A Poet's Words

When I was still a boy trying to become a man, I went to Young Harris College.  It was there that I started learning about people and things that took me far beyond the boundaries of the small south Georgia world I knew as home.  It was while at Young Harris that I encountered the poetry of Byron Herbert Reese.  Reese was a north Georgia poet who lived a brief 40 years, but who was a genius at working with words.  Today as an old man who hardly remembers being a boy, I made a trek to the farm where Reese grew potatoes and poetry.    

One of the lines he wrote which really has stood out reads, "From chips and shards, in idle times, I made these stories, shaped these rhymes; May they engage some friendly tongue When I am past the reach of song."  Is there not in all of us a desire to be remembered in the days past those we live on this earth?  Is there not a desire in all of us to touch something in this life that will live forever?  Is there not something in us that pulls our soul toward eternity?    

It is with this longing that God has created us.  All of us want our life to count for something of value.  We want to be remembered.  We want to know that oneness with the One who created us that will finally bring us to the Home which was first seen by our unborn spirit when the eternal light of God shined on us in the womb.  This deep desire of of which Reese wrote and which our Creator planted in our soul is a gift of grace which serves as the direction marker for the days we walk on this earth.

Morning Praise

I woke up the other morning at a campground in north Georgia. The sun had cleared away the darkness enough that I could tell the difference between the trees outside and a bear finishing up a morning stroll.  So, I went outside and found a chair under the canopy of trees where I could be in the middle of a great choir singing morning praise to the Creator.  I hear the early morning music of the winged choristers back at home, but this morning’s choral offering seemed as if it were being sung especially for me.   

It had the feeling of a gift from the Creator God.  If the hills are alive with the sound of music as the song proclaims, then surely these towering trees shooting straight up toward heaven were alive as well with a music that glorified God.  Sitting out there for a few moments somehow made me a part of that praise.  And while I did not raise my voice in praise along with these other creatures of the Creator, it was only because what I might offer would surely spoil the perfection of the praise all around me.   

It is good to have an early morning moment of being in the presence of the Holy One when my mouth is not pleading for some blessing, or wasting His time and mine reminding Him of what He needs to do for me today.  It is good to have a moment of sitting in the silence.  It is good to know a moment when my voice is silent and my heart seems empty of everything except the anticipation of the ever present Holy One.  As the gentle morning breeze blows across this moment filled with mortality and eternity, so may His Spirit come now into my heart and your heart as well.       l

A Simple Plan

The first church growth movement was a simple one.  Acts 2:42 describes how the church fresh with the power of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost went about doing Kingdom work.  "The devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers."  There was no drive for money, neither was there a building program launched.  There were no arguments about the type of church government and no committees were organzed to brainstorm about possible problems which might be experienced.  Instead, it was a simple formula for moving forward which carried the day.    

Sometimes when we have a decision to make, we are guilty of overthinking to the point that nothing gets done.  And sometimes the church creates such an elaborate detailed program to accomplish its mission that the mission becomes secondary to the process.  If the Pharisees of Jesus' day were guilty of making it difficult for people to serve and love God in a faithful manner, then the church of our day often creates even greater obstacles.  

It is no longer enough to simply share in the breaking of the bread, it has to be done in a certain manner.  And those who teach are often more interested in entertaining and being seen as insightful instead of nurturing the body of the church.   The church has come to a place where simplicity is not an option.  Too many things would have to be done differently.  Too many of the things which have to be done would be discarded as unnecessary.  The church of our day is not built to just accomplish the four parts of Acts 2:42, but instead, is built to maintain a structure which has nothing to do with those four basic things.  What was meant to be simple has become complicated and the church and its people suffer as they are led down a different path.  

Pentecost

Today is celebrated as Pentecost in the church.  In my book Pentecost is one of the "Big Three."  When it comes to celebration days in the church Easter is number one, Christmas is number two, and Pentecost comes in third.  As a pastor I was always prone to finding ways to spice up the day with creative images, powerful full of life music, and a sermon that I prayed would have enough wind and fire in it to be worthy of being preached on such a glorious day.  I could never understand why some preachers seem to let such a powerful moment of worship slip by without a whimper of acknowledgement.    

As the church we are wind and fire people.  We are a community birthed in an extraordinary moment of holy power.  We owe our existence to that work of the Holy Spirit which is described in the second chapter of the book of Acts. It is one of those moments in the history of God's Kingdom which is full of divine wildness, the unexplainable, the mysterious, and the impossible to put in a box.  Our attempts to tame the Spirit and tone Him down to make Him more palatable to the contemporary church is an exercise in foolish futility.   

When we look closely at what the Spirit did on that day so long ago, we see an outpouring of holy power that was set forth like a mighty torrent of river water that has more than enough energy to drive the church forward on its intended journey.  If only the church would stay in this stream of power instead of looking for dry land to anchor itself, if only the church would let the river of God's power sweep it away, if only the church would be so immersed in that stream of power that it disappears, then we would once again find ourselves in an age of signs and wonders.   

No More Manna

For what seemed like forever the manna had been on the ground for the Hebrew pilgrims to gather each day.  But, all good things must end.  As we read the record in the book of Joshua, we read of the day when the Hebrews went out to gather what was no longer on the ground  (Joshua 5:10-12).  There was no warning.  There was no divine announcment that the manna distribution would end on a certain day.  It just happened and surely no one was more surprised than those who had spent a life time gathering a daily portion each day.  

