Category: Just part of the journey home

Sunrise…Sunset

Sunrise over Princeton, WV
Sunrise over Princeton, WV

He sat at the kitchen table sipping on the hot Chock-Full-Of-Nuts™ coffee that had just been brewed through the Kuerig™ and read the headlines from the morning paper as he did most mornings.  This pastor noted the arrest of someone for a Meth Lab and a story or two about local businesses.  Then for no real reason he looked up and out the window across the kitchen.

Drinking from his Duke Divinity mug, one purchased from the Baptist Student Union while he was still in seminary, this Methodist pastor took the three short steps over to window and looked out upon the mountains that made up the horizon.  Purple and orange light burst over the edges of the mountains with a dim shade of blue highest in the sky.  He blew across the surface of the steaming cup of coffee and smiled.  “I can’t count the number of beautiful sunrises I have seen from this place,” he said to himself or the coffee because no one else was around.

He continued to stand at the window and watch the changing sunrise as he thought back over the last year or so in his life and ministry.  He remembered the first beautiful sunrise that he witnessed there in the Southern mountains of West Virginia, the excitement he had in seeing it and rushing to take a photograph of it for his family to see.

His mind wandered back to a photo of a sunset that his oldest at-home daughter had taken while she had ridden on top of a bus, a quarter of the world away in Nicaragua several months before.  He remembered the tears she shed as she shared about the photo and the people and the whole experience of being that far way and yet feeling right at home.  She came home filled with tears that flooded our home for several days and when they did stop she had a peace about her that father, the pastor, had not seen in a long time – at least not in himself.  Sometime during those days, he remembered her saying, “Daddy, it doesn’t matter where we are but I would like to see your smile again.”

Watching as the blue of the daylight took over more and more of the orange and purple of the sunrise, the pastor’s mind wandered back to a tennis court and his youngest daughter.  It was a hot day in June and quite possibly the last time they would hit any balls on this court.  They had a great time laughing and chasing each other’s badly hit shots and celebrating the good points that she made.  He even remembered one very lucky shot of his own that left his daughter’s jaw dropping as she tried to figure out how her “old Dad” had hit the ball so soundly. The look on her face brought a laugh to him then and now.

Yet thinking back, he recalled that he had chosen the side of the court facing the sun.  He wanted to see it set – again.  He looked forward to it setting each and every day because it meant the day was over and there would be no more trouble. It may have been a hot summer day, but the sunset signaled something different, something almost wintry.  Night meant rest and he looked for rest like he would look for a lost child – desperately and deliberately.

The coffee cup was on the counter now and he was leaning into the sink, the sunrise almost over and the day well on its way to beginning but he thought back to all those sunsets he watched for the last year or so of serving before he moved.  He knew his fascination with them was more than just the beauty that they might bring.  He knew he watched because he was willing something to end – if not the turmoil he had inside, then at least the day.  So he watched the sunset time and time again.

He rinsed out his cup and put it in the top rack of the dishwasher before he walked back over to the table to straighten the paper.  He took one last look out the window and smiled thinking about the sunrise he had just witnessed.  Was it number 18? 19? 20?  He just wasn’t sure.  He just knew it was strange for a January morning.  He was surprised by them in the summer, used to them by Fall, but now they held a special place for him as he witnessed them in the midst of Winter.  He thought of the coffee, the smile, the rush to get to the window to see as much of the sunrise as possible.  The pastor smiled the smile his daughter had been missing.  He laughed the laugh that he himself had thought lost in a sunset somewhere.  The day had begun and the journey towards home continued.

Quote Me

“Only dead men (sic) can follow the God of the Cross.”  Erwin McManus

I sat in the sanctuary alone after pulling the plug on the baptismal font.   The sounds of the water going down the drain echoed through the space with a sound that mimicked my spirit at the moment.  Yes, I had just baptized two people new to the faith and I should have been rejoicing about that high moment.

But I couldn’t.

The third grader who had left a few minutes earlier with his mom had been very upset. He and his mom hung back from the crowd in order to talk with me. The instant I asked what was wrong, it hit me… I had promised this third grader that the next time we were baptizing people, he would be included. In my joy of preparing two adults for baptism, I forgot a child. Even as I listened to the mother explain this to me, my spirit sank. I felt awful.

As I sat and listened to the last of the water gurgling out of the font, I knew what had to be done. I had to go to this boy, tell him that what I did was wrong, and ask him to forgive me. It was always hard for me to apologize to adults when my memory caused hurt. More than a little of me would have to die to get through this one. Fortunately, God gave me and that family the grace to get through it.

Truthfully, his baptism was more meaningful to this pastor than any other. He may have been in the water, but this dead man was the one receiving grace…

“Only dead men (sic) can follow the God of the Cross. “

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what to do. To move forward, I was sure the church had to take this risk but I wasn’t certain I wanted to be the one out on the limb offering the direction we should head. If we failed, everyone would know who had led them down this path. My thoughts were only on what might happen if we failed – we might lose members… I might end up leaving a community I loved… The thoughts raced through my mind as the leadership team and I sat in the room. No one seemed willing to speak.

