I Stood Under A Clear Blue Sky Today

I stood under a clear blue sky today
on a tarmac
at an Air Force base
waiting for the return
of a nineteen-year old soldier

I stood under a clear blue sky today
with a grieving mother
a mourning father
a broken sister
aunts and uncles
and a host of young adults
stunned at the loss of a friend

I stood under a clear blue sky today
where bikers who rode in escort
carried flags in silence
and soldiers in clean blue uniforms
carried a flag-covered coffin
to a hearse
so as to conclude the long journey
home

I stood under a clear blue sky today
looks of disbelief or grim acceptance
on every face
people saluting
as we climbed back into our cars

contemplating

how a day could be so beautiful
while a war waged
half a world away
produces such ugliness

They stood under a clear blue sky today
students at Apollo
students at the Middle School
students at the High School
where he once was a student
lining the street

They stood under a clear blue sky today
motorists who pulled over
weeping in the sunlight
covering their heart with their hand
remembering another who serves
or another day with another flag-draped coffin
or one who never came come

They stood under a clear blue sky today
the young and the old
stiff from the long ride down and back
appreciative of the respect paid
to the one they love
by a community
who wished to share their grief

We stood under a clear blue sky today
and prayed a closing prayer
Jesus' prayer
which asks for forgiveness for the way we hurt others
while also calling us to forgive others who hurting
so that earth might be as it is in heaven

I stood under a clear blue sky today
wanting to hug my sons
for trips to go bowling
or games of King of the Mountain
quickly fade into yesterdays
where we once stood
under a clear blue sky

To Whom God Entrusts

I am tired

tired of religious faith
resulting in thousands dead

of supposed holy men
passing off passion inflamed
pointless rhetoric
as words from the living God
who long for worldly power
that gives their words
the force of law

there is no law
but that which is written
on human hearts

my Savior lifted no sword
He healed only wounds
and created new ones
only in the hearts of those
who oppressed the people
with unreasonable expectations
that were falsely ascribed
the will and intent of the Father

His battle is waged
in the spiritual realm
where powers and principalities
shape the course of the future
and the present
for all

it's in the cries of parents
mourning the pointless death
of their children
that you hear His battle cry

it's in the prayer of those
who live embattled lives
in embattled places
desiring peace
for themselves
their neighbors
and their children
that you hear His voice

it's in a young woman
seeking to free her sisters
from oppression
that would prevent them
from gaining an education
or living freely
that you see Him acting

it's in a young man
choosing to respect others
living honestly and forthrightly
using his discernment
to look for opportunities
to lift up others
that you can hear the words
"the Kingdom of Heaven is near"

the world I long for
is one where people look for help
to help them get ahead
and people give of themselves freely
because we are all lifted up

the world I long for
is one where differences exist
as does mutual respect
exhibited in grace and mercy
shown mutually
as we respectfully disagree

the world I long for
is marked not by fear
but by hope
filling people tired of what is
voluntarily living their lives
to bring about something new

Let us then live
not just as people
who trust the living God
but as those
whom God entrusts
to drop old biases
create new accountability
embrace justice
singing His praises
freeing souls from sin and death
in this life and the next
and win the peace
so war will be no more

Someone's Praying Lord... Come by here.

For those not from the area, we woke up to the news that Jeff Hutchison and his nine-year old son Jeremy died in a plane crash last night, just off the coast of Kellys Island. Jeff is the son of Dave and Marty Hutchison, long-time friends and members of Shawnee United Methodist Church, and two people I consider good friends. As a matter of fact, I prayed for five years that Marty would come to Shawnee so that we could work together in youth ministry. My prayer was answered but only one year before the Bishop at the time moved me to Toledo Epworth UMC. It was a prayer though, that Shawnee United Methodist Church benefited greatly from, as scores of children got to experience Marty's deep faith, and Dave's steady guiding hand as she filled in as the Middle School Youth Director. They are wonderful people, cared for and loved by our church.

Jeff was a man who embodied the faith of his parents. The kind of guy who, when two people realize they both knew him, gush over what a kind, funny, loving, hard-working guy he is. He was the definition of "salt of the earth". I can't tell you how much this entire community will miss him.

And Jeremy... well, he had his whole life in front of him. Dreams to chase and love to find... I really can't say anymore about his passing. His untimely death will be hard for all of us to make sense of. Very hard.

Of course in a situation like this everyone really wants to do something. To do something that will somehow ease the family's pain and make their life a little easier. But right now, the best thing, and only thing really we can do is to pray for the family. For Jeff's wife Joyce, and his three surviving children, Joel, Jenny, and Josh. To pray for Marty and Dave, all their kids, grandkids, and everyone connected to them who hurts right now because a massive hole has been opened up that cannot be closed.

And don't pray like a person who just throws a prayer kind of out there. Pray like you know that your words count. They make a difference. Not one of them will be uttered in vain.

Not one.

Pray, not cause it's the only thing to do, but cause it's the only thing to do that will really make a difference in people who desperately need to feel the love and warmth of their Lord and the community of faith right now. I promise that it will make all the difference. And just so you know we're in this together, here's the prayer I'm praying tonight.

A Prayer for the Hutchison Family

Ever-loving, Gracious Father
Master and Redeemer of us all
I beg you this day to shower your love and grace on the family of Jeff and Jeremy.
Because you are great,
you are the author of all healing,
you are life,
and have conquered death,
teach them, and us, what it means to join in that victory with you.

Oh Great Creator God,
fill that place where an empty desk now rests in a fourth grade classroom.
Dwell in the fields where the fruit of your bounty
awaits the kind man who now dwells in your house.
Fill homes of families who must face funerals and wakes and
a first Christmas or birthday or family picnic on a warm spring day.

Bring rest to a mother
life to a father
healing to a wife
a sense or rest to a child
strength to a family
hope to a congregation
and determination to a community
who will not allow these deaths to be in vain
but rather as fuel to live as if each day was their last
and as if your Kingdom was as near as our very breath.

I pray for those serving on the rescue and recovery team this evening
I thank you for their willingness to use the gifts you've given them
to ease the pain of a family.
Guide and protect them as they seek to bring home those who have been lost
so they might be celebrated as those now found by your son Jesus Christ.

Lord, I pray for the pastors and congregation of Gardendale Church of God
who not only have lost a brother and one of it's children
but who now will begin the kind of loving that helps people put pieces back together

I pray for young children who are being introduced to death for the first time in this tragedy
I pray for teenagers who not only hurt now for two of their peers who just lost their dad, but contemplate also the gift of those who love and care for them
I pray for wives who can't image living out this nightmare
Husbands who dearly love their wives
and countless friends who just still can't believe this has happened, and bow their heads to cry

Lord to you I lift these things
with much fear and trembling
knowing your promise
that nothing, not even death
can come between each of us and your love
and wanting to trust that promise
with all that I am.

Give me, and us, Lord, that kind of trust.

