All Sufficient Grace

Few words get tossed around in the life of the church any more than grace.  What often happens when a word is used with such great frequency is that those who hear it cease thinking about the meaning.  There is no need to ponder something which is obviosuly known and understood.  Of course, frequency of hearing does not equate with understanding.  Like some other words used a lot in church circles,  the word grace is used in a rather matter of fact manner with the assumption that everyone knows exactly what is being said.  

In II Corinthians 12:9 we hear it being used as the Apostle Paul speaks of God's response to his petition that a thorn in the flesh be removed.  The infimirty remained with Paul despite his pleas and a word came alongside of him to point the way forward as the Lord said, "My grace is sufficient for you...."  All sufficient grace has been the topic of more than one theological conversation and is the theme of a powerful song, "Wonderful Grace of Jesus."   Paul was promised it and each one of us have spoken of it in our life from time to time.   

The most primitive of definitions of grace points toward it coming to us without merit and never as something earned.  In other words, it is always a gift from God.  What God promised Paul was an abundance of blessings for there is no other way to think of grace.  As Paul lived with what he would have chosen not to live, God would provide gift after gift of spiritual blessings that would enable Paul to live with a grateful heart even though an adversity or difficulty remained.  It is always this way with grace.  The blessings of God are always ours to know in a sufficient manner so that nothing has the power to overcome us or separate us from love of Chist.  Grace is all suficient.  We know it not just because we have read about it in Paul's story, but because we have experienced it in our own.  

A Blessing

The Hebardville Methodist Church on the edge of Waycross, Georgia is the first church I can remember worshipping on a regular basis as a boy.  It is also the church where I was baptized at age nine by a pastor who would later marry my mother.  In those years which go back to the mid 1950's the church bought new pews and my mother somehow managed to put together enough money to buy one in memory of my father.  It became my pew.  I sat on no other even though back then it was a front row pew.    

I wrote all about this memory in a previous blog and then sent it to the current pastor.  I wanted him to know there was someone out there who remembered the church and counted it as a part of their spiritual heritage.  This afternoon he sent me a picture of the pew.  Actually, he sent me a picture of the end of the pew which still had the memorial marker bearing my Daddy's name.  It touched my heart in a deep place to know it was still there and to know that people still gathered there on Sunday and sat on that pew to hear the Word of God.  I wish my mother were still alive so I could share the news with her.     

All of us have memories of churches from the past.  And many of us have left memorial gifts behind as we left and went to other places.  Some of them have disappeared, but some are still being used as instruments of service to God.  And, such is the nature of the memorial gifts given to the church to remember our loved ones and to glorify God.  They are gifts.  They become holy gifts because they are touched by the consecrating prayer of the church that receives them.  And whether they are still visible or invisible they are a part of the church's legacy of serving the Christ.  They have blessed us in the giving and they have blessed others as they have been used for the glory of God.    

A Church Alive in Memory

Those churches from our past never really diappear.  After my father's death my mother moved our family to a neighborhood on the edge of Waycross known as Hebardville.  Two blocks away was a Methodist Church which bore the name of the neighborhood.  It was close enough for walking.  It was also a very small church.  It was where I was baptized at age nine by a young pastor who would later end up marrying my mother.  It was also where when it came time to buy pews, my mother somehow managed to buy one in memory of my Daddy.  It was the first pew on the right side and it was where I always sat when we attended church which was every Sunday.    

I have not checked lately to see if it is still open.  So many small churches have closed over the years.  I hope this old church so alive in my memory is not one of them.  The only time I ever got taken out of church for misbehaving was in that church.  Once was all it took.  I don't think parents take children out of church anymore.  As my memory serves me, they just let them cut mischief while the preacher is trying to bring everyone into the sermon.  Certainly, it is a different world for the church and church-goers.    

No one would consider walking to church anymore, but we often did.  We used to gather some week nights at a home across the street from the church where a woman had an old pump organ and sing hymns and eat ice cream.  It was the early version of Wednesday night suppers.  And, of course, funeral home fans had not yet been replaced by air conditioning.  I can still see the old Hebardville Methodist Church in my memory and I wish there was some way I could tell it thank you for its part in making me into the man of faith I am.  