I looked up and saw the cross on the wall and I wish I could say I was filled with courage and confidence in the direction I saw. Instead, I was filled with the sense that only one thing mattered – following the One who ended up on a cross.

With a different confidence and courage, I spoke a vision of where we could go together. The confidence and courage did not come from the certainty of my decision. It came from knowing I was already dead – nothing that could happen would change my future one bit. It had been changed forever when the God of the Cross found me.

“Only dead men (sic) can follow the God of the Cross. “

I don’t know when or where I first ran across this quote but I just can’t seem to forget it.pad2013

Dalai Lama and Me

A couple of years ago (even though it seems like a lifetime) I was an adjunct professor at WVU-Parkersburg. Although I taught several courses over five years, the one that I taught the most was “Religions of the World.” It was fascinating for me to teach this course mainly because I did not have a great background in other religions. So, each semester I found myself learning something new and different as I prepared for the course. I also learned quite a bit about how people view religion from the variety of students that I had taking the course. It truly was a fascinating time.

Part of the “Post-A-Day” recommendation for today was to write about the 11th thing on your bucket list. Well, I have never taken the time to write out a bucket list but the recommendation that I read early this morning had me thinking about some things. Later in the day, I was wandering through the Mercer Mall waiting for my eyes to be a little less dilated from an eye exam and I ran across one of those page-a-day calendars called, Insights from the Dalai Lama.  With my unwritten bucket list on my mind, I decided to buy this calendar (at 50% off) as much for fun as it would be for the insight I might gain from reading it AND the insight I might gain from people’s response to me reading it.

The Dalai Lama
The Dalai Lama

Because of my experience with teaching about religions of the world, I think that meeting the Dalai Lama could well end up as number 11 on my bucket list. I could easily put it higher because I think meeting this man would be absolutely fascinating. I don’t think I would put it in the top ten because I really see no reason for the Dalai Lama and I to ever have paths that would cross close enough for me to meet him. Of course, even if they did there is the whole “Why would this Tibetan Buddhist monk want to meet a United Methodist pastor from Southern West Virginia?” that would have to be answered as well. So, I think meeting the Dalai Lama would make a great Number 11 on my bucket list!

BTW – if you are interested, here is the “insight” this humble man shares with us today…”If you are a compassionate person, then you build a compassionate family and then a compassionate community and then a compassionate world.”

Whether you are Buddhist or not – and I am not – I can hardly argue with the truth of that statement. So many times I wish the world would be a more compassionate place but that is only going to happen if it starts with me. I can easily rephrase the Dalai Lama’s words and say, “If I will love as Jesus loved, then truly I would change my family, my community, and the world.”

So, I will probably never meet the Dalai Lama but at least this year I will get to read his wisdom from time to time. (I would say every day but I am absolutely terrible at tearing off the pages of those calendars regularly…don’t know why, I just am.) And perhaps, I will share some of that wisdom on the journey we are all taking home…

pad2013

Family Celebrations

In our home, we have a little saying when one of us begins to weep or cry at a movie or some other event like church. We simply say, “It’s a mystery!” rather than try to figure out exactly what triggered the joy or sorrow of the tears. Well, it was a mystery for me all evening…

I stood among the many people holding candles and sang the hymn that so many churches do on Christmas Eve – “Silent night, holy night” – and I thought about the six wonderful months I have had serving the people of First UMC, Princeton. They welcomed me better than the Christ child was welcomed into the world. They cared for me better than the shepherds in Jesus day would ever experience. And they listened, really listened as I led them to celebrate a Different Kind of Christmas by joining Jesus in the battle against malaria. When my daughter got up and began singing “O Holy Night,” I knew the night was almost complete – the singing of “Silent Night” and the twinkling of the candles allowed me to remember the love, the care and the service given by a community of faith.

The Saturday after Christmas found me spending time with twenty one of my family members in the Fellowship Hall of our church. My Dad got up to say a few words and my brothers and I all nervously laughed, not knowing how long this would take or just what might come out. But then he said, “Thank you. That is all.” And he sat back down. We were celebrating the fifty years that my parents had been married but from the stories being shared, I think we were just celebrating! There was laughter…there were crying, fussy grandchildren (yep…mine) and there was food. The only thing missing…perhaps the singing of “O Holy Night” would have rounded it out for me.

“I don’t know how things were going in there, but people were hanging around in the Gathering Space for along time talking to one another.”

It was a report that I really hadn’t expected. The coffee and the sweet rolls were in the sanctuary and people had come and gone for a couple of hours as groups – sometimes families, sometimes a mix of people – served one another in our version of the Moravian lovefeast. Hugs broke out easily when the eating was over. So, why was I surprised that the fellowship, the unity, the “agape” we shared in the sanctuary spilled over into the Gathering Space and probably even home.

Now that I think it about, only one thing was missing that night as well…”O Holy Night.”

Nah, it wasn’t a “mystery” for just one evening, it has been one mystery after another for a while!  Thank God!