(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?
Saturday, August 22, 2009
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.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
What Makes A Leader Great?
Great article this morning on Kobe Bryant by The Sports Guy, Bill Simmons. Simmons, a lifelong Celtics fan, has a hate-love (cause it's mostly hate) for any or all Lakers, and Bryant seems to be at the top of that list. I think he does a great job of dissecting the player-as-teammate versus the player-as-performer (if that makes sense). Simmons decides that Kobe is a great individual performer - maybe as good as any other we'll ever see in the NBA - but way, way down on the list of great teammates. The upshot, though, is that in order to make the leap into the pantheon of the greatest whoever played, Simmons conjectures that Bryant must becoming both a great performer and teammate.
Is he right? Who knows. If the Lakers repeat, or win multiple championships with a nucleus of Bryant, Gasol, Odum, and Ariza it would be hard to deny Kobe his rightful place in NBA history. He'll need to perform at a high level to make this a possibility, but he'll have to modify his behavior if he wants these guys to stick around. How the rest of his teammates continue to respond to him, and he them, that will define whether or not Kobe is a great basketball player or the greatest.
That's what possessed me to take this work break (no writing today... got church stuff to get done). Simmons' article led me to ask the question, "What makes a leader great?".
The answer: talent, drive and trust.
We just returned late last week from conference where we spent a lot of time listening to Mike Slaughter and his associate pastor, Sue Nilson Kibbey, who are at the forefront of Ginghamsburg (we keep the "United Methodist" part in 6-point font at the bottom of the sign) Church.
When Mike arrived at what was GUMC, it was a typical tiny burg kind of church. Old building. 50-80 people. Hidden location. Biggest thing that happened each year was an annual chicken noodle dinner. Without Mike's arrival, the future of the church is probably like so many other UMC's across our conference, which is to say eventual closure.
Mike, though, didn't do this alone. While he's a dynamic preacher, and a leader without fear, he knew needed other people to make the enterprise go. Tom Tumblin was imported to give the staff shape and the church the structure necessary as the first Executive Pastor. Mike Nygren, a shop teacher/volunteer youth director, took the youth ministry to new heights on the premise that kids would rather make a difference than be entertained. Mike's wife, Carolyn, helped give the adult discipleship department shape and form. Mike, very early, jettisoned the hymnal, and while other UMC pastors were railing against contemporary worship, Mike embraced it, hiring guitarists and drummers instead of an organist.
It was the team Mike assembled around him coupled with his talent and drive that really helped propel 90 person GUMC to 1200 person GUMC.
But the tales that one heard about working at GUMC in those days were legendary. The average tenure for an employee was rumored to be 18 months. It was a pressure cooker.
The turning point, as I understand it, when Ginghamsburg went from hitting the ceiling at about 1000 to really taking off happened about 16-17 years into Slaughter's tenure. Tumblin left, replaced with somebody who ended up not being quite so able to keep things functioning under the remarkable pressure. Nygren left, throwing the youth ministry into chaos. Another leader who had been hired at some point mutinied against Slaughter's leadership, and left taking hundreds of people with him. The whole endeavor, if not in trouble, was at a crossroads. It was in crisis.
Enter Sue Kibbey.
I have strange perspective of GUMC. I actually interviewed there in 2003 for a Young Adult ministry position. This was after spending most of a week with Slaughter as a part of a thing they used to do where pastors paid an insane amount of money to just follow Mike around to see how he did things (my boss at the time opted to this, and somehow I ended up getting dragged along after immediately coming home from 10 days in Haiti). Coming off that experience it was my impression that Kibbey made, and makes, the place go. She oversees all the stuff Slaughter can't, and is focused on what she believes is going to make the place work.
I guess it goes without saying that I didn't fit into that vision. Probably about the tenth time Kibbey made it point to say that they weren't really looking for an ordained minister for that particular position I should have realized what was up. I would have reported to her, and she knew what she wanted. She's disciplined and smart enough to know that if the person doesn't fit into that vision, keep looking. Call it the blessing of a prayer request being answered with a "no". If we had ended up at Ginghamsburg in 2003, no way Joseph would have talked to me about coming to Shawnee in 2004.
