today to make sure she was o.k. It's great when you see your kids grow up to be adults. Atta boy, Jon.

Everyone Wants to be Historic

Historic: Significant in history, important in or affecting the course of history
Historical: Formerly existing or happening, existing, happening, or relating to the past

Driving through California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Montana, Washington, British Columbia and Oregon, it has become clear that those who designate towns and sections of towns do not understand the difference between something being historical (That is, it happened or existed in the past) and historic (That is, it had a significant impact on history). What Sharon and I now say to each other as we pass yet another "Historic" district, town, province, etc, is "Historic, which being interpreted means, old."

In their defense, what these local or state officials probably meant is that this town has actually survived the usual natural disasters and real estate speculation, so this alone makes it significant. But the Historic designation seems more to be about getting people to not drive past your town or district at 75 MPH. Instead they want you to stop and spend money on things you can find at home for less. (Is my cynicism showing?)

But there may be another reason why so many people want their town or area designated as Historic. We all have an overwhelming desire to matter. We don't want our town to be forgotten. We don't want our history to be forgotten. We don't want our people to be forgotten. We want those who pass through to realize that at some level every town, and the people who live there, are historic. Certainly from a theological perspective, that is the case. Nothing and no one is insignificant to God. Even a cursory reading of the Bible shows that everything and everyone matters. Maybe I should start wearing a tag that welcomes people to "Visit Historic Paul Schliep."

Chopsticks

Our B & B in Vancouver, the Light Heart Inn (http://www.lightheartinn.ca/) is within a few blocks of Commercial Drive (http://www.thedrive.ca/), a must for any visitor to Vancouver. There are French Moroccan, Italian, Greek, Ethiopian, Mexican, Thai, Jamaican, Nepalese, Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian and other assorted restaurants. Wanting to eat ethnic while we're here, we went to the Szechuan Chongqing Seafood restaurant (http://www.szechuanchongqing.com/). We were seated at a table where the live lobsters and crabs could watch us from the comfort of their tank while we ate their friends. Rather than put them through that, we ordered the spring rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and beef broccoli and rice.

The food arrived. That's when I noticed the chop sticks where my silverware should be. Now I was in a quandry. Maybe it was because I was eating in an Asian restaurant, but suddenly saving face was a big issue. I couldn't be in the bastion of ethnic restaurants and ask for a fork. They'd know I wasn't a local. (As if my American accent hadn't already given it away.) So I picked up the chop sticks and proceeded to eat heartily. I even cleaned my plate, save for a few stray grains of rice. It was hard work and I ate much more slowly than I normally do. But I did it.

It makes me wonder. What else could I do if I simply decided to try? What skills have I never developed, simply because it would be hard and, initially, potentially embarassing? What foods have I failed to enjoy because I never tried them? More than I would care to admit, I'm sure. So during this week, we're going to try at least the Nepalese restaurant (since Kelli was there some years ago) and the Ethiopian restaurant (since our friends the McClary's spent time there and love the food). And when I get back to California, who knows? Skydiving? Underwater basketweaving?

Do Your Children a Favor

My parents are reaching their 80’s and considering how to slow down gracefully. Part of that decision is whether to remodel the house they’ve lived in since they were married 60 years ago or to move into a smaller place that automatically requires less upkeep. They are finding it difficult to decide. One evening Sharon and I sat with them and talked through options. I had to be quite directive (wearing my interim pastor hat which allows me to cut to the chase) with them regarding all the stuff in their garage and in their basement. I told them that whether they stay where they are or move somewhere else, they have to tackle the garage and the basement. For the sake of their three children, they need to downsize their stuff by giving it away or throwing it away. They need to make decisions about their stuff while they still have decisions to make. The reality is that if they wait until they are unable to go through their own stuff (sometime in the next 20 years), my siblings and I will order a dumpster and simply fill it to the brim with their things.

For those of you who have been acquiring stuff over the years, don’t wait until your kids are sitting in the living room with you appealing to you to get started. Start offloading now. There is a great freedom in lightening your load. And your children will thank you.

The Gift of Place

It is a point of theology with me, taken from 1 Corinthians 12, that we are given not only a spiritual gift, but a place to use it and a Holy Spirit-produced result. From time to time I am reminded how good that is. When I attended church with my parents on Sunday night I realized how grateful I am that I have been given the privilege of serving Jesus in California among Evangelical Free Church of America believers for the past 18 years. It’s not that I couldn’t minister in Coeur d’Alene, but like a missionary new to the field, I’d have to study the culture and adapt to it.

Attending the church was a vivid reminder that expressions of public worship are cultural. The forms this church uses I’m sure help the worshippers to connect with the Father. But I kept noticing the pastor in coat and tie and the use of the hymnbook and the singing of “Count Your Blessings” followed by a time of sharing “how God has blessed you.” The pastor’s sermon was much like our experience in Pennsylvania at the reformed Presbyterian church in which a member of the Sunday School class dodged the plain reading of the text “He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world,” (1 John 2:2) by saying that “obviously” John didn’t mean the whole world, but only those who are chosen by God to be saved. His comments during the sermon on Moses were filled with dispensational observations that left the text gutted (in my opinion) of any application of actual story and got entangled in issues of how one was saved under the old covenant and how one is saved under the new covenant and the security found in the new covenant and the lack thereof under the old covenant. (As a side bar, I wish the pastor had emphasized the fact that despite the discipline exercised on Moses, not allowing him into the land, it is clear his salvation was absolutely secure since Moses shows up at the transfiguration.)

