The last video. You can see the donate button at the bottom of this post. It'll be operable until late tonight. Thank You all for your support of the Hands for Haiti 5k/Half-Marathon, and if you haven't donated yet, join the legion that is Phat Pastor Nation, and make a pledge.
Yesterday's "Who Is My Neighbor?"
Here's yesterday's video. What would an appeal be like if I were one of the old style TV evangelists? Hmmmm......
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Hands for Haiti 5k - DAY 4 Video
Who is my neighbor?
Here's yesterday's video. What would an appeal be like if I were one of the old style TV evangelists? Hmmmm......
and here's yesterdays cause, well, just because...
Only three days left until the big race. Click here for more details if you'd like to walk up to register either Friday evening or Saturday morning at the race. Send checks to support this effort to:
Shawnee UMC
2600 Zurmehly Rd.
Lima OH. 45806
All proceeds will go to our work in Haiti. Not a dime to administration or church ops, but rather every penny into vaccinations, medicine, medical personnel, feeding projects, water well repair, and all those things that make life more bearable in a place where it is very difficult.
Thanks again to all who have supported the Phat Pastor's effort to raise money for the people of Haiti.
Here's yesterday's video. What would an appeal be like if I were one of the old style TV evangelists? Hmmmm......
and here's yesterdays cause, well, just because...
Only three days left until the big race. Click here for more details if you'd like to walk up to register either Friday evening or Saturday morning at the race. Send checks to support this effort to:
Shawnee UMC
2600 Zurmehly Rd.
Lima OH. 45806
All proceeds will go to our work in Haiti. Not a dime to administration or church ops, but rather every penny into vaccinations, medicine, medical personnel, feeding projects, water well repair, and all those things that make life more bearable in a place where it is very difficult.
Thanks again to all who have supported the Phat Pastor's effort to raise money for the people of Haiti.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hands For Haiti 5k/Half-Marathon (DAY 2 VIDEO NOW POSTED)
This Saturday, for the first time in many, many years (am thinking it was a 10K in Lima my Sophomore year of high school) I'll be "running" in a 5K. My training has been spotty (at best) but I'm committed to making this run.
You see, all the proceeds from the race are going to SUMC's medical mission work in Northern Haiti. Right now, we are talking with International Child Care to open a clinic in a remote area of the country that is often cut-off during the rainy season. The idea is to have a clinic with small staff functioning year-round so that medical help will be available regardless of whether or not roads are open. We also sponsor day-clinics manned by volunteers from the church a few weeks every year with our partner, Living Hope Mission.
You can support this by sponsoring me. Just click on the PayPal button above. Support the phatest pastor "running" (there may be more walking than running just so you know) either with a buck per mile (total = $3), or a buck per kilometer (total = $5), or give whatever you want. Use your credit card and make it easy on yourself. If that doesn't work, just send a check to:
Shawnee UMC
c/0 The Phat Pastor
2600 Zurmehly Rd.
Lima, Ohio 45806
If you wish, you may receive a statement for tax purposes. All expenses for this race are covered so 100% of your money will go to purchase drugs, supplies, and other medical whatnot for Haitians in need.
NOTE: There is a prize for the person who raises the most money at this race, but I have self-disqualified myself from winning (just to keep things above board).
To find out more about the race, or to get info about entering yourself as a walk-up this weekend, just click here on the official website.
Thanks for stopping by!
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Fruit of the Spirit
(just a little primer for tomorrow's sermon)
For most of my adult life I have spent the vast majority of my time as a pastor and Christian working on becoming more knowledgeable. I'm finishing up a second post-graduate degree (Dr. Bucher, can I ask you a question about my back? Uh, no, but if you want a smooth transition when your pastor leaves give me a call.). I've spent I don't know how many hours chasing down info on living in the Roman Empire or doing cross-cultural studies in the world of ancient Mesopotamia.
(Don't mess wit my potamia!)
I've chased down meanings on Hebrew and Aramaic words. I've compared Marcus Borg (great cultural study of the Roman world) with N.T. Wright (another great cultural study of the Roman world who disagrees with Borg, but yet they remain mutual admirers), deconstructed dispensationalism, via the Internet/DVD/books tried to understand the world from an archeologist's eyes, and generally burned a lot of hours in various seminary libraries (I used to hide in the dark in a cubicle at Methesco so I could study all night after it closed). When it comes to the Bible, theology, and the sociology of various Christian movements, I think I've really grown since I walked the line at Lima Stadium as a member of Lima Senior High's Class of 1987.
But, I've got to be honest with you, in a lot of respects I've wondered if somehow I've missed the boat? Or more aptly, taken my eyes off the prize for something less worthy.
Shortly after Christ's death - within a hundred years or so anyway - a subculture began to develop within the Christian movement. These folks, who became known as "Gnostics" (from the Greek, "gnosis" meaning "knowledge"). For my purposes today, it's not really all that important to describe exactly what the Gnostics believed. If you go to the fount of all truth and knowledge - Wikipedia - you'll find (in part) this definition:
a form of revealed, esoteric knowledge through which the spiritual elements of humanity are reminded of their true origins within the superior Godhead, being thus permitted to escape materiality
Gnostics believed that God had implanted knowledge in us, and the creation, that if could be discovered would free us from our present reality. All you had to do was apply yourself to seeking out this "hidden knowledge" with various teachers using texts devised by the same teachers (or those who taught the teachers) who had made these amazing discoveries, and you too could be free of the pain, struggle, and uncertainty that life throws at you.
In the fourth century AD, the Gnostics, recognized as mystic crackpots, were largely banished to the fringe of the Christian experience. And, quite frankly, with good reason. I don't have the time to talk about all the stuff Gnostics taught but the "accounts of Jesus Christ" they wrote were product of "mystic visions" and "out of body experiences". When you start giving "historical accounts" received in the throws of a mystic vision the same authority as that of an eye-witness, problems will quickly arise. Hence, Orthodox Christianity disposed of Gnosticism long, long ago. And while the "Gnostic Gospels" pop up every so often as "proof" the Christian church (meaning mainly the Roman Catholic Church) is trying to keep the "truth" away from people (i.e. The DaVinci Code), the really boring truth about them is that they were just too loopy to be believed.
But while the Gnostics may have lost of the battle, I'm becoming increasingly alarmed that maybe they're winning the war. Oh, I don't mean that there's a growing subculture who believe that Jesus was neither "human" or "divine", but some other substance that was neither. The pursuit of knowledge as the end of the Christian spiritual journey however, has become more our focus than it probably should. Knowledge learned in the right way, with the right bent, from the right perspective. We're no longer obsessed, necessarily, with figuring out the secret as to how to be freed in this life from our physical selves (although I could stand to be freed from about 100 pounds of my physical self), but it seems like every Christian movement out there right now is trying to convince you that there is a more concentric circle of understanding hidden from everyone else they possess... and all have to do is go plant your flag in their soil long enough until that knowledge becomes yours.
That's the essence of Gnosticism - the belief that you have "secret knowledge" others don't possess that is essential for others to know before they know the "truth".
No part of this culture of ours is escaping the Gnostic curse right now. Politics, religion, spirituality, finance, a person's emotional well-being.... all you need are the right "facts" and all will be well. Even the church, even us pastors, even us pastors who are up the occasional night agonizing over whether or not that last sermon sold you bunk and not the "Gospel", are just looking for the right source. The right scholar. The right theology. The right facts in the hope we'll set you free.
We are a people obsessed with knowledge, and for good reason. Doesn't matter what you do for a living, if you don't know how to do what you are doing, you're toast. For example, do you want drive over a bridge built by someone who understands civil engineering or by some guy making up its construction on the fly?
Put that concrete wherever, just use enough to make sure that if a fuel truck goes over this bad boy it won't collapse.
There's a reason why a friend of mine who repairs cars for a living put up this little ditty in his garage:
Labor Rates: $50 an hour for all repair work. $100 an hour if you first tried fixing it yourself.