Sadness

As I stand in the distance afforded me by retirement and watch the dismantling of the denomination which ordained me so many years ago, there is always a sense of deep sadness that something so vital to my life is disappearing.  Maybe life is full of more of the disappearing things than I am able to see, or want to see, but this moment in the life of the church which nurtured me and which I served is such a troubling one.  And while I watch from my place here on the farm, it seems sometimes that there is among some feelings that border on winning and losing.  The one thing I do know about this messy situation is that there are no winners and losers.    

It is more accurate to say that we are all losers.  We have lost our sense of being one another.  We have lost contact with a spirit that goes not back to a merger in 1968, but all the way back to the time John Wesley stirred the pot of renewal in a lifeless church.  So much is being lost which may never be recovered.  At least it will never be recovered in the form we have grown accustomed to knowing it.    

Some may say it is a good thing.  It is a purging long overdue.  Regardless of where we come down on the issue, we are somehow diminished because of it.  And, I am sad.  I am sad there could not have been another way forward other than an acrimonious division that has spawned an "us and them" mentality.  I am sad because it all no doubt grieves the Christ.  I am sad for all of us that though we are the church, we cannot and will not live together with respect for one another.  

One Thing

When we start out the road of faith, it seems like such a simple thing.  We begin without a lot of knowledge to confuse, just some measure of faith in the Christ who has called us.  To be honest is to admit that the faith we carried with us out the front door long years ago was not anything to brag about, but it got us started on the journey.  Along the way we picked up some baggage.  Some of the baggage was confusing. Some of it was what other people told us we should believe.  Some of it was what we learned from reading.  Needless to say, what was simple in the beginning got a bit confusing along the way.   

For many people it is hard to believe that the walk with Christ is as simple as what Paul wrote to the Christians at Ephesus, "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God..."  (Ephesians 2:8)   People have always wanted to add something to this faith equation so that salvation was not about faith and faith alone, but faith in Jesus plus one more thing.   Paul wrote a letter to the Galatians to refute this heresy.     

Sometimes the church is the culprit.  It has always had a tendency to want to control the lives of its followers.  In most of our denominational decrees there are words tacked on this simple truth in such a way as to make them seem necessary for walking with Jesus.  Baptism can become such a thing.  Embracing a particular theological position might be another.  Or, in some places speaking in tongues might be something seen as a requirement.  No matter what we hear and are tempted to believe there is only one issue for the one who seeks to walk with Christ and it is faith.  Faith is what starts the journey and it is faith which will take us Home.  

The Connecting Branch

There is a no name branch of water which runs on the boundary of the farm.  In some places, a stream might be called a run, or a creek, but here it is called a branch.  It starts not with a spring gushing from the ground, but is only given life when it rains and the runoff water from the higher areas around it runs down into the lower path where it waits.  I call it a runoff branch.  Though it bears no name, the water from here goes there, then to the named creek somewhere down the way, and then to a river, and finally to an ocean a hundred miles or so from here.   

Once it arrives in that great expanse of water, it becomes a part of that moisture which rises in the air to once again send rain to the runoff branch.  And while it bears no name, it connects us to there and reminds those who see it that connection is ever a part of the creation which God has put in place around us.  As the runoff branch is connected to the world, so are all of us.  Never do we really live alone though there may be dark moments when it seems that both God and humankind have forgotten and forsaken us.    

This is one of the great truths of the Scripture.  It is also one of the great realities proclaimed to us with our understanding of what it means for the Word to become flesh among us.  (John 1:14)  God is not there and unconcerned about here.  Whenever we are tempted to go to such a dark place in our minds, we need only remember Bethlehem and the great mystery that unfolded there so long ago.  Though in the form of God, Christ emptied Himself  to be born here in human likeness  (Philippians 2:7)) so that we might know we are never forgotten, never left alone, and always in His presence.  

Flashing Lights

I heard them making their cow noises just before dark last night.  It was too dark to really see what might be going on over in the pasture so I drove the truck over, counted heads, and with a quick survey determined that everything was all right.  This morning something still did not seem right from the noise in the pasture so I went back again.  This time a closer look revealed a problem with the water getting into the water trough.  The cows were telling me there was a problem last night, but I was either too tired, or too much in a hurry to listen.    

Now I am not ready to put into production a movie about talking cows, but it surely does seem that there is some talking going on for those who listen.  Nothing new about that phenomena.  There is always more to hear than what we are hearing even as there is more to see than what we are seeing.  Sometimes it takes a moment of slowing down to let the eyes that see what cannot be seen and the ears which hear what cannot be heard do their work.  