All this to say, I have become enculturated to Central and Southern California and I love it and I’m so thankful to God for the privilege of being there. And I am grateful that there are faithful people who know and are part of the culture in Northern Idaho so that Christ is preached and lived among all people.

Remembering Wendell

At Sunday night church in Coeur d'Alene, I saw the widow of Wendell Little. Wendell was a contractor who went to the church I attended after I came to Christ. He hired me to tote and fetch for him. Looking back I think he hired me more so that he could influence me for Christ than for the actual work I could do for him. (I wasn’t very good at anything beyond carrying and lifting and suggesting it might be time for a coffee break.) Looking back I realize that Wendell kept shifting conversations to living out my new faith. Wendell wasn’t a systematic theologian, he was a practical theologian. He had a love for Jesus and a heart for a teenager who had just met Jesus. He never preached at me. He didn’t take me through “10 Basic Steps to Maturity” or “Design for Discipleship.” Wendell couldn’t always give me chapter and verse, but looking back I realize he gave me a model of what it meant to be a follower of Jesus. He worked me hard and sat with me over coffee and he pointed me to Jesus. Always to Jesus.

Going Home Again

As we drove through Coeur d’Alene, it was amazing how people’s names came back to me. Names I hadn’t thought of in the 38 years since I moved away. It was a graphic reminder of how much we are marked by our early years, whether we realize it or not. These were people who played a role, however large or small, in imprinting me for good and ill.

In the evangelical world we often assume, without scriptural warrant I might add, that having come to Christ we simply become new creatures and our past has no continued impact on how we view life or the choices we make. It is true that Paul exhorts us to “forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead” (Philippians 3:13) and he states clearly that “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) But the fact that he has to intentionally “forget what lies behind” assumes that “what lies behind” is what is most naturally what he thinks about. The reality is that we are more marked by where we’ve been than we are willing to admit. This is why we need to continually renew our minds and allow God to change us from the inside out because for years we’ve been changed from the outside in. Unless we are intentionally allowing God to disciple us in all the areas of our life, where we've been will be were we are.

The Black Swan

Pocatello, Idaho, is not really on the way to much of anywhere, but if you ever get to Pocatello, be sure you stay at the Black Swan Inn. There are 12 “themed” rooms to choose from. We stayed in the Wild West room. This is the first hotel I’ve stayed in where I just kept walking around the room, chuckling. Murals of western scenes, a coyotes sitting on the faux fireplace, the sunken tub where the water goes into the tub by first running into a wooden trough, the shower head that is a watering can, the canopied bed with the red brocade bedspread, the bathroom with the crescent moon on the door. After the initial joy, I found myself continuing to chuckle throughout our stay. I don’t think we’ll paint murals on the wall at home or buy a plaster coyote (which Sharon actually threw a towel over because she thought his eyes were following her around the room), but it was great fun to stay at a poor man’s Madonna Inn.

We're Not in California Anymore

Montana is definitely not California. For instance, in Montana they have cattle guards at the beginning of the highway ramps to keep cows from wandering onto the highway. In Clinton, Montana, they have a testicle festival (I promise I will not reference the 42rd president). The billboards (yes, billboards) announcing this annual event show a cartoon cow standing upright with his front legs crossed in front of himself looking very panicked. In Montana they have casinos in gas stations, so you can fill up your car and lose your life savings all in one stop.

Utah has its own cultural differences. In Cedar City, “Fiddler on the Roof” is part of their Shakespeare Festival. In Saint George, Utah, the Sunrise Breakfast at the Days Inn is a choice of donut, bagel, or toast and two kinds of corn flakes (frosted or unfrosted) and the worst coffee in lower 48 states. On this trip I’ve realized again that California culture is the norm by which all other cultures are measured. (See my June 30, 2008 blog on “…centric”.)

ASR

Sharon has coined a term for me. I’m ASR. This is not to be confused with AR (anal retentive). This is anal semi-retentive. I don’t have to ALWAYS have things my way or be in control, but I do prefer things to be done the way I want them done. I don’t fixate on having forgotten to take along a tall kitchen garbage bag to put my dirty clothes in so that my dirty clothes don’t mix with those I haven’t worn yet. I think about it several times a day, but I don’t fixate on it and I simply ask my mom for one when we get to Coeur d’Alene (a full two days after leaving Huntington Beach). I do sleep better now, knowing that my dirty clothes are not mixing with my clean clothes, but that is decidedly different than if I were AR and HAD to have my clothes segregated. I don’t have control issues, unless I’m not in control.

GPS

Unlike our trip in 2003, this time we have a GPS which allows us to find where we’re going as well as nearby restaurants, gas stations, theaters, etc. On our second day we discovered the limitation of the GPS. No big picture. We were getting low on fuel and getting hungry. We asked the GPS to find us the nearest gas station and we followed the directions. The problem was, as it turned out, that the nearest gas station was 5 miles east of the highway in Logandale, Nevada. Had we had a map along, we would have noticed that just 6 miles north was a smallish town where we could have stopped for gas and for dinner. In fact, we did have dinner there.