In our world, now maybe more than ever in history, knowledge is the key to a better life. When I was in college, until the year Aimee and I were married, I roomed with Mike. Mike and I both moved to Lima in the fifth grade. From a very young age Mike was unusually focused on his studies. By his own definition, mot the biggest or smartest guy, Mike worked at his studies like few other people I've ever met. He came from a family of modest means, and knew that whatever way he was gonna make in the world was largely going to be the product of his own blood, sweat, and tears. Most of us don't learn this until later. Mike seemed to get it as far back as junior high school. In high school and the three years we roomed together at college, I suspect that for every hour I studied, Mike studied three or four hours. About the only time I saw him without a book when when he was eating, badgering us to play him in racquetball, when he'd play the occasional video game (on the old "Commodore 64"), or when he slept. On Fridays and Saturdays while the rest of Miami was blowing off steam, Mike was volunteering at the local hospital ER, watching doctors and nurses piece together Miami students who blew themselves up with the steam.
Mike was obsessed with gaining knowledge, and for good reason. He wanted to go to medical school, which is not easy to get into, and become a doctor. I'm glad to say that all of his hard work paid off, and now he has a successful dermatology practice. Given all my Lima Senior classmates - those who graduated and those who didn't - I'm sure if you ask those whose lives haven't ended up where they wanted them to be, they'd tell you they wish - in an echo of an old Gatorade campaign - in junior and senior high school, they'd been more like Mike.
To a degree, the old adage, "Knowledge is Power", has gotta lot of truth to it.
But while in this spiritual journey "knowledge" is most definitely important, it is only a means to an end, and not an end to itself. It's believed now by many scholars that in the early church, before you could become a member you'd have to go through a three year period of study where you'd be challenged to commit the life and certain teaching of Jesus to memory. Given the lack of books (let alone the Internet) this was essential in passing down the story and essence of the faith. The Gospels themselves are largely considered to be the product of different faith communities who at some point decided to commit what they were learning to memory.
But learning was only one aspect of the Christan experience, and not even the most important one at that. As opposed to "learning" about Jesus' Gospel, the greater emphasis was on "becoming" the person Jesus called us to be.
Never was emphasis on "becoming" greater than "learning" than in the writings of Paul. The one who wrote
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."
This is a man who once prided himself on "being a Jew amongst Jews". The smartest religious teacher and leader around, fluent not only in the Hebrew Bible and the tradition of Jewish Law, but also in the Greek disciplines of logic, rhetoric, and philosophy. At one time, Paul's greatest point of pride was that in a room full of very, very smart people, he was arguably the smartest. And because he was the smartest, he was looked to as a leader. Paul, we're told, gave those who stoned Stephen, the first Christian, the spiritual authority to do so. When he was blinded by Jesus he was on his way to Damascus, he was on his way to work with local Jewish leaders in a non-Jewish dominated town to start stemming the growing wave of Christian converts. If the Apostles were taking the message of Christ beyond Jerusalem, Paul was being targeted by those who opposed this message to stomp it out wherever necessary.
It's not surprising then, after Paul's conversion that while he was concerned with new Christan disciples learning the Gospel, he was more preoccupied with them "becoming more like Christ". Or as he put it, becoming someone directed by the Holy Spirit to "produce fruit": Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
The fact is, for better or worse, there is no "secret knowledge" in some book or possessed by some "wise teacher" that will produce this kind of fruit. With apologizes to the lady who wrote the book, "The Secret", visualizing who want to be until the day it happens might sound really great (and possesses a grain of truth - it's not a bad thing to have a vision for your life), but it's hardly a secret. I can point you to a thousand other books that say the same thing but weren't marketed nearly as well. While we can learn more about the world around us, about ourselves, and others, in the end Solomon, while admittedly sounding pretty cynical, is right - there's nothing new under the sun. God has given us scripture, the ability to reason, a Christian tradition where we can see were mistakes were made, and our own experience so that we might not just be smarter, but rather, fruitful.
I mean all the stuff listed in Galatians 5 which is the list of that which is the opposite of spiritual fruit:
sexual immorality
impure thoughts
eagerness for lustful pleasure
idolatry
participation in demonic activities
hostility
quarreling
jealousy
outbursts of anger
selfish ambition
divisions
the feeling that everyone is wrong except those in your own little group
envy
drunkenness
wild parties
you can be the most knowledgeable bloke around and still behave badly and engage in all these things. One of the brightest, smartest students I ever came across while I was at Miami was a witch who offered to help teach me spells to help my love life (which I decided to give a pass). Another classmate of mine who graduated "magna cum-laude" in 1991 and he was a libertarian who not only got high a lot but thought everyone who wasn't with him was self-delusioned nut. Seems like there's a story every single day of someone you wouldn't expect - either due to their education, background, or standing - who has engaged any one or more of the above behaviors and is now paying for it. All the athletic prowess and ability in the world isn't gonna stop people from wearing "Hide Your Beagle, Vick's An Eagle" t-shirts.
It's not enough to know about being a disciple. The end is becoming one.
What's more I have met, heard, read, and talked with plenty of people who knew a lot of Bible, church history, and theology - who could run rings around the rest of us apologetically - who were, for lack of a better term, jerks. Of all the profs, for example, I've had in the two seminaries where I studied, eight ran away from their spouses with a student in their class. EIGHT!
I remember this one time I went to a conference for church leaders: we ended up sitting at a table with a lead pastor whose ministry I had always admired from afar. I had read his books and listened to his sermons. He was brilliant. I thought the world of him....
and then, I met him.
That was a long time ago, but since then I've had enough other personal experience with big-time pastors that I have this theory that you almost have to be ego-centric jerk to be able to grow a church to an epic size. But this was the first time I had experienced this first hand, and I remember really being torn in that moment. Since then, the guy has taken a lot of lumps, and I can't say I'm surprised. Even a lot of knowledge about the one who calls us to "go forth and produce fruit that lasts" doesn't necessary add up to a life where the right kind of fruit is produced.
Love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
The fact is I know plenty of folks who don't know why e=mc2 or post-milleniallism or who the biblical character Tamar was (she was simultaneously the daughter-in-law of Judah, and also the mother of his children.... not quite the family-values you thought were in the Bible, eh?) who produce more fruit than the Bing Cherry trees in all of that state up north.
All that to say this.... is your spiritual journey - a life of study, worship, prayer, service, personal discipline - is it making you more fruitful. And if it isn't, why?
Or put it another way... are you learning more about God, or making peace with God? There's a big difference.
Jesus calls us in John 15 to "remain in my love... I have told you this so that you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow!" He calls us, in our "becoming" a disciple and in working with others in their "becoming" a disciple, to the realization that it's more important to dwell with Jesus long enough to see the world through his eyes than knowing the right way or the right things. That's the difference between knowing that people who mourn are blessed because now that the Messiah has come they will be comforted, and comforting those who mourn because in your heart the Messiah has come.
Hence, while I think its a good idea to learn all you can, calibrate what you are learning by asking the question, changed a little than when the old lady said something similar in a Wendy's commercial, but still yet applicable..
Where's the fruit? Where's the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control?
For most of my adult life I have spent the vast majority of my time as a pastor and Christian working on becoming more knowledgeable. I'm finishing up a second post-graduate degree (Dr. Bucher, can I ask you a question about my back? Uh, no, but if you want a smooth transition when your pastor leaves give me a call.). I've spent I don't know how many hours chasing down info on living in the Roman Empire or doing cross-cultural studies in the world of ancient Mesopotamia.
(Don't mess wit my potamia!)
I've chased down meanings on Hebrew and Aramaic words. I've compared Marcus Borg (great cultural study of the Roman world) with N.T. Wright (another great cultural study of the Roman world who disagrees with Borg, but yet they remain mutual admirers), deconstructed dispensationalism, via the Internet/DVD/books tried to understand the world from an archeologist's eyes, and generally burned a lot of hours in various seminary libraries (I used to hide in the dark in a cubicle at Methesco so I could study all night after it closed). When it comes to the Bible, theology, and the sociology of various Christian movements, I think I've really grown since I walked the line at Lima Stadium as a member of Lima Senior High's Class of 1987.
But, I've got to be honest with you, in a lot of respects I've wondered if somehow I've missed the boat? Or more aptly, taken my eyes off the prize for something less worthy.
Shortly after Christ's death - within a hundred years or so anyway - a subculture began to develop within the Christian movement. These folks, who became known as "Gnostics" (from the Greek, "gnosis" meaning "knowledge"). For my purposes today, it's not really all that important to describe exactly what the Gnostics believed. If you go to the fount of all truth and knowledge - Wikipedia - you'll find (in part) this definition:
a form of revealed, esoteric knowledge through which the spiritual elements of humanity are reminded of their true origins within the superior Godhead, being thus permitted to escape materiality
Gnostics believed that God had implanted knowledge in us, and the creation, that if could be discovered would free us from our present reality. All you had to do was apply yourself to seeking out this "hidden knowledge" with various teachers using texts devised by the same teachers (or those who taught the teachers) who had made these amazing discoveries, and you too could be free of the pain, struggle, and uncertainty that life throws at you.