In your name
and of the son
and of the Holy Spirit

Amen

Letters From Home: From a Pastor to a Marine

This Sunday's worship service will be Shawnee's annual "Freedom Celebration", where members of the armed forces, past and present, are recognized, celebrated, and prayed for by the congregation. It is also a time that we are called by the prophet Micah to remember what is required of us: To act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God. As a part of the service we will be reading letters written by friends, family, and a WWII veteran to Wade Broadwater, a Marine who grew up in the Shawnee area, and in our church. My sermon is my letter to him, as we approach the 4th of July. Here it is:

Dear Wade

I hope this letter finds you well as you serve your country in the desert sands of Iraq. I have spent time with your parents and some of your friends, listening to the stories you've told them. I've heard about the sand storms, 130 degree heat, and about the hunger that comes with living on MRE's when you are out on the field. They've talked about a brotherhood so deep that man would be invited to be a godfather to a fellow Marines' child, and the mix of fear and duty one feels when peering into the darkness not knowing who is friend and who is foe. Mostly though, I've heard a lot of people just say over and over how much they love you, are proud of you, and want you to come home safe and sound. Just to make sure you know it... you are a man rich in the things that matter in this life, meaning that you make life just a little bit sweeter for a whole bunch of folks. Know they are all pulling and praying for you.

And I mean praying for you very, very hard.

I am aware that you are working 12 to 14 hour days on electric generators broken down by constant use, unbearable heat, and sand (lots and lots of sand) on an air base 30 miles from Baghdad. Generators that your fellow soldiers count on not only to do their jobs, but to make life just a little more bearable. I also have been told that as a part of your mission you often have to go outside "the wire" which marks the security of the base, out into the field. Into cities like Fallujah, where if the news is any true indicator, chaos reigns supreme. While I have, once, stared down a barrel of a gun pointed at me (in a grocery store one night where there ended up being a robbery... I was trying to buy a box of diapers. Who knew I would end up needing one?) I have can't say that I've ever been in a situation where men who had sworn an oath to, if necessary, shoot me, walked freely with guns, hatred in their heart, ready to open fire. I also too, have never walked a city street with a rifle, ready to hunt these same men down before they killed one of my buddies. It's a scene you can only really imagine if you lived it. And it's a scene, I suppose, that can leave lasting memories, some of which a soldier would rather forget.

A man I met while pastoring in another church, helped me understand this. He grew up on a quiet farm in Northern Indiana. A gentle kid who grew up just wanting to grow corn and soybeans like his old man. But when the United States went to war in Vietnam, wanting to serve his country, he enlisted to defend liberty just as his father and grandfather. After a 12 month tour as a infantryman in some of worst fighting in the jungle, he came home to a confusing mix of anger, shame, and protest. Already reeling from the horrors of his experience, he tried burying it, and for twenty years he did a pretty good job. And then, for whatever reason, his memories came at him with a vengeance creating havoc in his life. His is now a slow, slow process of putting the pieces back together, and finding God's peace in the turmoil of his soul.

I pray that you'd be spared the grizzliest of experiences, but if you aren't, I know my friend would want me to tell you that many other people have walked the road you've walked, and are willing to join you on the journey. There's no shame in asking them, or us, for help, if you, or a fellow Marine, end up needing it.

But that's not why I wrote this letter. No, as we near Independence Day, which we'll celebrate watching the fireworks being set off at Shawnee High School tonight, I wanted this day to make sure you knew something else I think is very important.

Very, very important.

As each of us do our best in this imperfect, broken world to live out the command of prophet Micah who instructed us, "to act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God", that as you do your duty as a Marine, know that Jesus Christ knows what it is like to live life "outside the wire". To be hated and vilified. Despised and deceived. To be in the cross hairs of a group of people committed to a cause, and hellbent on removing any and every obstacle in their way. And when the moment of truth arose, his buddies, not nearly so well trained and equipped for battle as their opponents, fled, leaving him all alone. No body armor. No M-16. No air cover, or M1-A1 Abrams tanks for protection. He was just a man left facing the wrath of his own people, and the brutality that served as justice for the Roman Empire. Wade, remember...

Jesus knows what it's like to walk in the valley of death.

Jesus knows what it's like to be afraid.

You'd not believe the kind of cursing, mockery, and disrespect Jesus had to hear from Roman soldiers, who were very bit as crude as US Marines. Or, the jokes told and comments made when he walked this earth with tax collectors, fishermen, drunkards, and prostitutes. Jesus listens, hearing the pain and fear behind the bravado. It is will be in the depth of his compassion for us all when we were at our worst, that you will discover how magnificent and holy he is.

Jesus knows the sheer terror that is death.

Jesus not only witnessed the worst that can be dished out in this world, but has the scars to prove he experienced it. Suffering endured only because he told others that a world where people feel like they have to fight and kill in order to survive, isn't the world God desires for us. Instead, the world he calls us to is one where enemies can be reconciled, and violence is met with forgiveness. It was an idea so foreign to some, particularly those in power, that they thought it, and him, dangerous enough to be silenced through a humiliating death on the cross. Never, ever stop praying and ultimately working for that world Jesus talked about.

Oh... and Jesus is alive. Resurrected from the dead so we would know that death has no victory of him, what he taught, and what will free us all.

In short, no matter what you say, see, or experience, there's nothing so unbelievably horrible that your Lord can't understand, won't listen to, won't forgive, or won't heal. Even that which we aren't ready to forgive ourselves. Jesus is able to carry these burdens not just with us, but for us if we'll let him. We just need to be humble enough to let go of an arrogance that would make us think somehow our experience is too different, too horrible, for God to comprehend what we have been through. God has heard and seen it all. Draw on his great wisdom and strength.

And finally, give thanks each day that ultimately all of our sin deserves eternal punishment, but for whatever reason, Jesus loves us so much he'd bare that punishment for us. That's his justice... the end of our condemnation, so that we might live freely, serving our God and loving into existence his kingdom. That's worth celebrating. Let it be your joy.

In closing, let me say that I believe that the ultimate objective to what you are doing not just as a soldier, or an American, but fundamentally, as a Christian, is to do the dirty work of what ultimately we must all pray will be a new era of freedom and liberty for others. That this moment in time marked by intense hatred and fighting where violence is being met with aggression, will ultimately lead to a time - very soon I pray - where people will grow weary of such ugliness and begin to embrace rebuilding, healing, opportunity, and a world that's better for our children and grandchildren. A time where God's justice will call to account, evil in all its forms. A time where we discover the power of grace.

No matter how we feel about the precursors to the war or those who oppose us, this must be our prayer and objective: That our descendants here, there, and everywhere, will someday experience at time where earth is as it is in heaven.. the place where people do what God wants because they have seen his glory and know He loves us. And that eternity presents for those who trust in the Lord, never ending joy, laughter, and peace.

Keep safe. Always be there for your buddies. Never forget how many people love you. And, for the purpose of this letter, always know your church, and your pastor, are praying for you.

Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on your family, particularly your mom and dad. We'll offer shoulders to cry upon, ears that will listen, and knees willing to be calloused from prayer for your safety, and the end of this war. It's really the least we can do for a man who shows such bravery going "outside the wire" for the freedom of his nation, and for a Savior who went "outside the wire" for the freedom of all the world.

Hope to see you soon.

God Bless,
Bryan

A Farewell to My Beeson Family

Last night we celebrated the end of our Beeson experience at a very nice closing banquet. I've wrestled with how to say "good-bye" to these people. Here's what I came up with...


TIME'S UP!
(a bad poem written with good intentions)

Eleven months... TIME'S UP!

Time to go back into the real world.
Time to wrestle with budgets.
Time to massage egos.
Time to lead with an eye on the prize
and another on the grim faces of those
wondering if we know what we're doing.