It is an easy thing to take for granted the blessings of God.  We live under the assumption that the blessings of today will be there when tomorrow comes.  It never occurs to us that the blessing for the day may not be the same blessing we need for tomorrow.  The Hebrews who were just inside the land of Canaan were going to continue to know the blessings of God, but it would be different.  The plan to provide for them was the same, but the means for implementing the plan was going to be different.  It is not always easy for us to live in a world where change is taking place.  We would like for tomorrow to be like today and to be filled with the same sense of security that we have known in the past.  

The today in our life may seem like the day in which the blessings of God have disappeared.  What seems to be is never the case.  He is constantly bringing blessings into our life.  They may be coming to us through new people who have replaced some of the old ones, or through new ways of thinking about old things, or through some disappointment or loss we could have never imagined happening.  When we wake up one day and the blessings taken for granted no longer seem so obvious, it is time to pause and listen to the Spirit who is out there ahead of us leading us toward the unfolding plan of God.  

A Prostitute's Witness

While it is true that the Biblical story is more about the men of Israel's history, it is also true that there are also some strong women who stand astride those stories as well.  In the book of Genesis there is Sarah, Hagar,  Rebekah, Leah, and Rachel.  Though shadowed by the partriarachs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they lived out no small role in the plan of God.  Early in the book of Joshua we encounter still another, a prostitute named Rahab.  She was a protector and deliverer of two spies sent by Joshua into the city of Jericho and then saved from the city's destruction to marry a Hebew man named Salmon with whom she had a son named Boaz; thus, becoming a part of the lineage of Jesus through his earthly father, Joseph.    

It is a kind of spiritual rags to riches story.  A woman who was a pagan Cannanite becomes an ancestor to the man who cared for and raised the Son of God who would be born into the world centuries later.    To read her story is to be convinced that God has a plan that is full of surprises.  Anyone writing the story God has written through human history would not include a woman like Rahab.  Of course, many of us know that God calls and uses the unlikely ones through personal experience.  Most of us look at our life and are filled with amazement that God would have a use for us in the His Kingdom's work, but surprisingly enough He does.  

And it is not the great names like Spurgeon or Mother Teresa that He uses, but ordinary folks like you and me.  When God needed for some invisible soul to hear a kind word today, He did not make use of some celebrity saint.  Instead, He sent an ordinary soul like you and me.  Anyone of us can look back over our day and see where God used us for some Kingdom work.  It only takes a moment of pondering and then all of a sudden, there it is.  When God left us the story of Rabab, He left a witness that everyone of us can be useful to Him if we simply choose the way of affirming Him and living in obedience.  

Marks of Leadership

When Joshua heard the Lord telling him, "...proceed to cross the Jordan..."  (Joshua 1:2), he must have been shaking in his sandals.  While he had felt the pressure of the hands of Moses upon him blessing him for leadership, the moment of blessing and the moment of facing the task of taking the people home was two different things.  It is always one thing to consider what God is calling us to do and another to get on with it.  Certainly, Joshua had plenty of time to think about it during those thirty days the Hebrews sat still mourning the death of Moses.    

It may be that the Lord sensed the apprehension in Joshua for in the divine words of commissioning which comes in the first nine of verses of the book bearing his name, Joshua is told to  "...be strong and courageous..."  (vs. 6, 7, 9).  Of course, Joshua had already proven himself as one who was made of both of those virtues so the words may have been a reminder to remember a time when he had been both strong and courageous when his was the minority opinion.   What is also very obvious from this part of the story is that the real spiritual leaders never stand alone, nor do they depend on themselves for the going forth.  Joshua kept hearing words from God like, "...I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you...do not be frightened or dismayed for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."  (Joshua 1:5, 9)  

This is one of the undergirding realities in the lives of spiritual leaders.  Their mission is not ego based and does not point to themselves, but is God driven and is about the work of the Kingdom of God instead of the person doing the leading.  There are a lot of would be leaders out there disguised as spiritual leaders. When the leader stays too much in the spotlight eager to take the accolades, it is always a good thing to take a second look before jumping on board.  

Mourning and Dancing

The last chapter of Deuteronomy tells us the last chapter in the life of Moses.  After being shown the land of promise by the Lord who had brought him to the edge of it, the Word says, "Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, at the Lord's command."  (Deuteronomy 34:5)  In both life and death Moses lived and died according to the command of the Lord.  And while it may seem like a strange way to bring the end of this man's story to a conclusion, it is a reminder that all of life is in the hands of God.  This is true of the beginning of our life in the womb and the end of it when the Creator's purposes have been done.    

After the death of their leader, the people mourned for thirty days.  Everything stopped.  The movement toward the land of  promise was halted as the people honored and remembered the one who was faithful to God and had led them from the land of slavery in Egypt.  And at the end of those thirty days, the Lord speaks again to Joshua, the one whom Moses had placed his hands as the leader of the people, saying, "My servant Moses is dead.  Now proceed to cross the Jordan..."  (Joshua 1:2)  As God spoke the obvious Word everyone knew, He also spoke a word saying that the time of mourning was done.  It was time to get on with what was His plan for the rest of their lives.  "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:  a time to be born, and a time to die....a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance..."  (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4)   

We have all mourned for those we love and if we live a few more days, we will mourn again for still another.  It is a part of the season of departure, but it is also a season that is to lead us into the season of the rest of the living that God has for us to do.  Never does God call us to dwell in what is behind us, but He is always leading us forward to embrace what is unfolding ahead of us.  Even as we must weep the bitter tears of mourning, so does He intend for us to laugh and dance once again.  All of it, the mourning and the dancing, is a part of His plan.