In the fourth century AD, the Gnostics, recognized as mystic crackpots, were largely banished to the fringe of the Christian experience. And, quite frankly, with good reason. I don't have the time to talk about all the stuff Gnostics taught but the "accounts of Jesus Christ" they wrote were product of "mystic visions" and "out of body experiences". When you start giving "historical accounts" received in the throws of a mystic vision the same authority as that of an eye-witness, problems will quickly arise. Hence, Orthodox Christianity disposed of Gnosticism long, long ago. And while the "Gnostic Gospels" pop up every so often as "proof" the Christian church (meaning mainly the Roman Catholic Church) is trying to keep the "truth" away from people (i.e. The DaVinci Code), the really boring truth about them is that they were just too loopy to be believed.
But while the Gnostics may have lost of the battle, I'm becoming increasingly alarmed that maybe they're winning the war. Oh, I don't mean that there's a growing subculture who believe that Jesus was neither "human" or "divine", but some other substance that was neither. The pursuit of knowledge as the end of the Christian spiritual journey however, has become more our focus than it probably should. Knowledge learned in the right way, with the right bent, from the right perspective. We're no longer obsessed, necessarily, with figuring out the secret as to how to be freed in this life from our physical selves (although I could stand to be freed from about 100 pounds of my physical self), but it seems like every Christian movement out there right now is trying to convince you that there is a more concentric circle of understanding hidden from everyone else they possess... and all have to do is go plant your flag in their soil long enough until that knowledge becomes yours.
That's the essence of Gnosticism - the belief that you have "secret knowledge" others don't possess that is essential for others to know before they know the "truth".
No part of this culture of ours is escaping the Gnostic curse right now. Politics, religion, spirituality, finance, a person's emotional well-being.... all you need are the right "facts" and all will be well. Even the church, even us pastors, even us pastors who are up the occasional night agonizing over whether or not that last sermon sold you bunk and not the "Gospel", are just looking for the right source. The right scholar. The right theology. The right facts in the hope we'll set you free.
We are a people obsessed with knowledge, and for good reason. Doesn't matter what you do for a living, if you don't know how to do what you are doing, you're toast. For example, do you want drive over a bridge built by someone who understands civil engineering or by some guy making up its construction on the fly?
Put that concrete wherever, just use enough to make sure that if a fuel truck goes over this bad boy it won't collapse.
There's a reason why a friend of mine who repairs cars for a living put up this little ditty in his garage:
Labor Rates: $50 an hour for all repair work. $100 an hour if you first tried fixing it yourself.
In our world, now maybe more than ever in history, knowledge is the key to a better life. When I was in college, until the year Aimee and I were married, I roomed with Mike. Mike and I both moved to Lima in the fifth grade. From a very young age Mike was unusually focused on his studies. By his own definition, mot the biggest or smartest guy, Mike worked at his studies like few other people I've ever met. He came from a family of modest means, and knew that whatever way he was gonna make in the world was largely going to be the product of his own blood, sweat, and tears. Most of us don't learn this until later. Mike seemed to get it as far back as junior high school. In high school and the three years we roomed together at college, I suspect that for every hour I studied, Mike studied three or four hours. About the only time I saw him without a book when when he was eating, badgering us to play him in racquetball, when he'd play the occasional video game (on the old "Commodore 64"), or when he slept. On Fridays and Saturdays while the rest of Miami was blowing off steam, Mike was volunteering at the local hospital ER, watching doctors and nurses piece together Miami students who blew themselves up with the steam.
Mike was obsessed with gaining knowledge, and for good reason. He wanted to go to medical school, which is not easy to get into, and become a doctor. I'm glad to say that all of his hard work paid off, and now he has a successful dermatology practice. Given all my Lima Senior classmates - those who graduated and those who didn't - I'm sure if you ask those whose lives haven't ended up where they wanted them to be, they'd tell you they wish - in an echo of an old Gatorade campaign - in junior and senior high school, they'd been more like Mike.
To a degree, the old adage, "Knowledge is Power", has gotta lot of truth to it.
But while in this spiritual journey "knowledge" is most definitely important, it is only a means to an end, and not an end to itself. It's believed now by many scholars that in the early church, before you could become a member you'd have to go through a three year period of study where you'd be challenged to commit the life and certain teaching of Jesus to memory. Given the lack of books (let alone the Internet) this was essential in passing down the story and essence of the faith. The Gospels themselves are largely considered to be the product of different faith communities who at some point decided to commit what they were learning to memory.
But learning was only one aspect of the Christan experience, and not even the most important one at that. As opposed to "learning" about Jesus' Gospel, the greater emphasis was on "becoming" the person Jesus called us to be.
Never was emphasis on "becoming" greater than "learning" than in the writings of Paul. The one who wrote
"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."
This is a man who once prided himself on "being a Jew amongst Jews". The smartest religious teacher and leader around, fluent not only in the Hebrew Bible and the tradition of Jewish Law, but also in the Greek disciplines of logic, rhetoric, and philosophy. At one time, Paul's greatest point of pride was that in a room full of very, very smart people, he was arguably the smartest. And because he was the smartest, he was looked to as a leader. Paul, we're told, gave those who stoned Stephen, the first Christian, the spiritual authority to do so. When he was blinded by Jesus he was on his way to Damascus, he was on his way to work with local Jewish leaders in a non-Jewish dominated town to start stemming the growing wave of Christian converts. If the Apostles were taking the message of Christ beyond Jerusalem, Paul was being targeted by those who opposed this message to stomp it out wherever necessary.
It's not surprising then, after Paul's conversion that while he was concerned with new Christan disciples learning the Gospel, he was more preoccupied with them "becoming more like Christ". Or as he put it, becoming someone directed by the Holy Spirit to "produce fruit": Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
The fact is, for better or worse, there is no "secret knowledge" in some book or possessed by some "wise teacher" that will produce this kind of fruit. With apologizes to the lady who wrote the book, "The Secret", visualizing who want to be until the day it happens might sound really great (and possesses a grain of truth - it's not a bad thing to have a vision for your life), but it's hardly a secret. I can point you to a thousand other books that say the same thing but weren't marketed nearly as well. While we can learn more about the world around us, about ourselves, and others, in the end Solomon, while admittedly sounding pretty cynical, is right - there's nothing new under the sun. God has given us scripture, the ability to reason, a Christian tradition where we can see were mistakes were made, and our own experience so that we might not just be smarter, but rather, fruitful.
I mean all the stuff listed in Galatians 5 which is the list of that which is the opposite of spiritual fruit:
sexual immorality
impure thoughts
eagerness for lustful pleasure
idolatry
participation in demonic activities
hostility
quarreling
jealousy
outbursts of anger
selfish ambition
divisions
the feeling that everyone is wrong except those in your own little group
envy
drunkenness
wild parties
you can be the most knowledgeable bloke around and still behave badly and engage in all these things. One of the brightest, smartest students I ever came across while I was at Miami was a witch who offered to help teach me spells to help my love life (which I decided to give a pass). Another classmate of mine who graduated "magna cum-laude" in 1991 and he was a libertarian who not only got high a lot but thought everyone who wasn't with him was self-delusioned nut. Seems like there's a story every single day of someone you wouldn't expect - either due to their education, background, or standing - who has engaged any one or more of the above behaviors and is now paying for it. All the athletic prowess and ability in the world isn't gonna stop people from wearing "Hide Your Beagle, Vick's An Eagle" t-shirts.
It's not enough to know about being a disciple. The end is becoming one.
What's more I have met, heard, read, and talked with plenty of people who knew a lot of Bible, church history, and theology - who could run rings around the rest of us apologetically - who were, for lack of a better term, jerks. Of all the profs, for example, I've had in the two seminaries where I studied, eight ran away from their spouses with a student in their class. EIGHT!
I remember this one time I went to a conference for church leaders: we ended up sitting at a table with a lead pastor whose ministry I had always admired from afar. I had read his books and listened to his sermons. He was brilliant. I thought the world of him....
and then, I met him.
