Biggest Thing to Happen at McMurry Today

And it is one cool copier! Thanks to Gene Claxton and his crew from UniSource! Our secretary Tammy is in orange and she is positively gleeful. This was taken in our storeroom.

Telling the Old Story Again

I am so happy. I am smiling a lot. I am also very tired, since I arose at 6:15 am to get ready to go to church and preach...wow, I am actually preaching again! I sort of preached this morning--I did a bio bit and then a short reflection on John 12:1-8. The Main thing is after all Jesus and his love. Despite a very froggy throat especially at 8:30. The people are lovely, so much giving and loving going on---on Thursday we didn't know if anyone was bringing flowers for the altar since no one had signed up, and three people ended up doing it!

This is the first time, except at the old Friends and Faith Sunday evening service at Broadway, that I have preached with a screen. Tammy our secretary and I happened to find the very same picture to use (yes I said picture not pictures...I will learn) for the sermon.

I know this is sounding more like a report than a blog entry, but to tell you the truth, just reporting that I am a local pastor again is miracle enough for me this night.

Thanks to Krise who made a box for me to stand on; to Shirley who took care of caring for me; to Mike the liturgist; to the flower bearers and to children who brought me cards they made; and most of all to Jesus Christ, whose love is new every Sabbath morning.

Ah, the joy of it all...

You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To

One of the coolest things about starting at a new church is to find out those wonderfully serendipitously joy-giving moments, when you discover something absolutely wonderful is part of the makeup of the church. Every pastor has experienced these moments---they mostly have to do with a particular person or group who so much have their fingers on the right spot---are really in touch with the transcendent that it just blows ones mind.

Sometimes those moments may be a little different. Last week I learned that Kansas City jazz bassist James Albright is a member of McMurry. He has a regular gig, I think, at Unity Temple on the Plaza on Sundays (that, by the way, being exactly two blocks and a half blocks from my condo ). You'll have to watch this YouTube video most of the way through to see him, but here he is in a combo from last September. He is amazing as an upright bass player and electrical bass. And you can imagine, my mind is just a-goin' with ideas. He really is considered about the best jazz bassist in town. I have heard him several times over the last 10 years---my heart is happy too!

There will be other of these moments at McMurry and I intend to share them!

Sunday's Coming

I have a feeling I am behind the times in that I have not seen this, but Mike Wright-Chapman put it on his facebook page and I could not help myself. Hope it gives you a smile.

The View Across the Pond

Just a picture I took this afternoon across the pond, while standing on the driveway at the new district office. The deer didn't at all look scared, just stared back at me, and sort of acted like our cats do when they're laying on my bed.

The new office is just a lovely setting, peaceful, green and it feels like home. I hope all you HNDers will get to see it soon!

Baking Biscuits

It's Friday night at 10:05 and I think I will go to bed soon. This is evidence enough for people who know me that I am still sick. Transitioning time, no matter how good the transition, is a stress thing--you know that if you have ever taken one of the polls which tally up your stress points. Made a little more stressful are two churches which still have not received appointments yet. And the fact that I am not sleeping and I have an "acute" cold---sounds more legitimate than just a "cold" Oh, enough about me.

I am going on record here that there are a couple of advertisements that are driving me batty, which air during Cards games. One is the talking hat in the Steak n Shake commercial. The other one is the Hardees commercial above where a bunch of guys are sitting around the TV watching NASCAR, when in walks their host from the kitchen with a freshly baked biscuits and says, "anybody want a biscuit?" The guys look at him like he is a total wimp and outcast, and the Hardees voice comes on and says, "guys don't bake" meaning real men eat biscuits at their place. Who are they kidding? Real men in Harders bake biscuits every day, the ones they are trying to sell with this commercial. Not to mention their total old-world mindset that men don't do women's work. Gee. And I would guess that a few of the guys reading this could and would bake biscuits if they wanted to. And besides someone needs to teach those guys around the TV some manners when they are in other people's homes and they are offered biscuits, no matter who baked them.

Where is Gloria Steinem when you need her?

Ok, time for bed and hopefully a more hopeful attitude tomorrow. And time to welcome home my son Caleb who is back tonight from six weeks with his grandparents at the camp. And Caleb does bake biscuits and a whole lot of other things. Be proud of yourselves, baking men! Follow your call to make that red velvet cake! Make the lasagna one that will live in your wife;s mind forever! Make those cookies and eat 'em all yourself! Be who you are and don't let Hardees take it from you!!! After all, Jesus was a baker of sorts, turning those few loaves of bread and providing enough for 5000 men (plus the women and children present!) Get those oven mitts out and spill that flour! I am proud of you!!!

The FIrst Pic of McMurry Folk

Today I met with Trish and Krise Richardt, McMurry folk, to talk with Trish about worship at our church. Krise is the SPRC chair. They were very helpful. 'Tis VBS week too so there were lots of folks at the church working on set-up and decs. Looks really good!

While talking with Krise and Trish, Krise told me that when he started coming to church, and when he moved from sitting in the balcony to the nave (he didn't say nave) after he had attended for a while, he and Trish too I guess, sat on a row with older women. He took on the task of getting these older women's hymnals opened to the right page...they wanted their hymnals on the right page for the singing of the hymns, even though most knew the hymns by heart anyway. This was before the time of the screen in the sanctuary. I think Krise said that some had eyesight that was failing, but they still wanted the hymnals turned to the page...

I get that. If you have been in worship all your life, and your body is growing old, and you are nearer death than birth, it is good to hold a hymnal. It is good to know that you can still hold the book that contains the songs you have sung all your life--and some new ones too. It is good to know that the hymns you sung while standing on the pew when you were 5, your father's arm about your waist, is there, reminding you that the Everlasting Arms upon which you lean, do keep you safe and secure from all alarm. It is good to know that that hymn which was being sung when you made a personal commitment to Christ is there, to help you remember the blush of first faith reminding you that you can come to those everlasting arms with no guile or pretence, but just as you are. It is good to know that the hymn you tried to sing at the funeral, in the darkness of your husband's death, is there, reminding you always that there is a help for the helpless, and that abiding love is Jesus.

To hold that book that contains the songs of your life is like holding not just your own memories in your hands, but to hold the marvelous assurance of One who has always and will always hold you, love you as youare, and who willl be there with you when the eventide is falling fast.

And to have a young man open the book, get you on the right page, to be honored by him in such a beautiful act, is the only way that holding the book, those memories, that assurance is made more beautiful still.