Time to move to Oklahoma and Ohio.
Time to move to Texas and Tennessee.
Time to move to Alabama and Georgia.
Time to stay in Kentucky
and teach others that "servant leadership"
means taking the initiative to serve others.

Time to work in the attractional church.
Time to preach to moderns and post-moderns.
Time to do what's been done.
Time to wonder what is coming next
as the Holy Spirit continually renews
the hearts of God's children.

Time to leave the townhouses.
Time to leave the waterpark behind building #208.
Time to leave train whistles at 4am.
Time to leave one another's children
whose lives we have mutually invested in
and whose smiles we will miss.

Time to plant new churches.
Time to renew old churches.
Time to return home to our churches.
Time to faithfully lead from vision
while wearing our heart for our people
and our Savior on our sleeves.

Time to offer them the Gospel.
Time to add conditioner to tangled lives.
Time to call people to commitment.
Time to remember that a hand
that offers a Bible
better be coupled by another hand with a bowl of soup.

Time to laugh and cry
Time to uproot and be rooted
Time to this moment to die and the next to live
Time to remember these words of wisdom:
"Fear God and obey his commands
for this is the duty of every person."

Time to talk about graduations.
Time to talk about reunions.
Time to look forward to children grown.
Time to think about occasional phone calls,
emails, letters, visits, and questions that begin with
"Have you heard from...."

Time in this life is a cruel master.
Time will not relent, or forgive.
Time always demands more from us
Time will forget you,
but I never will.

TIME'S UP!
I hope you make it where you're going,
and you know how much you've blessed me along the way
now and for all time.

Images from Bluffton

Cody Betts, Sophomore middle-infielder from Bryan, Ohio


Scott Harmon, a graduate of Elida High School,
Tyler Williams, a fellow alum of Lima Senior High School

Cody Holp, from his MySpace page
Scenes from around campus




Scenes from Atlanta

Here are two links to excellent videos produced by a reporter at The Lima News:

video #1

video #2

Tornados and a Bus Crash

As you might remember from this week's "Ten Things..." four of us made the decision not to travel with the rest of our com padres who went to Montgomery, Alabama for the Beeson Module at Frazier Memorial United Methodist Church. Apparently, given the weather, things have been touch and go.... power outages at the hotel, evacuations out of buildings, cold showers and a whole bunch of folks who are ready to come home. Considering the destructive power of a tornado, we're just all thankful they are OK, and as you would expect from these good folks, they've asked us to spend our prayer time lifting up all the families in that part of the world mourning the loss of a loved one.


Also, for those of you with no understanding of Ohio geography, the baseball team that was in the bus crash in Atlanta are students who attend a little Mennonite liberal arts school in our county. Bluffton University is about 25 minutes north of Lima, in the small town of Bluffton, Ohio. I can only imagine the grieving taking place in that campus, in that town, and in enclaves all over Ohio where those who lost their lives most likely hailed. Considering that there were players on that bus who graduated from Elida, Crestview, Wapak, my own dear alma mater, Lima Senior, and the bus driver was from Ottawa, all of Northwest Ohio will be grieving this terrible tragedy.

As a pastor, I really have two different formative experiences of working with young people en mass, dealing with grief. The first time I ever found myself doing major ministry of this kind was during an experience where I served on the crisis team at Fairfield High School, a small school just outside of Goshen Indiana, which had lost two teenagers in two separate car accidents, within a couple of days of each other.

As a matter of fact, the second child who died did so coming back from the mall with a suit he had just bought for the funeral of his friend who had lost her life only a day before. It was an awful, awful experience.

The guidance counselor at the school, the late Jane Garber, who was a beautiful woman with an amazing soul, asked me to come and work with kids with behavioral issues, as apparently there weren't too many pastors who were willing to take that task on. I understand why. It was not easy. But strangely enough, God worked in the midst of that insanity. Years later I saw a couple of those kids at Jane's viewing (she died a year or so ago from cancer... I know she is missed), and they talked about how much they appreciated me being there that day to listen. I just told them that if I helped them at all, that Jane was really the one to thank, and that God was the one who brought any modicum of healing. Both of them led me into a place that otherwise, no person would ever want to go.

But someone had to.... I thank the Lord it was me.

My experience in the midst of all that grieving served me later when Ty and Phil died a couple years later. The summer of my last year in Goshen (we're appointed from July to June) two boys who were seniors at Goshen High School and a young man who had recently graduated from the same school, died when they were hit by a logging truck on their way to work as mason tenders. They couldn't see the truck, as it was coming from the east, and they were looking into the sun. The accident had happened early that morning, and by the time I was called, about a hundred teens had gathered on the front lawn of Phil's family's house. When I showed up, I prayed with I don't know how many kids. Between the kids who knew me either through our youth ministry (which was rather large) and my years as the ski club adviser at the middle school, it just seemed that a lot of scared kids were happy to see a familiar face.

The other boy, Ty, who had been a regular at our youth group on Wednesday nights, was at the moment I arrived to do counseling and prayer, in surgery at a hospital in Ft. Wayne. By virtue of the fact that Ty and Phil went to the same church, the church at the time was being served by an interim pastor who lived in Grand Rapids, and he was on the road bound for Ft. Wayne, I ended up becoming the de facto pastor for the kids at that house.

I will never, ever forget the phone call I received from the chaplain at the hospital, who called to tell me that Ty was on the operating table, and that he wasn't going it to make it. I gathered the kids together, we gathered for prayer, and when we finished I got the phone call.... Ty was gone. It was despair upon despair. The kind of grieving that you read about in the Bible, where people tear their garments and heap ashes upon themselves. Such was that moment on the Hogenboom front lawn. Young people filled with life, facing for real, the reality of death.

I called the school, and told them we needed to open up a place where kids could go. I would have opened up the church, but I thought a "neutral" place where all kids could gather was more appropriate. The guidance counselor agreed, and they opened the auditorium. Later that night, we opened up our West Campus, where we hosted an impromptu memorial service for all three of the victims. I don't know how many people were there, but let's put it this way... as full as the place was, the grief and sadness was hundreds of times bigger. Somewhere there's a tape of the service, and for those who have seen it, they call it one of the most moving they've ever seen. The youth band led some singing, and in between songs, kids were invited to speak at an open mike about their friends.

Have you ever stood on Holy Ground, that you knew was at that moment, truly Holy Ground? It is humbling.

Anyhow, there are many young people this day grappling with death for the first time in their lives, and I'd just like you to please remember them and their families. And if you have a little time, remember all the counselors and pastors who are right now trying to help young people make sense of something that, particularly when you are young (or even old), makes no sense. I know they need your prayers, and for the Lord to whisper in their ears.

My Greatest Frustration

At the end of my life
I've a sense that I'll find out
how messed up my priorities have been.

How all the things I thought were important

being liked, financially secure,
respected in the community,
always trying to say and do the right thing,
and beating myself up when I didn't

in the end will amount to very little.

Not that all these things aren't important.
They are.

But I have walked with you
Father
lingering with you
basking in your presence
and it unearthed what has formed me
and us.
It was there I began to find clarity.

I have walked by the lakeside
sat down on a bench
looked across the waves and wind
and marveled at how delicate
and yet how resilient
is this creation,
and heard you speak deep truths
how we are too.
It was there I began to find direction.

I've spent too much time trying to be interesting
and not enough time being interested.