That was a long time ago, but since then I've had enough other personal experience with big-time pastors that I have this theory that you almost have to be ego-centric jerk to be able to grow a church to an epic size. But this was the first time I had experienced this first hand, and I remember really being torn in that moment. Since then, the guy has taken a lot of lumps, and I can't say I'm surprised. Even a lot of knowledge about the one who calls us to "go forth and produce fruit that lasts" doesn't necessary add up to a life where the right kind of fruit is produced.
Love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
The fact is I know plenty of folks who don't know why e=mc2 or post-milleniallism or who the biblical character Tamar was (she was simultaneously the daughter-in-law of Judah, and also the mother of his children.... not quite the family-values you thought were in the Bible, eh?) who produce more fruit than the Bing Cherry trees in all of that state up north.
All that to say this.... is your spiritual journey - a life of study, worship, prayer, service, personal discipline - is it making you more fruitful. And if it isn't, why?
Or put it another way... are you learning more about God, or making peace with God? There's a big difference.
Jesus calls us in John 15 to "remain in my love... I have told you this so that you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow!" He calls us, in our "becoming" a disciple and in working with others in their "becoming" a disciple, to the realization that it's more important to dwell with Jesus long enough to see the world through his eyes than knowing the right way or the right things. That's the difference between knowing that people who mourn are blessed because now that the Messiah has come they will be comforted, and comforting those who mourn because in your heart the Messiah has come.
Hence, while I think its a good idea to learn all you can, calibrate what you are learning by asking the question, changed a little than when the old lady said something similar in a Wendy's commercial, but still yet applicable..
Where's the fruit? Where's the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control?
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
19 Years
19 years ago today, Aimee and I were married at Trinity United Methodist Church here in Lima. Here are nineteen memories of that day...
1) It was hot. Damn hot. 102 degrees in the shade hot, and ours was the very last wedding done at Trinity before they installed air conditioning. What's more, our reception was at the UAW Hall which also wasn't air conditioned. To top it off, I chose the tuxedos that previous winter. They were wool.
Did I say the day was hot?
2) The church was so hot (I know I'm beating this to death, but this a great story) that the groomsman filled the balloons with helium in an air conditioned room of the church, and when they brought them into the non-air conditioned foyer they began to, one-by-one, explode. It was like Bill Nye The Science Guy showed up at our wedding.
3) Til this day I say that we had the best rehearsal dinner, ever. Instead of some restaurant, we decided to do our RD at Sherwood Pool. We set up the grub and beverages in the clubhouse, played tunes on the stereo, and everyone - the wedding party, our family, all our college friends, the pastor and his family - went swimming. Lots of fun into the wee hours.
4) The Allen County Fair used be held earlier than it is now. In 1990, August 18th happened to be the day it opened. The fair parade used to (it may still.... I have no idea) march down Market Street and turn down West, out to Elm, and onto the Fairgrounds. Unfortunately for us, Trinity was, and is, located at the corner of Market and West, meaning we couldn't get to the church cause the REACT guys wouldn't let us cross the street, interrupting said parade. We all ended up at the church quite late, and my lovely bride was hysterical because we were so far behind schedule (we did all pics, including the ones together, before the ceremony). Mike Ayres pushed the picture schedule though, and everything ended up OK. However, if you want to see my wife frown, just say "Fair Parade".
5) Aimee was a music major at Miami (of Ohio, of course.... Miami was a University when Florida belonged to Spain) which meant we had some of the most fabulous music before and during our ceremony. We had a harp. We had an a-list organist. We quartets and soloists. They were all really, really good.
6) To be honest, I don't remember much about the actual wedding ceremony. I remember Aimee was beautiful and the church was pretty full - which was confirmed by a picture taken by Mike from the rear balcony of the crowd - and not much else.
Just a quick aside - I wasn't at all happy with Mike Ayers the day of the ceremony because he made us pose for about a million pictures, but I was thumbing through our wedding album the other day and the guy did a tremendous job. To think, that was when he was first getting started. Couldn't recommend him higher.
Back to the ceremony.... I'm sure my wife remembers more of it than I do. I just remember feeling faint while Dave led us through our vows, shaking while trying to put the ring on her finger, and how her brown eyes sparkled during the ceremony.
7) One of my favorite memories of that day was after the service, when people had released the balloons that had survived, and we had climbed into a limo, Aimee and I were alone, just riding around in the air-conditioning drinking champagne. Just the two of us, a couple of kids, our whole lives in front of us. I think of that moment, and it still makes me smile.
8) The DJ we used was instructed to play music from every era, including Big Band. I can still see my wife's grandparents, and my Uncle Paul and Aunt Eileen dancing to the sounds of Glenn Miller. They're all gone now so I'm glad I at least have those memories, and that for a moment we gave them that bit of joy.
9) It should be stated that I did not shove cake into my wife's face. She did get into a cake fight with my brother-in-law and uncle later, but I was a gentleman. Besides, that cake was pretty good. No sense wasting it.
10) There was an open bar at our reception, and given how hot it was that day people took full advantage of Aimee's family's hospitality. Fortunately it was so hot that all the alcohol was sweated out of people's systems before they could get stupid. My college friends, in particular, since the hotel they were staying in was next door and could be reached by foot, enjoyed the libations. I remember in particular Steve Skeels going from table to table picking up half-filled champagne bottles (after the toast, which was the cue for most of the folks at the reception to take off and find a place to cool off) and taking them to table where "The Gang" was sitting. We have this great shot of a group of them sitting at a table that is filled with green bottles. They were the first to arrive at the reception, and the last to leave.
11) We were both in college so we had no money. That summer I had worked two jobs (surveyor at Dad's firm during the day and as a carnie selling corn dogs at county fairs at night and on weekends) as had Aimee (as an employee of the city at the Children's Art Park by day, and a waitress at Frisch's by night) and all the cash went to buy our first home - 14x70 Mobile Home in the scariest trailer-park in Southwest Ohio. Her aunt and uncle, Sharon and Frank Dugan, let use their cottage in Galena, Illinois for our honeymoon (which is really nice), but as for cash while traveling, we had very little. The plan was to do a "dollar dance" at the reception and use that as our spending money. It did raise a couple hundred bucks, which was a relief. At least now we could buy enough gas to get us from Lima to Galena, and back.
As we were leaving though, my Uncle Fred pulled us aside and slipped us a wad of cash that he told us he and Aunt Kathy didn't want brought back to Ohio. Hence, without the Dugans and the Diehls, our honeymoon would have been a night at the local Howard Johnson's. Once again, much thanks. Much, much thanks.
12) As you might imagine, this whole affair wasn't small. Big wedding ceremony. Big reception. Big bills. I don't want to think what Aimee's folks spent on this day, and we'll probably never fully know. Aimee's mom was the force behind making the thing as big as big could be, and in the end she spared no expense. If you knew her, you know she was that way. This was a woman who spent untold dollars on playground equipment and toys of all kinds so that her grandkids would beg their parents to take them to grandmother's house. When it came to throwing a party and getting her family together, Carol Allen knew no budget.
She and Bryant weren't too keen on the idea of our getting married so young and still in school. The only thing I can remember about them on that day was her mom pulling me aside right before we left the reception, and making me promise for about the hundredth time that I would make sure Aimee would finish her degree.
Two years later Carol would give me a big kiss on the cheek as Aimee walked the line at Millett Hall.
Thanks Carol for going in the hole for us, and really, throughout your life, for all of us who you loved. I wish I could thank you in person... someday (hopefully not soon, but someday nonetheless) I will.
13) Before the wedding my college roommate sat me down and tried to explain to me that I was making a big mistake and destroying my life. Getting married... living in a trailer... still in school... Mike was convinced that I was about to make a mistake of epic proportions. Surely, very soon, I'd be working the night shift at the local 7-11, supporting a wife and three kids while still short 12 credit hours of a college degree. Needless to say, I was not pleased. I had included him in my wedding party (we'd been roommates for three years and friends since the fifth grade), and if the tuxes hadn't been ordered I would have un-invited him.
It's good for him I didn't.
At my wedding, Mike met my wife's Maid of Honor, Jenne Gradwahl. One year later they were married, setting up their home in a newly acquired mobile home, getting ready for Mike to begin his first year of medical school at Wright State. Now they're living in Findlay, happily married, where Dr. Cairns has a dermatology practice.
You can't make this stuff up.
14) During the reception our friends covered my car with condoms and wedding cake. With friends like these, who needs enemies?