(Strange how things work out. I can live with having never worked at GUMC. I would be sick if the chance to come back to Shawnee, and in effect, home to Lima would have been missed. I truly love serving this church.)
Mike's trust of Sue Kibbey, and in effect her way of conducting business, is part of the reason why GUMC keeps growing. The other part is Mike himself. He's a charasmatic communicator with a bulldog personality. Mike has vision for what he wants to create (a progressive evangelical church), has the talent to make it happen, and won't let the vision go. Kibbey is able to stack the blocks just right to make it happen.
Greatness comes only from talent, drive and trust.
Jordan ain't Jordan without , Jerry Krause, Phil Jackson and Scottie Pippen. Krause drafted and signed players that would compliment Jordan's skills. Jackson coaxed the hyper-selfish Jordan into becoming a teammate and trusting them in the "triangle" offense. Jackson too, dealt with other egos like Horace Grant and Dennis Rodman, doing just enough to harness their talent while allowing them to be themselves. Pippen did all the things Jordan needed him to do, setting an example for the rest of the team, and creating matchup nightmares for other coaches.
Without Jordan, there are no six championships in Chicago, but if Jordan doesn't trust everyone else his career is more like Allen Iverson's or Adrian Dantley's - lots of points scored but at the expense of the rest of the team. Maybe there's a championship or two, but given how good some of those Portland, Pheonix, and Jazz teams were in those days, it's not likely.
Will Bryant's teammates put up with his selfishness another year now that they have rings on their own fingers? If Bryant wants two or three championships, sans Shaq, he'll have to hope so... or start doing even more trusting than he does now.
Talent, drive and trust. That's what will separate the good from the great.
Monday, June 15, 2009
(A Rare) Ten Things I Think I Think
1) Progress on the book continues, slowly but slowly. I've got about half the writing done, but am struggling with keeping focused. It's summer. It's sunny. The kids want to play and go swimming. Not to mention I'm trying to work through three or four major projects here at church (good stuff.... but time consuming). Would have made more progress last night, but a group in using the SRC pulled a fire alarm (or I should say a two-year old with the group) and the alarm system kept doing screwy things all afternoon and into the evening. That meant every 30 minutes the alarm company called to let me know that there was a fire at the church when there were no fires. Good gravy... the building is made mainly out of non-burnable substances. In any event, we'll just need to keep the old nose to the grindstone and gut this book out.
2) Part of the problem of book writing is that I'm not much of a writer. In high school, college, and seminary I wrote solely to provide ordered, maximum information. That's what essay writing for exams require. You'd think my writing would improve after years of doing sermons, but I haven't really written a sermon (outside of the six I had to do for our Beeson preaching classes) in over a decade. I found that when I wrote out sermons that I tended to look down a lot, which created issues as far as making contacts with the congregation. Going with a loose outline enables me to stay engaged with the people listening while at the same time forcing me to really learn the scriptural exegesis (fancy word for "in depth study").
Long story short - I don't write much.
To go from not writing much to writing a book is like jumping in the deep end of the pool in full motorcycle regalia - leathers, boots, and the works - and trying to swim. It's not easy. Nothing good is.... but to call what I'm writing "good" might be a tad over hyped. I think the research is pretty decent, but the package the research is in ain't Moby Dick. I'm glad we have a good editor.
3) Bad news for my Alma Mater, Lima Senior High School. The athletic conference they were in collapsed as members joined conferences closer to their home. Now, LSH, facing being an independent (which is a scheduling nightmare) has applied to become part of the Western Buckeye League, a local athletic conference it was once a member of before the school grew so large that it sought greener pastures (namely the Greater Miami Conference, which was made up mainly of Cincinnati area schools). The WBL denied the petition, leaving LSH in a lurch.