There were other times we wondered where we were in the journey. The GPS would tell us how long until we arrived at our destination, but it didn’t tell us what was just beyond the 3.5 inch map on the screen. We had no sense of the bigger picture. It created a type of tunnel vision.

In the same way, we need other believers who help us see the bigger picture. How easily we get focused on the details, missing the fact that if we would simply invite another Christian into our life, they might be able to point out that if we simply continue the direction we’re going we’ll actually save time or energy. Or they may know that taking the trip 5 miles east will actually save us 20¢ a gallon (which it did). While we have very clear instructions in Scripture, it’s helpful to have those who have walked before us to help us see the larger context of the truth.

Canyon View

After leaving the restaurant in Mesquite, Nevada I noticed a sign for an area called Canyon View. I laughed about how street and housing developments get named for things that are nowhere to be seen. Falcon Rim has no falcons and it not on the rim of anything. Ocean Breeze Estates is so far inland that you're lucky if you called it Oscillating Fan Estates. So as we were joking about the fact that Canyon View overlooked a rather large arroyo, but nothing more, we began our drive through the Virgin River Canyon. It is spectacular. The 45 degree angles of the striations. The shifting colors in the fading light of day. The winding river cutting its way through stone. It was the highlight of what had seemed, visually, a pretty boring day as we drove from Southern California through Las Vegas into Utah.

I have to hand it to those people in Canyon View. They got it right.

On the Road Again

Back in 2003, Sharon and I took an 11,000 mile, 33 state road trip. It was amazing. On that trip I journaled about things I saw and, in some cases, the spiritual parallels. (These musings became a book that is in its 4th printing. One batch of 100 at Kinkos that were actually bound and looked like a book and 3 copies on a Xerox machine on 81/2 x 11 paper.) Well, today Sharon and I hit the road again, but with a more moderate itinerary. We'll be in 8 states and British Columbia.

Toward the end of today we were using the GPS to find someplace to eat. We located Pizza Bella, an Italian restaurant in Mesquite, Nevada. The food was good and we were glad we randomly found this great little, non-franchised restaurant. As we got out of the air-conditioned car into the high 90's, low 100's Nevada heat, we both noticed the front door of the restaurant. There on the metal pull bar of the door, permanently affixed with a zip strip, was a towel. It took us both a moment to understand. This was a cultural thing. Rather than risking a lawsuit over third-degree burns on the customer's palm, these restaurateurs have anticipated what the heat does to metal door handles and the dire consequence to the very people they want to reach. Rather than sitting around complaining about the heat, they have taken steps to do what they can to minimize the problem. They certainly weren't going to be able to do anything about the heat and they probably were not going to move their restaurant to a colder clime. After all, if they moved the restaurant to Nome, what are the people in Mesquite going to do for fine Italian dining. So while they couldn't do everything, they did what they could.

How many churches today make excuses for why people won't come. The facilities, the staff, the music. I read through the book of Numbers this morning and was struck again with the incessant whining of the Israelites. Things were never good enough. In fact, slavery in Egypt looked better to them than their current circumstance. How easily we look back at the good old days and complain about today instead of doing what we can today to make each person's experience at church as good as it can be. Maybe we all need to zip strip a few more towels to our door handles and invite people in. They may find what they're looking for.

Reports From my Children

Nothing could make me happier than getting reports that my children continue diligently in the way of Truth! 3 John 1:4 (The Message)

Early in my ministry I didn't understand, on an experiential level, the truth of John's words in his third letter. Now that I've been involved in vocational ministry for more than 30 years, it has taken on a deeper meaning.

Over the past few weeks I have received e-mails from, or spoken to, young adults who were children in our church at Santa Margarita. At a recent wedding on the Central Coast I was also able to re-connect with people who were (and continue to be) adults in the church at Santa Margarita. In those conversations, I was delighted to hear (without my prompting or inquiring) that they were continuing to follow Jesus. When a pastor preaches and teaches week in and week out, he sometimes wonders if what he is teaching, and the example he is attempting to be, makes any difference at all. Turns out, through the power of the Holy Spirit to transform lives, it does. Most Christians, whether paid clergy or unpaid volunteer, never get to hear how God has used them to help another Christian "continue diligently in way of the Truth." But when we do, it's a great, gracious, encouraging gift.

...centric

When I was in St. Louis, MO last week, I was vividly reminded how centric I am. I was driving on I-44 when I came to the junction with I-270. The signs said that my options were Chicago or Memphis. Chicago or Memphis! Neither of those cities are in Missouri (I know because I checked.). Living in California the last 33 years, I've acclimated to the fact that unless you are within 10 miles of the Oregon, Nevada or Arizona border you are not going to see listings for cities outside of California. After all, why would you be leaving California anyway? Plus, we have so many cities to choose from within the state, why would we show you where else the highway goes?

How easily we all narrow our world so that we feel we can better understand and function within it. Yet how wide is our world. I love to think of myself as cosmopolitan rather than provincial, but the reality is that I am, as are you, far more provincial than I care to believe. I know "my people" and "my place" and I like it that way. And I expect others to think and act like me and my people. But if we all did that, think of how much of the glorious tapestry of God's diverse creation would be lost.

I need these periodic reminders that not all roads lead to California. And not all ways of living the Christian life or doing ministry lead to white, Germanic, Evangelical Free middle-aged men.