The Contradictory One

We live in a world of "either or" instead of a world of "both and."  When confronted with opposites we want to choose one or the other.  Both cannot be right.  It has to be one or the other.  If God is merciful then He cannot be judgmental.  If God is loving then He cannot allow bad things to happen to those He loves.  One of the things about God that has been driven into my heart in these recent years of living outside the shadow of orthodox theolgy where there is more room to think is that God is a God of a contradictory nature.  Just when we think we have Him figured out, we discover something about which we had not figured.    

The point at which this has come home to me is in the way He is both invisible and yet visible.  In so many places in the Scripture the Word speaks about the revealing nature of God and then there is a place like Isaiah 45:15 which says, "Truly, You are a God who hides Himself..."  And, of course, the Incarnation story told from the manger of Bethlehem is brimming over with the news that the Invisble Holy One has become visible human flesh.  The Apostle Paul points us to this as well as he wrote of the one who "was in the form of God...emptied Himself...being born in human likeness..."    (Philippians 2:6-7)     

Indeed, it is true that "God is Spirit..."  (John 4:24), but it is also true that He is constantly making Himself known.  "Ever since the creation of the world His eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things He has made."  (Romans 1:20)  I have always loved the image Annie Dillard left me in "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek."  when she wrote that creation has the "now you see it, now you don't" dynamic woven into its fabric.  So, it is with God, "Now you see Him, now you don't!"

Something New

The Word of God tells us that Moses is one "unequalled  for all the signs and wonders that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt..." (Deuteronomy 34:11)  There had never before been anyone like Moses in Isreal's history and even today he is on a pedastal marked "One of a Kind."  Leaders like Moses are not the self made and self declared leaders of the day, but instead are the ones who are called and shaped by the God who does the calling.  It is interesting that the descriptive language here at this juncture of Biblical history is much the same as that which we read in the early words of the book of Acts as it speaks of the church being a hotbed for signs and wonders.    

There is much chaos and disarray in these days in the church which odained me fifty-three years ago.  And while being retired puts me more on the sidelines than in the midst of the fray, it still fills me with sadness and grief when I see what is happening to a spiritual community which has blessed me for a life time.  But, as is always the case with the history of God's people, we should not live without hope.  The Old Testament remnant theology was born out of the hard difficult moments when the people had lost their way.  Remnant theology tells us that God will use a small segment of the larger group to begin again with a new work which is of His heart.    

So, in the midst of the confusion it is not foolish to pray that there might once again be leaders who come forth bearing the distinctive signs and wonders brand of leadership and that a church falling apart will once again be picked up and given a ministry born not of what is deserved or has been earned, but one of grace.  A  recurring word of hope is one that declares to my spirit, "Do not be afraid of the new that I am doing."  And while the holy new may not come tomorrow, we can live with hope that God is at work in the chaos to create and make new and to once again bring in an era of signs and wonders for a broken church and a wandering people.               

A Reason for Dreams

I have never been one to regard dreams with a grain of salt.  Some may say that our dreams might be related to nothing more than eating too much spicy food too close to bedtime.  Others might declare they are nothing more than an extension of the last television program viewed before going to bed.  And some of the more modernist types say that no one should watch the news of the world before going to bed.  To do so is a formula for nightmares!  The problem with what we do with most our dreams is that we look for what seems to be the obvious reason we have them without considering the possibility they may be a Word from God.    

Instead of being taken with a grain of salt, it makes more sense to regard dreams as a potentially powerful divine Voice of wisdom, insight and leading.  Dream stories take no small place in the inspired Word.  Jacob dreamed of a ladder and angels when he fled from his brother's wrath (Genesis 28:16 ff.), Joseph had such dreams that his brothers sold him into slavery ((Genesis 37), Daniel was a dreamer (Daniel 7) and certainly Joseph, the husband of Mary, was prone to dreams in which God spoke (Matthew 1, 2).  What is common to these Biblical dream stories is the way God uses the dream life of the individual to speak His Word.   

Anyone who does not include God in their undersanding of their dream life is missing an important factor.  With the conscious mind on standby as it is when sleeping, it seems that there is a direct road to the subconscious mind where God is able to speak in a way that is both veiled and unfiltered.  There may be moments when the dream awakens us to the work of pondering what is being said and there are also those moments of being awaken by a strange dream that is followed by a clear interpretation that comes from the God who has put the dream into our life in the first place.  With such a real possiblity each time we sleep, it makes good sense to keep a pad and pen close by to make sure we remember what needs to be remembered when morning comes.  

Unrelenting Grace

As midnight nears so close it is about to race on by the waiting clock, life has come to a slow crawl as sleep has already slipped in the room as I sat on the sofa reading "The Seven Storey Mountain" by Thomas Merton.  With only a hundred or so pages to go it seemed like something which might be finished before sleep arrived, but alas, sleep came too soon.  It is not that the book had become boring.  It has had its slow spots but at this point there is such energy in the pages that I am eager to see how the drama of his life unfolded.     