And while this may be true in the cow pasture, it is also true in our spiritual lives.  God is not silent.  Neither is He invisble.  His Voice is sounding all around us. His presence is constantly being revealed to us through the things of creation which He has put around us and through the impossible to understand work of the Holy Spirit.  It is never a matter of Him not sounding out holy words to us, but instead, we flash the lights around for a quick look and miss what we are being led to see.    

Gratitude in Darkness

As strange as it may seem, it is often true that the worst of our moments make us the most grateful.  We race along in what we call or normal days of doing all the things we normally do without any awareness of how blessed we are to be able to do those things with no difficulty.  Or, to put it another way, the normal days when life seems to be going our way are lived with an attitude which causes us to take so much for granted.  It is not that we necessaily live with no gratitude in our life, but that we live without giving much thought to the way that blessings abound.     

When those worst moments fall upon us, everything changes.  The rapid pace of our life turns into a slow uncertain crawl as we seek to get from one moment to the next, through one problem to the next one, or from one crisis to the next crisis.  It is strange that the darkness can be so overwhelming that we cannot see any light, yet, we are able to look toward the edges of it and see the things and the people which cause a quiet "thank you" to rise up from within us.  God made us to live as grateful people, as people who know that every moment is a blessing, and as a people who lift up our hearts in gratitude and it often takes being knocked to our backside to embrace this part of who we are.     

To think back over the moments when life threw us an unexpected and unwanted twist in the road is to remember the way acts of kindness were offered to us, prayers were prayed for us, and the way God came alongside of us to tell us we were not alone even though such was exactly the way we felt.  When we are in charge, or when we live as if we are in charge, we are not likely to express much gratitude for the blessings that are coming to us.  When all those props are knocked out from under us, we do count our blessings, we acknowledge them, we hold them like treasures, and we give thanks to whoever and to God for each and every one of them.  

Remembering Francis

The church as I have always known is in disarray and shambles.  It is not something which happened overnight.  We did not wake up one morning to see with surprise the disorder and chaos.  Perhaps, the only surprising thing is that something which has been in the making for the decades of my ministry has finally come bringing such confusion and sadness.  Naive as it might have been, many had hopes that there would be a different outcome.  Maybe what we are seeing in my denomination was inevitable all along and no one really wanted to go the road of logical conclusions of choices being made.    

In these troubling days I often think of Francis of long ago who had a vision at the beginning of a ministry that would transcend his own life.  As Francis was praying around the ruins of the Church of St. Damian, he heard a voice saying, "Francis, my church is in ruins, go and restore it for me."  Francis immediately started bringing stones to rebuild that neglected church not realizing that his call was far greater than one single building.  Of course, in the days of St. Francis those with institutional power did not see a church in shambles and in need of rebuilding.   

It is likely much the same today.  Too many seem to think the church can be fixed with one program or decree or some other kind of ecclesiastical action.  This old worn out Methodist preacher long ago retired but still in love with his church believes it will take more than anyone of us can figure out.  We may need a person with a vision and a spirit like Francis, but more than anything else, we need a decisive and intentional action of the Holy Spirit.  Of course, the problem is that the institutional church has never been particulary receptive to an intervening work of the Spirit because it is too radical and disruptive of the status quo.  

A Friendship

When I went to the Zoar Church back in '71 as pastor, there was a guy in the church named Warren who became a friend.  When we left Zoar, we would find our way back to his home to visit with his family and he would come with his family to spend time with us.  We were both in our 20's back then.  Today we talked on the phone as two old guys with more memories than years ahead.  The last time he visited was when I was about to stretch fence here on the farm for the pasture.  Having never done it, he came and together we stretched the first section of that fence.    

Recently new fence was put up around the pasture, but I will leave that old section which we worked on together as a way of honoring a friendship God gave to me.  Twenty or so years after we left Zoar, we were talking on the phone and I was stunned when he told me that when he went out of the house to pray each morning, he called my name.  Every day he said he prayed for me.  I have no reason to doubt what he said and in fact I have learned to count every blessing I have had and have given in ministry as the result of his praying and the praying of others like him.   

To be the recepient of someone's prayer is a humbling experience.  It means that they care enough about us to invest some of the time they are spending with God calling our name and lifting up the burdens of our life.  The prayers of others must always be regarded as a precious gift.  They are more valuable than any wrapped up package which might be given.  It is a gift that is eternal in nature.  Tonight is a moment of being grateful for a friend whom God gave me at the beginning of my ministry and for the gift of the prayers he has prayed for me for over fifty years.  