Personally I think the WBL has made a huge mistake. Quite frankly they would be a lot better off jettisoning a smaller school (WBL schools can be as small as Div III) or a school further away (like Van Wert or Kenton which are both hour long drives and hence more expensive to maintain as members). Even though LSH is the biggest school in the area, the only sport the rest of the league would have to worry about the Spartans dominating is basketball. The football program fell into shambles a decade ago. The school isn't much more than "competitive" (as opposed to "dominant") in any other sport.
And LSH is kind of our area's Oakland Raiders. It's the team the area schools love to hate. Every time they play a WBL school in the revenue generating sports (b-ball and football) they sell out because the WBL fans show up droves to see if they can beat the "inner-city school". Inclusion of LSH into the WBL makes sense. They should revisit this, pronto.
5) Great article in the USA Today on how a person's view of God shapes their neuro-pathways, and in effect how they view others. The gist of the article is that if you view God as loving and forgiving, you tend to be better adjusted and healthier than if you view God as angry and vengeful. Can't say this is all that big a surprise, but it is interesting that this is becoming an area of study for researchers trying to connect religious belief with brain function. I'll be interested to see the work on this subject as time passes. Should be fascinating.
6) As one of the last fourteen or fifteen NBA fans left in the country you might be wondering why I haven't yet written anything on the Laker's latest championship last night. The answer: still depressed at the collapse of the Cavs to the Magic. No way they should have lost that series. Who hits 48% from the three-point line for a series? Apparently a team that got hot and then promptly went cold in the Finals.
(sigh)
In any event, at least we got to see the Kobe and LeBron puppet commercials...
Too bad puppet Kobe is way cooler and less creepy than real Kobe.
7) We went to Annual Conference last week. To be honest, not much happened. There was preaching, bickering, voting, praying, and lots of ice cream eating. Here are some of my most memorable moments, in no particular order...
- Sue Nilson Kibbey, Executive Pastor at Ginghamsburg, doing a sermon that was about 50% produced by the video production department at her mega-church. Gotta love somebody preaching a sermon encouraging people to think out of the box using technology nobody else in the conference can replicate. I will now light myself on fire.
- Me getting into it with a member of the Good News Movement (conservative wing of the UMC) during registration (that was a heck of a way to kick things off) because he made the outrageous claim that the liberal wing of the church would be able to speak freely while the conservative wing would be muffled by the powers that be. Twenty years I've been going to conference and I can safely say that this has never been a problem. Both sides seem to say their fair share, while those of us in the middle just sit and listen. He fired back that I had no idea what I was talking about, and I replied, "So's your old lady, sissy boy."
Ok, so I made that last one up, but I did tell em to relax. He just went away grumpily.
- Barry DeShetler, former senior pastor to yours truly and current senior pastor at Kettering Christ UMC telling the story of how, as a young Elder, at Annual Conference each year they would present a "conference cane" to the oldest living pastor, and how someday he wanted to get that cane and still be preaching. He plans on going strong into his 70's, and is convinced he could still preach and lead someone 20 years younger "under the table". I believe him.
- Over conversation Bill Lyle of Greenville Evangelical UMC letting it slip that they congregation will, as a service project, will be painting the football stadium at the local high school. Some guys get all the luck.
Church + Ohio + Football = The greatest community service project, ever. They have enlisted over 280 volunteers from the congregations.
- Sue Kibbey explaining why they call them "servants" and not "volunteers" at Ginghamsburg. I was convinced. We'll now be calling for "servants". Makes sense.
- Mike Slaughter (once again, from Ginghamsburg, only he's the Lead Pastor) telling us that in the last election more than 300 people left their church, and how this happens every election year because he won't equate "Republican" with "Christian" in rural NW Ohio. Gutsy.
- Me driving around in our house golf cart (came with the rental), telling anybody who asked where I got the cart that "walking is for suckers".
- Me driving the golf cart constantly getting flagged down by people who thought I was driving one of the free shuttles for AC, and then taking them wherever it was they wanted to go without telling them they were mistaken.