Sunrise, Sunset

I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember the setting. I was watching "Fiddler on the Roof" for the umpteenth time in our living room in Santa Margarita. For years I had identified with the daughters and wondered why Teyve couldn't see how much they were in love and how he couldn't really control change anyway, so why not give his blessing? Now as I sat watching I thought "How can his girls tear out his heart like that? Don't they understand how much he loves them and wants the best for them?"

I knew I had crossed the Rubicon. There was no going back. I was a parent.

What I didn't know at the time was that my own children would choose, and be chosen by, wonderful adults who love Jesus and love my kids. I didn't know that I would grow to love and appreciate the people my children would marry. I certainly hoped that would be the case, (and I certainly planted those seeds early and often) but I know how uncertain life is and how wonderful and challenging free will is.

Last Friday my son proposed to his girlfriend and we couldn't be happier with his choice. She is everything he needs and he treasures her (and shows it). Turns out your kids don't have to rip your heart out. Sometimes they just break it gently by growing up.

Just Because You Can...

Next weekend, Sharon and I will join a group of friends from Santa Margarita in Solvang to enjoy a PCPA production. These are friends of as many as 16 years and as few as 5 years. We've prayed together, laughed together, questioned together. They are, primarily, the people in our Home Group who meet each week to encourage each other in our journey with Christ.

When these occasions arise that allow us to spend some time our friends from the Central Coast, I begin to feel guilty that I haven't stayed in touch as much as I thought I would when we left. (That is, until I remember that they, too, haven't done much in the way of initiation of contact). I could call or e-mail regularly, but I don't. Sometimes I fear it is "out of sight, out of mind", but that just isn't the case.

What I think is happening (on both sides of the relationship) is a recognition that our primary investment of time in relationship is (and should be) with those who share physical proximity. That is, we need people "with skin on" who can help us through the seasons of life. A phone call is great for reporting information such as "How are the kids?", "Isn't it great that the Celtics lead the series 3 games to 1?", "How is the pastoral search going?" What e-mails and phone calls are not so good at is "What were you thinking?", and "Your words say one thing, your face says another", all the while placing an arm on your shoulder.

Earlier generations wrote occasional letters when someone moved away. But the expectations of how often those letters would arrive were much less than our expectations with today's instant communication. Our current expectations fail to recognize that God created us for relationships in proximity. It doesn't mean I don't love my friends from the Central Coast or that they don't love me. It doesn't mean we won't thoroughly enjoy one another's company next weekend and pick up where we left off, we will. (To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca", "We'll always have the Central Coast.") What it does mean is that the idea that we will maintain the same level of intimacy over the miles is a mistaken idea. We so appreciate the fact that Paul wrote letters to friends he knew (thus giving us much of the New Testament), but repeatedly he speaks of his desire to be with them. He understood the power and blessing of relationship in proximity.

Hearing from my Fans

How great is this. I have heard from all three people who read my blog. The friend I wrote about in my last post called the night I published it to ask if he had really offended me and didn't I understand he was kidding. I guess my tongue wasn't clearly enough placed in my cheek when I wrote the post. I thought the copyright logo on Kleenex would give it away.

Then another friend wrote me to tell me the guy I referred to probably wouldn't go to a movie with me unless it was Rambo. I laughed out loud (LOL) because I can't imagine the guy whose chain I was yanking would be caught dead (no movie allusion intended) in a Rambo movie. She encouraged me to keep writing, which I promise I will. Especially if I can elicit responses so quickly by being facetious.

My third reader, a friend who also happens to be my wife, just laughed about my being able to punk my I-will-never-go-to-a-movie-with-you friend.

So, to all three of you, thanks for making my day. I'll keep writing and I'll try to insert a winking emoticon when I'm not being serious.

Oh, well...

A friend of mine who reads this blog (there are two of them that I know of, plus my wife who is also my friend, so I guess that makes three) called me the other day after reading my last blog and told me he is never inviting me to a movie. He doesn't go to movies with guys who need Kleenex©. The irony, of course, is that he is one of the people I referred to as "someone on the other end to grab hold of". I guess I was wrong. He just dropped me. Just like that. Because I cry, sometimes. Oh, well...

Tears

(Warning: There are plot spoilers for three films in this blog. If you haven't seen, and don't want to know about some details of, "Young at Heart", "Cranford" or "Lars and the Real Girl", then skip this blog.)

“Tears. You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you’ve never seen before. A pair of somebody’s old shoes can do it. Almost any movie made before the great sadness that came over the world after the Second World War, a horse cantering across a meadow, the high school basketball team running out onto the gym floor at the start of a game. You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where you should go next.” — Frederick Buechner

Recently Sharon and I found ourselves crying, almost uncontrollably, at movies that are certainly poignant, but in most other seasons would not have touched us the way they did. The first was an independent film entitled, "Young at Heart". (BTW, friends in SLO, we have finally found the "Palm" in Orange County. It doesn't have the same ethos, but it shows the same films.) "Young at Heart" is about a group of seniors who sing together. They started with Broadway tunes and have shifted to rock and roll in their more than 20 years together as a group. The film lets you into their personal lives where you see that while they have nothing much to offer each other, by our culture's standards, they forge a wonderful friendship and community. In the course of the documentary, several of them die, leaving us weeping for the loss of the group.