Too much time trying to know,
when all the comfort and direction came
out of the mystery.

I'm in a constant battle against myself.

Wanting to be connected
while looking for comfort in isolation
and then working too much out of what I have
which is quite thin.

I have been afraid while you have not.
I have been weak while you give life to all things.

Why do I worry, when the birds of the air are fed
and the lilies of the field are clothed so beautfully?

I loathe the idea of being a failure
and yet you would rather see me fail
than succeed at the things I thought were important
but were really just illusions, phantoms....
holographic projections with as much substance
as the sum total of a twinkie.

I'd rather conspire with you
to overthrow the ways of this world
the ways of my heart
where disease and hunger,
despair and loneliness,
busy-ness and escape,
reign in too many fiefdoms of the kingdom.

I want to live with a sense of peace in this world...
a world where people are consumed with working,
or relaxing, or carving out time in a schedule
or putting if off tomorrow, or making the deal.

a world too busy
to adjust to the weight of lingering in the garden,
and the depth of dwelling by the lakeside,

you are meant to be grasped over a lifetime
and yet you must be grasped quickly
as our mortality
or the mortality of someone we love,
looms not theoretically in the distance,
but before the dawn of the next day.

There just wasn't time enough to thing about such things.
And yet all the things there was time enough for
didn't sort out where we came from,
why we're here,
what to do about it,
and where it might lead us.

What I've wanted I've found.
I found it wanting
and yet I keep looking for all the same crap.

If I continue on this trajectory,
I will end my life looking,
when really I just want to be found.

That is my greatest frustration.

All The Meaning You Have Given It

Just returned to my carrel from lunch and some time with the boys. Our townhouse isn't that far away from the Beeson Center, so all of us walk up and down the hill between the two. I was doing just, walking down the hill, past the dumpster that serves a couple of the dorms located between home and carrel.

The dumpster was full. A man who lived and worked on campus passed away last week, and the suite he lived in, which was in one of the two dorms, had been cleaned out. The man, named Sam, had been born with a rare disease that forced him to live life confined to a wheelchair and dependent on aides who would come throughout the day to help him take care of his basic needs. Fortunately, in this day and age, Sam was able to make his living with his mind. Outside of a couple of "hellos" when he'd be resting outside on a warm summer evening, I didn't know him. The word on campus, though, was that he bright, articulate, and well-read. He wrote articles for various campus publications, and was a active in helping produce Asbury's on-line course offerings. Upon his death, a number of the most prestigious faculty on campus wrote about Sam, and how much he had meant to them and the community. The school even hosted his viewing and funeral service in its chapel, and I'm told the place was packed with people who had come to celebrate his life. He was a celebrated, and treasured member of this campus community, largely because he used what he did have to the benefit and delight of others and the Lord.

Last week, at some point his suite was emptied and cleaned out. Today, the dumpster was filled with Sam's things. and the garbage men from who work for the City of Wilmore were poking through it to, I'm assuming, see if there was anything of value they could salvage. You couldn't blame them, really. I could see a printer resting on piles of personal effects... lots of books, posters, household items, and all the stuff that helps make living easier and more bearable. For some, I'm sure, these effects just by virtue of the fact that they belonged to someone they loved, were charged with emotional value. For the men who load the garbage truck, they are simply more evidence that people throw away perfectly good stuff... nothing more, and nothing less.

Why bring all of this up?

Well, one of the guys, who was balancing a box on the back lip of the truck was milling through each and every book, and upon inspection, either tossed the book back into the box or into the truck. And the thought occurred to me:

I wonder if there are any Bibles in that dumpster? Are they going to end up in the box, or the dump?

In an age where it is said that the average American will own nine different Bibles in their lifetime, great lengths are made to personalize it for us. You can buy Bibles that are geared solely to men's or women's issues. You can buy Bibles that are designed to be read in a year, or two years. You can buy Bible for people in recovery, teens, athletes, musicians, business people. You buy them chock full with maps, or "helps", big or small, leather or metal bound.... in dozens and dozens of different translations. You can even buy a Bible that lines up four, or six, or eight of those translations in front of you simultaneously so you can compare and contrast them with one another.

But in the end, a Bible only gets personalized by the person who owns it. It is the value they place on it, and the perception of that value by others, which will determine whether or not it is placed with us in our coffin, passed on to someone who will treasure it largely because they treasured us, deposited at a local second-hand bookstore (which are always filled with them), or even pitched. In the end, it won't matter how many helps or how durable or beautiful the cover is... it's worth will only be measured by the depth of investment we made in it as exhibited in our lives.

The dumpster is empty now. I have no idea what it contained, what was salvaged, or what will slowly rot in a landfill somewhere in the wilds of Kentucky. But I do know that a Bible is probably on your shelf somewhere in your house....

and it has all the meaning that you have given it.

Daniel's New House

One January morning in 1994 (or 95... I can't really remember anymore) I showed up to work on a Monday about an hour late. I no more sat down in my office when Joseph popped his head in and said he needed to talk to me. I popped into his office, finding that the other associate at the time (the incomparable Chris Heckaman) was already seated and waiting for us. Joseph closed the door, and took a seat behind his desk.

"Bryan, do you know Bob May? He's the step-father of one of the girls in your youth group. For years he's been traveling to Haiti to do mission work (laying block mainly), and last week he invited me to go with him on his next trip. I can't get away right now, so one of you two need to go in my place."

So, we kicked the subject around a little bit. In short, Chris wanted to go, and I didn't, but Chris and Lisa were expecting a child any day. This was back in the days before cell phones were common in the states, let alone Haiti, so there was a real chance that if Chris went we wouldn't be able to notify him if Lisa went into labor....

thus, all eyes turned toward me.

"Bryan, Bob left yesterday for Florida. I have a ticket waiting for you at Toledo Metro. You leave at 6pm tonight."

Holy Crap!

Have you ever called your wife to tell her that you were unexpectedly leaving for ten days in Haiti, today? Well, that gives you the idea of what kind of day it was. I had never been out of the country before. I didn't own a passport. You could get into Haiti in those days with a driver's licence and a certified copy of your birth certificate.... but I didn't have one of those either. I had to throw together a bunch of stuff so the youth ministry could function while I was gone, drive to Columbus to get the birth certificate, pack, leave for Toledo, and fly out to Florida.

Funny thing is that when I came to work that morning, I'm pretty sure the only thing the only thing on my mind was.... "I wonder if Joseph is going to take us out to lunch today?"

Have you ever been to a part of the world that largely missed the industrial revolution? Where guys pull hand carts loaded with engine parts and oxen pull carts piled high with sugar cane? Where sewage runs down the side of a hill in an open ditch and 17 people can ride in one Toyota pick-up truck? Have you ever smelled that smell, and felt the grit that covers your body in a place like Haiti?

The first time you do so, it's more than a little overwhelming. I guess the sad thing is that the more times you go back, the more used to it you become. Maybe the world has gotten a little too used to places like this existing the way they do, day after day after day after day.

But I'll never forget that first step off that plane, looking at an airport that looked like an old rusty King Burger. I'll never forget my first trip through CapHaitian... going past the market section and seeing people pick through a huge pile of shoes... little kids giving me the finger while smiling.... women carrying huge baskets filled with stuff on their heads....

and my first trip to the market!