15) I remember that one of the highlights of the day was my sister-in-law being present for the ceremony and reception. Not long before we were married, Michelle had experienced the death of her infant son, John (or as he is still known Jammer). Needless to say, she didn't really feel much like celebrating, and who can blame her. We never met the little guy (he was born on a military base in Germany) and we still feel his loss. We know it was tough for Michelle to show up that day because it was the first time after Jammer was gone tshe had to be around her extended family. I mean, how many family members made her answer questions about that tragedy that day I do not know, but one time would have been too many.
I will tell you this though, Aimee was elated to see her sister at her wedding. It really made her day. She still talks about it. Now, nineteen years and four sons later, we know how big, and tough it was for her to be there.
Much love from us both, Shell. Much love and prayer.
16) We left the reception early and stopped by her folks house which is where our suitcases were waiting for us. I remember peeling that tuxedo off me, taking a shower and sinking into shorts, t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. Never had I felt so relieved in all my life.
17) Our first night married was spent at a Marriott in Fort Wayne. I reserved "the honeymoon suite", which they assured me they had. It was really was just a regular room that included a fruit basket and a bottle of champagne. I remember not telling anyone, including Aimee, which hotel we were staying at or even what city we were stopping in for the night for fear of what my friends might do with the info. Considering some of the stuff they did to future members of "The Gang" (early morning phone calls from area DJ's and the like) who got hitched, I consider this the smartest wedding move I made, besides popping the question.
(Anyway, it was a lot smarter than those wool tuxes, that's for sure.)
18) You know it's been nineteen years you've been married when you're having trouble remembering nineteen things about your wedding day.
19) The most lasting memory I have now is of two horny, clueless kids who ignored all the wise advice people were giving them, and got married anyway. Six months later we were miserable, hating one another, barely eeking by, living in a trailer with a cat who couldn't stand either of us. Our transition to adulthood took place that first year of marriage, and it hit us with the force and impact that could rival that of a 100 ton press.
It took a year, but we worked a lot of the kinks. Since then there have been ups and downs. Sometimes one person's up was the other person's down. Along the way, though, our love has endured.
We actually celebrated our anniversary last Saturday. We did what has always been our favorite date - dinner and a movie. Back in the early days of marriage this consisted of Bruno's pizza, two cans of root beer, and "Student Night" at the Princess Theater.... and not all that often at that. Saturday we enjoyed the Salad Bar at Ruby Tuesdays and "Bandslam" (a John Hughes-esque throwback that took us back to the glory days of 80's movies). Afterward, we stopped by Happy Daz and got ice cream before we picked up our two youngest from their grandparents.
As we left ice cream place, a young couple - two teenagers - sat by a window next to the exit, making eyes and giggling at one another over a couple of milkshakes. Aimee and I couldn't help but look at one another and laugh. Seems like 0nly yesterday we were teenagers making eyes at one another over breadsticks at Noble Romans. We joked later that we didn't know whether or not to tell those kids to treasure the moment or run like hell.
I'm thankful we have so many moments to treasure, and that we've done our running together.
Happy Anniversary, Aimee. I have and always will, love you.
1) It was hot. Damn hot. 102 degrees in the shade hot, and ours was the very last wedding done at Trinity before they installed air conditioning. What's more, our reception was at the UAW Hall which also wasn't air conditioned. To top it off, I chose the tuxedos that previous winter. They were wool.
Did I say the day was hot?
2) The church was so hot (I know I'm beating this to death, but this a great story) that the groomsman filled the balloons with helium in an air conditioned room of the church, and when they brought them into the non-air conditioned foyer they began to, one-by-one, explode. It was like Bill Nye The Science Guy showed up at our wedding.
3) Til this day I say that we had the best rehearsal dinner, ever. Instead of some restaurant, we decided to do our RD at Sherwood Pool. We set up the grub and beverages in the clubhouse, played tunes on the stereo, and everyone - the wedding party, our family, all our college friends, the pastor and his family - went swimming. Lots of fun into the wee hours.
4) The Allen County Fair used be held earlier than it is now. In 1990, August 18th happened to be the day it opened. The fair parade used to (it may still.... I have no idea) march down Market Street and turn down West, out to Elm, and onto the Fairgrounds. Unfortunately for us, Trinity was, and is, located at the corner of Market and West, meaning we couldn't get to the church cause the REACT guys wouldn't let us cross the street, interrupting said parade. We all ended up at the church quite late, and my lovely bride was hysterical because we were so far behind schedule (we did all pics, including the ones together, before the ceremony). Mike Ayres pushed the picture schedule though, and everything ended up OK. However, if you want to see my wife frown, just say "Fair Parade".
5) Aimee was a music major at Miami (of Ohio, of course.... Miami was a University when Florida belonged to Spain) which meant we had some of the most fabulous music before and during our ceremony. We had a harp. We had an a-list organist. We quartets and soloists. They were all really, really good.
6) To be honest, I don't remember much about the actual wedding ceremony. I remember Aimee was beautiful and the church was pretty full - which was confirmed by a picture taken by Mike from the rear balcony of the crowd - and not much else.
Just a quick aside - I wasn't at all happy with Mike Ayers the day of the ceremony because he made us pose for about a million pictures, but I was thumbing through our wedding album the other day and the guy did a tremendous job. To think, that was when he was first getting started. Couldn't recommend him higher.
Back to the ceremony.... I'm sure my wife remembers more of it than I do. I just remember feeling faint while Dave led us through our vows, shaking while trying to put the ring on her finger, and how her brown eyes sparkled during the ceremony.
7) One of my favorite memories of that day was after the service, when people had released the balloons that had survived, and we had climbed into a limo, Aimee and I were alone, just riding around in the air-conditioning drinking champagne. Just the two of us, a couple of kids, our whole lives in front of us. I think of that moment, and it still makes me smile.
8) The DJ we used was instructed to play music from every era, including Big Band. I can still see my wife's grandparents, and my Uncle Paul and Aunt Eileen dancing to the sounds of Glenn Miller. They're all gone now so I'm glad I at least have those memories, and that for a moment we gave them that bit of joy.
9) It should be stated that I did not shove cake into my wife's face. She did get into a cake fight with my brother-in-law and uncle later, but I was a gentleman. Besides, that cake was pretty good. No sense wasting it.
10) There was an open bar at our reception, and given how hot it was that day people took full advantage of Aimee's family's hospitality. Fortunately it was so hot that all the alcohol was sweated out of people's systems before they could get stupid. My college friends, in particular, since the hotel they were staying in was next door and could be reached by foot, enjoyed the libations. I remember in particular Steve Skeels going from table to table picking up half-filled champagne bottles (after the toast, which was the cue for most of the folks at the reception to take off and find a place to cool off) and taking them to table where "The Gang" was sitting. We have this great shot of a group of them sitting at a table that is filled with green bottles. They were the first to arrive at the reception, and the last to leave.
11) We were both in college so we had no money. That summer I had worked two jobs (surveyor at Dad's firm during the day and as a carnie selling corn dogs at county fairs at night and on weekends) as had Aimee (as an employee of the city at the Children's Art Park by day, and a waitress at Frisch's by night) and all the cash went to buy our first home - 14x70 Mobile Home in the scariest trailer-park in Southwest Ohio. Her aunt and uncle, Sharon and Frank Dugan, let use their cottage in Galena, Illinois for our honeymoon (which is really nice), but as for cash while traveling, we had very little. The plan was to do a "dollar dance" at the reception and use that as our spending money. It did raise a couple hundred bucks, which was a relief. At least now we could buy enough gas to get us from Lima to Galena, and back.
As we were leaving though, my Uncle Fred pulled us aside and slipped us a wad of cash that he told us he and Aunt Kathy didn't want brought back to Ohio. Hence, without the Dugans and the Diehls, our honeymoon would have been a night at the local Howard Johnson's. Once again, much thanks. Much, much thanks.
12) As you might imagine, this whole affair wasn't small. Big wedding ceremony. Big reception. Big bills. I don't want to think what Aimee's folks spent on this day, and we'll probably never fully know. Aimee's mom was the force behind making the thing as big as big could be, and in the end she spared no expense. If you knew her, you know she was that way. This was a woman who spent untold dollars on playground equipment and toys of all kinds so that her grandkids would beg their parents to take them to grandmother's house. When it came to throwing a party and getting her family together, Carol Allen knew no budget.