The second was a five hour Masterpiece Theater entitled "Cranford," based on several books by Elizabeth Gaskell. The small village of Cranford is changing because of the cultural and transportational changes of the late 1800's. The story is inhabited by the usual assortment of colorful characters that reside in every town, but especially in small towns. They all have a role in the community and they all make sacrifices to maintain the community despite the cost to themselves. When several of the key characters die, we again sobbed openly.

The third was a movie entitled, "Lars and the Real Girl" (which we rented but will purchase before the week is out). Lars is a person who carries such deep hurt that he cannot cope with life as it is and therefore resorts to life with a life-size, anatomically correct female doll (I know the premise sounds strange, but in all the places it could have gone wrong, it didn't.) The power in the story is the way in which the family, and the larger community, lives with Lars in an understanding (rather than condescending) way and are able, by their love, to bring healing to a wounded soul. When the doll "dies" near the end of the film we handed each other the kleenex box. (That sounds so unbelievable, but call me after you've seen it.)

Being familiar with Buechner's quote, Sharon and I asked each other, "Where are the tears coming from?" For those of you who know us, the answer is not far from the surface. We value community and we value people. We know the great joy and utter frustration of living with people who are so dear to us because of our shared life over so many years. During the past two years (almost) we have both been putting our heads down and powering through the pain of our transition away from Santa Margarita, both the place and the people. We are, it seems, finally able to allow ourselves to feel the enormity of the loss. This freedom to feel the depth of our loss comes, we believe, in great part from the people and community we are establishing here in Orange County. In order to more completely let go of our past (without letting go of our people), we had to have someone on the other end to grab hold of. That takes time. It isn't that people here were not ready to catch us. It just means that being enfolded into a new community is not an easy process and will not be rushed.

My guess is that we are still not through transitioning. But we are further along and we have our friends, old and new, to thank for walking through this season with us.

Loving This Season of Parenting

As I stood in the kitchen this past weekend talking to my son and my son-in-law, I had one of those surreal moments. "I'm talking to two friends", I thought to myself, "who happen to also be related to me." As we were hoping to have children and then had them and then were raising them, Sharon and I would talk about our goal for them. Those goals never included the type of degree, if any, they would receive from college or the career they would choose. It was always about them loving God and loving others, including Sharon and I. We wanted to always be parents, never buddies, but we did want to have our children be the type of people with whom we could be friends. By God's grace, and with some intentional relationship building, we seem to have arrived there. We will always have the role as parent, and that is as it should be. But we have the added layer of having grown children with whom we like to hang out and, as an added bonus, who like to hang out with us. We aren't pals or peers, but we are friends. And that's a good thing.

Everything Old is New Again

The church where Sharon and I attend has recently had to make the difficult decision to cut back on the hours for some of the paid ministry staff. It is hard for those who have most benefited from the ministry of these staff people to not feel as though they are being discounted as a significant part of the Body of Christ.

What these people are about to learn, if they are willing, is that disciple-making is not really the work of paid staff. It is the work of the Body of Christ. Our 21st century, North American idea that we need to hire experts to do the work of ministry for us is a quite recent and, from a global perspective, quite small geographic and demographic phenomenon. In other words, for most believers in most places at most times in history, and today, the biblical model still holds. The leadership of churches, paid and unpaid, are there to equip the saints to do the work of ministry until we all come to maturity. (Ephesians 4)

Certainly the apostle Paul, himself, said that a laborer is worthy of his hire and that he and other leaders in the early church could and should be remunerated for their work. (1 Corinthians 9) But he also freely gave up that right and he encouraged others to do so and he was clear that the most impacting, long-term ministry would be done by what we have come to call the "lay" people in a church. When the early church leaders established churches, they didn't hire professionals. They discipled people who in turn could disciple others. When we get too far from this concept we run into problems.

Let me state my understanding of biblical teaching. Paid staff (leadership) is there to help equip the Body to do what it should be doing. Women's ministry leaders are there, primarily, to train women to minister to other women, not to minister to women in the place of other women. Youth pastors are there, primarily, to train people to work with youth, not to work with youth on behalf of (and, sadly, sometimes instead of) parents. The examples can be multiplied in the areas of worship, outreach, recovery, etc.

I freely acknowledge that much of the response to the loss of hours for the staff (and the loss of one staff person who simply cannot work part time for the church at this season in his life) is because of the connection with these staff members who have had a significant impact on the lives of people within my church. The staff is loved and appreciated. But what I hope further reflection will do for those who are hurting and who feel as though the church is "going backward" is help them to see that this new season in the life of this church really is about going backward. Back to the biblical model of ministry that is primarily done by the Body of Christ for the Body of Christ and the World.

Teach Me to Count My Days

Watching a magnificent series on Masterpiece Theater entitled "Cranford," I am struck by the awareness of death, because of the nearness of death, among these English villagers in the mid-1800's. Pneumonia or fevers from unknown causes bring death to young and old alike. In each case there is, what I consider to be, an appropriate mourning for the loss of someone dearly loved while still recognizing that death comes to all of us sooner or later.