Lime Green Ministry

Three days before annual conference, Jill Daniel, student pastor at Wellington UMC for the past three years, called to ask me a question: should she wear conservative brown or lime green for the commissioning service? That really is not so odd a question for her to ask me, since I consider her my friend and colleague. And if you can't ask a friend what color to wear at commissioning, who can you ask? I do not remember the first thing I said, but I ended up saying, "Yes, of course" (which is something Jill says often) ...yes, of course, wear lime green" and she did. A beautiful flowy, chiffony dress with layers and she even wore lime green jewelry. And her wonderful husband Ken wore a lime green sports shirt. They were glorious in living color. However, that is not Jill in the picture nor is it HER lime green dress....or mine.

In our short conversation, I got it that Jill was saying more than that she liked lime green better than brown. She wants her ministry to be lime green and not brown. There is a time for brown--when a non anxious presence is needed--however, I think that non-anxious presence is too often an excuse for a pastor who would rather stand around and smile and say "there-there" instead of having the courage of his or her convictions. And non-anxious presence of course is good if everybody in the church is in a ruckus. Brown is good when it is time for a wedding or a funeral or most other milestone type worship where the Solid Rock needs to be represented.

However, I, like Jill, want to have a lime green ministry, and to tell you the truth I think I have pretty much had one to this point. I now have entered the gates of metaphor just to let you know. I want to be alive and joyful in ministry; I want to dare to be a little different; I want people to know that the Lord live in my heart in loving color, in nuances of color, and that my heart is a prism through which his light bounces off and out so that it is not my own lime green folks see, but the gorgeous twinkling, sometimes muted, sometimes bold colored rays of light of the Lord.

And a note to the McMurry folks reading this---I do not own a lime green dress. But I sure am looking forward to being in a joyful, living ministry with you.

Mumbling the Words

I don't know how many Trekkies there are out there---I am not really one, but I was an early teenager when the original Star Trek series was on. One particular episode (#52) named "The Omega Glory" was really fascinating to me. Captain Kirk et al, had been lured to a planet where Yangs had fought the Kohms for centuries. When Kirk is tested to complete the words to a document that the Yangs call "holy words" you will see here what happens. This clip is about 9 minutes long, but enjoy a blast from the past

What has happened is that in this parallel planet to earth (notice the American flag in the background), Yangs and Kohms (Yankees and Communists) too had a cold war, but it ended in bitter conflict that was still going on when Captain Kirk got there. The holy words, which the Yanks thought were only for chiefs, are really the Preamble to the Constitution. The Yanks repeated the words "E Plebneesta) which in fact were "We the People."

Yes, a real stretch I would say too. Captain Kirk passionately explains that these words were for every person, even Kohms.

It really makes me think about what happens sometimes in the church. Mumbling the words, but not really claiming the meaning. Repeating creeds, or Bible verses, or hymns of the faith that we know by heart, liking the sound of them, the familiarity of them, but not really allowing Christ to infiltrate our speaking of the words with a heart felt meaning.

Most often this is not the case for us. Most of the time, we do mean what we say and sing. Sometimes in fact we are hit smack dab in the fact by what we say or sing. At Annual Conference, Michael Slaughter, author and senior pastor at Ginghamsberg United Methodist Church, preached prophetically on the need for every church to get involved in its own community. He was urging us to look again at the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats. What if God really means this? That unless we feed the hungry, comfort the sick, clothe the naked, visit the imprisoned, we will be a goat in the latter days of judgment? We know the scripture, but do we just think about this, or are we out there doing it? Do we mumble the words by heart, but do not heed the words with our hands and feet?

Methinks I have been mumbling too much, and me thinks it's time to live the truth instead .

.

Twix and Tween time

My today is full...

Still appointments to make

Still pastors to listen to

Still wonderful Barbara

Still a few more meetings

A few more check requests to sign

Full of emotions

A breaking heart of a church in my district

Anger at myself that I don't "have 'em all done"

And

Satisfaction, really, that by God's grace

The district has great pastors and churches of all sizes

That hope does reign

And that mission is blossoming in beautiful ways

And the future...

Only 20 days till I become the pastor at McMurry

Till I get to love one specific bunch of folks

And preach

And hurt when they hurt

And laugh

And lead

And pray in new ways

Praise God, for yesterday and the regrets I have in some decisions I have made in the past. Praise God for today, and the responsibilities that sometimes weigh heavy, but which I still bear gladly, and Praise God for tomorrow, for a church named McMurry, for good people already welcoming me, and for another chance to pastor.

My Conversation with Caleb

While down at the condo pool, I received a phone call a bit ago from my son Caleb, who is at Hillmont Camp again, where his father's parents are retired directors. His grandparents are Free Will Baptists, and it is to the FWB church in Dickson TN that they go on Sundays and Wednesdays.. Here is part of the phone conversation from today:

"Hey Mom, how ya doin'?"

"How ya doin' Cabie?"

Exciting so far, huh???

Then , "Mom, mom, I saved you the bulletin this morning ...you will LOVE it!! It's got the Statue of Liberty and the American Flag on it...we sang America and America the Beautiful."

Me: "Oh, well America the Beautiful is good---the words are so real." And I also reminded him that we usually could always find something edifying in a sermon if we listened for it. And that it is Memorial Day and people in the congregation may be thinking about loved one who have died in the military. I also asked if his grandparents could hear him...no, they had just left Captain Ds and he was at the car.

C: "Wait a minute, we didn't sing America the Beautiful....and the sermon was on how we want to be remembered...and he said people should remember us for how much we loved Jesus and the church. He talked about how good the institutional church is."

At this point, I could tell he knew that I agreed with the Jesus part and the church part, though I wouldn't have said the church thing the same way. And I also reminded him that we usually could always find something edifying in a sermon if we listened for it. And that it is Memorial Day and people in the congregation may be thinking about loved one who have died in the military. (I DO try to be encouraging in a motherly way.)

C: Yeah, I think that about Jesus...be remembered for Jesus...but..." (He knew I knew what he meant.) "In Sunday School, all the imagery was about war "(this he said with disgust) He and I both honor those who serve---we remember Clinton Cox, our father and grandfather, who served in WW II. But we also know that Daddy and Paw-Paw would be see the problem here too.

At the time of the phone call, I had been reading Michael Slaughter's book Change the World. Sort of a coincidence (God working anonymously as Anne Lamott would say) since much of what Slaughter writes about Caleb would agree with. I told him about the book and Slaughter and Caleb said "Cooooool...it's neat that a mega church pastor would talk like that."

When I got off the phone, I gave God thanks for a 19 year old son who knows how to pay attention to the important things, who knows who Jim Wallis is, who takes his spiritual life very seriously, and who isn't rude (I hope) to the people of his grandparents church. In fact, he really likes the preacher. And I am thankful for a son who can disagree vehemently, but still likes the folks with whom he disagrees.

Oh, yeah, one more thing. Last Sunday, when he and his grandparents walked into church, he asked an older man there whom he knew, "where's the red? Don't we celebrate Pentecost here?"