The Miracle Drink

Nothing quenches a thist like the miracle drink from the faucet.  Such is what I have learned to call water since the day I watched it first come up from the deep well that brought it up from hundreds of feet under the surface of the earth. It was an amazing moment.  I am not sure what I was expecting. It was just amazing that the water came forth clear and ready to drink.  It needed no big expensive filtration system, neither did it need any additives to make it drinkable.  It was what it was and continues to be which is the best drink on the farm.  

The gospel of John tells us of another person who was surprised at the well.  The Samaritan woman whose story is told in the 4th chapter of John's gospel came to the well which provided water for her village only to find Jesus sitting there as if he might have been waiting on her to arrive.  Her conversation with Jesus changed her life and included an offer of Jesus she did not at first understand, but one she surely in the end gladly accepted, "The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.,"  Jessu said to her.  It was for her a miracle moment.  Unloved and a community outcast, Jesus gave her a love and acceptance she had never known and enabled her to know a joy and excitement she could not contain.     

What Jesus offered that day and what He continues to offer to all of us is inexhaustible.  When reading the narrative one of the things which stands out is His use of the word "gushing."  What a wonderful way to describe this water that washes over our souls, quenching a spiritual thirst thought to be unquenchable, and that rejuvenates us from brokeness to wholeness.  The miracle drink does not come from the well here at the farm, but from the heart of the Lord Jesus Christ.  

Just Made

Water is renewing.  The recent rains have washed away the heavy coat of pollen, given the grass a new green, and somehow seemed to have cleaned the air making it smell fresh as if it was just made.  What it does to the creation is truly amazing.  The branch which runs between here and the paved road is now full and acts like a strong stream instead of what we know as the runoff branch.  The rain did not seem to bother the cows and chickens, they just kept on eating and doing their thing as if they were children out playing in the rain.   I seldom walk in the rain without thinking of baptism.  

With the rain coming down all around me, it is easy to lift up hands in praise to God for the way He brings renewal to our souls.   When I am out in the rain and really getting doused I think of the day I left a very troubling appointment in one place to begin anew in another one.  When I got to the county line of the old church I had planned to get out and shake the dust from my feet, but it was raining.  So, I got out, let the water wash over me, and prayed aloud, "Lord, wash me and cleanse me and make me as new."  Perhaps, it was a day when God felt it would be better for me to be washed all over rather than just my feet getting shook free of dust!  

Many have been the times when I have been caught out in a rain and chose to walk it home rather than run.  As children we loved to get soaked in the rain.  We seem to avoid it all cost as adults.  But, maybe it is good for us once in awhile if we can allow it to be the Voice of God speaking to us about what he wants to do in our life.  Surely, one of those things He would want to do in us and through us is to make us feel so fresh it seems like we were just made!

Becoming Visible

I read somewhere not too long ago that writing is like bringing to visibilty the invisble on a sheet of blank paper.  I can understand the sense of what was being said in that thoughts which are invible take shape on paper to become visible enough for others to see.  It must also be true of the fruit of the Spirit which Paul lifts up toward the end of his letter to the Galatian Christians.  Galatians 5:22-23 reads, "...the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."  These are things expressed in our lives only because the Holy Spirit has worked within us in such a way as to bring about a major shift from the ego centric life so many of us naturally live.  The invisible changes in the heart begin to be visibly seen through the actions of our hands and feet.     

I remember as a very young Christain reading these verses and thinking that I could do it alone.  I thought for a time that I could through determination and discipline manufacture this fruit in my life.  And, I suppose it is possible to some degree if we have time to be aware of the situation and think for a moment or two about how we are going to respond.  But, too much of life happens fast and too many times our response is so fast that what is within is what comes forth as expression of who we are.  There in, is the problem for many psudo fruit producers.  

The fruit of the Spirit grows in us and is expressed naturally, spontaneously and without thought, or it is something else.  When the Spirit begins to work in us to bring about the changed life reflected in Paul's letter to the Galatians, it just happens.  Kindness and patience comes forth not because we have planned to be kind and patient, but because the Spirit has planted this seed of change in our heart.  We act naturally for God where as we once acted naturally for our self.  