- Bishop Ough asking AC "Are We General Motors?" in his Episcopal Address (one of the most daring I've ever heard). As he related time and time again how we UMC's are too much like GM and what would need to happen to fix it, you could have heard a pin drop. Change is coming my friends. Change is coming.
- All the ice cream cones eaten with various friends and collegues. Gotta love ice cream, friends, and collegues.
8) The boys are swimming for Westside Swim and Raquet Club this summer. It's the first year a Bucher hasn't been a member at Sherwood CC since 1981. Aimee likes the place cause it has a playground and more people she knows. The boys initially resisted the change, but after realizing how many of their friends swim at Westside soon came around. I thought Sherwood was fine, but if my family is cool with it, then so am I. A pool is a pool. Gotta leave here in a few minutes cause we have to make the trek down to Kenton tonight for the meet. Next Monday we go to Van Wert and their indoor nautatorium that's about a million degrees. Whatever. I like to watch the boys swim.
9) Sad news out of Celina... a ,mother of two teenager died of an overdose after chewing on a fentanyl patch provided to her by her husband. Now he's in jail facing a myriad of charges, and the top things off, it was the two children who found their parents passed out in the family room. The family had no apparent history of drug abuse and had ever been in trouble with the law. The community is still in shock.
If you don't know what fentanyl is, it's a drug that's inserted in a patch that applied to chronically ill patients. The drug is absorbed through the skin and can dull pain for up to three days. Nobody really knows why in the world this couple decided doing fentanyl would be a good idea. Did they have a secret drug problem? Was it really a suicide attempt? Did they do it on a lark?
Who knows.
This much we can say, though, sin - and you can't really call illegally buying a fentanyl patch to use recreationally anything else - is a killer. You can shield it from the world, sometimes even for a lifetime but in the end it will destroy you inside out. Unfortunately sometimes when the bottom drops out it can have catastrophic consequences.
Can't think of too many things more catastrophic than a dead mother, an incarcerated father, two reeling teenagers now living with family, and a community groping for answers. Very, very sad. I'm sure every prayer, particularly for the kids, would be appreciated.
10) Been listening to a lot of O.A.R. and Pink Floyd as I write my part of the book. Wonder what that means? I'm guessing it won't appeal to hippies or psychedelic drug users. Must mean the bands write music that's easy to ignore while a guy writes. That's how I wore out my "Genesis: Three Sides Live" cassette back in college. Apparently you can only write so many papers and study for x number of exams before the cassette says "no mas". MP3's have no "no mas" limit. So if you hear me quietly, mindlessly singing, "There's a road outside of Columbus, Ohio...." you'll know what's going on.
2) Part of the problem of book writing is that I'm not much of a writer. In high school, college, and seminary I wrote solely to provide ordered, maximum information. That's what essay writing for exams require. You'd think my writing would improve after years of doing sermons, but I haven't really written a sermon (outside of the six I had to do for our Beeson preaching classes) in over a decade. I found that when I wrote out sermons that I tended to look down a lot, which created issues as far as making contacts with the congregation. Going with a loose outline enables me to stay engaged with the people listening while at the same time forcing me to really learn the scriptural exegesis (fancy word for "in depth study").
Long story short - I don't write much.
To go from not writing much to writing a book is like jumping in the deep end of the pool in full motorcycle regalia - leathers, boots, and the works - and trying to swim. It's not easy. Nothing good is.... but to call what I'm writing "good" might be a tad over hyped. I think the research is pretty decent, but the package the research is in ain't Moby Dick. I'm glad we have a good editor.
3) Bad news for my Alma Mater, Lima Senior High School. The athletic conference they were in collapsed as members joined conferences closer to their home. Now, LSH, facing being an independent (which is a scheduling nightmare) has applied to become part of the Western Buckeye League, a local athletic conference it was once a member of before the school grew so large that it sought greener pastures (namely the Greater Miami Conference, which was made up mainly of Cincinnati area schools). The WBL denied the petition, leaving LSH in a lurch.