At which the man laughed and said, "no, we're Baptists." First Caleb asked me if Methodists are the only ones that celebrate Pentecost...and then if there were any Baptists that celebrated Pentecost. I told him about American Baptists. Caleb also told me that a bit of Methodist bashing went on then (I am certain that it must have been done in love...I hope) and of course Caleb had to tell me all about it.

Changing the subject slightly, I worshiped at the middle service at Platte Woods this morning. The church musician is Walter Bryant, a great jazz keyboard player and arranger. Steve Breon preached on simplifying and prioritizing our use of time. Walter played My Sweet Lord for the prelude and then a very talented woman sang, with Walter and his combo playing, the Rolling Stones' Time is on Our Side..which really fits....he and I had a discussion after the service about using popular contemporary songs "as is"...instead of gerrymandering them up to be explicitly Christian. Not that that is always bad, but maybe we are supposed to turn our ear to the radio, and despite some of the ugliness and language, hear that God shows up in the strangest places. Caleb and I have had several discussions about this and agree with Walter.

I think this is enough. And it's time to go watch or listen to the Cards game.

PS: Googling around for a picture, I see that White American Baptists are not the only Baptists who celebrate Pentecost. There are several websites of African American Baptists of many ilks that do. One example is at this site for Sharon Baptist Church in Richmond VA: http://www.thesharonbaptistchurch.com/index.php?p=1_15_Ecumenical-Calendar-

The New District Office

We are moved! The Heartland North District office has moved to its new location in the house on the north side of Platte Woods UMC. The house has been renovated, mostly, by Rev. John Howard, associate pastor at First Kearney UMC (that's him a few months ago taking a picture of some others who were painting, as I took a picture of him.) In his former life, he was facilities manager for Veterans Hospital in KC. He took on this project lock, stock and barrel (literally). Although there were several other volunteers I especially thank Terri Huffman) it was John who painted with them, got the mold in the house removed, arranged the carpet layers and mini blind installation, painted, installed locks, cleaned, worked out financial details with Platte Woods, got a marvelous sign made for just off the north parking lot of the church, took out a wall, emptied humidifiers countless times, worked with Coni, our bookkeeper for the paying of bills and did all sorts of other things to get the house ready. It is very beautiful. Please come see us! You feel as if you are in the woods, sort of, and you are sort of.

I feel fairly guilty about this office thing, since when we decided to take up Platte Woods on its offer of this house as our office, I had no idea that I would be going off the district. The district has put money into the house and John has put his heart and soul into the house. One of the joys of being where we are now is that we get to see the Platte Woods people so much. Steve Breon, senior pastor there, came by this afternoon and said something like. "this house is so you" (meaning Susan) and it certainly does feel like home. It feels like home too, because among other things, Barbara senses this feels like home, too.

I have no doubt that God will lead the district to find many ways to use the house and its grounds (the "park-like setting" as I have described it). I do wish we had moved earlier because the stress level when all three districts were together was very high---not that we didn't get along but we were so cphysically lose together, and there is such tension at times in the superintendency that it is good to be in a peaceful place. Selfishly I wish this had happened sooner because then I would have gotten to enjoy it longer, and my own stress level might have been lessened.

This does NOT mean that the call on my life is lessened to return to the local church and to McMurry in particular. I do have another month plus of the ds work, though, and it looks like I will be dealing with "issues" until the very end, which is okay---that is what I am supposed to be doing, and I will be glad to live out every one of my days as ds. And I am glad that it will be in the funky house next to PW, with trees all around, and a contented Barbara, the keeper of my sanity, in the other room.

Bible Given, Bibles Received

Today, I was packing books at the District office for the good men from McMurry to come pick up on the 22nd---I will be gone Monday thru Friday next week to the Festival of Homiletics in Nashville, so my time is short. As I got through packing Wesley's journals, and assorted other Wesley books, I reached for the next shelf down which held several of my bibles. I have packed those bibles (some of them) ten times (maybe 11 or 12) in moves. Today I was struck by the inscriptions in the front page of each and I realized we have had our own little Gideon Society right in the Hale/Cox family giving and receiving bibles right and left. Here are more about the bibles in this picture taken this afternoon, numbered from left to right:

Bible 1) The Rainbow Bible with color illustrations and a cool cross metal bookmark. This was given to me at Christmas by my parents in 1962--I was eight. KJV of course (Not in the picture is the tiny white "bible" somebody gave me when I was born. ---that would have qualified as my first Bible I think)

Bible 2) The white genuine leather Bible I received at Christmas from my parents in 1965--presumably I needed a more grown up and prettier Bible by then. It looks like someone has used it a lot---that someone was me. KJV of course

Bible 3) The Living Bible New Testament which was my brother Sam's gift to me upon my graduation from eighth grade in 1968. This was the very first of the Living Bible bibles to come out and man, he was really hip giving it to me, graduating me on to creative renderings of stories I had heard in the KJV. I now was growing into teenagerdom, (in my high school days anyway) using a PARAPHRASE instead of a TRANSLATION! It brought out my biblical wild-child.

Bible 4) The Jerusalem Bible that I bought myself when I was a freshman in college. This was about the same time I saw a traveling company do Godspell at SIU which was one of those mountain top experiences--remember it was 1973. Somewhere I had been to a study or heard a sermon from a Catholic priest around Carbondale someplace who used this translation and I really liked it. It may have been Hugh Muldoon??? I used it for several years and still use it for reference (and reverence).

Bible 5) A beautiful small tan Bible I received in 1977 when I was ordained as a deacon, as some of us oldies were before the new (new?) ordination process. I was ordained by Bishop Leroy Hodapp in the Southern Illinois conference. And he inscribed it. It really looks beat up too---I used it for preaching quite a bit early on and I dropped it a big water puddle one time when I was getting out of the car and it got soaked and the pages still show it.

Bible 6) This Bible was my maternal grandmother Granny Hale's last Bible, given to her in 1984 when she was eighty by one of her grandsons. It is full of notes on scripture and notes from the preacher's sermon. She was Gospel Assembly and had very long white hair and lived until she was 97. She was widowed during the depression with four children, the oldest, my mother, in high school. Anyway, she loved the scripture; she also, as most children of her generation did, memorized poetry at school. And she wrote on the inscription page, which was really a place to record a marriage, these words:

My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road's last turn will be the best.

--From Henry Van Dyke's poem Life.

Granny actually made a change from the original poem. She changed "hope" to "know."

Bible 7) An NIV version that I gave my mother Christmas 1988. She was in lay speaking training at that time and I thought she would like it. I was gifted back with it in 2000 when she died.