She and Bryant weren't too keen on the idea of our getting married so young and still in school. The only thing I can remember about them on that day was her mom pulling me aside right before we left the reception, and making me promise for about the hundredth time that I would make sure Aimee would finish her degree.
Two years later Carol would give me a big kiss on the cheek as Aimee walked the line at Millett Hall.
Thanks Carol for going in the hole for us, and really, throughout your life, for all of us who you loved. I wish I could thank you in person... someday (hopefully not soon, but someday nonetheless) I will.
13) Before the wedding my college roommate sat me down and tried to explain to me that I was making a big mistake and destroying my life. Getting married... living in a trailer... still in school... Mike was convinced that I was about to make a mistake of epic proportions. Surely, very soon, I'd be working the night shift at the local 7-11, supporting a wife and three kids while still short 12 credit hours of a college degree. Needless to say, I was not pleased. I had included him in my wedding party (we'd been roommates for three years and friends since the fifth grade), and if the tuxes hadn't been ordered I would have un-invited him.
It's good for him I didn't.
At my wedding, Mike met my wife's Maid of Honor, Jenne Gradwahl. One year later they were married, setting up their home in a newly acquired mobile home, getting ready for Mike to begin his first year of medical school at Wright State. Now they're living in Findlay, happily married, where Dr. Cairns has a dermatology practice.
You can't make this stuff up.
14) During the reception our friends covered my car with condoms and wedding cake. With friends like these, who needs enemies?
15) I remember that one of the highlights of the day was my sister-in-law being present for the ceremony and reception. Not long before we were married, Michelle had experienced the death of her infant son, John (or as he is still known Jammer). Needless to say, she didn't really feel much like celebrating, and who can blame her. We never met the little guy (he was born on a military base in Germany) and we still feel his loss. We know it was tough for Michelle to show up that day because it was the first time after Jammer was gone tshe had to be around her extended family. I mean, how many family members made her answer questions about that tragedy that day I do not know, but one time would have been too many.
I will tell you this though, Aimee was elated to see her sister at her wedding. It really made her day. She still talks about it. Now, nineteen years and four sons later, we know how big, and tough it was for her to be there.
Much love from us both, Shell. Much love and prayer.
16) We left the reception early and stopped by her folks house which is where our suitcases were waiting for us. I remember peeling that tuxedo off me, taking a shower and sinking into shorts, t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops. Never had I felt so relieved in all my life.
17) Our first night married was spent at a Marriott in Fort Wayne. I reserved "the honeymoon suite", which they assured me they had. It was really was just a regular room that included a fruit basket and a bottle of champagne. I remember not telling anyone, including Aimee, which hotel we were staying at or even what city we were stopping in for the night for fear of what my friends might do with the info. Considering some of the stuff they did to future members of "The Gang" (early morning phone calls from area DJ's and the like) who got hitched, I consider this the smartest wedding move I made, besides popping the question.
(Anyway, it was a lot smarter than those wool tuxes, that's for sure.)
18) You know it's been nineteen years you've been married when you're having trouble remembering nineteen things about your wedding day.
19) The most lasting memory I have now is of two horny, clueless kids who ignored all the wise advice people were giving them, and got married anyway. Six months later we were miserable, hating one another, barely eeking by, living in a trailer with a cat who couldn't stand either of us. Our transition to adulthood took place that first year of marriage, and it hit us with the force and impact that could rival that of a 100 ton press.
It took a year, but we worked a lot of the kinks. Since then there have been ups and downs. Sometimes one person's up was the other person's down. Along the way, though, our love has endured.
We actually celebrated our anniversary last Saturday. We did what has always been our favorite date - dinner and a movie. Back in the early days of marriage this consisted of Bruno's pizza, two cans of root beer, and "Student Night" at the Princess Theater.... and not all that often at that. Saturday we enjoyed the Salad Bar at Ruby Tuesdays and "Bandslam" (a John Hughes-esque throwback that took us back to the glory days of 80's movies). Afterward, we stopped by Happy Daz and got ice cream before we picked up our two youngest from their grandparents.
As we left ice cream place, a young couple - two teenagers - sat by a window next to the exit, making eyes and giggling at one another over a couple of milkshakes. Aimee and I couldn't help but look at one another and laugh. Seems like 0nly yesterday we were teenagers making eyes at one another over breadsticks at Noble Romans. We joked later that we didn't know whether or not to tell those kids to treasure the moment or run like hell.
I'm thankful we have so many moments to treasure, and that we've done our running together.
Happy Anniversary, Aimee. I have and always will, love you.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Pretty Sweet
This reminds me of some epic HORSE games back in the day with Brett and Wayne when TDS subs were on the line. We weren't as good as this guy, but I'm pretty sure we tried all these shots. In any event, this is a good way to kill three minutes.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Stan the Man
Last night, Stan Weller passed away after what had been a quick illness, and a long, productive, and fulfilling life.
When I was a young youth pastor (v1.0) at Shawnee in the early/mid nineties I was so dumb I didn't know what I didn't know. It seemed like every other week I said or did something that got me into some kind of trouble. Whether it was people offended by my calling my senior pastor "The Great Bald One" (fortunately, over time the congregation developed a greater sense of humor) or ticked off trustees angry because another table ended up broken at Youth Fellowship, it seemed like the opportunities for me to get beat with sticks were abundant here. I realize most of this I brought down on myself, but I was truly ignorant, and I can tell you it wasn't bliss.
I don't know what it was that convinced Stan to step in and help a clueless guy out. He had been a teacher, coach, and administrator, so maybe he thought he could mold me just like his other students or a young teachers. He liked taking on hopeless causes and arguing with others (he liked to say God put him on the earth to give other people a hard time), so maybe as a member of SPRC, the incessant complaining he heard mainly from older members about the youth pastor kinda got his dander up. Maybe he felt compelled to step in because the lack of a youth ministry at the church prior to my being hired made him sick to his stomach. I don't know.
I suspect that real reason Stan took to me was due to all the mission work the teens were doing in those days. Some of the work - like the annual mission trips to rural South Carolina (which started as Hurricane Hugo repair work but over time became an effort to not only alleviate poverty among mostly rural poor elderly South Carolingians but an effort to bridge racial and cultural barriers in a divided Williamsburg County, SC) was initiated by me.
Some work they were doing wasn't. Ellen Dukeman, a high school student, initiated with a couple of other teens from the church an after-school art program at the Bradfield Center in Lima, which evolved into a once-a-week tutoring program totally run and operated by teens. Stan, I think, saw teens working and giving of themselves, and felt it was too important for the church, and the Kingdom, to idly stand by as the youth pastor in charge repeatedly shot himself in the foot. That's probably when the first invitation to come eat chili at his house happened.
Soon, on about a monthly basis, I found myself at Stan's house where we'd sit, eat, talk, and mostly laugh. In time he started giving me a hard time each and every Sunday morning before and after the 8:30am service. Not long thereafter, he'd regularly stop in at the office, grab Helen Price from her desk, and she and he would come heckle me mercilessly about how I (dis)organized my desk.
I loved every minute of it.
He owned an old orange suburban in those days which he made available to the youth group whenever they needed it. Later, because we were using it more than he was, he asked me if I wanted to buy it. I didn't really have the money so he set it up so the payments could be made whenever I could afford to do so. It took two years to finally pay off the $1100 I owed him, but he didn't seem to care. He burned the ledger in the fire of the grill he used to make us the hamburgers we ate to celebrate the end of my debt.
You just don't forget stuff like that.
After about a year of those lunches at his house, he had asked me so many questions about our mission work in South Carolina that I guess his curiosity got the best of him. He asked whether or not that following summer if he could go with us. I told him that was fine by me. Personally, though, I was a little worried. Stan retired early (at 55, I think). By the time he went down with us he was I believe about 70 years old. I wondered how he would get along with the teens, and they him.
I got my answer as we made our way down the highway on the very first day. I was leading a caravan of four or five vehicles, when out of nowhere an orange suburban went flying past my van. In it was one 70 year old driver and five teens dancing to music coming out of the radio. The suburban was swerving all over the road because the driver, while dancing, wasn't keeping his hands on the wheel as the hunk of metal loaded with kids and gear hurled down the highway at 75mph.
From that day on, Stan was, by far, the most popular adult counselor we took on our mission trips.