Personally I think the WBL has made a huge mistake. Quite frankly they would be a lot better off jettisoning a smaller school (WBL schools can be as small as Div III) or a school further away (like Van Wert or Kenton which are both hour long drives and hence more expensive to maintain as members). Even though LSH is the biggest school in the area, the only sport the rest of the league would have to worry about the Spartans dominating is basketball. The football program fell into shambles a decade ago. The school isn't much more than "competitive" (as opposed to "dominant") in any other sport.
And LSH is kind of our area's Oakland Raiders. It's the team the area schools love to hate. Every time they play a WBL school in the revenue generating sports (b-ball and football) they sell out because the WBL fans show up droves to see if they can beat the "inner-city school". Inclusion of LSH into the WBL makes sense. They should revisit this, pronto.
5) Great article in the USA Today on how a person's view of God shapes their neuro-pathways, and in effect how they view others. The gist of the article is that if you view God as loving and forgiving, you tend to be better adjusted and healthier than if you view God as angry and vengeful. Can't say this is all that big a surprise, but it is interesting that this is becoming an area of study for researchers trying to connect religious belief with brain function. I'll be interested to see the work on this subject as time passes. Should be fascinating.
6) As one of the last fourteen or fifteen NBA fans left in the country you might be wondering why I haven't yet written anything on the Laker's latest championship last night. The answer: still depressed at the collapse of the Cavs to the Magic. No way they should have lost that series. Who hits 48% from the three-point line for a series? Apparently a team that got hot and then promptly went cold in the Finals.
(sigh)
In any event, at least we got to see the Kobe and LeBron puppet commercials...
Too bad puppet Kobe is way cooler and less creepy than real Kobe.
7) We went to Annual Conference last week. To be honest, not much happened. There was preaching, bickering, voting, praying, and lots of ice cream eating. Here are some of my most memorable moments, in no particular order...
- Sue Nilson Kibbey, Executive Pastor at Ginghamsburg, doing a sermon that was about 50% produced by the video production department at her mega-church. Gotta love somebody preaching a sermon encouraging people to think out of the box using technology nobody else in the conference can replicate. I will now light myself on fire.
- Me getting into it with a member of the Good News Movement (conservative wing of the UMC) during registration (that was a heck of a way to kick things off) because he made the outrageous claim that the liberal wing of the church would be able to speak freely while the conservative wing would be muffled by the powers that be. Twenty years I've been going to conference and I can safely say that this has never been a problem. Both sides seem to say their fair share, while those of us in the middle just sit and listen. He fired back that I had no idea what I was talking about, and I replied, "So's your old lady, sissy boy."
Ok, so I made that last one up, but I did tell em to relax. He just went away grumpily.
- Barry DeShetler, former senior pastor to yours truly and current senior pastor at Kettering Christ UMC telling the story of how, as a young Elder, at Annual Conference each year they would present a "conference cane" to the oldest living pastor, and how someday he wanted to get that cane and still be preaching. He plans on going strong into his 70's, and is convinced he could still preach and lead someone 20 years younger "under the table". I believe him.
- Over conversation Bill Lyle of Greenville Evangelical UMC letting it slip that they congregation will, as a service project, will be painting the football stadium at the local high school. Some guys get all the luck.
Church + Ohio + Football = The greatest community service project, ever. They have enlisted over 280 volunteers from the congregations.
- Sue Kibbey explaining why they call them "servants" and not "volunteers" at Ginghamsburg. I was convinced. We'll now be calling for "servants". Makes sense.
- Mike Slaughter (once again, from Ginghamsburg, only he's the Lead Pastor) telling us that in the last election more than 300 people left their church, and how this happens every election year because he won't equate "Republican" with "Christian" in rural NW Ohio. Gutsy.
- Me driving around in our house golf cart (came with the rental), telling anybody who asked where I got the cart that "walking is for suckers".
- Me driving the golf cart constantly getting flagged down by people who thought I was driving one of the free shuttles for AC, and then taking them wherever it was they wanted to go without telling them they were mistaken.
