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.