I remember something else about Stan's first year with us in SC. We had this kid go with us who even at the age of 12 or 13 was a hellion. Everywhere I had taken the kid he would be a real pain in the everlovin'. He was always mouthing off, sneaking off to grab a quick smoke (which I'd have to quash whenever I could), and causing some sort of trouble. He would openly tell me each week at YF that only reason he was there was because his mother made him go. Repeatedly I gave him permission to stay home, but his mother never relented. I remember shivering when she gave me the sign up form and registration fee so that her son, Todd, could go on the mission trip.
Anyhow, the first day Stan worked in South Carolina, it was hot. Real hot. Like 112 degrees in the shade hot. I had put in charge of building a wheelchair ramp at a home where a mother taking care of an adult daughter with MS lived, and it was clear by lunch that Stan was not well. He wasn't afraid of work, but unaccustomed to the heat he had already over-exerted himself. Because it wasn't that big of a job (I think that year we were also renovating a couple of houses) and because he insisted as a retired principle he could handle them, I had assigned to Stan a crew of my young troublemakers, including Todd.
At first, Stan worked while the kids stood around looking for trouble, but as he tired, he began assigning jobs and showing kids how to do things. By the time I arrived later that morning the kids were digging post holes, mixing concrete, cutting wood, and nailing nails while Stan sat under a shade tree drinking lemonade.
That night at devotions youth and adults were (in jest) giving Stan a hard time about sitting around all day. The ribbing was only growing and getting more pointed, when out of nowhere, Todd stood up, and began passionately defending Stan. Stan, he told us, was only doing what he was supposed to be doing... showing the teens who had signed up to work how to do the work. He went on to tell us to leave Stan alone because he was older and we needed to treat him with more respect. He concluded his speech by letting all know that Stan's crew, under his leadership, would outwork any other crew there that week and the rest of us could just kiss their ass.
Might be the only time I was ever proud of a kid for using blue language at devotions.
It was not only a turning point for Todd. The kid who hated coming to church and YF ended practically living there whenever he had the chance. But is was also a turning point for me, and all the adults and kids involved in the SC mission. From that day on adults made greater efforts to show the kids how to get things done and do the work, and kids expected to work hard. To this day, I don't think any youth pastor expected more work out of a group of teens than I did on those mission trips. One year, for example, in one week those kids built a house from the pad up, renovated another one (down the floor joyces and studs), renovated a church, and did a host of side projects. I think back now and wonder what I was thinking. I worked them so hard under that hot sun you'd have thought they were being punished, but every year their numbers grew.
By 1997 a group of almost 100 people, more than 80 of them teens, traveled to South Carolina to build and repair houses. It was Stan, out of personal necessity, who really taught us how to train and trust teens with actual work.
In any event, Stan became a perennial participant in our South Carolina mission . He was, by far, the most beloved volunteer I ever took anywhere in 20 years of ministry. He received the ultimate honor when one year during devotions the kids decided he was too cool to be an adult, and they made him a lifetime member of the youth ministry. Stan beamed from ear to ear.
I don't know when it happened, but sometime during my first six years at SUMC our relationship, which had started more as a mentoring thing, became a true friendship. I'd tell him about stuff at work or home and he'd talk about his own family. Out of that conversation, I ended up meeting his son, Mark.
Mark had since long quit going to church, which I have to say bothered Stan. Mark, after I'm sure hearing Stan talk about SC incessantly, liked what he heard about the mission work we were doing, and one summer asked if he could come with us. I remember all week he kept telling us we were doing everything wrong (the nut doesn't fall far from the tree). By the time the day came for us go home, he was hooked. Not only did Mark go with us every year until I left in 1997, but he also started playing b-ball with a bunch of us over-the-hill guys from the church at the local armory. He'd even show up occasionally and sit with his folks in the 8:30am service, which delighted his Dad to no end. I loved having him become part of the congregation, and he too became a good friend.
Those were very good days.
After we moved, Stan never failed to keep in touch. He was one of the most loyal friends I've ever had. When we lived in Toledo, he'd drive up occasionally and take us out to lunch. When we moved to Bloomington, Illinois, he and Betty planned a trip that included stopping off so they could meet our newborn son. When we lived in Goshen, they'd stop over a couple of times a year to see us to see how the kids were doing. In turn, whenever I was back in Lima visiting my folks, I usually found myself at least one afternoon or evening visiting with Stan and Betty at their home, checking out whatever car or camper he had just bought at the auction in Fort Wayne (he owned a gazillion cars in his lifetime... my hero) and getting caught up on what his family was doing.
After we moved back in 2004, the dementia that Betty had started to experience very slowly in the late 90's had totally eroded her memory. Stan was taking care of her round the clock and it was wearing him down. He was losing weight at an alarming pace, and I noticed that his own memory was starting to fade. We still had a bowl of chili occasionally and my two oldest sons and I went with him a few times to fish, but after he made the hard choice to put Betty in the nursing home (the day he did so it was the only time, I think, I saw him break down) I saw him less and less. He spent most every hour of each day by her side.
By the time she died this past winter, Stan was in pretty bad shape. Fortunately his sons, and the rest of his family, were there for him. It couldn't have been easy for them to ease him out of driving and eventually out of the home he had built, but they didn't have much choice. He was fading quickly.
We had no idea here at the church over the last month how rapidly Stan was deteriorating. He apparently was in the hospital for three weeks in late May/early June, but despite our calling that hospital every day to ask if they had admitted any of our parishioners, they failed to notify us that he was in their care (which still makes me very upset). That's why I was so shocked when Mark showed up at church Sunday to tell me that Stan was dying.
I just didn't know.
By the time I visited him Sunday afternoon he was unconscious, heavy morphine masking the pain which comes from a failing liver. I wish I could have told him how much he meant to me and how his support and friendship had shaped my life. I wish I had the chance to groan and laugh at one of his terrible jokes, and tell the same tired stories about the South Carolina mission trips. I wish I knew whether or not when I read to him the 121 Psalm and told him I loved him that he heard me. I wish I knew that when I kissed him goodbye on his forehead he knew it was me. I hope as around his bed I told his sons that there was no way I could take a dime to do his funeral, he heard Mark crack back, "Well that makes it easier cause we weren't gonna pay you anyway." I hope on the inside it made him laugh.
But I won't fret too much about those things. He'd just scowl if he heard me saying this stuff, and tell me to worry about something important. That's just the way he was, and maybe it's the thing about him I'll miss the most. I'll just take comfort in knowing that now he is safely with his Savior, embracing again his lovely wife, and telling all kinds of fish stories with buddies long since past.
Rest in peace, old friend. I look forward to seeing you again someday, laughing as we once did, over lunch in the kitchen of our Father's house. Just keep a pot of chili on the stove, and an empty bowl on the table.
When I was a young youth pastor (v1.0) at Shawnee in the early/mid nineties I was so dumb I didn't know what I didn't know. It seemed like every other week I said or did something that got me into some kind of trouble. Whether it was people offended by my calling my senior pastor "The Great Bald One" (fortunately, over time the congregation developed a greater sense of humor) or ticked off trustees angry because another table ended up broken at Youth Fellowship, it seemed like the opportunities for me to get beat with sticks were abundant here. I realize most of this I brought down on myself, but I was truly ignorant, and I can tell you it wasn't bliss.
I don't know what it was that convinced Stan to step in and help a clueless guy out. He had been a teacher, coach, and administrator, so maybe he thought he could mold me just like his other students or a young teachers. He liked taking on hopeless causes and arguing with others (he liked to say God put him on the earth to give other people a hard time), so maybe as a member of SPRC, the incessant complaining he heard mainly from older members about the youth pastor kinda got his dander up. Maybe he felt compelled to step in because the lack of a youth ministry at the church prior to my being hired made him sick to his stomach. I don't know.
I suspect that real reason Stan took to me was due to all the mission work the teens were doing in those days. Some of the work - like the annual mission trips to rural South Carolina (which started as Hurricane Hugo repair work but over time became an effort to not only alleviate poverty among mostly rural poor elderly South Carolingians but an effort to bridge racial and cultural barriers in a divided Williamsburg County, SC) was initiated by me.
Some work they were doing wasn't. Ellen Dukeman, a high school student, initiated with a couple of other teens from the church an after-school art program at the Bradfield Center in Lima, which evolved into a once-a-week tutoring program totally run and operated by teens. Stan, I think, saw teens working and giving of themselves, and felt it was too important for the church, and the Kingdom, to idly stand by as the youth pastor in charge repeatedly shot himself in the foot. That's probably when the first invitation to come eat chili at his house happened.