- Bishop Ough asking AC "Are We General Motors?" in his Episcopal Address (one of the most daring I've ever heard). As he related time and time again how we UMC's are too much like GM and what would need to happen to fix it, you could have heard a pin drop. Change is coming my friends. Change is coming.
- All the ice cream cones eaten with various friends and collegues. Gotta love ice cream, friends, and collegues.
8) The boys are swimming for Westside Swim and Raquet Club this summer. It's the first year a Bucher hasn't been a member at Sherwood CC since 1981. Aimee likes the place cause it has a playground and more people she knows. The boys initially resisted the change, but after realizing how many of their friends swim at Westside soon came around. I thought Sherwood was fine, but if my family is cool with it, then so am I. A pool is a pool. Gotta leave here in a few minutes cause we have to make the trek down to Kenton tonight for the meet. Next Monday we go to Van Wert and their indoor nautatorium that's about a million degrees. Whatever. I like to watch the boys swim.
9) Sad news out of Celina... a ,mother of two teenager died of an overdose after chewing on a fentanyl patch provided to her by her husband. Now he's in jail facing a myriad of charges, and the top things off, it was the two children who found their parents passed out in the family room. The family had no apparent history of drug abuse and had ever been in trouble with the law. The community is still in shock.
If you don't know what fentanyl is, it's a drug that's inserted in a patch that applied to chronically ill patients. The drug is absorbed through the skin and can dull pain for up to three days. Nobody really knows why in the world this couple decided doing fentanyl would be a good idea. Did they have a secret drug problem? Was it really a suicide attempt? Did they do it on a lark?
Who knows.
This much we can say, though, sin - and you can't really call illegally buying a fentanyl patch to use recreationally anything else - is a killer. You can shield it from the world, sometimes even for a lifetime but in the end it will destroy you inside out. Unfortunately sometimes when the bottom drops out it can have catastrophic consequences.
Can't think of too many things more catastrophic than a dead mother, an incarcerated father, two reeling teenagers now living with family, and a community groping for answers. Very, very sad. I'm sure every prayer, particularly for the kids, would be appreciated.
10) Been listening to a lot of O.A.R. and Pink Floyd as I write my part of the book. Wonder what that means? I'm guessing it won't appeal to hippies or psychedelic drug users. Must mean the bands write music that's easy to ignore while a guy writes. That's how I wore out my "Genesis: Three Sides Live" cassette back in college. Apparently you can only write so many papers and study for x number of exams before the cassette says "no mas". MP3's have no "no mas" limit. So if you hear me quietly, mindlessly singing, "There's a road outside of Columbus, Ohio...." you'll know what's going on.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Ten Things I Think I Think
1) You will get a new post every time I don't want to write anything for this book. Today would be one of those times. Call it a mental block. Call it laziness. Call it anything you want, just don't call me late to dinner.
2) Resident Family Digital Genius, CJ, has dug up this gem of a commercial. Low budget at its best. These are the ideas I wish I had.
Pure genius on a $65 budget. I'll be singing that jingle all day.
3) Worshiped yesterday at Philippian Missionary Baptist where the Rev. Dr. B Lamont Montford was on fire yesterday. In all seriousness that might have been the most challenging, in-your-face, Mothers Day sermon I'll ever hear in my life. A powerful sermon from a guy whose own mother was a drug-addicted prostitute who was murdered at a young age. It was an honor to be there. A true honor.... although at a certain point in the service, I was sitting in the back of the sanctuary, and upon realizing I was there, Lamont invited me to come sit up on the platform with him. Unfortunately, it meant that another guy up on the platform lost his seat, which I still feel terrible about. Things work differently in predominantly black congregations.
4) Was told that yesterday's service here at Shawnee UMC was also very powerful. Testimony was given by a woman who is now a social worker who as a teenager gave a child up for adoption. Also heard from a teenager who lives here locally who realized a couple of years ago just how loved she is not only by her adopted mother, but by her biological mother who gave her up in the hope she would have a better future. Kind of a different take that Charlotte Hefner, our associate pastor, decided on for Mothers Day, but that's why we love her. Nobody's better at getting people to look at things from a different perspective. Here's the link for our podcasts. I'm sure at some point soon this week's service will be posted if there weren't recording issues (which we sometimes have). Just keep your eyes peeled.