Order

As Spring begins to hint on coming here on the farm, things start getting messy and out of order.  While it is nothing really major, Spring just pushes those winter weeds up at a rapid pace and even as that is happeing, the grass is also starting to grow.  The farm just got to the point where it looked like I do sometimes when I need a haircut.  Ragged and rough and untended.  The past few days has changed all of this.  The mower has taken care of the ragged look around the house and the garden and the tractor and bush hog have cleaned up the rest of the farm.   

Order has been restored.  At least for the moment order has been restored.  One thing which must be said about creation is that it has order and it is good to see the farm in sync with what the Creator is always doing and that is creating order in everything He does.  I suppose the next step is to cease looking out there at the farm and to start looking inward to the heart to see if order is prevailing in a far more important place.  Sometimes the chaos swirling around us breaks into our life in such a way that it seems that the chaos is prevailing instead of the Spirit who is always present  to bring holy order into our lives.  

And, how does holy order look?  I have not really ever seen a definition, but if I am writing one, I am going to be describing a heart that is in step with the intended will of the Creator, one that is showing signs that the Spirit has enough control to produce those things like love, joy, peace, patience, and kindness, and one that seeks to be constantly immersed in the living water Jesus spoke of so long ago.  

Resting

What the creation tells us about winter is that it is a season of rest.  Some might be tempted to think of it as a season about dying, but if such is their conclusion, they are not paying attention.  Things do not die during winter.  They are dormant, they are resting.  The hayfields and pasture turn brown around here, the pecan trees are like barren skeletons suspended in the air, and the chickens quit laying eggs.  The chickens are now laying, the fields are rich green, and the pecan trees are on the edge of budding.  They were never dead, they were resting.    

They have work to do.  There is grass to grow and hay to make.  There is a pecan crop that is being promised.  The chickens are filling up the egg cartons faster than I can eat them and give them away.  The creation speaks to us in winter about resting.  It is a word we need to hear and include in our own living.  Being productive is the god of this contemporary culture, but no one is meant to be productive without rest.  This is one of the things God tells us though the creation.    

In the beginning the divine plan called for a day of rest.  It was to be a day of worship, but also a day given so that we might separate ourselves from those things which drain our energies.  Rest replenishes us.  It enables us to do what creation does after rest and that is to live fully according to the purpose for which we were created and as we do this, we bring glory to God.  We do not need to raise our hands to bring glory to God.  All we need to do is to be who the Creator created us to be.  

A Slower Pace

One of the lessons taught by the farm is that life does not have to be lived at a fast pace.  Getting there is not always the best goal.  Things which need doing will get done, but in their own time.  As someone has wisely said, "Don't push the river."  Here in these years I am learning more about that piece of wisdom and also coming to an awareness that life is better lived at a pace that is slow enough to know where you are more than where you are going.  

I lived most of my working years with a schedule and a calendar.  Those things may be necessary out there in the world I used to live, but having them does not require that they direct and dictate your life which is an easy thing to do.  The problem with a fast pace is what is lost.  We lose contact with the people who are important to us, we lose contact with what we believe to be core values for the sake of expediency, and we lose contact with our self.  We lose contact with what is important in our life because we are letting someone else be in charge.  

The only one to whom we need to give that kind of control is God.  And, He can be trusted to take what we give to Him and bring it to its orignal and intended purpose.  God is never in a hurry.  He does not measure time as we do.  He calls us to go after His ways and then He reveals what is ahead a step at a time.  There is no need to worry about what is out threre ahead of us since He already knows and is getting us ready in the present for the future.  His way is slow and unhurried and as He goes He invites and encourages us to go as well.  The future is in good hands if we have placed it in His.  

Raising Beef

When we came to the farm twelve years ago, we came wanting to raise our own beef.  We wanted to know more about our beef than it was from the grocery store.  So, we have been uniquely blessed and fortunate in these years to know that most every morsel of beef we have eaten first walked and grazed in the pasture here on the farm.  Some folks wonder how you can eat what you raise.  It has never been an issue.  What it has caused, though, is a reluctance to throw away any left over meat that might end up on the plate.  It has always seemed disrepectful of the cow I know to put any beef in the trashcan.    

Knowing the cow has also made me more conscious of wasting food.  I can remember times when my sister and me would find ourselves sitting at the table with food on our plate we did not want to eat only to hear my mother say something like, "There are hungry children in the world who would love to have that food."  Of course, my sister and I would have been glad to give it to them.  When the appeal from my mother's better side did not work, she would say, "You are going to sit there until you clean out your plate" which set in motion a time of bargaining which ended up with us eating what we did not want to eat.  