For those who may not know, and I must profess to being one of those before opening the book, the lengthy writing is about his conversion.  It is about him coming to faith and coming to the place of his resurrection which is how the ancient Celtic saints spoke of the destination of their pilgrmmage.  It has been a reading which has set me to remembering my own journey toward conversion and the faithful ones put alongside of me on the journey to keep me going and to keep me going in the right direction.  As Merton points out in his book this journey toward faith is not a straight journey from Point A to Point B, but is more like a circuitous path along an unknown way.    

I arrived at the moment of beginning somewhat by surprise.  Like Merton I was a seeker, but when the moment of conversion really came it was as he spoke of it a moment heavily loaded with a dose of divine grace.  I was at best a sinner floundering in the indecision of my life.  I had tried numerous times to put my life in His hands, but each time I was also quick to reclaim it.  There finally came that place in the journey where He broke into my life with such love that I turned toward Him in such a way that turning away was never again a serious option.  There is only one explanation why He did not turn away from me long before that night and only one explanation as to why He has remained faithful to me for nearly sixty years.  Grace.  Thanks be to God for His unrelenting grace.  

A Day of Blessing

One of the chores around here which seldom gets done completely before it is time to start over from the beginning is cutting grass.  The part up close to the house and around the garden gets the closer cut of a lawn mower and the rest which stretches out across the farm under the pecan trees requires a tractor and bush hog.  Today I was coming down the home stretch when the sky opened up with falling rain sending me hurrying to the tractor shelter.   As I drove under it, the bottom fell out, or so we speak of the kind of driving blowing rain which fell.  I settled into a golf cart seat and became a watcher and listener of the rain as it beat down ferosciously on the tin roof over my heard.    

It was like I had a front row seat to behold the work of the Lord.  Rain is life.  The hay fields which were already greening and the pasture with its grazing cows received what fell from the heavens as a blessing. There are many such blessings which fall around us.  So much of the time we come to the end of the day without consciously ackowledging how God has come to bless us in our living.  He does not force us to take a seat and behold His work, but instead, He goes about His work of blessing in ways that are often missed by our hurrying spirits and minds that are looking so far ahead that the present moment cannnot be seen.  

I was blessed today by a box of cookies mailed from my sister, a phone conversation with a friend, and being given a front row seat undet the tractor shelter to the unfolding work of God  If we are only looking for the grandiose, we are likely to miss the ordinary moments when God breaks in to bring a gracious blessing that cares for the needs of our spirit.  

The Mark of a Pastor

When I went to the Vidalia Church back in 1989 from a nine year appointment in Columbus that was fulfilling so many ways, I had no idea and no expectation that my time in Vidalia would be equally fulfilling and would actually last a year longer.  Many Methodist preachers back in those days got caught up in the common practice of going to one church for four years and then moving on to another for another four years.  Somewhere along the way some one had decided that four years was the perfect number of years for a preacher to serve one church.    

When I stayed longer in those two appointments there were those who looked at me with an attitude that said I was losing the upward mobility which was supposedly guranteed in moving every four years.  And of course, it is likely that some who wanted to move did not like me tying up two good appointments for nearly twenty years.  However, one of my clergy mentors was a guy who had proven himself to have sticking power in the local church and I was of a mind to walk in his footsteps. He always told me to work the patch where I was appointed.  Staying deep into the years of a longer pastorate never felt like a bad thing.  To move every four years meant spending the first year coming, year two and three in minstry,and year number four in going.  It never seemed like a good idea for churches to have effective ministry for only two years at a time which is what that old formula provided.  

My experience taught me people want a pastor to be committed to serving among them and not looking out for the next appontment.  It also taught me that a trust level is established as the years begin to add up which cannot be fabricated in a few short years.  The longer I stayed the more it seemed that people trusted me with the stuff of their life and their walk of faith which is what being a pastor is all about.  At least that is the way it always seemed to me.    

An Altar

A most blessed moment came to me in the middle of today's afternoon.  I was over in nearby Vidalia taking care of a few things which needed doing and found myself with some unexpected time before I needed to be at a grandson's end of the year award program.  So, on the spur of the moment I made my way back to the Vidalia Church where I served as pastor for ten years.  After visiting with the pastor long enough to cause him to lose his train of thought on the sermon he was writing, I asked if he would open up the sanctuary so I could spend some time in that holy space.  

It is a church with a pulpit that is truly high and lifted up, one which says that the Word proclaimed needs to be heard.  Whoever designed the sanctuary understood that preaching is important.  It is also a church with a large Table behind which I offered the Sacrament to the people gathered there so many, many times.  And, it has an altar.   It was an altar where much holy work was done in those ten years.  

I knelt there today and thanked God for those who had knelt there with me and for the divine blessings He bestowed upon us.  There were moments of kneeling for communion, moments kneeling asking for God's healing in what we called Services of Prayers for Healing, there were moments of baptism, and moments of heartfelt prayer as we sought God and the blessings needed for the day which was given to us.  It was also a place I knelt many a Saturday night praying for God's blessing on a sermon prepared and for a congregation of people about to gather.  Today's altar time was no different than those of days past.  Holy blessings poured out upon me once again.    