5) I am having a hard time moving forward on this book regarding leadership transitions (obviously, cause I'm killing time here to avoid killing time there). Part of the issue is just feeling overwhelmed by the task at hand. In a lot of ways I just feel like I'm over my head. But the first and foremost issue is that there's a lot of information to sort through, and not a lot of time. I was up until 2am last night simply sorting out the various learnings I think have been uncovered by the research, and there are many.
One of the most important, for example, is that boards and bureaucracies have to show a lot of self-restraint in order to make a leadership transition work. Because these folks generally have a lot of power, the inclination, particularly as it relates to finding new leadership, is to use it. Once all involved agree on a transition process, this biggest challenge often faced is getting the board to keep their hands to themselves, and trust the process.
At one of the churches, for example, a board member who vehemently opposed doing a transition from a senior leader to one of the associate leaders, had to be asked by the rest of the board to resign when he simply wouldn't back down even after the decision had been made. The particular board member was convinced that the only way a church should receive a new senior leader was in the aftermath of doing the more traditional "national search" and "call" process where resumes were solicited, candidates interviewed, trial sermons given, and the congregation getting the final vote. So married was he to the idea of the traditional "call" process that the stink he began to create convinced the rest of the board that he really didn't support the direction of the church, period, so they let him go.
In many cases, particularly in church settings, the general rule of thumb is for boards to make stink makers happy. Whether or not a leadership board has the stomach to follow through with a non-traditional leadership transition is a big question that should be asked by themselves and the senior leader before they try to engage the process.
6) When do you know the economy is bad? When every quartet, band, actor, and choir is sending you countless emails asking to come play at your church. I can't remember a six month span where I've been solicited more by artists. It must really be lean out there. Southern Gospel quartets, guys who can recite the entire Gospel of John, a female singer who sings ACR music and gives her testimony about her life as a gypsy, numerous hard-core speed metal/punk/r&b/alternative Christian rock bands, a Christian motivational speaker who juggles, countless choirs from all over the world..... everybody just wants meals and a free will offering. Just another sign that the church is battening down the hatches in a difficult economy.
7) Cleaned Max's room with him Saturday (for Mothers Day), and realized that my son suffers from the same malady I do: Pack-Rat-Pile-Making-itus. What's more, its genetic. You ought to see my dad's office. Everytime I get depressed about mine, I just go see his and I feel much better about my organizational ability. Let's hope that there's steady improvement generationally as we continue to sit on Max to keep his things in order. There's still hope for him. For Dad and I, like Red from "Shawshank Redemption", we're institutionalized. We can't make it on the outside of pack rate pile making.
Or maybe, then again, there might still be hope for us pile makers after all. In any event I'll do what I can to help my son.
8) My excitement over my own discovery of Ben Harper only grows. You will be... I will be... forgiven:
9) I'll tell you where amazing is gonna happen this year in the NBA playoffs. Wherever this guy is. He's on a mission.
10) Finally, to wrap this up, not only is there apparently a Red House commercial, but also a behind the scenes video of the making of the the Red House commercial. The internet at its finest.
I too enjoy extending credit to all people. On that note, I hope you have a nice day.
2) Resident Family Digital Genius, CJ, has dug up this gem of a commercial. Low budget at its best. These are the ideas I wish I had.
Pure genius on a $65 budget. I'll be singing that jingle all day.
3) Worshiped yesterday at Philippian Missionary Baptist where the Rev. Dr. B Lamont Montford was on fire yesterday. In all seriousness that might have been the most challenging, in-your-face, Mothers Day sermon I'll ever hear in my life. A powerful sermon from a guy whose own mother was a drug-addicted prostitute who was murdered at a young age. It was an honor to be there. A true honor.... although at a certain point in the service, I was sitting in the back of the sanctuary, and upon realizing I was there, Lamont invited me to come sit up on the platform with him. Unfortunately, it meant that another guy up on the platform lost his seat, which I still feel terrible about. Things work differently in predominantly black congregations.