The grocery catered pretty much exclusively to missionaries and members of the local bourgeois class who could afford the canned food and imported fresh produce. A security guard leaned on a shotgun so old and rusty that as a weapon it's only use was to be swung or thrown at someone trying to steal something. And there was this old woman, obviously having suffered polio as a child, at the front door, begging. I didn't have much cash on me. Heck, at the time I think I was making like $10k a year while both Aimee and I were working on degrees. We were, by far, the poorest family at our church, and possibly the poorest to live in Shawnee. But I slipped her a couple of bucks (American) as I walked to truck.

"She'll use that money to eat for the next week", the missionary asked.

That was the moment I discovered I wasn't poor. Spiritually poor, maybe, but not fiscally poor. No way.

I met Daniel that year on the worksite at Borde. Bob had somehow connected with a little church literally in the middle of nowhere, and the couple of weeks we were there, the plan was to build an outhouse (which meant lots of digging) and the construction of depot that could be locked. The idea was that by building the latrine and a locking depot, this little church which had a little school, could now qualify to receive food from an organization like World Vision or Feed the Children. This way kids could receive at least one hot meal every day they went to school, which would be good for the kids, and good for school attendance. Daniel was a local villager who had been attending this small church, and because we didn't have enough manpower to get this job done, he was one of the local people hired to help complete the project.

Daniel spoke no English, and I barely speak English, let alone Creole, but I think because he has the same name as my Dad, I took an interest in him, and he in me. Pretty soon we were talking and joking around. He made fun of my belly and the fact that I seemed to always be tired, ("Big Buke Fat-i-gue"). I made funny faces and sang songs I made up using random Creole words ("Big Cement Duck Girl Loud Bicycle" being a favorite) to make him laugh. At the end of the week, knowing how much I like grapefruit, he brought me a bag from a tree his family owned. I gave him my shoes, all my clothes, and all the money left in my wallet.

I mean, what else could I do. It meant getting off the plane in Detroit, in January, in a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of flipflops. I also had to call Joseph to beg for some money so I could bail my suburban out of long-term parking. So, OK, maybe I wasn't thinking real clearly at the moment I handed over my Nike hightops and jeans to Daniel.

But then again... maybe I was thinking clear as a bell.

That year I sang "Lord of the Dance" at a worship service, which got everyone going. Bob May, until this day, asks me when I'm going to sing "Lord of the Dance" again. Ever heard the chorus to that song?

Dance, then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance said he
and I'll lead you all wherever you may be
and I'll lead you all in the dance said he

I don't know how, exactly, the dance he did on that Cross, that horrible dance where, bruised and bloodied, he had to lift himself up on the nails driven through his hands and feet in order to breathe, led to me dancing in Haiti while singing that verse.... but it did. And ever since that day I've been helping to support Daniel and his family. I don't do enough for him. I never have. But somehow his kids have been able to stay in school, and he's always had a roof over his head. It has never been much a roof. A roof made of thatch. over a dirt floor. But a roof, none the less. So he does all the struggling to survive... I just help ease the burden.

Well, last year, after the church built a home in Borde that now houses a single mother with two handicapped children, Flora DeVoe was so moved she decided to make a donation in her beloved husband Bud's name, to build another house in Haiti. You see, Bud lost a long battle with cancer a couple of years ago, and the wounds for Flora are still open (Note to Flora: I'm sorry to make to cry right now. I truly am.) She was looking for healing, and since Bud had made his living building houses with Flora's father, there was something about building a house in his honor for someone who really, really needed a decent house, that helped ease the pain. A balm, if you will, for the sore.

Well, they say there's a Balm in Gilead..... and the healing this brought to Flora, the excitement the idea brought to her, ended up spilling over in stories to her large Italian family. Who, of course, responded with more money to build more houses.

That and a large meal. Flora's family likes to eat together at large meals.

Well, the picture above includes three people. The fellow in the yellow shirt is Flora's son, Matt who was one of about a dozen people from the church who made the decision to go to Haiti with this year's building team. To the far left is Flora, who wanted to see the house built on the love she had for her husband.

And in the middle..... there's Daniel. He's the one who will be living in Bud's house.

(ah, stupid tears... must be kinda dusty in this old carrel)

"The Kingdom of Heaven is like a mustard seed, which although is the smallest seed of all, when planted grows into a huge plant that provides rest, shade and protection for all the birds of the air."

Yep. That's exactly right. That's what it is.




Note: If you'd like to contribute to Shawnee's mission to Haiti to maybe drill a well, build a home, or provide a scholarship for a child at the school at Borde, or if you are a pastor/lay-person looking for a hands-on mission opportunity for your church to get involved in, please email me at bryan_bucher@asburyseminary.edu and we'll hook you up.

Carol Allen, The Nurse, and the Holy Spirit

Sunday afternoon at 4pm, Aimee's mom, Carol Allen, went to be with the Lord. After a struggle with liver cancer, we watched her condition deteriorate rapidly, literally going from talking about trying experimental forms of cancer treatment to refusing a ventilator in less than a day. Her viewing will be at the Shawnee Chapel of Chiles Funeral Home from 2 to 4pm and 6 to 8pm Tuesday, and funeral service itself will be at Shawnee UMC at 11am on Wednesday.

Today we picked out a casket, planned a funeral service, and made arrangements for a grave. It was a very, very hard day.

Carol was only 65 years old. As late at mid-December she was talking about the promotion the property company she worked for, Pedcor Properties of Indianapolis, was likely to give her after she beat this disease. I think her job as the manager of Willow Lake Apartments was one of the reasons that the last ten years were some of the happiest and most gratifying of her life. You see, until this last job, she had been through countless others. So many that the last few times she was hired somewhere, each family member used to guess how long she'd last before she'd quit and go looking for something else. The winner, who was the person who guessed the longest without going over (ala the Price is Right) would be the winner. I was the winner for what would be her last job, which I gave nine months. I only missed it by about ten years. At Willow Lake she found her niche, and she embraced the opportunity.

As her career finally started to gain some momentum, she also began investing herself in a kind of public service that for her, made sense. When the Master Gardners of Allen County decided to do a Children's Garden at the Allen County Museum, she threw herself into the project. The opportunity gave her the chance to use her creativity and love for gardening (she had been raising her own plants in a greenhouse Bryant, her husband, had built for her for many years) to do something special for the community, manifesting itself in truly a unique and charming oasis in the middle of our town. Pretty much every Tuesday night in decent weather you'd see her down there, taking care of odds and ends, making sure the place her grandkids called "Grandma's Garden" was ready to invite children into it's magic.

It was also in the last ten year that she found her dream home: an old farmhouse sitting on almost two acres of land in the middle of nowhere. A home with plenty of places to put antiques inside, and plenty to places to dig in the dirt outside, all without a neighbor in sight. It was the first time in all the years I'd known her that the house she owned wasn't perpetually for sale. She worked hard to make the place nice, and even more importantly, a little paradise for her grandchildren, complete with a swingset, basketball hoop, bicycles to ride in the driveway, and a slip-n-slide, all so that they'd bug their parents to take them to grandma's house. She was crazy like a fox.

Her life had often been hard, but somehow in the midst of the sacrifices made over time, happiness in abundance came to her in her final years. And I know that between the pending promotion, and our return full-time to Lima next spring (she made me promise we'd come back last summer, and you should have seen the smile when my appointment to Shawnee was announced in early December - I'll never forget it), that the future, in her eyes looked plenty bright. She was looking forward to going with Aimee to find us a house in the spring, excited that some of her grandkids were near-by, and excited that we'd be available to take care of the pets at their house when they left to vist family in places warmer in the winter, and cooler in the summer. She was truly living out her golden years.