While watching this series, and after recently officiating at a memorial service for a friend's father, I appreciate again the apostle Paul's comments to the Christians living in Thessalonica. "But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope." Paul does not say Christians could not grieve or should not grieve or would not grieve. Rather, he tells them their grief will be different from those who have no hope. SInce we are assured that those who are part of God's family through Jesus Christ will never be separated from God, we know that truly they are "in a better place."

The second impact is the recognition, again, that my days are few. Whatever I want to do in the way of building or repairing relationships cannot be put off indefinitely. This also means that I must choose carefully those relationships into which I will significantly invest since it is humanly impossible to have deep relationships with everyone I know. In Cranford, it is clear that while the villagers are all a mixed bag of strengths and weaknesses, they understand that they are connected and that some relationships will take the majority of time and energy. Much of the bitter-sweet ethos of the series is the way in which misunderstandings and life choices can impact relationships for decades.

Since time is short and relationships are central, it is important for me to periodically evaluate how I am spending my time and with whom I am building relationships. Only three things last forever: God, God's Word and the souls of people. That's where most of my time should be invested.

Great Joy and Deep Satisfaction

Recently Sharon and I took a road trip to Tucson. All those hours of uninterrupted conversation were wonderful. As I look back at that trip, I am grateful to God for the gift of my wife. Not everyone has a wife who is also their best friend. A recent cartoon showed two characters in a bar. One turns to the other and asks, "So Fred, how's married life changed you?" His friend replied, "Well, I'm not my own worst enemy anymore."

Cynical, yes. But anyone who's been married for more than a couple weeks knows it is hard work and often heart breaking. What many couples never get to is that season of great joy and deep satisfaction that comes from living all those years together and working through the rough times.

During the worst season in our marriage, we both decided it had to be easier to work through all our "stuff" than to start over and live with the impact a divorce would have on us, our children and our friends.

So we made the decision to begin the hard work of allowing God to make changes in each of us. That decision, and the literally hundreds of subsequent and related decisions, usually involved what the apostle Paul described in his letter to the Christians at Philippi: "Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others." It was difficult. It was painful. It took longer than we hoped it would. But that decision, and the hundreds of subsequent decisions, is what brought us to this season of great joy and deep satisfaction.

Joy in the Journey

I feel like I need to update my friends, especially my friends on the Central Coast, on my current emotional and vocational health. As the beggar in "Holy Grail" says, "I'm feeling better...."

Recently, through a phone call from a 30-something who attends the same church I do, I was reminded that God continues to use me, even when I'm not in my "sweet spot". (By the way, can anyone point me to the Bible verse that says we get to work in our sweet spot. I can find the ones on faithfulness, responsibility and dependence, but I haven't located the one that promises we will always get to do the things we love in the way we want to.) In the call, he mentioned how God had used my work with the current elder board and my work with he and his peers as a master stroke in moving the church in the direction they need to go. My work with the elders created a group that the young guys would be willing to be part of and my work with the young guys helped the elders see that these were guys worth having on the board.

The funny part is that I didn't put the two ideas together. I saw the need to help the elders do a better job of "elding" and I saw the need to come alongside the young men, to encourage them to take on responsibilities within the church. Now that I've been helped to look back on what has happened, I see the wisdom of "working both sides", but at the time I just saw two needs I could help meet. Part of me wishes I had been smart enough to have thought this through and worked this plan. The other part of me is very grateful that I didn't, because then I can, with total honesty say, "This was a God-thing."

So, for my friends, I'm doing well... in spite of myself. Thanks for praying.

Blessed Dialogue

As I have had the privilege of preaching throughout the District, I have come to realize that it is not "preaching" I miss so much as it is the dialogue that takes place when the preacher and the congregation have experienced life together between Sundays. Don't get me wrong, I still love to teach in these churches. I love to open God's Word, praying that those who listen and the one who teaches will be blessed as they come to realize more of who God is and what He has done. But I miss looking into the faces of people I know and love and realizing that God has brought us to this place to hear what He has to say. My understanding of God's providence tells me that this is happening even when I don't know the people in a local church. It is the same thing that happens when I find myself in a conversation with people I don't know or don't know well. We communicate and we learn. But what is missing is the common vocabulary that develops among friends. The way we can talk short hand about life and God because we have shared life together. The "inside jokes," as it were, that grow out of common experiences. As I settle into a new church, this will come. But for now, I connect with that which is common to all, and long for the specific connections that bind us together in this great, collective relationship with God.

Now If I Could Just Figure Out How We Did It...

I have three amazing adult children. My oldest is the Director of Personnel at a school for children of missionaries (Third Culture Kids). My middle is involved with her local church as an AWANA staff member and children's choir director. My youngest has just accepted a position as Jr High Pastor at his church.

The fact that my three grew up in a pastor's home, and yet they are each deeply, personally involved in ministry (two of them vocationally) is astounding and incredibly satisfying. I know there are miles to go before they sleep, but the fact that at ages 29, 25 and 23 they are following Jesus and have committed significant portions of their time, money and energy in doing so, is a blessing almost beyond words.

Don't get me wrong. Their involvement doesn't automatically mean they are more "spiritual" than their peers. But it does mean that they get it. Following Jesus is not something you do simply on Sunday. Or when it's convenient. It is a life-long series of choices to intentionally invest in a relationship with God and with people.