Nowadays, it almost seems like a sin not to eat the food before me and an even greater sin to rake some it in the trash.    Being on the farm these years has made me more aware that all our food comes at a price.  It cost the sweat of some worker, or in some cases, the life of the animal.  It has become unthinkable and disrespectful to eat it with such speed it is not recognizable to my palate and an even greater transgression not to eat what is before me.  If we say a table blessing  to God and then end up throwing away food, it must make Him wonder about the genuiness of the gratitude expressed at the beginning of the meal. 

An Evening Sprinkling

As I was walking back from the evening chore of shutting up the chickens, I felt the smallest drop of water hit my head.  It was so small and insignificant I might not have even noticed had it not been cold.  And, then I was suddenly aware there were more.  There was never enough to call it rain; it was more like walking in droplets of water that were hanging in the air.  Or, as I also thought at the moment, maybe it was a gentle sprinkling from the wings of angels who were hovering around on the other side of the separating veil which seems so very thin at times.   

Before anyone jumps to the conclusion that I am seeing visions such as Isaiah saw in the Temple, may I be the first to dispell those thoughts.  I often feel that I am not alone out here.  I often hope I am not alone.  It is comforting to think that ministering angels are nearby to bring gifts of grace into this soul of mine which often carries with it troubles I have not been able to lay aside.  There is nothing unusual about such for we all carry with us those things from which we pray to be freed, but God continues to say, "Not yet." 

Maybe the very light drops of rain were sent to get my attention and to cause me to look upward with a hopeful heart.  Such an act would be just like the Spirit as He seeks to bring us through the troubling difficulties we encounter from time to time.  I know that slight touch of water on my head was in some way a gentle baptism causing me to remember that I belong to Him and that there is nothing which can break the bond He has created with me through divine love.  For the sprinkling I am grateful.

The Theology Course

It only seems right that every seminary has a theology course.  So, with this reality in mind, I offer mine for the hypothetical core curiculum I have been suggesting that might be worth considering.  All the courses come as I reflect on my own seminary experience some fifty years later and after having retired to life on a farm where I have been overwhelmed by the creation all around me.  The previous courses described are found in previous blogs and this one is going to be simply called  "I Believe."    

As I remember my theology classes some fifty years ago, it was all about learning what other people believed about God.  "Systematic Theology"  was the name of the course and I had some excellent professors for which I am grateful  They certainly had shaping power.  I will never forget Claude Thompson as he came to class the last two quarters of his life as he struggled with cancer.  His life said more about God than anyone could ever say with their words.    

So, I have nothing against what they were doing.  I only want to add to it in a different way.  My course syllabus would have three books as texts: "The Dark Night of the Soul"  by St. John of the Cross, "The Cloud of Unknowing" author unknown, and "Listening to the Heartbeat of God" by J. Philip Newell.  A single week would be devoted to the reading of each book.  The end assigment would be to write in 100 words how the reading affects the traditional creed affirmed before the reading.  When completed the 100 word writing would be written again in 25 words.  It is important to be able to know what we believe and to be able to express it without a lot of fluff.  

Listening 101

So far no one has enrolled to take my hypothetical curiculum for the seminary classroom, but it does not discourage me or keep me from my continuing to add to the courses already mentioned in previous blogs: "Being 101, "  a course which would underscore the value of being instead of just doing; "Practicing the Practice of the Presence,"  which would create awareness to the Holy in the midst of the creation, and, "Ruminating the Word," a class to enable hearing the Voice of God in the written Word.  The new addition would be one called "Listening 101," and would take people to the classroom of prayer.    

It is not that people do not pray.  Most of us pray every day.  Some of it is formal and uses rituals of prayer and some of it is spontaneous and in response to what is happening in the minute in our life.  Many times during the course of a day's living, I have spoken out saying, "Lord, have mercy."   Praying is not an unknown spirtual disicpline to most of us.  We do it even though it may be undisciplined and irregular in occurence.    

After a life time of praying it seems that an issue greater than being disicplined in our praying is the issue of learning to hear what the Spirit might want us to hear within in our praying.  We pray, but most of the time without any expectation that God might have something to say to us in the moment of praying.  Prayer is a one sided conversation for too many folks and "Listening 101" would assist the one praying in learning to hear the Voice of God as He speaks to us while we pray.  For some it might be a strange and radical idea which is all the more reason for adding it to the core curiculum of our spiritual syllabus.  