4) Was told that yesterday's service here at Shawnee UMC was also very powerful. Testimony was given by a woman who is now a social worker who as a teenager gave a child up for adoption. Also heard from a teenager who lives here locally who realized a couple of years ago just how loved she is not only by her adopted mother, but by her biological mother who gave her up in the hope she would have a better future. Kind of a different take that Charlotte Hefner, our associate pastor, decided on for Mothers Day, but that's why we love her. Nobody's better at getting people to look at things from a different perspective. Here's the link for our podcasts. I'm sure at some point soon this week's service will be posted if there weren't recording issues (which we sometimes have). Just keep your eyes peeled.
5) I am having a hard time moving forward on this book regarding leadership transitions (obviously, cause I'm killing time here to avoid killing time there). Part of the issue is just feeling overwhelmed by the task at hand. In a lot of ways I just feel like I'm over my head. But the first and foremost issue is that there's a lot of information to sort through, and not a lot of time. I was up until 2am last night simply sorting out the various learnings I think have been uncovered by the research, and there are many.
One of the most important, for example, is that boards and bureaucracies have to show a lot of self-restraint in order to make a leadership transition work. Because these folks generally have a lot of power, the inclination, particularly as it relates to finding new leadership, is to use it. Once all involved agree on a transition process, this biggest challenge often faced is getting the board to keep their hands to themselves, and trust the process.
At one of the churches, for example, a board member who vehemently opposed doing a transition from a senior leader to one of the associate leaders, had to be asked by the rest of the board to resign when he simply wouldn't back down even after the decision had been made. The particular board member was convinced that the only way a church should receive a new senior leader was in the aftermath of doing the more traditional "national search" and "call" process where resumes were solicited, candidates interviewed, trial sermons given, and the congregation getting the final vote. So married was he to the idea of the traditional "call" process that the stink he began to create convinced the rest of the board that he really didn't support the direction of the church, period, so they let him go.
In many cases, particularly in church settings, the general rule of thumb is for boards to make stink makers happy. Whether or not a leadership board has the stomach to follow through with a non-traditional leadership transition is a big question that should be asked by themselves and the senior leader before they try to engage the process.
6) When do you know the economy is bad? When every quartet, band, actor, and choir is sending you countless emails asking to come play at your church. I can't remember a six month span where I've been solicited more by artists. It must really be lean out there. Southern Gospel quartets, guys who can recite the entire Gospel of John, a female singer who sings ACR music and gives her testimony about her life as a gypsy, numerous hard-core speed metal/punk/r&b/alternative Christian rock bands, a Christian motivational speaker who juggles, countless choirs from all over the world..... everybody just wants meals and a free will offering. Just another sign that the church is battening down the hatches in a difficult economy.
7) Cleaned Max's room with him Saturday (for Mothers Day), and realized that my son suffers from the same malady I do: Pack-Rat-Pile-Making-itus. What's more, its genetic. You ought to see my dad's office. Everytime I get depressed about mine, I just go see his and I feel much better about my organizational ability. Let's hope that there's steady improvement generationally as we continue to sit on Max to keep his things in order. There's still hope for him. For Dad and I, like Red from "Shawshank Redemption", we're institutionalized. We can't make it on the outside of pack rate pile making.
Or maybe, then again, there might still be hope for us pile makers after all. In any event I'll do what I can to help my son.
8) My excitement over my own discovery of Ben Harper only grows. You will be... I will be... forgiven:
9) I'll tell you where amazing is gonna happen this year in the NBA playoffs. Wherever this guy is. He's on a mission.
10) Finally, to wrap this up, not only is there apparently a Red House commercial, but also a behind the scenes video of the making of the the Red House commercial. The internet at its finest.
I too enjoy extending credit to all people. On that note, I hope you have a nice day.
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