The other thing that brings a smile to my face and a deep joy is knowing that however well or poorly I have pastored over the years, at least it wasn't so bad that my kids decided they would never want to be part of ministry. They haven't run in the other direction. They have run toward Jesus. That's not something I can put on a resume, but it is something that will bring a "well done" from God. Now if I could just figure out how we did it. I guess like most things that honor God, it is part of the mystery of God's work in me and my response to Him. I'm just glad I get to be part of it.

Living with Dis-ease

My friends will tell you that the past year, with its many transitions, has been difficult for me. Just about the time I think we're done transitioning, we move into another permutation of life. Sharon and I have had to decide how we were going to respond to the many changes. We could sit around and complain to whomever would listen, or we could embrace the changes and look for the grace of God and the lessons from God in the changes. While we have certainly done the former to some extent, I am pleased to say we have mostly done the latter. We have seen God do things in us and through us that would not have been part of our life if we had stayed where we were and failed to follow God into this new season.

Some of my friends have bemoaned my current situation where I am not preaching weekly. I share their dismay that God would ask me to enter this place of ministry where one of my primary gifts is not being exercised in its usual context. Yet in this place, God is doing things in me as I trust Him. Especially as I trust Him to know what He's doing with me. (In this case its mostly, I think, about reminding me that He is not overly impressed with my abilities, He's more impressed with my willingness to trust Him. He can find many who can preach. Fewer who are willing to trust Him.) He's giving me the privilege of serving Him in areas that stretch my abilities and my comfort zone. The outcome of this is that any good that results from what I do more clearly comes from God's strength and grace than my abilities and spiritual gifts. In other words, God gets more glory because I can't say, "Aw, shucks, it tweren't nothin'" because it really is something. Something that God is doing with me, but also beyond me as I press into Him. In my former ministry it was sometimes easy to slip into, "Here's what's going to happen, so I just need to do this." In this season it is more often, "What is God going to do in this situation?" I do what I am able, then God does what I could never do.

It's been difficult. It's been rewarding. It's been a wild ride. It reminds me of the season after I left a church I loved in Orange County more than 20 years ago. It was one of the hardest seasons in my life. But I wouldn't trade what I learned about God and what I learned about me for all the comfort Orange County (or the world) has to offer.

Weep With Those Who Weep

There are seasons in my life when I particularly appreciate the Scripture that says God will wipe away every tear. Sometimes I think those tears are the tears of regret as we realize, standing before God, all that we could have done or said that would have honored Him. Sometimes I think they are tears of joy in seeing God as He is and knowing He loves us completely, just as He said. Sometimes I think they are lingering tears of sadness over all the losses we experienced in this life. Certainly at the heart of this passage is the promise that there will be no more tears.

This week I have found tears falling on more than one occasion. The tears certainly involved the awareness of the loss of lives and property in Southern California due to the wildfires. But the tears got much closer to home when our daughter and her husband discovered that the baby they had only recently discovered was growing in the womb, had stopped growing. Our grown daughter and her husband, looking forward to the joy and challenge of parenting, were now deeply feeling the grief and loss.

I don't have all the answers when these events occur, but I know that part of the answer is that we live in a world that is still groaning to be re-made because of sin. I know part of the answer is that even from the start, mankind is limited. Fragile. I know part of the answer is that even in this God can be honored in spite of our unanswered questions. I also know part of the answer is found in Paul's second letter to the Christians at Corinth. He says,

3 All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! 4 He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. 5 We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too.

Already my daughter and her husband have found others who have experienced this deep loss. As my wife put it, they have joined a group that no one wants to be part of. But in that group they are finding comfort, encouragement, mutual support and people who know what they are going through. In that group, God is there alongside them. After all, He also knows what it is like to lose a child.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

Beginning Saturday I will only work with the church where I've been privileged to be interim as a behind the scenes coach. (There is a pastor being considered for full-time, long-term position.) This will take about 10 hours a week instead of the current 20 as interim. While I've appreciated the role I've played in this local church, I also look forward to being more focused on my work with the District. My mind races to all the ways I can be of help to pastors and churches within our geographic area. Churches are full of people and people are full of surprises. There will seldom be a dull minute.

Next week I'll join the other Directors as we look ahead to the next year and see if we can discern both our individual role and the specific areas where we need to be involved, and also our collective direction and what it will take to help the pastors and churches we serve to "glorify God by multiplying healthy churches among all people."

If you're a person who prays, join me in praying that our Directors keep the big picture in mind as we move into 2008 and not get bogged down in the administrivia. Each of these Directors wants most of all for God to be honored and for people to come to Jesus.

Remembering How Middle-Class I Am

I found myself without a car this past week, so I rode the bus to work. Two things impressed me. One was how different I was from most of those riding the bus. My clothes, my skin tone, my accent. The second was how limited I was in what I could do. Most days I run errands after work. Go grocery shopping, pick up dinner, buy an iced coffee drink. I couldn't do any of those things because I didn't have the change necessary to get back on the bus if I were to stop along the way.

All this reminded me of how much I take for granted the life-style to which I've grown accustomed. What's it like to have to plan your day around the bus schedule? How do you get your groceries home if you don't have a trunk in which to put them? Expectations are funny things. Since I expect to get in my own car and drive myself to exactly where I want to go, I don't think about what it would take to do it some other way.