Ruminating the Word

In the last few days I have been remembering my own seminary days some fifty years ago and creating a hypothetical core curiculum for a seminary that does not exist.  If you say that old preacher needs a hobby, maybe there is some truth to the observation.  However, what has gotten started is still going on in my mind.  The first two courses in my core curiculum were "Being 101" and "Practicing the Practice of the Presence."  For those just now starting to read this blog, the previous two posts will offer a sort of syllabus for these courses which will not be repeated now.    

As can be seen, the first two courses are not about the head so much as the heart.  Maybe my course suggestions are going overboard on the heart side, but my recollection of seminary speaks to going overboard in the other direction.  So, the third course in this hypothetical curiculum is "Ruminating the Word."   A few cows keep us company here on the farm and from them many lessons have been learned.  One thing cows do is to break off grass while grazing, swallow the green stuff where it goes into one of their four stomachs, and then they lay down, regurtitate what has been swallowed and chew on it.  It is called chewing the cud.  It seems we need more chewing the cud when it comes to the Word.  Reading the Word of God is good, but we need to learn what it is to sit with it, chewing on it until it can become a part of what gives us life.  

"Ruminating the Word"  would be a course where the Bible would be studied in small chunks without the beneifit of commentaries or lectures telling the reader what to think.  Once again the course would only require a Bible, a spiral notepad, and a pen. The end result of the class would not be finding the right or wrong interpretation, but learning how to understand what God is seeking to say through the Word.  It is easy to figure out the right interpretation of a passage.  The more difficult thing is to train our mind and heart to sit and ruminate with a smaller passage until we hear the Voice of God.  The course would encourage those who hold the Word in their hands to chew on it until it becomes life giving.

Practicing the Practice of the Presence

As this sent out to pasture Methodist preacher continues to remember those days spent in seminary classrooms back in a day when radical social activism filled the streets and the classroom, I find myself thinking of some classes that should have been and wish they had been taught even though they might have been out of step with the culture.  The first one was Being 101 mentioned in a previous blog.  The seminary I remember was about being busy with ministry, but not so much about just being.  There is a huge and important difference.   

And, the second class in my imagined core curiculum would be a class called "Practicing the Practice of the Presence."  While it might sound like a study on the activities of Brother Lawrence in the kitchen, the focus would not be on this saint but on personally becoming aware of the presence of the holy midst the ordinary.  Those taking the course would be required to have three things:  a copy of the Word, a spiral notebook, and a pen.  Classes would be held outside sometimes in the woods midst creation, sometimes on a busy streetcorner filled with people coming and going, and sometimes in places like a treatment room for cancer patients, or an emergency room where people are waiting, or maybe at a cemetery on the edge of a funeral that is taking place.  The question would always be about the way the Presence of God is experienced and known in those moments.     

And while some of our modern day folks might opt for a tablet, or laptop, or a jazzed up phone to do their introspective writing, it would be forbidden.  Turning pages and writing on paper is laborious, intentional, and requires a pesonal involvement that high tech stuff bypasses.  Sometimes it is good to see what is getting scratched out instead of deleted from view forever.  Of course this class does not require a seminary classroom.  Anyone can get started today. 

Being 101

Sometimes I think it might be best not to think.  Or, maybe it might be best not to think so much, but then what is left to do once you become a worn out Methodist preacher and get sent out to pasture with a pension and a hope for a few more years.  Well, actually, it is not that bad, but it sounds good anyway.  One of the things being pondered in these recent days has taken me back to my seminary days.  Back in the early '70's people being trained for ministry were doing it in the midst of a time of radical social activism and the experience of the culture was reflected by what transpired in the classroom.  

As I recall there was a year long emphasis on supervised ministry.  One quarter fifteen or twenty of us sat around in a circle close enough to hold hands and shared a collective naval gazing experience.  I never liked it.  Another quarter I spent in a food distribution center in a poor minority neighborhood of Atlanta and then the last quarter I played cards and talked with men in a kind of halfway house for people going from some kind of institualized life to the community.  Certainly, it was all eye opening experiences for a young man from redneck land who regarded the big city as another country.   