And there are more Bibles we all gave each other that are in assorted place. I just hope that when I am gone, that Cana and Caleb will both enjoy and thank God for this Bible giving thing that has gone on in the family. And will still be reading their own as well.

Earth Day Entry a Few Days Late

...no, I don't mean the first day of creation---I mean the first Earth Day...back in 1970. I am old enough to remember it and remember it well. I was a sophomore at Carbondale Community High School and I was in love with my Biology II teacher Patrick Schmalenberger. (whose boundaries, as we say, were totally secure). He had recently graduated from college and this was his first, and it may have been his only, teaching position...I see he was still teaching in '04 and may be now retired. I tried to find a picture of him on the Internet but failed. He had the dimples of John Davidson (Mr. Davidson is in town playing at a dinner theater) and the sweet and encouraging spirit was just the thing this girl needed to actually find interest in a science class, rather than the humanities classes I loved. That first Earth Day, Mr. Schmalenberger somehow got us (maybe 2 or 3 of us) out of our afternoon classes and we made posters to illustrate how we could take better care of the environment. My parents went to parent-teacher conference a few weeks after this and I still remember what he said to my mother, "she's a real fireball!" I took that as a compliment as I would today.

I guess I was just thinking how wonderful it is to have teachers who teach for the love of their curriculum and for the benefit of the students. That first Earth Day was a time I learned much about how to care for the eco-systems which we were invading and still are invading and which can lead to ruin of that g thing God created in Genesis 1---the earth and everything it it which God called very very good. Cana and I are committed to making some real changes around here in terms of leaving a greener life. We already recycle, although our condo association does not have curb side recycling. I have found a couple of places to take it. As we talked about her knitting us bags to take to the grocery story, I could not help but think of that day I got out of class, got to be in Mr. Schmalenberger's presence, and found pictures and articles to glue to poster board and set out around the school to educate students on the ecology. Earth Day is a good thing. It would be an even better thing if our churches stopped using those styrofoam coffee cups and made the effort to recycle. That would be the poster I would have made this year.

Inspiration to Reach Out

Today the Heartland North District sponsored the event Reaching Out: Inspiration and Ideas for the Small Church, held at Lexington UMC. Bishop Schnase was our keynote speaker. I am so grateful that Bishop was able to be present and talking---he was ill this week. He also led one of our workshops. Other workshop topics included reaching out to children in the neighborhood; older adults involved in mission; lay speaking; building missional leaders; using technology in the small church; and a panel of "it worked for us" panel describing three hands on ministry. About 90 persons were there, to learn and be inspired.

A big thank you from me to: Barbara Webb, my admin who is ALWAYS helpful; Kevin Buckrucker, Heartland North lay leader; and Rosann Malter, chair of our district learning team.

I was struck today when our bishop spoke how he was careful to tell folks that when they plan a program or an even which the church has prayed intently about and spent a lot of time organizing and planning, that results not always come quickly. But keep at it. And the results, when they do come, and new folks start showing interest in the church, may not be very small innumber. Bishop often uses the parable of the sower and the seed...you scatter, some take root, some doesn't, even MOST don't. But only by the grace of God some does and that is worth it all.

Thanks to all the leaders and all the folks at Lexington that made today a great day!

I led a worship first thing, and above is the altar arrangement that I did to go along with my devotion on "Let the Lower Lights be Burning." (I am pretty sure I did a blog post on that back in the fall of '05). A special thanks to Christine Tucker-Key for sending me this pic!

In short, small churches need to let their lights shine!

This coming Saturday, our district is sponsoring a learning event Reaching Out: Inspiration and Ideas for Small Churches, at Lexington. Bishop Schnase will be there to speak and there are several workshops and displays. I am leading worship. As I thought about the theme, I remembered a story that Hubert Neth told while he was on staff at Broadway with me. I called him yesterday to hear the story again.

There is a small church near Sedalia, New Bethel UMC, and at the time that that this incident took place, the church was really struggling financially. The board was trying to think of every possible way to cut costs. It had been the habit of the church to leave the porch light on all night, for security, I imagine, and also so that the occupants of cars passing would know where the church was. One particular Saturday night, a car approached on the dark road. The driver, a young man driving up from Springfield was in the dark in his own life. He was really at the end of his rope...his addiction had over taken his life, his family had finally left him over it because he could not or would not seek treatment. He had gotten in the car and headed north, not really paying attention to where he was going, feeling more and more helpless and hopeless. As he drove up 65 Highway nearing Sedalia, he saw light in the distance and as he got closer, he saw it was attached to a building, a church...and somehow, someway, that light felt to him like a small beacon of hope...a light in his darkness. He pulled in to the parking lot, parked as close as he could to the light, and made it through the night by the grace of God and that little porch light. Weeks later the church received a note from the man who may very well might have had his life saved that night by the decision of the board to keep the light on, and told the church this story.

I hear churches, sometimes, when they are talking about how bad their financial situation is, say that they don't know how they will keep the lights on. Until I heard this story, I always thought they were talking about the light inside the sanctuary, or down in the basement., But the most important light to keep one is that one on the outside--sometimes literally as is in this story, but more often it is the Light we carry in our hearts and in the way we live. Thank you, God, that you have chosen us as your lamps to bring that light to the world. Help us always to be on the alert, always watching, with lamps lit, knowing that the Bridegroom may come at anytime, and till then, there are those who need to be shown the way to the celebration.

Mr. Stinky Feet's December Blog post

On the front of the Kansas City Star's FYI section today was published a blog entry by Mr. Stinky Feet (Jim Cosgrove) who is an entertainer extraordinaire of young children everywhere. His post is below. Jeni is his wife, Lyda his older daughter:

"Angels Shop At Target"

Lyda told me an amazing story tonight about how when she was an angel in heaven, she picked Jeni and me to be her parents. Lyda went shopping one day at the heavenly Target. It was August 13th. She remembers the date because it "felt like August, and it smelled like August. And, well, it really tasted like August." She found Jeni on the "girl" shelf and me on the "boy" shelf. She picked me first, she said, because she loves me as big as the world. And Jeni and I were kind of like statues, just "heads and shirts."

"You had on a blue shirt and mom had on a purple shirt." (Naturally – our favorite colors.) Then Lyda went shopping for the rest of our body parts. "I picked out your bones, and your arms, and legs, and hair, and paint to color your eyes, and some peach-colored stretchy, flopppy stuff for your skin. I even picked out your toes," she said proudly.

"How come you didn’t get me some more hair?" I interrupted. "Well, sorry," she said, "we were kind of in a hurry and we were really hungry. It was about 5:30 and we had to get back to God’s house to get something to eat."

"What did God serve for dinner?"

"Noodles, of course. We had noodles pretty much every night."

"Did you ever get sick of eating noodles every night?"