I guess that's why it makes her passing so hard to swallow. A person taken at the height of blessing.

I find comfort in knowing that Carol, in this life, had found real peace. Though her life came to an abrupt end, she was so content and happy she wanted to fight death with all that she was until her final hour. I don't know if you can ask for more than a life so good that you literally put every drop of energy into fighting for it until it is gone. That's a life that was worth living, and that is worth celebrating.

And the lives she touched.... there have been so many good stories.

One of my favorite stories I witnessed at 3am on Sunday morning. Eleven hours earlier, at 4pm on Saturday, when Aimee called with the news Carol had 12 to 24 hours to live, I just kind of locked in, and found my way from Houston, Texas to her hospital bedroom by midnight that night. It was important for me to be there. Her husband, Bryant, refused to leave her side. His other kids were on the road frantically trying to get home to say goodbye to their mother. And my wife had to be home that night to be with our youngest, Eli, who just doesn't sleep very well without her. I had to stand-in for Aimee, and as the only pastor in the family, do what I could to ease the fear in that room. I just had to.

Anyhow, it's 3am, Aimee's aunt (who was with us) had fallen to sleep, Bryant was comforting his dying wife in moments she had left, and I had been praying fervently, inviting the Holy Spirit into the room and into our midst - an invitation that, for me, meant a lot of different things. It meant bringing Aimee's brother and sister, who that moment were driving as fast as they dared in the middle of the night to us safely. It meant sustaining the night staff on the floor so that they could continue to ease Carol's pain and the mental burden of those her loved through the provision of fine care. And, to be honest, it meant the actual presence of God in our midst, hanging about us, touching hearts.

"Come Holy Spirit. You are welcome here. I ask in the name of Jesus that Father, that you come to us for you are the author of grace and mercy. You are the God who never breaks a promise, the one who keeps his covenant with his people, and we praise your holy and righteous name. Come so that when this woman decides not to keep you at arms length any longer, she will welcome your embrace, ushering her peacefully into the garden of your heavenly home. Come and ease the burden of her husband who has difficulty believing in that which cannot be seen. Come Holy Spirit. You are welcome here."

I'm drifting between this prayer, occasionally trying to bring a smile to Bryant's face, and catching a couple of winks when I can, when at 3am a nurse from the hospital enters the room. We had never seen her before.

"How is Carol?" she asked.

"Not well. Not well at all. It's only a matter of time." replied my father-in-law.

The nurse began to shed a few tears, went over to take Carol's hand, and kissed her on her forehead. She, whom we did not know, had taken her break to come and visit the woman who worked for her landlord.

"My husband and I live at Willow Lake. Carol's done such a great job for us. I knew she had been sick, but I had no idea she was this bad."

Then, she looks at my father-in-law. "Are you a believer?"

Bryant, who once told me he couldn't believe in that which he could not see replied, "Yes I am."

"Good. Well, then, can I pray for you?"

He nodded yes, and then the most amazing thing happened. She got down on her knees and prayed the most simple, most beautiful prayer, praising God for his goodness, expressing appreciation and love for her landlord (how often does that happen?), and she concluded with these words:

"And finally, come Lord Jesus, take the hand of Carol, and lead her into your arms and into a place without any more pain or suffering. We hate to let her go, but we take comfort that she will now fall into your merciful arms. Amen."

Tears spilt from my aunt, who had wakened to witness the scene. A look of peace appeared, if ever for so briefly, on Bryant's face. And the Holy Spirit poured into the room. Just poured into the room. Ushering eventually all of her family into that room, where Carol quit fighting and started embracing, and we all recounted other promises of God, like all of us being together again in His house for eternity... where now the flowers of heaven are being tended with hands so beautiful their service inspired prayers during a break at 3 in the morning.

Powerful.

And one more word for my Beeson brothers and sisters. It is true that our family's loss puts the blowout of the Bucks into perspective tonight. But I want you to know this... I have been baiting you all, all year and I expect you to give it back to me. Don't be "Christians" about the BCS Championship game.... do what I've been goading you into doing anyway. It'll help life feel closer to normal. Rip me to pieces and make me cringe with laughter, cause I'll take all the laughter I can get right now. Oh... and God Bless you all for being in our lives this year.

And, that dear friend in the blogosphere, goes for you too.

In the Pasture of the Lord

Went for a walk last night
A "Night Walk"
A great adventure for three boys
We bundled up, put Eli in the stroller
and into the night we went

We walked past Beeson Manor
We stopped and saw John Wesley
"I'm almost as tall as John Wesley, Dad!"
"Me too!"

We stopped to visit the SPOs
where the boys opened the doors
and Daddy got his mail

We stopped by the student center
where we saw Jesus carrying the lamb
Eli was amazed by the big Christmas tree
We ran through the gym
We saw flags from around the world

"Dad, Night Walks are the coolest things ever!"

We stopped by the big town Christmas tree
We stopped by the Dollar General to look at toys

We stopped by Fitch's IGA
Max got a Popsicle
Xavie got a push-up
Daddy and Eli spilt an ice cream sandwich
and we bought Mom some malted milk balls

The night was quiet
my boys were not
they marveled at the stars
they spotted spies on the tops of buildings
they raced down the sidewalk

and I stood in the pasture of the Lord
and the angels appeared before me
and they sang...

glory to God
Heaven is now with you
for the baby in the manger
is not only the Son of God
but the Son of Man

There, in the moonlight
pushing the stroller
Xavier singing John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt

I remembered God's covenant of peace
The noose slipped off my neck
and I breathed in sweet fresh air
mercy and grace filling my lungs
so I could exult with joy
that Jesus is Lord

For I had forgotten the words to the Hallelujah Chorus
The music somehow slipped my mind
Thank God for Night Walks
the sweet innocence of children
and angels singing

It was there
standing in the Lord's pasture with Handel
I heard their chorus
"And He will reign forever and ever"

and I remembered

Let me sing, Almighty God
Let me sing forevermore

Xavier

wants what Max wants
goes where Max goes
a shadow for an older brother
makes him a mystery
what does he want?

struggling to be the big brother
used to being the baby
tough being the middle child
you can see it though
Eli, wanting to be his shadow

a storyteller
an artist
a dreamer
happiest with a lump of clay
or a paintbrush

a jumper
a climber
fearless, until he gets hurt
then he'll cry
until it's time again, to fly

loves David and Goliath read fast
loves to eat bread and leave the crust
loves to tell jokes about poop
loves to make us laugh
loves running errands with daddy

he's four-and-half
just ask him
he'll add the half if you forget
it means a lot, that half
makes him feel more grown up

let me grow up daddy
let me get big
Ok, Son
If that's what you want
I'll love you forever

My Dad

My dad is great
When I was a little baby, after his classes and work, he'd put aside his fatigue and his homework, and play with me until I fell asleep on his chest

My dad is great
He took me to my first Ohio State football game (OSU 42 EWash 0), and then we spent the rest of day walking around campus, me learning where he came from, and wondering when we were going to eat

My dad is great
During a game of two-on-two when I was boy, I used a derogatory racial slur to describe one of our opponents, resulting in my dad tanning my hide so I'd get a small idea of how that sort of thing hurts people

My dad is great
When I really wanted to learn how to use the lawnmower, when I was big enough, he taught me.... wait a minute, what's so great about that?