Farming Faith

When the rains do not fall and the hay crop suffers and the pecan crop is diminished, there is the expected moaning and groaning about the weather.  And when the market prices are down at the cattle sale and there are cows to sell, I have learned to fuss with the best of them.  But, what I also know is that at the end of the day it is dffierent for me and the real farmers whose livelihood depends on so many things which are beyond the control of the farmer.  I am not going to have to sell the farm if prices are down while some of the farmers around me could find themselves in that kind of dire predicament.  

I have come to a deeper appreciation for the real farmers around here who put seed in the ground not knowing if a harvest will be made, or who know that there are a thousand things from drought to army worms which might destroy their crop and their income for the next year.   They may not speak of it in their ordinary conversations around the back of some parked pick up truck at the end of the day, but they model a kind of faith that is both willing to take a risk and also full of hopeful expectations.  Their example is a good model for the rest of us to understand that faith truly does call us to abandon ourselves to the unknown and to live knowing that in the final analysis very little is inside our control.  

We have a watered down definition which we have learned in religious circles that has turned faith into a warm feeling known mostly when God is doing all the things we need Him to do.  "God is good, all the time," it is glibly said.  The farmer knows that not all times are good, but come the next year the seed will once again be cast into the ground.  All our times are not going to be good.  To expect them to be otherwise is to live as a fool.  Some times are good and some are bad and faith calls us to take the same risk and to live with same hope in both the good and the bad times.  

Over Yonder

 Somewhere over yonder

   beyond the thin veil

     glory burns in brightness,

        blinding for mortal eyes,

          but not so for those

who have arrived Home.

 

What cannot be seen

    now is clearly seen,

      the Holy Hidden Face

       as the back of hand

         there in every corner

of the Glory Land.

Over yonder in glory, 

   angels dance in streets

     the great crowd joins in

      'tis a joyous party

        that never will end

for those there at Home.

Praise God for blessing

   those who fought bravely

     who kept their faith

       and caught a glimpse

         of coming glory

in the final steps Home.  

        

A Journey of Grace

Sometimes we are tempted to declare that our journey of faith begins on that day when we make a conscious choice to live according to the plan of God in our life, or when we say "Yes" to the call of Christ.  And, of course, there are many who point not to a particular moment, but to a season remembered as a time of beginning.  It happens both ways.  Some can point to a particular moment and some point to a general time.  What really matters is the coming to faith.   

But, if we are really seeking to note the beginning point we must carry ourselves back to the moment we were concerived in our mother's womb.  This is the moment the journey begins.  It begins not by our faith response, but through the grace of God which is operative in us and for us even though we are unable to recognize it for a moment that begins the journey toward Home.  As is the case with any journey, we may choose a  way not intended, a way that takes us away from the plan of the Creator of our soul, and a way that leads to brokenness instead of one that speaks of wholeness.  God's grace sets us forth on the right road, but we do not have to accept the road as the one we want to walk.  What does not change is God's grace.     

Even though we decide somewhere between conception and death that we want no part of what God is about in the world, His offer of grace and the availabilitiy of it remains.  Grace is never dependent on our choice.  It is dependent on God's choice and He is always in the process of choosing grace for us.  Faith is what enables us to embrace what God is seeking in our life and it speaks of our decision to walk according to that way, but it is always grace that keeps us on the road all the way Home.  

The Balm

Busted up and broken,

   too many pieces now

     to put back together

       so midst the sharp shards

         a bare vulnerable soul 

stepping first here, then there.

A wet red trail behind

    filled with broken dreams,

       regrets of things not done,

         grief's fresh salty tears

            pouring forth painfully

like heavy morning dew.

Where's the Balm of Gilead

     that might soothe the soul

       of the unbearable

         unstoppable bleeding

           of a heart that beats on

though thick with love lost?

The Balm has been applied,

     but on another side

        like oil on Aaron's beard

          dripping down slowly

            on this side of the veil

touching the waiting ones.

A History and A Hope

Since I was seven years old and walked away from a graveyard in whose ground rested my father, I have been one who regarded those places as hallowed ground.  It is not only the bodies of our loved ones who are placed there, but also their stories, their memories, and sometimes the hopes and dreams they never realized.  Every graveyard has its stories to tell for those who walk slowly midst the markers and headstones to read the records etched in stone.   As I walked midst the stones telling past stories in the Zoar Church Cemetery a few days ago, I found a headstone which was put up in that place back in 1863.  It caused me to stop and stand there a moment considering what had happened to the Church whose shadow had been cast over that single grave for over 160 years.  

The records show that the first mention of the Zoar Church was in 1846 so people have been worshipping and burying their loved ones there for several generations.  History would tell us that the first sign out front declared it to be a member of the newly created Methodist Church Episcopal, South and it stayed that way until 1939 when a denomination split by slavery and war finally became one again to form the Methodist Church.  It stayed the same until 1968 when another merger created the United Methodist Church and now another schism much different than the first will soon bring about another denominational name change.   