I am sure it was all helpful at the time.  If I were planning a core curiculum now for young people considering ministry, I would focus less on the doing part of ministry for the sake of spending more time on the being part of it.  While both doing and being are important for wholeness and they might be regarded as left hand and right hand, it has always seemed harder to be than to do.  Doing is measurable.  It is visible.  Being is different.  It involves heart work which is seen only by God and the One doing the being.  In these years of being out here in the pasture, I have discovered an awareness of the value of stillness, silence, and holy presence that I wish I could have been more intentional about cultivating in the beginning.  My curiculum would have that course as Being 101.

The Church's Problem

A thought which has somehow gotten turned lose in my mind is one that sends me to wondering if one of the problems of the church might be that too many of its leaders fit the mold.  Maybe a part of the church's struggle has to do with the way it raises up and fosters new leaders who perceive their role as one that serves the church by supporting its agenda instead of raising up and nurturing leaders who will challenge its agenda.  In my mind it sounds like a revolutionary idea and, if it is, then maybe what the church does need is more revolutionary and radical leaders.   

The Word of the Lord is certainly filled with the revolutionary leader who does not embrace the status quo.  How different Biblical history would be if Abraham had said to the Lord that he needed a game plan and a destination before leaving the house of his father to go to the wherever God was holding out to him.  Certainly, Elijah was a different breed of leader as was Elisha who walked after him.  John the Baptist was never thought of as a run of the mill spiritual leader.  And certainly it must be said of Jesus that He spoke and lived a radical way of life with all His Kingdom stuff.    

This late evening thinking makes me wonder how the church would fare with such leaders.  Of course, I know exactly how it would fare as does anyone else who stops to think abou it. The church of today has no room for such people.  Those who do not fit the mold find roadblocks and hindrances thrown in front of them by the institutional church leaders and if they do not pay attention, they are likely to be thrown out, or hung on a cross.  

A Legacy of Sharing

The big news here on the farm today comes out of the hen house.  We have five hens we provide a safe haven, feed, and look after.  For months they have lived on the dole doing nothing to earn their keep. It happened with our neighbor's chickens as well.  He actually showed them an empty egg carton and warned them that a fryer might might be in their future if they did not start producing.  While I am not sure how that worked out, our hens finally got with the program and started laying again.  Today the last lazy hen came forward and we collected five eggs from the nesting box.   

With the hens in full production mode. the eggs start filling up an egg carton mighty quick.  Some might wonder what you do with so many eggs.  Of course, we eat our share of them, but what is really nice is being able to share them with some folks around town who do not keep chickens.  It is a good way of being neighborly and nice to be able to share some of the bounty of the farm with others.  

It is a good thing when folks share with one another.  It provides a blessing for the one doing the giving and it brings a blessing to be the recipient of someone's kindness.  Before my father in law died and left this farm to my wife, he tended the land, grew large gardens,and took pleasure in taking neighbors tomatoes, beans, sweet potatoes, and corn.  What we now grow and produce comes from the Creator God's hand to ours and it is a blessing to let some of it pass from our hands in a legacy of sharing with others.   

A Sweet Aroma

What dominates the landscape of the farm on which is built our home is not our house, but the old wooden farmhouse which stands at the head of the lane.  It has always been said that it was built around 1910 which means it has weathered more than just a few storms.  It is surely one of those old houses which could tell tales of the people who lived within its walls if such a thing were possible.  With a new tin roof put on it about twenty years ago, the old heart pine wood most likely sawmilled from trees which once grew nearby is still in good condition.    

It may seem strange to some to think that a place lived in so long would cause a sense of fellowship with those from the past, but to one who walks here now, it seems like the most normal thing in the world.  There are so many places filled with things seen and unseen which speaks reminders that we are not the first to walk and work this land, nor will we be the last.  It has a history greater than the years any of us have lived.  To be here is to simply be where others have been before us.  There have been the cries of pain, the laughter which comes from gathering on the front porch, and memories in the air of tables filled with the bounty of the farm.  

In the life of the church which I once served as pastor, we had this annual service of remembering the saints who had gone before us.  It was full of ritual, holy communion, and a sense that we were not alone but only separated from the great cloud of heavenly witnesses by a very thin veil.  Perhaps, this fellowship sensed with those who lived and died here on this land before me is a different kind of taste of the same moment.  This lingering presence of the saints who have gone before us is ever present and indeed a sweet aroma inhaled by the soul.