My dad is great
While other guys golfed or stopped off at the watering hole after work, we were throwing a baseball

My dad is great
He taught me through not buying a VCR, and making me spend all my money on my Aunt Ada, that Christmas was not my birthday

My dad is great
On the first day I got my license, he asked me why I didn't have a job, forcing me to connect freedom with responsibility

My dad is great
He made me do math because he wanted me to have opportunities he didn't have, and his dream came true... I make a living largely not having to use much math!

My dad is great
All he did was tell me when I went off to college not to ask for money, so I didn't, and he ended up giving it to me anyway

My dad is great
When guests come to his house, they get something to eat or drink, whether they want to or not

My dad is great
He tells me to not be so much of a wuss, and my brother to be kinder and gentler

My dad is great
On the day my oldest son, Max, was born, he drove non-stop from Lima to Normal, Illinois so he could tell the boy how much he loved him

My dad is great
He has sat up late, listening and talking, during some dark nights of the soul

My dad is great
Just ask his grandkids

My dad is great
Just ask the secondary school students at Borde who study because of his passion and generosity

My dad is great
Cause he has two sons who love and admire him

My dad is great
Because he married a great woman who has pushed him toward greatness

Today, my dad is 60 years old... and he's great!

Mr. Baxter

Dear Mr. Baxter

I don't think you know me... well, you yelled at me plenty of times when I was a kid, but we never knew one another. You lived next door to Mike Miller, just across a rusty chain-link fence that's still there... a testament to one person's desire to know the exact location of that particular property line. I was one of the "little brats" you used to yell at when we'd play next door to your house.

I used to watch you drive your mustard-yellow Plymouth Duster down the street to a destination that was much debated by us neighborhood kids. Mike insisted, above the fray of our arguing, that your destination was to buy a case a beer. We didn't believe him, so one day we followed you on our bikes. It wasn't hard. You always drove with the emergency brake on. To make it look like we weren't following you was actually harder than keeping up. Sure enough, you drove to Chuck's Pizza, and emerged with a case of beer. I gathered it wasn't the first time Mike followed you, but he was one who always needed to be right, so he gloated all the way home, especially as we passed your car just past Roosevelt Elementary School.

I don't know if you were drunk every day. I don't know if you had family. I don't know if you knew Jesus, or had met him once along the course of your days. I don't know anything about you... except that when we got bored, we knew you'd come out to yell at us if we threw a football in your yard. You always came through then!

I don't know the circumstances with which you finally moved. I assume you died, as 27 years ago you were retired, home, alone, every day, drinking your beer and watching a black-and-white TV that never seemed to turn "off". You could count on that too - the warm glow of a black-and-white TV emanating out of a large picture window with no curtain at all hours. I don't know what happened to that TV, or the Plymouth Duster. They, like you, are all gone.

But the impression you left me is still alive, and this weekend when I drove passed what used to be your home, I could still see you, out on the front porch yelling obscenities, trying to get to ball before we did so you could take it inside.

I wonder what happened to all those balls?

I wonder if I could have helped you? Maybe made a call to a social worker who specialized in issues pertaining to the elderly, or to a son, or daughter or any other living relative. Heck, why obsess over this now? I was ten, and more afraid of you than anything else. Besides, I'm guessing that any intervention would not have been welcomed.

But nobody should have lived out the end of their life that alone. Nobody.

So, take care Mr. Baxter. Here's a word of concern, about twenty years too late. My guess: you'd have just thrown it away in the trash...

but then again, maybe you wouldn't have.

God Bless,
Little Brat #4

Haikuapalooza Day 6 or 7... or something

The entries for Haikuapalooza are running a little slow, so to recap, here's what this blogger is looking for:

• In an email to me (bryan_bucher@asburyseminary.edu) simply list your name, the location of your log-in, and something about yourself (would especially like to hear from the person at the General Board of Discipleship in Nashville who keeps logging in... who you is?)
• Every person who enters gets a free Haiku, written by me, on this blog, plus a chance to win an Asbury Seminary Coffee Mug OR a Shawnee UMC Coffee Mug (your choice) and a pound of Bourbon Chocolate Fudge from the Abbey of Gethsemane in Trappist, Kentucky.
• Haikuapalooza ends September 15th, so get moving (especially my fellow BP's and families... enter or you will risk the wrath of me dancing topless on the front lawn to the vocal stylings of Barry Manilow singing "Copacabana" - CONSIDER THYSELF WARNED!)

Before I get to the Haikus, here are a few random thoughts....

• A writer for MSN.com raised this question today: "Will Paris Hilton's DUI charge hurt her image?" There's no punch line here... don't need one.
• Have conquered two of the six books (w/papers) for my Missiology class. Book 3, however, is bigger than the first two combined, with a type size that will require a magnifying class and a bottle of Tylenol. Gotta find those reading glasses I bought in seminary.
• Total of authors encountered either in the form of an entire book, or an article/excerpt from a book since beginning of the program (2 months): 79
• Total number of pages read: thousands
• Total number of pages written (double spaced): 68.5
• Total number of churches I'll need to visit as a part of my dissertation research: 30 (Projected stops for the "Bucher Leadership Tranisition World Tour" - Knoxville, Chicago, Naperville IL, Orange County CA., Worchester Mass., Oklahoma City, Pheonix, Indianapolis and many others TBD)
• If I could be any flavor Dum Dum Sucker, I would be "root beer".
• Looked at a used BMW 1200LTC cruiser on E-bay for sale in Toledo yesterday... those motorcycle yearnings aren't going away
• Yesterday Xavier was imagining that he was the North Wind... me thinks that while Max goes out to discover new dinosaur bones, Xavie will be traveling in a van, playing gigs in a band called "The Popes". Eli, on the other hand, reminds me of his Uncle Andy, so maybe we have another lawyer in the family.

Now, on to the Haikus!

For: Fred Diehl (my uncle)
From: West Palm Beach, Florida
strength during trials
comes from knowing others do pray
for what's in your heart

For: Shannon Kerns
From: Union Seminary - New York, NY
the human struggle
for acceptance and love is
the story of all

For: CJ Dugan
From: Chicago, Illinois
wedding is legal
if I'm preacher of record
choose me... if you dare

For: Mom
From: The Ol' Homestead
teaching reading to
prepare kids for the big world
your calling it is

Haikuapalooza Day #2

Remember, you can still enter and win a free Haiku. Just send me an email (bryan_bucher@asburyseminary.edu) with your name, location, and something about you, and you get to read a personal Haiku especially written for you by me on this fine blog (plus a chance to win a free coffee mug!). It was a slow day for Haiku entries which inspired...

waiting for entries
no blogging fun without them
won't you play along?

...so let me digress on my most recent Beeson Pastor experience.

We, apparently, are going to hear from all kinds of "Christian leaders" before this year is out. For the past two days we heard from two ladies. One was a woman who had worked for Leadership Network for a number of years, and now works for an organization called "worldconnex" as an (I am not making this up) "Information Broker". Her presentation consisted mainly of information that, if they had given us a booklist, we could have broken ourselves. Filled with all kinds of facts and theories about where the church is now, and where it's going in the future, she was not all that terribly original, but inspired good conversation.