When I served the church back in the early '70s, it was a strong country church with seventy five or so folks present on the average Sunday morning.  Today that number has shrunk to around twenty.  As I walked among those whose stories include being a part of the rich fellowship and heritage of the church which cares for their resting places, I wondered about the future of this holy community which has been centered in that place for so long.  Will it weather still another denominational name change and find a way to thrive again, or will it continue its decline until only the graveyard brings people to its hallowed grounds?  I pray that future generations will walk midst the markers and also discover the power of God for their lives as they go and sit midst the visible and invisble community which gathers within the walls of a church that has served Christ for so very long.  

The Zoar Church

Today I journeyed back to a place of beginning.  It was up the road a couple of hours from here and nearly impossible to find on the narrow asphalt path that took me there.  Had it not been for a few direction signs, my sense of memory might have sent me in the wrong direction.  But, I made it without any real problem  to the Zoar Church which was one of three on the Stapleton Charge back in that day when the Bishop sent me to my first appointment as a preacher.  Trips to the past are always interesting because everything is affected by the shadows of memory and the real changes which have actually taken place.    

The dirt road that once took me to the Zoar Church is now paved.  The huge trees which hovered over it are gone and the dirt in which they stood is now covered with an asphalt parking lot.  The outside of the church looks not like something worn by the wear and tear of the years, but as pristine as a freshly painted portrait.   And, while the congregation has shrunk, the manicured cemetery has grown in its population.   I walked among the markers of old congregants and friends.  I remembered their stories.  I thanked God again for their prayers for me as their greenhorn preacher fresh out of preaching school and for the many ways they gave encouragment and support to me as one who was not nearly as far along the path of faith as they were.  

As I walked among old friends again, I felt humbled that they stood with me and took pride in being a church that had sent many a young preacher on his way in the journey of serving Christ and the church.  No matter where I went and no matter how much larger the congregation might have been, I never got out from under the power of their prayers and the unconditional love they gave to me.  I often have said that every preacher should have a Zoar Church in their past, and they should.  

A New Book

When I saw it on the bookshelf at the store, I picked it up and did a quick thumb through and put it back.  But, I knew I was going to come back another day and let go of some cash so I could take it home for a slow read.  I had read excerpts from the book, but never the whole book and at my age there is no reason to wait until tomorrow.  As a friend of mine from another time used to say, "I don't buy any long playing records anymore."  It was an edition that was celebrating the fiftieth year of its printing so I figured it was about time for me to read it in its entirety, "The Seven Storey Mountain" by Thomas Merton.      

In recent years I have noticed I am reading more stuff written by Roman Catholic writers.  While I am not ready to give up my Wesleyan ways, I am finding these writers have stuff to say which resonates in this old heart of mine.  As I made the purchase decision I affirmed again to myself that something still in print after fifty years must have something to say that I need to read.  Too many times we let our reading taste dictate to us what we read which often separates us from authors who just might stretch our mind and soul just a bit.  Surely something read by so many for so many years has something to say to the likes of me.   

And, so I am moving along though the pages of a book that I had not planned to read this time last week.  This will not be the first such read.  I have many other books on my shelves which are there because it seems that they simply should be read.  I have always figured a good book is not one that sells enough today to be on someone's best seller list, but one that has stood the test of time as a book still regarded as worthy to be read.  My laying it aside as something not worth the time needed to read its 400 pages would say more about the reader than the book.  

A Morning Prayer

This morning I prayed that the Lord would make me useful for His purposes in the day which was unfolding.  It was a simple prayer of saying, "Lord, if there is anything you want me to do for You today, I am willing.  I am available."  It is not a prayer unique with me.  I know of others who have prayed such a prayer in the days that were given to them.  Some have said it makes the day more interesting, more exciting, that it creates a sense of anticapation, and that it is an intentional effort to partner with God  according to His plans rather than ours.    

At the end of the day, I looked back.  There was a moment of sharing with a hurting parent at the place where household trash is dumped; there was a time of praying with an old friend at the end of our time together;  througout the day there were reminders of the Spirit to pray for a nephew and his family who are traveling home on a long grueling trip;  there was an afternoon moment for sitting on the porch with an uncle of my wife who holds family stories close; and then there were several phone calls where shared hurts were given and received.    

Could all these times of blessing happen apart from my early morning prayer?  Possibly.  What was more probable was the fact that these same opportunites would have presented themselves and I would have missed them.  Maybe my asking God to grant me moments of sharing with Him in His stuff created an openness in my heart and a stillness that slowed me down so I could see and know without thinking about it that He was inviting me to join Him in doing some of His stuff.  I am grateful for the morning prayers which blessed me and set my day in motion and even more grateful for that end of day Word which spoke saying, "Look at what we did today."

A Sunday Journey

Before I made my way to the familiar place of worship this past Sunday, I ventured away to an early service at the Episcopal Church.  I made the decision to go because I wanted to be immersed in a litrugy that had served the people of God for centuries.  I wanted to have the Scripture, the words of holy ritual, and prayers that had been prayed longer than today to surround me.  It seems strange to confess this need for it is to acknowledge that my own tradition is a litrugically impoverished one and a tradition which would not be able to meet the needs of my heart.    