All this to say, I found myself praying for those who lack the resources to live life the way they'd like to. I'm praying for those whose choices are far more limited than mine. And I'm praying that I will never take for granted the resources I have, but will live with open hands toward those with less.

Preach, Pray or Die

The Bible college I attended often emphasized the need to be ready to "preach, pray or die" at a moment's notice. That came home this week when I was asked last Wednesday to preach at a church in the Bay area this Sunday. I began to pray that I would choose a passage that will speak to this congregation at this season in their corporate and individual lives. (I think God has answered this prayer.) I prayed that I would not be overly concerned about preaching in a new setting among people with whom I have no prior relationship. (I keep drifting into concern, so I keep praying.) I prayed that God would once again use the foolishness of preaching to draw some to Himself. (I'll know God's answer to this sometime after I'm there.) I continue to pray that God will quiet my heart as I marinate in the passage I've chosen to preach. (I have seasons of quiet followed by moments of panic.)

By noon on Sunday, I will have preached and prayed. Hopefully I won't have "died" as a preacher. For those who know me, I ask you to join me in prayer. Ask God to use His word to transform lives.

Death is Present With Us

Death is present with us every day of our lives, it behooves us to take note of its nearness, not as a threat, but as our common experience on the way to grace. —Abbot Radulfus in The Leper of St. Giles by Ellis Peters

In addition to the recent, unexpected bridge collapse in Minneapolis, in my circle of friends there are have been, what seems to be, an increased incidence of death and near-death experiences of family and friends. I received a phone call last evening from a friend in Santa Margarita whose dad went in for a routine procedure and is now in critical condition. A friend in Huntington Beach was on vacation with his parents when his father suffered a serious heart incident.

All of these situations remind us that life is, in fact, what Isaiah describes in the Hebrew scriptures,

“Shout that people are like the grass.
Their beauty fades as quickly as the flowers in a field.
The grass withers and the flowers fade beneath the breath of the Lord.
And so it is with people."

As the Abbot in the above-mentioned novel points out, this is not a threat. It is a fact of life that God intends to use to help us to live fully in this life and to prepare fully for the next. Maybe it’s middle-age, and the limitations that come with it, but I find myself less enamored with what I can do and more receptive to what God can do. Death has a way of putting my earthly life in context.

Meandering

I am currently reading A Contrarian's Guide to Knowing God, Spirituality for the Rest of Us by Larry Osborne. In the chapter entitled, "The Case for Meandering," Larry writes, "Have you ever noticed that most of our programs and models for spiritual development follow a strict linear pattern?...Yet, if we stop and look back at our own spiritual journey, few of us will find anything close to a neatly laid out linear path. For most of us, the road to spiritual growth and maturity is more like a meandering path punctuated by occasional stretches of unexpected twists and turns...In reality, most spiritual growth happens on a haphazard need-to-grow or need-to-know basis. As life happens, we're suddenly confronted with the need for personal growth or more biblical information in an area of life that up to now hasn't seemed all that important."

I certainly echo Larry's observation. While it has been good to be in Bible studies that have given me some foundation of understanding who God is and what He has done and what He expects of His children, most of my spiritual growth has come during those need-to-grow and need-to-know times when what I thought was true about myself or God was challenged by the messy-ness of life. It was in those seasons I was able to move from a strictly cognitive understanding of God's truth to an experiential understanding of God's truth.

Those who know me have heard me tell of those class notes from Multnomah School of the Bible (the finest Bible college in the world) at the top of which I had scrawled, "Damned through Multnomah School of the Bible." Those were the days when what I was "learning" was simply information. I had no way to really tell if or when I might need to know that information. But in the ensuing years, as I've walked with God, it has been half-remembered class notes and, much more often, brothers and sisters in Christ, who have pointed me to the truth I needed to know and live during those seasons of having what I thought I knew challenged by the daily-ness of life.

If you've been a Christian longer than about a week you already know that there is no FastTrak® pass or Express Lane to get you to maturity. It is a "long obedience in the same direction."

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye...

This is a copy of what I've written to the church where I've been privileged to serve the past 10 months. It reflects my ambivalence at having to make yet another transition, but it also, I hope, reveals my heart for this group of believers in Jesus.

"August 31 will be my last day on the payroll of EFCHB. The EFCAWest district has asked me to come on full-time with them as Director of Administration and Credentialing. As my time with you is winding down I want to take a moment to thank you, as a Body, for enfolding Sharon and I. You may have noticed recently that when I use the pronoun "we" these days, it refers to EFCHB. That demonstrates, in a small way, that Sharon and I have made a significant transition. Most of you know that after 16 years with a wonderful group of people on the Central Coast of California, the move to Orange County has been quite traumatic. You have helped us be less home sick and we appreciate that.

Looking back on our 10 months together, I am quick to confess that I have not always done things the way they should have been done. I have moved too quickly on some changes, not quickly enough on others. I have pushed too hard in some areas and not hard enough in others. It’s a lot like parenting, you see, in that you never get it quite right and you don’t know how you’re doing until you see how your children are turning out.

Recently I likened my early months at EFCHB to a two-year-old who plants beans in his mom’s garden and then digs them up each day to see if their growing. I’ve been impatient at times, knowing that my time with you was going to be short. When you look back at my time with you I hope you will do what I want my own children to do: 'Remember the good things, forgive the bad things and know that I love you.' "