The second woman works for an organization called GlobaLocal, which basically, well... I'm not quite sure what they do. I think they help local churches get active in missions overseas, but I couldn't be quite sure. Anyhow, she was a little bit more, uh... "uneven". Practical and helpful in some ways, and in others.... well, let's just say we weren't quite on the same page.

Example: During her presentation on how to discern the will of God, she talked about how earth mirrored heaven in the sense that there was warfare going on the heavenly realm. Really? War... in heaven? You mean that when Jesus teaches us to pray that earth should be like heaven, it means we're asking for war between superpowers? Hmmm. According to John the Revelator (20:10) in the battle of Armageddon, when Satan amasses great armies, preparing for battle, God will reveal his holiness, and it'll be all over. Not one shot will be fired. God 1, Satan 0 No contest.

Here's the deal folks, evil has no power over God. It can't tempt God to do anything, or destroy God, or hurt God. Evil had its chance, and the result was an empty tomb. God isn't amassing armies or coming up with battle plans. He's God! The only realm where spiritual battles are fought, is this earthly one, and the only power evil has over us is that which we give it.

Let me tell you this story... my Grandmother Bucher was married very, very young. Before she was twenty, she had two kids, my Aunt Laura and Uncle Dick. While the kids were still little, her husband took to beating her. Back in those days, before the Depression, women were just supposed to shut-up and take the punishment, but my grandmother, with two little kids and a third-grade education, left to make a better life. She did end up meeting a good guy (my grandfather) and had four more boys (including Dad and Dave, the twins, in her forties... after that grandpa wasn't allowed to sleep in the same bedroom with her anymore - true story) but until the day she died she never had two pennies to rub together. I remember as a kid (my grandfather died years before I was born), in the city of Lima during the 1970's, using her one-holer in an unheated backshed (later her kids got her a flusher and bathtub)... the same shed where she did her wash by hand.

Thus, as a poor, divorced, widowed, mother, you could say she was as vulnerable as a person could be in this world. She stood no chance against powers and principalities aligned against humanity, except...that woman hung on to Jesus with all that she was. A lack of education never stopped her from reading her Bible through again and again and again. And I don't know how much time each day she spent in prayer... I just know she prayed for countless people, by name, every day. I'm not saying she was perfect, far from it, but in her simple understanding and simple life, she truly moved mountains. That's why when her day came, she told the doc, "Don't put that tube down my throat. I'm ready to go home."

So, here's how much power Satan has... he couldn't keep heaven out of a poor, divorced, widowed mother's home. Fat lot of good fighting God would do him.

Let's just say I took the stuff worth taking, and I left all the rest behind.

Now, on the Haikus!!!

For: Aimee Bucher
From: Our Dining Room
hey you big sluggard
quit writing stupid haikus
take me to dinner

For: Sue Dickerson
From: Lima, Ohio
say "bye" to Shadow
I can't take her in right now
she is a great bike

Our silent retreat at a Trappist monastery ends Sunday afternoon, so look for next week's "Ten Things I Think I Think" and more haikus, next Monday.

Have a great weekend!

Haikuapalooza Day #1

Before I give you today's Haikus, here's a recap of what Haikuapalooza is:

For those who missed yesterday's post, here's the deal: tell me who the heck you are and where you are logging on from, and maybe a little somthing about yourself, and everyone who enters will get an original Haiku written about them on this very blog. Everyone is a winner! It just doesn't get any better!

Oh, and I'll take all the entries, throw them in a hat, and send the winner an official "Asbury Theological Seminary" coffee mug. That's right... totally free! You could impress your friends, and look holy, all at the same time.

And for those Beeson Pastors and their fams who'd like to enter (you know you want to... it's the most fun you can have and not violate the ethos statement) if you win the drawing I'll pony up an official Shawnee United Methodist Church coffee mug (as for the rest of you, if you'd rather the church mug, just let me know).

All entries need to be in by September 15th. Haikus to be written as emails are received.

On to Today's Haikus!!!!

For: Steve Jenkins
From: Lima, Ohio
still a newlywed
very beautiful baby
looks like mom (praise God)

For: Cathleen Baker
From: Lima, Ohio
big exercise freak
calls me a fat tub of goo
go work out tubby

For: Bruce Dickerson
From: Hamilton, Ohio
called to ministry
Asbury Seminary
better get reading

For: Paul Rebelo
From: Chattanooga, Tennesee
each day a challenge
your chance to make your imprint
kick sin's butt - take names

For: Walt Adams
From: Lima, Ohio
am just checking in
been camping with sue - good times
like your blog - do well

For: Andy Bucher
From: Toledo, Ohio
very good looking
but not quite as good looking
as older brother

September is Haikuapalooza!!!

I am floored by the list of places in this great country and across the world, that are showing up as the log-in location to this little blog. Check it out a partial list in just the last few days:

• Cleveland, Ohio (I am a Witness)
• Lots of other places in Ohio (especially Lima... where exactly are "Fletcher" and "Okolona"?)
• Valparaiso, Indiana (and lots of other places in Indiana)
• Bloomfield Hills, Michigan (too bad they don't play any major college football in that state)
• Little Rock, Arkansas (all Razorbacks welcome)
• Smithville, Pennsylvania ("Big Ben" and I have the same great-grandmother... true story!)
• Babson Park, Massachusettes (sounds very nice)
• Pompano Beach, Florida (and all the clams we can eat)
• Englewood, Colorado (I'd be counting the days til the chairlifts start running)
• Salt Lake City, Utah (Hi Aunt Beth!)
• Nashville, Tennesse (home of the Grand Ol' Opry)
• Leesburg, Virginia (pop. 28,311)
• Lots of Places in Alabama (Auburn or Alabama?)
• Newnan, Georgia (uh... it's in Georgia!)
• "The Nest" (Home of "The Great One"... see you next weekend Grandma!)

So, here's the deal: tell me who the heck you are and where you are logging on from, and maybe a little somthing about yourself, and everyone who enters will get an original Haiku written about them on this very blog. Everyone is a winner! It just doesn't get any better!

Oh, and I'll take all the entries, throw them in a hat, and send the winner an official "Asbury Theological Seminary" coffee mug. That's right... totally free! You could impress your friends, and look holy, all at the same time.

And for those Beeson Pastors and their fams who'd like to enter (you know you want to... it's the most fun you can have and not violate the ethos statement) if you win the drawing I'll pony up an official Shawnee United Methodist Church coffee mug (as for the rest of you, if you'd rather the church mug, just let me know).

All entries need to be in by September 15th. Haikus to be written as emails are received.

A Prayer

Lord

Give me a heart for your children
Let it beat as yours beats
In love, hoping, wanting and desiring your best in their life
Let me pray for their protection
enlightenment
that they would find joy
humor
purpose
and the knowledge
that there is a depth of compassion and healing
that you have for them

Let me encounter their pain
and seek ways to help bear it
and help them lay it at the foot of cross
with the One who desires that we leave it there

May their voids be filled
lonliness dissapated
rejection rejected
the rejectors forgiven, and the pain they caused released

And help us to acknowledge how we've rejected others
turned from one another
abused ourselves in the name of survival
and created chaos when we are called to people of peace

Make the first words on their lips each
not be "Help Me Lord",
but "Help Yourself To Me, Lord"

Create your heart in me Lord,
for your people

Amen