I encountered more than I expected.  I anticipated the liturgy and the Sacrament, but not some other things.  At the entrance to the sanctuary was the baptismal font, not empty as it stays in many of our Methodist Churches, but full of clear water.  I watched as people entered, walked by it, placed their fingers in the water, and touched their forehead in a moment of baptismal reaffirmation.  When I arrived at the pew, the friend who was showing me the Episcopal ropes of worship pointed out the kneeling rail behind each pew and then proceded to kneel and pray in the quietness of the pre-service minutes.  Finally, after the communion at the altar rail I returned to my seat only to see a flurry of movement as people went to pray around a kneeling soul at the altar who was there for anointing oil and prayers for healing.   

This was not the expressions of a stuffy faith filled with overpowering dull liturgy from the past, but visible expressions of a people who allowed themselves to be touched by a holy presence that gave life to worship.  It is unfortunate that so much of southern Protestanism embraces the spontaneous to the point that ancient practices are deemed something other than real worship.    

The Garden

The last church I served was the Rocky Ford United Methodist Church.  I went there after retirment to fill in for a pastor in the hospital and ended up staying four and a half years.  It is a very small congregation church in a very small town about ten miles from the farm.  I rode up that way this afternoon and found myself meandering through the Prayer Garden which sits beside the church.  Started  back in 2000 by some of the older women, it is now nurtured by the Creator and the childen of some of those mothers.  It is a wonderful place filled with a quiet peace that penetrates the soul of anyone who lingers more than a minute midst its beauty.  

There are some words etched in a granite stone at the entrance which says it all, "Peace to all who enter here.  God's grace to those who depart."  As I walked about while waiting on a friend to arrive, I was struck by the order of the place which was all around me.  Those who created and cared for the Garden created a place of order out of what was chaos.  Even as the Creator God took the chaos which existed before creation and brought into being a garden called Eden and filled it with order, so have those who have tended this holy garden there beside the church. 

When my friend arrived he walked around with me and from his memory spoke of the different blooming plants and how they arrived there in the place they grew.  Some bore a common name and some were known as the rose bush in memory of Mrs. Anne.  The church does not have a playground, or a modern looking new building, or even a lot of parking spaces, but it has a garden where surely the Spirit of God walks in the evening breeze and the people who enter and leave do so with a sense of quiet peace and a heart filled with unexplainable grace.  

A Hard Story

Methodist preaches are itinerant preachers.  This word not used much in ordinary language is a term which refers to a breed of preachers who move from one church to another according to the appointment of a Bishop.  The second appointment to which I went was Tennille.  Tennille was a one church appointment and as I arrived there from a three church appointment, I thought I had arrived.  It turned out to be a difficult appointment and I left for another church in just two years.    

And when I left for the next stop on the itinerant road, I carried with me some hurts, anger, and a spirit not yet ready to forgive. It is only hindsight which enables me to make such a confession.  At the time I thought everything had been worked out.  A few years after leaving I heard about a misfotune happening to one of those who were regarded as my antagonist and when my first reaction was, "He got what he deserved," I knew that my inner sense of gladness meant I had some serious heart work to do.  In that moment of a not so gentle prodding of the Spirit, I got rid of that anger and allowed the Spirit to lead me toward the peace of forgiveness.    

Some twenty years later I got a call inviting me to return for a Homecoming type event.  My first response was to make sure the preacher was sure he wanted me to come.  I did not want my presence to dig in old wounds which might cause him difficuties.  He assured me it was not just his invitation, but one which came from those within the church.  And, so I went and had a wonderful day of sharing in a mutual season of reconciliation which was filled with eager handshakes, words that came from forgiving hearts, and a regret that the past had not been handled differently.  Preachers and churches can sometimes get crossed up ending in contentious relationships which never really really get resolved.  I am grateful that the evil one lost another battle that he surely must have thought would forever belong to him.

Along the Way

When I was ordained into the ministry of the United Methodist Church back in 1971, I,  along with the others who were ordained, chose a life of going to "know-not-where."  The church I would serve would always be determined by the appointment of the Bishop.  There were times I thought he had surely lost his mind sending me to a particular church, but according to the ordaination covenant, I went where sent.  I do remember on one occasion of being given a choice of going to a church which was going to be a start up church, or one which would be a challenge.  I took the one labeled challenge and learned that he meant what he said.    

When I arrived at that church, it was in a bad state.  A number of folks had left for what looked like greener pastures and many of those who remained were waiting on one or two more to leave before joining them.  On one of my early visits I was told by a discerning spirit, "This church doesn't need a preacher, it needs a savior and you better be it."  Should I say I felt a little scared and a lot of pressure?  Had I not been a young pastor who figured he could save the world, I surely would have packed up my bags and turned in those ordination papers.   

And, it was a challenge.  But, the Spirit began to work and those of who who were there joined Him and it was nine years before I left that neighborhood church on a busy corner in Columbus, Georgia.  A church that was struggling to survive was at that point thriving with new life.  One of the lessons learned from those years at St. John was one about not giving up, but perserving.  Another was that sometimes the best thing any church can do is to let the Spirit do what only He can do.  And, finally, I learned the value of people standing alongside one another in ministry. It is never about what one person can do, but what can be done when we stand alongside one another trusting in the Holy Spirit who is always standing alongside of us.  