Soon, on about a monthly basis, I found myself at Stan's house where we'd sit, eat, talk, and mostly laugh. In time he started giving me a hard time each and every Sunday morning before and after the 8:30am service. Not long thereafter, he'd regularly stop in at the office, grab Helen Price from her desk, and she and he would come heckle me mercilessly about how I (dis)organized my desk.
I loved every minute of it.
He owned an old orange suburban in those days which he made available to the youth group whenever they needed it. Later, because we were using it more than he was, he asked me if I wanted to buy it. I didn't really have the money so he set it up so the payments could be made whenever I could afford to do so. It took two years to finally pay off the $1100 I owed him, but he didn't seem to care. He burned the ledger in the fire of the grill he used to make us the hamburgers we ate to celebrate the end of my debt.
You just don't forget stuff like that.
After about a year of those lunches at his house, he had asked me so many questions about our mission work in South Carolina that I guess his curiosity got the best of him. He asked whether or not that following summer if he could go with us. I told him that was fine by me. Personally, though, I was a little worried. Stan retired early (at 55, I think). By the time he went down with us he was I believe about 70 years old. I wondered how he would get along with the teens, and they him.
I got my answer as we made our way down the highway on the very first day. I was leading a caravan of four or five vehicles, when out of nowhere an orange suburban went flying past my van. In it was one 70 year old driver and five teens dancing to music coming out of the radio. The suburban was swerving all over the road because the driver, while dancing, wasn't keeping his hands on the wheel as the hunk of metal loaded with kids and gear hurled down the highway at 75mph.
From that day on, Stan was, by far, the most popular adult counselor we took on our mission trips.
I remember something else about Stan's first year with us in SC. We had this kid go with us who even at the age of 12 or 13 was a hellion. Everywhere I had taken the kid he would be a real pain in the everlovin'. He was always mouthing off, sneaking off to grab a quick smoke (which I'd have to quash whenever I could), and causing some sort of trouble. He would openly tell me each week at YF that only reason he was there was because his mother made him go. Repeatedly I gave him permission to stay home, but his mother never relented. I remember shivering when she gave me the sign up form and registration fee so that her son, Todd, could go on the mission trip.
Anyhow, the first day Stan worked in South Carolina, it was hot. Real hot. Like 112 degrees in the shade hot. I had put in charge of building a wheelchair ramp at a home where a mother taking care of an adult daughter with MS lived, and it was clear by lunch that Stan was not well. He wasn't afraid of work, but unaccustomed to the heat he had already over-exerted himself. Because it wasn't that big of a job (I think that year we were also renovating a couple of houses) and because he insisted as a retired principle he could handle them, I had assigned to Stan a crew of my young troublemakers, including Todd.
At first, Stan worked while the kids stood around looking for trouble, but as he tired, he began assigning jobs and showing kids how to do things. By the time I arrived later that morning the kids were digging post holes, mixing concrete, cutting wood, and nailing nails while Stan sat under a shade tree drinking lemonade.
That night at devotions youth and adults were (in jest) giving Stan a hard time about sitting around all day. The ribbing was only growing and getting more pointed, when out of nowhere, Todd stood up, and began passionately defending Stan. Stan, he told us, was only doing what he was supposed to be doing... showing the teens who had signed up to work how to do the work. He went on to tell us to leave Stan alone because he was older and we needed to treat him with more respect. He concluded his speech by letting all know that Stan's crew, under his leadership, would outwork any other crew there that week and the rest of us could just kiss their ass.
Might be the only time I was ever proud of a kid for using blue language at devotions.
It was not only a turning point for Todd. The kid who hated coming to church and YF ended practically living there whenever he had the chance. But is was also a turning point for me, and all the adults and kids involved in the SC mission. From that day on adults made greater efforts to show the kids how to get things done and do the work, and kids expected to work hard. To this day, I don't think any youth pastor expected more work out of a group of teens than I did on those mission trips. One year, for example, in one week those kids built a house from the pad up, renovated another one (down the floor joyces and studs), renovated a church, and did a host of side projects. I think back now and wonder what I was thinking. I worked them so hard under that hot sun you'd have thought they were being punished, but every year their numbers grew.
By 1997 a group of almost 100 people, more than 80 of them teens, traveled to South Carolina to build and repair houses. It was Stan, out of personal necessity, who really taught us how to train and trust teens with actual work.
In any event, Stan became a perennial participant in our South Carolina mission . He was, by far, the most beloved volunteer I ever took anywhere in 20 years of ministry. He received the ultimate honor when one year during devotions the kids decided he was too cool to be an adult, and they made him a lifetime member of the youth ministry. Stan beamed from ear to ear.
I don't know when it happened, but sometime during my first six years at SUMC our relationship, which had started more as a mentoring thing, became a true friendship. I'd tell him about stuff at work or home and he'd talk about his own family. Out of that conversation, I ended up meeting his son, Mark.
Mark had since long quit going to church, which I have to say bothered Stan. Mark, after I'm sure hearing Stan talk about SC incessantly, liked what he heard about the mission work we were doing, and one summer asked if he could come with us. I remember all week he kept telling us we were doing everything wrong (the nut doesn't fall far from the tree). By the time the day came for us go home, he was hooked. Not only did Mark go with us every year until I left in 1997, but he also started playing b-ball with a bunch of us over-the-hill guys from the church at the local armory. He'd even show up occasionally and sit with his folks in the 8:30am service, which delighted his Dad to no end. I loved having him become part of the congregation, and he too became a good friend.
Those were very good days.
After we moved, Stan never failed to keep in touch. He was one of the most loyal friends I've ever had. When we lived in Toledo, he'd drive up occasionally and take us out to lunch. When we moved to Bloomington, Illinois, he and Betty planned a trip that included stopping off so they could meet our newborn son. When we lived in Goshen, they'd stop over a couple of times a year to see us to see how the kids were doing. In turn, whenever I was back in Lima visiting my folks, I usually found myself at least one afternoon or evening visiting with Stan and Betty at their home, checking out whatever car or camper he had just bought at the auction in Fort Wayne (he owned a gazillion cars in his lifetime... my hero) and getting caught up on what his family was doing.
After we moved back in 2004, the dementia that Betty had started to experience very slowly in the late 90's had totally eroded her memory. Stan was taking care of her round the clock and it was wearing him down. He was losing weight at an alarming pace, and I noticed that his own memory was starting to fade. We still had a bowl of chili occasionally and my two oldest sons and I went with him a few times to fish, but after he made the hard choice to put Betty in the nursing home (the day he did so it was the only time, I think, I saw him break down) I saw him less and less. He spent most every hour of each day by her side.
By the time she died this past winter, Stan was in pretty bad shape. Fortunately his sons, and the rest of his family, were there for him. It couldn't have been easy for them to ease him out of driving and eventually out of the home he had built, but they didn't have much choice. He was fading quickly.
We had no idea here at the church over the last month how rapidly Stan was deteriorating. He apparently was in the hospital for three weeks in late May/early June, but despite our calling that hospital every day to ask if they had admitted any of our parishioners, they failed to notify us that he was in their care (which still makes me very upset). That's why I was so shocked when Mark showed up at church Sunday to tell me that Stan was dying.
I just didn't know.
By the time I visited him Sunday afternoon he was unconscious, heavy morphine masking the pain which comes from a failing liver. I wish I could have told him how much he meant to me and how his support and friendship had shaped my life. I wish I had the chance to groan and laugh at one of his terrible jokes, and tell the same tired stories about the South Carolina mission trips. I wish I knew whether or not when I read to him the 121 Psalm and told him I loved him that he heard me. I wish I knew that when I kissed him goodbye on his forehead he knew it was me. I hope as around his bed I told his sons that there was no way I could take a dime to do his funeral, he heard Mark crack back, "Well that makes it easier cause we weren't gonna pay you anyway." I hope on the inside it made him laugh.
But I won't fret too much about those things. He'd just scowl if he heard me saying this stuff, and tell me to worry about something important. That's just the way he was, and maybe it's the thing about him I'll miss the most. I'll just take comfort in knowing that now he is safely with his Savior, embracing again his lovely wife, and telling all kinds of fish stories with buddies long since past.
Rest in peace, old friend. I look forward to seeing you again someday, laughing as we once did, over lunch in the kitchen of our Father's house. Just keep a pot of chili on the stove, and an empty bowl on the table.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)