"No! God had lots of Parmesan cheese and parsley. And we had milk, but that’s about it."

"You said 'we.' Who else was with you?" I asked.

"There were other angels with me to help me pick you out. Your dad helped me pick you out," she said. "He was the only boy helping me. But, there were about 12 girl angels who helped me pick out mom."

"My dad helped you pick me out?" I asked. "That must have been a long time ago."

"Oh yeah, it was before you and mom were babies. Because you’ve got to start as babies, you know. We took all the parts over to God’s house and he put you together. I helped him a little, maybe this much," she said, holding her thumb and index fingers about an inch apart. "And then God put you in your mommy’s tummy and he put mom in her mommy’s tummy. And then I helped God get you and mom together, but that took a long time."

A long time, indeed, but it seems like we’ve always been together. Now I know why it "seems" that way, because we have been together -- always.

I must say I am comforted knowing that someone as wise and loving as Lyda helped put me together and helped Jeni and me find each other. How cool that she picked us! No need to worry about anything, because it's all part of the master plan.

First box run 2010

Today I actually did a box run. Those of you who have been reading this blog the whole 5+ years, I am sure will recall the unforgettably well written (;-}) post I did back in March of 2005 on making the first box run when I received the news that I would be moving into the superintendency. Then, I moved the household. This year, praise the Lord and the bishop, I will not. I am able to continue living in my condo.

The box run today was only for liquor boxes into which books fit so nicely. I need them to pack my office. The last time I was in a liquor store was back in the spring of 05 when I was collecting boxes for the last move. Today, I hit the jackpot when I stopped by Berbiglia on the Southwest Trafficway extension at 45th street. There were lots of boxes, and the young guy working gave me as many as I could fit in the Prius. My camera ran out of juice or I would have a picture of them in the back of the car. Instead I took this photo from the Internet, but the boxes looked a lot like these. Barbara and Gary at the office came downstairs with a dolly that got them all upstairs.

The young man at the liquor store looked lonely when I came in. No other workers and definitely no other patrons than me, and I wasn't really a patron, just a scavenger of boxes. He was tall, and bearded and had great looking glasses. I introduced myself to him. His name is Chris. The reason I asked his name was twofold: 1) It is always a good idea when you find a generous box giver, to make friends with him so that he will continue to be so; and, 2) I like to know by name those with whom I interact. After we exchanged names, Chris became even more helpful, bringing the boxes out to the car with me, volunteering to take the "innards" out as I call them---the wine bottle dividers and such.

Twas only a simple encounter. But who knows, I may have been the only customer (or box scavenger) today that asked Chris's name. He was the only person I met today that I did not already know. For some reason, I hope to encounter this young man again. And maybe find out a bit more about him than his name. And not just because he is a soft-touch when it comes to boxes. There are times like today, when we all encounter someone, who stays in our minds, who God places in our minds and hearts. I don't know quite what reason there would be for me to go back into Berbiglia. But if Chris is in my mind and heart and God put him there, I imagine that the boxes might just run out, and the miracle of God's love exemplify itself instead of through grain that does not give out, nor in there being more than enough fish and bread to feed 5000, nor with fish that break the net of sadly befuddled disciples who see Jesus on the shore, This time, God's love might exemplify itself in not quite enough liquor boxes.

Thoroughly Loved

This morning I had the privilege of being present in a church where this year's confirmation class members answered for themselves the questions of baptism and belief. Three of the class had not been baptised and wanted to be immersed, so arrangements were made to have a water tank (borrowed from the Baptists) placed int the sanctuary. It worked very well for the immersions. But I wasn't thinking about that during the baptisms. I instead watched as the pastor held the handkerchief over the mouth and nose one by one, took them down into the water, and brought that newly baptized back up. And what pulled at my heart was after each time the child was brought up, the pastor would hold him or her tight to his chest, encircling that boy or that girl completely in his arm and pray over each one in a most beautiful way lifting up unique gifts and and hoped for future for that specific youth. And as I watched this, I watched the face of each youth, as the pastor held him or her tight, and I saw the radiance on each face, the expression of one who knows what it is to be thoroughly loved and held tight in the arms of God just like was happening in that moment. It was a thing of unspeakable joy. Thank you, God.

I want to keep this image in mind as a picture of what I want my pastoring to be---yes, sometimes holding a person close in body, but more often creating relationships with persons, young and old, of trust and love, as a vehicle of God's love, as a person whose heart will not let go no matter what. Can I do that? By God's grace, I will.

A Day of a New Beginning

This is a day of a new beginning... a student pastor in my district, Crystal Hughes, is marrying Chris Ruddell at 4:00 pm at our Corder church, and I am bound and determined to get there before 3:30 so I will have some sort of a chance of getting a seat with Barbara, my assistant. The gift I purchased for them is simply impossible to wrap, so I bound it with ribbon and put a big bow on top. I think they will understand.

Corder has been a student appointment for over 50 years, with sporadic times when a retiree has served. This church I know pretty well, having weathered my first major issue as a d.s. here in September 2005, when it was discovered that the then-student pastor had wrecked the parsonage to the tune of upwards of $30,000. The church's response was, I believe word for word, "we will get it ready for the next student," which they did, and then after that pastor came Crystal. She has been marvelous for this church and the one yoked with it, the Alma Federated Church.

This wedding reminds me of my sister's wedding back in 1963. I was eight and the flower girl, and witness to the making of a wedding first hand. Ellen's gown was purchased through Montgomery Ward, for $29.99, and my seamstress mother made it over into something that looked like a French original. She also made an identical gown for my Barbie. The wedding was held in our home church, Oak Grove Methodist, down south of Carbondale, out in the country 10 miles. I remember doing something a few months before the wedding that Chris and Crystal may have done as well--since the sanctuary was quite small, our family went to the church and sat right next to each other in the pew, and then kept moving down to see how many people could sit in one pew. Seventeen, I recall. That helped with how many invitations to send. When the wedding came, the church was packed, with many standing in the back. There was a cake and punch reception in the basement; I am not sure where the indoor restrooms had been installed yet or not.

The only point of this blog post, really is to celebrate the joy of marriage. I am reminded so much of a marriage hymn in the UMH , the text by Brian Wren, When Love is Found:

When Love is found and hope comes home,
sing and be glad that two are one.
When love explodes and fills the sky,
praise God and share our Makers joy.

When love has flowered in trust and care
build both each day, that love may dare
To reach beyond homes warmth and light
to serve and strive for truth and right.

When love is tried as loved ones change,
hold still to hope though all seems strange,
Till ease returns and love grows wise
through listening ears and opened eyes.

When love is torn and trust betrayed,
pray strength to love till torments fade,
Till lovers keep no score of wrong,
but hear through pain loves Easter song

Praise God for love, praise God for life

in age or youth, in husband, wife.