Pineview Musings

The recent trip across state to see my Dad began early and as I went toward the western horizon, I thought about an old friend who lives in a town called Pineview which is actually smaller than the small town in which I live.  It had been some time since we had sat together for a conversation.  Between us were several volumes of memory.  We both spent the better part of our years trying to grow churches and in retirement we have both ended up trying to grow things from the dirt.  He has done well turning his space into an oasis of colorful blooms, fruit trees, and artistically laid out planting beds for things to grow.  As we stood out there together for a few moments, the freshness of creation was overpowering.   

Creation speaks to us about a partnership to which we were first invited in that early season of beginning when the Creator God prowled the Garden at the time of evening breeze.  (Genesis 3:8).  It is also about an invitation to put our hands in the dirt as keepers of the sacred created stuff of the earth.  It is obvious that my old friend has lived faithfully inside that trust to work and keep.  

What I also noticed were the piles of debris waiting for a wheelbarrow, the plants not yet planted, and the empty spaces that were being made ready for tomorrow, a work in progress kind of place.  What I saw was a place of beauty, but also a messy place, and  a work in progress.  In such a place there is always something to do which speaks to how God sees me and my friend in our older years.   We are a bit messy at times, we are a work in progress, and the best part is that God has not yet finished with us.

Fifty-Seven Years Ago

I did not have enough fingers and toes to do the figuring so I broke out a long yellow pencil and a piece of paper used on one side.   Fifty-seven years was the end result of the calculating.  It was fifty seven years ago that I knelt in the Alamo Church parsonage and said "Yes" to Jesus.  Now I had said "Yes" to Jesus many times before that night, but this one stuck.  This time when I gave my life to Jesus, I did not try to take it back like some shopper who took the wrong size out of the store. This time I did not turn back, but began a journey which is still ongoing today.   

When I left the house a tad before seven o'clock on a trip to see my Dad who lives across the state, I had not even thought about stopping by the Alamo Church, but when I passed through the town on the way home in the late afternoon, I saw the preacher's truck in the driveway and pulled in behind it.  He was an old friend I have known for most most of my ministry and when I asked if I could come in for a walk through of boyhood memories, he pulled the door open wide.  

And, so I found myself standing in the spot where I gave my life to Jesus and where I heard what I did not want to hear, a call to preach.  It was such a blessing to step full circle back into the memory of that evening.   Not everyone who preaches is blessed with such a clear sense of calling from a particular place.  I count such remembrance as a true blessing of grace.  It is a memory which has kept me grounded when distractions were blowing hard against my life.  It has always been a visible reminder of an invisble work of grace which turned my life and set my feet on the road toward Home.  

Holy Comfort

I have never been one to work at figuring out heaven.   On the other hand some folks spend a lot of time measuring the stones in the streets, determining the brilliance of the pearly gates, and descibing the homecoming to be anticiapted by all who arrive.  I suppose a lot of what they figure comes out of the last book of the Bible which speak about the holy city and the river which flows from the throne of God.  I have read and I rejoice in what it says, but it has always seemed that what is described with the words of John is nothing compared to the actual reality of the Home being prepared for each one of us.    

There are some things I would like for heaven to include, but somehow I have a feeling that being midst the eternal glory of God will cause those earthly desires to disappear into the realm of the not so important.  When I start pondering heaven and the life beyond this one, I end up with those words from the last chapter which speak the words, "...and God Himself will be with them; He will wipe every tear from their eyes, Death will be no more; mourning and cryiing and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away."  (Revelation 21:3-4)   It has always been enough.  

I have read those words many times over the decades of ministry and I never tire of hearing these words of holy comfort.  Neither do I grow weary of reading them.  In these recent days of heartache and loss and deep grief, I have been comforted by the words of friends, but I have also found that when the comforting words of friends are no more, the powerful words of the Scipture are still filling the air and soothing the hurting places of my heart.  The passage from Revelation is one of those words.  And alongside of it is that word from the empty tomb, "He is not here, He is risen!"  (Luke 24:5)  Hallelujah!

The Way Not Chosen

Life brings us all to moments we would never choose.  And, the longer we live, the more we find ourselves walking on such ground.  They can destroy us, or shape us.  To some degree it is our choice to make in each of those moments.  My life has been shaped for a long time by the first journey I took to a cementery when I was seven years old and my mother took me and my sister there to bury her husband and our Daddy.  It was my first encounter with a moment I never would have chosen and also my first remembered encounter with God.    

Losing those we love has a way of opening our eyes and hearts to what is eternal.  When I think about the beginning of a life of being aware of God, I go back to that very hard memory.  For the first time I started looking for Him.  For the first time I thought about heaven and eternity.  It was not something which came out of a mature faith for I was only a boy, but something which was born out of a desperate need for life to make sense.  No matter how old we become and no matter how mature our faith, we live as people who need the life we encounter to make sense.     

It is not always easy to see.  Sometimes it takes the hindsight born out of many passing years to see where God was at work in a time when He seemed to be absent and maybe even uncaring.  Our faith in God serves us a framework to live through the hard unthinkable moments.  Within it are those realities which enable us to put into perspective the realities which confound us.  From conception in the womb, our Creator God has been moving us on a path that eventually takes us Home where the light that first shined on us in the womb will shine upon us with such glory that earthly eyes would be blinded.  We are never alone.  We are never outside the plans He is working out in our lives and in the lives of those we love.  As we wait, we catch glimpses of what will one day be revealed fully and clearly to us.  Such is where God is alway drawing us even in those moments we would never choose.