Lift up your heart let love be fed

through death and life in broken bread

Amen

25 North Eugene Field Road

As most of you Missourians know by now, I am going forward into my future into local church pastoring again. On July 1, I become the pastor at McMurry UMC in Claycomo, MO. Both the church and the street it sits on are named for persons of distinction. Bishop William McMurry's name was given to the new church whenit was started in1922, because he was the presiding bishop at that time. The street, though, was named before that. Earlier in the century, when Claycomo was established as a township, the man who owned the property named all the streets, several after poets. McMurry UMC's street address is 25 North Eugene Field Road. The first time I drove by the church, I noticed the street name. I knew I knew who that guy was---something about children---but I will admit I had to go home and google. Silly me. Eugene Field, who lived only 45 years, is the most prolific writer of children's poetry who every lived. He was born in St. Louis in 1850. I have learned quite a bit about Mr Field, especially preparing for this blog post. I've just read over 30 or so of his poems, and the way that he was able to take children out of the mere fairy tale into a different place and time is mystical and magical. Think Wynken, Blynken and Nod, if you have ever heard it. Find it on the internet and read it if you haven't. He was quite an interesting man too. I read an account of how, early in his career when he was working for the newspaper in Denver, the town was to be blessed :-) by a visit from Oscar Wilde, by all accounts a conceited and "puffed up" man as the account reads. Field got word that Wilde's train had been delayed several miles east of Denver, and so, Field found his way over to the next town east, hopped a train that would arrive in Denver several hours before Wilde's would, dressed up to look like him, and fooled folks into thinking he was Wilde, until Wilde himself appeared.

Despite all this, though, he had much loss in his life. His mother died when he was quite young; one son died in childbirth; and, one of his little boys died young. Several of his poems have a melancholy, poignant theme running through them.

One of the things I am most looking forward at the McMurry church is working with children. I have not had much chance for interaction with kids since coming on the cabinet, and I miss them very, very much. Driving around the church, there seem to be plenty of children in the neighborhood---many in some of the rental housing that borders the church to the west. There are children in the church, too, and programs are provided to grow these young disciples. I'll get to do "time with children" again in worship! I am excited about this, and especially look forward to getting to know the kids around the church, and down across Vivion Road in the large trailer court that is there, and those who attend the school not too far away, and the kids who play in the parks around the church in the summer. I hope to take my lunch down to the park, to eat and to listen. I plan to laugh and be silly and scoop the toddlers up in my arms and rock the babies. And I hope, in the the ways that I am led, that I too like Mr. Field, can help the kids to use their imaginations and celebrate in the wonder of what it is to be engulfed in the arms of God.

The last stanza of Wynken, Blynken and Nod, which follows the imaginative telling of three fisherman who go sailing reads:

But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken,Blynken,

And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is a wee one's trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:

--Wynken,Blynken,And Nod.

Who knows? Some of those children I will meet might not have parents who, out of their own personal struggles, do not often sing to them, or sing at all. Some of these children might not see too many beautiful things. I know that I will sing, in as many ways as God gives me to sing--I will sing the Lord's song and tell of that place to which only poetry can point the way. Thank you, God.

Loose Park

This is a photo I took today in the Jacob Loose Park, two miles or less from my house. Today was maybe the most beautiful day I have ever experienced, honestly. I pity anyone who has not had the spectacular weather and the loveliest of springs we are having in Kansas City

I first heard of Loose Park my first Sunday at Broadway (also not too terribly far from the park) back in September 2000. One of the adult Sunday School classes made an announcement in worship that the members would have a picnic the following Saturday at the north end of Loose Park...and I, witty as always replied, "Or maybe its the loose end of North Park" which at least showed people I was listening. To me, Loose Park is the gem of all the Kansas City parks (and there are many.) The trees, the flowers, and most especially the roses that will come before long which were planted and continue to be nurtured and replanted by the Kansas City Rose Society.

However, I love Loose Park even more because of an urban legend that I heard about Mr. Loose from back in the 1920's. The land that now comprises the park had been purchased earlier in the century by a man who build a golf course and clubhouse on it. This golf club was very exclusive and was for the "upper crust" of the city. Loose was a successful business man who was one of the founders of what now is the Sunshine Biscuit Company. He was also Jewish. He loved golf and applied for membership at the Kansas City Country Club as it was called. He was turned down...guess why? Because the club did not accept applications from Jews. So a few years later, just after Mr. Loose died, Mrs Loose bought the country club and made it into a public park. I like this story. I really really like it.

When I walk around the park, or when I drive by it, which I do quite frequently, I always remember that story, I also remember that before the park and before the country club, the land had been a Civil War battlefield. From the bloodiness of war, to the segregation of a country club, to the the loveliest of the Kansas City parks, this land has blossomed into Something Beautiful indeed. God had a hand in all this, I know, and I saw that hand today in red bud and pear tress, in the Canadian geese and mallard ducks on the pond, and in those rose bushes that are beginning to sprout leaves. And I am grateful

Susan V and the Labyrinth

It was a gorgeous day here today, made more beautiful by the worship service to celebrate the dedication and naming of the new prayer labyrinth at St. Paul School of Theology in honor of my good friend, Susan Sonnenday Vogel. The picture is of the back of our celebrant Adam Hamilton and those who helped in serving. Jim Simpson who preached profoundly and transcendently is to the right of the altar. Amidst spring time blossoms and the warmth of people who love her, Susan was recognized for her long tenure on the staff of St. Paul and especially for her steadfast and patient work with students in their spiritual formation. The labyrinth itself has been a dream of the Order of St. Luke for a number of years and it was a joy to see so many students whose hearts are gladdened by this mysterious way of seeking God while knowing that they are already found.

















The first labyrinth I walked was in New Harmony, IN---a labyrinth made up of tall bushes and well worn paths. The second, probably the one next to the New Life Center near the campus of SIU in Carbondale. Then the one that now is in the old parking lot of Westport UMC. Over the years I have had a growing love for that walk--and how it places me in the presence of God in a way nothing else can. There are no sharp corners or dead end paths...this is no turning path that turns us away from God, but a constant turning toward him. You have to keep going but God has laid the path. Something happens when you walk the labyrinth as fully open to the Spirit's guidance as you can. It is something that is to be savored and placed down deep inside, and to allow to rise up when life doesn't just become circuitous but becomes chaos. There is order, not a stagnant thing that enslaves our spirits, but a way of walking our lives that brings joy instead of hysteria, wholeness instead of the compartmental, presence instead of mere remembrance.

Thank you St Paul and but mostly thanks Susan, who has been there to listen to me through these last five year when the times when my life has turned to chaos, when I have felt my soul enslaved and who always encourages me to think beyond what is into what could be.

Disappointments And Interviews

Monday and Tuesday of this were the Missouri Conference Board of Ordained Ministry interviews. We had five from our district going before the board this year. Two were told yes this year; one was told "please come back and interview with one team again before Annual Conference"; and two were told to rewrite some of their material and come back next year. I also know well several of the others who interviewed--I was a district committee chair in Heartland Central District for several years, and have been proud of the number of student pastors I have had under appointment here in the last five years. No matter how we try tell persons that being asked to come back next year does not mean that they are a failure, it still feels that way. There were several who did not "make it" as these folks are saying. I am glad that those who are coming back next year are not going to be alone; I am sad that there isn't some other way to help those doing so to understand that feels more like "yes" than "no." Yes, you did well in these two interview teams, and we know you can do better on the other two. Come back next year--you are given another chance to show us your best work; Yes, we love you enough that we want you to give your utmost for His highest--you can learn more about baptism or the sacraments, you can, and we all want you to do that and tell us what you know: Yes, you have many gifts for ministry and we want you to grow into the others this next year that may not be as instinctive or natural to you.

I have been on not just both sides, now, but all three. (interviewed, interviewer, supervisor-ds). In 1977 I came before the Southern Illinois Board of Ministry. In those days, no mentor was assigned,to those coming for the old-style deacons' orders, and I was attending Vanderbilt University Divinity School. There was no one else from my conference attending there. I really did not know I was supposed to write more than a brief paragraph on each of the questions. I waited in a room outside where the entire board were meeting. I was 22. At the time appointed for my interview, the chairman (actually they were all men) came to tell me that they were going to take a few minutes and go over what they had been sent from some general board that told them how to be sensitive to a woman coming for an interview. After about ten minutes, I was asked to come into the meeting. I quickly realized that I was being judged as unprepared and light-weight intellectually because of my short answers. Some of the men in the room had known me a long time--like Jack Adams (he ended up at Salem in LaDue a few years later)..."I remember you when your hair was down to here"--and he poinmted to his derriere. (My hair was very long until I was nine---he had been at Grace UMC in Carbondale when I was a child and even though our family attended out in the country, he knew who were were and obviously knew how long my hair was.) In fact Jack said that thing about my hair to me every time he saw me after I came to Kirkwood as associate--when I was 29 yeas old. Since there were those who knew me, they let me in, but had me redo all my questions the next year.

"Because they knew me" they let me in. And besides I don't think that they wanted to be accused of gender bias, since I was the only woman coming for deacon's orders that year...in fact I was only the third woman to be ordained in Southern Illinois. But I wonder, if I had not had an in" with some of those guys, would I have been told to come back next year? Did I just get in that year because they knew me? Maybe so.

I really would rather have a BOM that doesn't let us get in because they know us. I'd rather have my work and my pastors' work judged on merit and not on good connections. It really is supposed to be our utmost for His highest. I shoulda probably been made to come back the next year; to wait another year. I was young. I was inexperienced. Although I was ordained in 1977, I did come back the next year with sheaths and sheaths of pages of answers to the questions.

This account of my own experience and my reaction to it does not equate and is not the same as each of those who were asked to come back next year this week. Everyone has his or her own stories and their own feelings, I know that. Sometimes boards of ordained ministry may judge wrongly, but not very often. They are gatekeepers, yes, but the Board is also a portal that sometimes points us upward to that higher place. But sometimes the news after the interview feels unfair and incomprehensible.

I discovered early on, that with all the steps and structures, with the itinerancy system and appointment making, it is hard to swallow sometimes. Everyone has their own stories to tell. So I decided this---I will trust that the Lord is working in it all, even when what happened to me may be a product of an imperfect system and a d.s. may not really know me very well. I will trust and I will walk the way ahead of me, sometimes grudgingly draggin' my feet, sometimes with a bright smile on my face and a bouncy skip, but I would trust and I would keep people close by who would remind and reprimand me with I was tempted not to trust. Cynicism can be a very ugly thing to look at and uglier still when it makes a home in our soul and lead to skepticism about all that is given as a gift.

That is where I am with it all. My heart goes out to all those who were told to come back next year. It is disappointing. You still will get up Sunday and preach and teach; you will still listen and care; you will study the scripture and pray for yourself and others. I hope that when the disappointment lessens, you will find some way to trust it all to Jesus, to allow him to take your hand and move hopefully into the future.

My Boy Caleb and Hillmont Camp

THIS ENTRY IS CALEB APPROVED!

The last month to six weeks has not been an easy time for my boy Caleb. School is not going well (he is not in school this semester--looking for work-not going well) and he broke up with Rose about three weeks ago--I could give much vitriolic commentary about Rose, but that would just put me in a bad spot and who wants to be in a bad spot? I will say Caleb is an 18 year old young man who feels deeply, has high highs and low lows (guess who his mother is???) and I was not sure what direction to give him. Until last week when I realized how deeply Caleb was feeling about this all. I thought, I will call Sam and Jane (his grandparents). He flew out tonight to Nashville TN where his grandparents Johnson met him with literally open arms. And took him to Shoney's and fed him salad and cottage cheese and fried chicken and shrimp. He ate it all. He just called.

We have not been in much contact with the grandparents Johnson over the last two years. But I called last week, we wept, they were so glad to be asked to be there for Caleb, and Caleb was so excited to go. I dun a good thing. Sam and Jane Johnson were the founders of Hillmont camp over 40 years ago, about 45 miles east of Nashville, in White Bluff Tennessee. The camp has grown tremendously over those years, now affiliated with Christian Camping International. It has many beautiful buildings-- some rustic, some like hotel rooms nearly. And of course there are pool tables, and a pool; archery equipment and a ropes course; and lots more. The Johnsons built their home on seven acres of the camp; an incredibly beautiful house. They are kind of retired now but once camp operators, always camp operators (and they are Baptist too--Free Will Baptists.) Caleb will work while he is down there which is good. And relax some. And get his head cleared. And be loved on and held accountable and maybe even get some driving lessons in.

He will be there at least two weeks The last three days I have seen him happier and healthier than I have in a long time---writing rap lyrics, singing, playing his guitar, drawing, reading, sewing patches on his new hoodie with dental floss. Not things I have heard or seen from him in a while. And lots of smiling. And seeing better with his new glasses.

Okay, I am going on and on. But I sing a song of praise tonight for grandparents who live on a camp and conference center, and who will get to be with their deep thinking and feeling, artsy, musical grandson and they all will be well.

Mason, The Methodist Traveler

Ok,I'll admit it, I've gone blog hog wild. When I start up with this, then I see bloggable material everywhere.

Take today for instance After a busy morning and afternoon, I returned home to find Caleb (on the left) and Mason (on the right) standing in the kitchen (I was bringing groceries home, they are 18 and 19 so you get the picture). Mason and Caleb have known each other, I think, less than 48 hours. Mason is a traveller. Not a fellow traveller, just a traveller. He is from Omaha and is travelling (generally that means hitchhiking, and living off the kindness of strangers) to Florida. I don't know why. He has a very delightful but quiet ambiance about him. And he is United Methodist.

Mason and I talked after I told Caleb I had preached this morning--Mason overheard, and said "You preach?" "Yep" I said. "Not a lot, but sometimes. I'm an administrator in the church and I have 61 United Methodist churches under my administrative and spiritual care." Mason: "I'm United Methodist. I went to that church at 41st and Bell this morning" Me: You mean Epworth Roanoke?" Mason: "Yeah, Caleb told me to ask people if they knew you." (I found out later that Mason and Caleb had spent the night with a friend--Mason was up all night, Caleb slept). Caleb: "My Mom's famous!!" a favorite line of his when he introduces me to yet another frind. Me to Mason: " What's your church in Omaha?" Mason: "St. Andrews--our pastors are Bruce and Nancy Davis and they were from Missouri---Springfield..." And then I told him I knew them. He told me about an Infoshop that that church runs there....I am not quite sure what an Infoshop is, but there is one near us here. And then I took his picture. I made the guys say "John Wesley!" when I took it, and then Caleb started to explain who John Wesley was. Mason: "Dude, I know who John Wesley was!" as they walked away.

A United Methodist traveller? This reminded me of circuit riders, and brush arbor attendees walking for miles to get to a service, and such. This guy Mason must be a real believer if he would search out a nearby church and show up after he had stayed up (read: partied) all night.

What's not to love?

Traveling we UMers are. Travelling toward perfection; travelling to deeper holiness; travelling to a deeper, deeper relationship with God. Travelling always from here to there--called sometimes to Bethlehem, sometimes to Nazareth, sometimes down misty roads. Having heard the call of God, that voice can sometimes grows silence for a while and we come to a unexpected bends in the road. But we believe that we are going somewhere--on the way to eternity, and on our way home to God.

A piece of my heart will go with Mason when he leaves KC---heck, who knows, he may stay around for a while. That's one thing about travellers, they take their sweet time about everything. I would guess $20 of my money will go with him when he leaves too. I don't want to talk him out of going or warn him of dangers on the way. I imagine his parents got that all in before he left Omaha. I want him to go, to live a little wildly, to learn who he really is, to risk a little or a lot. But I do want him to pass this way again...I guess I am talking about my Caleb, too.

The Poem I wrote a Few Weeks ago...Such as It is

(Not my best, I admit...but I always will remember when I was a child and I went with my parents to a nearby church for a gospel sing, and a woman got up and said "I am going to try to sing His Eye is on the Sparrow) my mother leaned over to me and said. "Never say you are going to try to sing a song, Susan...just sing it no matter how it sounds." And so is the poem I wrote during Christmastide

Sometimes the Call's to Bethlehem

Sometimes the call's to Bethlehem

"Why now?" sighs Mary, round.

The shepherds' praise; the Baby's cry

These answers sing Love's sound.

Sometimes the call's to Egypt-land

Far from the "used to" place

There learn God's many languages

See with new eyes God's face

Sometime the call's to Nazareth

To home and hearth and rest

There strengthened through Love's exercise

There live as True Love's guest

Sometimes the call's "Take up thy cross!"

We do, but such a cost!

To follow through shadows, dim

We fear to be led lost

Although a false call so very wrongd

Sings in our weakened ears,

Hear now another sound

Old Luther's rhyme still rings clear

Wonder, love and grace

The Word made flesh

Fells Evil, erases fear

(There may be more, and revision to make this more profound...but another couple personals verses tonight...)

My rhyme is faltering

Sometime it's feels so wrong

Impossible to make my complex life

Fit in lines eight syllables long

No matter cerebral nauseousness

Or bad head- or real heart- ache

A joy so crazy fills my soul

It makes "just happy" fake

A joy that pushes boundaries

Of "who" and "what" is worthy

A joy that makes my whole self beam

God's love so wild and wonderful makes sorrow just a dream

A joy that sings from grief and grave

Of loved ones gone too soon

A joy that eventually trumps the tears

Gives hope and future room

And that is true and can be trusted...the joy part, I mean.

About 12 or 13 years ago while I was serving at Community UMC in Columbia MO, I heard Samuel Barber's Violin Concerto in concert---Robert McDuffie was the virtuoso violinist. It was unbelievable. I was stunned. Hearing it was a transcendent moment for me---a thin spot between here and There. The next day I went to Streetside Records and purchased a CD of him playing it, and I have had it downloaded on Itunes as long as I have had Itunes.

While I was in Columbia, I developed the habit of going to Lakota Coffeehouse downtown to write the manuscript of my sermon. I would bring my Walkman CD player with me and listen to the same three or four cds each week---one of those was this recording.

Tonight, Susan Vogel and I went to the Kansas City Symphony and heard this same concerto played by the orchestra and Gil Shaham. Again absolutely breath-taking, even though I know the notes very well now since I have listened to it played so many times over these last few years. We were only ten rows back in Lyric Theater. The moment the music began, I could smell the coffee beans and remember what it was like to actually feel as if I was being inspired by God to create the sermon I was working on. I saw the table where I usually sat at Lakota, I even thought of a sermon or two that I had come up with the Spirit's guiding. As God would have it, the people sitting right next to us were Michael Costanzo and his mother who was visiting from out of town. Mike is the associate pastor at Christ UMC in Independence. He "came through" for candidacy in the Heartland Central District when I was the chair of the district committee on ordained ministry. The way that he has handles some serious health challenges over the past few years is a lesson in grace. Anyway, at the intermission, I told Mike about my listening to the Barber concerto while I worked on sermons. He said to me, "Funny, I was just thinking that I would like to preach like that" and I go it. Preach dynamically, and with pathos and with joy, and "all-out" with joy and craziness of faith and love.

Thank you God, for Barber, for Shaham, and for preaching and for music. Not always in that order. Period.

Blogged Kitties!

A poem got written this afternoon ...could be a hymn text...title is Sometimes the Call's to Bethlehem. I think I will work on it a couple of more days before I spring it on the world.

Instead, I bring you the New Year's Week Picture of the Kitties--Danger, the green eyed and purry large tabby, and Mel, my sweet sweet loving needy tuxedo. The picture here is not the last scene of a kitty production of Romeo and Juliet, but is simply a common pose of adopted brothers sleeping on my bed. I have had time to watch them romp and pseudo-fight this last week and they really are so much fun.