Shoes

I bent over and tied the strings of the shoes and took my first couple of tentative steps in these new dress shoes. Well, new is not right. They are used but they are new to me. A color that is somewhere between Oxford and brown. Soles that are made to last or shoesat the very least be replaced when they wear out.

The first step was a bit odd. There was some tightness on the top of my right foot and I wondered if this was going to be a permanent rubbing spot of if the shoes would mold their way over from their old owner to me. I knew before the day was done, the shoes were still pliable.

What I really wondered about was whether the new owner was pliable as well.

These original owner of these shoes was not a pastor, but I have to say that throughout my life I never met a man who was more an advocate for his pastor than the owner of these shoes. I recall a time that one of his pastors came under attack by anonymous letters and he stood from the pulpit and said, “I will be checking the mail from now on, folks. And any letters that come to this church without return addresses or signatures will go in the trash.” Far as I know, the original owner of the shoes made good on that promise, for the attacks died away and the pastor continued leading in peace.

I recall one time when I came under some criticism as the pastor of the owner of the shoes and this time, he set out to order a load of horse manure and have it dumped on the front yard of the leader of these antagonists. His wife talked him out of it but I found out he had the price and was ready to write the check to have it done.

The original owner of these shoes was no pastor, but he knew what it meant to care for a pastor, advocate for a pastor, and even be angry for that pastor when the pastor could not do it on his own.

The original owner of these shoes was no preacher but he knew a good sermon when he heard it and gave praise where praise was due. The only problem was, you needed to know his scale of praise.

One week, while this shoe owner was out fishing with his family, he caught a fairly impressive 12 inch trout. He was quite proud of that catch and had his picture made with it. A little later in the day, his wife managed to land a 15 inch monster of a trout. The owner of the shoes looked at the fish and said, “Well, that’s decent, I guess.”

Preachers needed to know this. A “good” sermon was just okay, but chances are, if you hit one out of the ballpark, the owner of the shoes would tell you, “That was decent.”

The owner of the shoes which I put on for the first time yesterday, was not a perfect man but he was a man that was after God’s own heart. I cannot count the number of times I saw him sitting in a chair, Bible open, coffee at his side, eyes closed in prayer. Sometimes the shoes would be on. Sometimes they would be off. But this owner of the shoes knew he needed to walk where Jesus walked.

I put the shoes on yesterday and I wear them again today knowing that these are my Dad’s shoes. He passed away in December and my mom cleaned out his closet and asked me if I wanted these shoes – if they fit okay, that is.

Well, they go on my feet just fine. They tie up nice and neat and have even garnered a compliment or two. But I have a feeling it will take me quite some time before they really fit. Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. But at least I will have the reminder of what Dad was and what I can be.

Tomorrow, I think I will wear them again.

 

Eyes to See

image
Crocus

A Spring flower pokes through the ground…
And one sees the end of all winter;
One sees a sign of hope;
One sees a fragile creature doomed to the next bite of frost.

Pushing up through the ground in search of the sun,
This little one
Perseveres.

Some see it as a thing for them –
To admire,
To analyze,
To determine the worth and valor.

But maybe, just maybe, this little one
Who chooses a journey
Many wise ones would dare not take
Is the one who really finds the presence of God –
In sunshine,
A breeze,
Warm dirt,
Even in the passing shadow of a photographer.

It amazes me what some people see,
Because they always look outward for signs of God’s presence.
They only share what’s inside in
A hope fueled by vanity
To cultivate or force faith upon another.
Some never venture into the Resurrection that lies within –
the scary place
Of dormant seasons
Crawling worms,
Earthy smells
And long waits.

What does the crocus see on its journey?

What does the missionary see as they journey to new places?

Is God only found in what we describe or is profundity procured perfectly when we look inside for peace.

Witness

Reaching others means
I can risk shouting life
into the well…
The well of my own death and Resurrection…
and knowing
whatever hellish face of humanity arises is the very face of God.

Why Pastors Shouldn’t Work More than 40 Hours a Week – And Why Most Do

I wish I could have said this as eloquently….

The Rev. Erik Parker's avatarThe Millennial Pastor

“If you want to see me on my day off, you will have to die.”

A veteran pastor shared this line with me that he uses to protect his day off. He sets the boundary that the only work he is willing to make exceptions for, on his day off, is imminent death or funerals.

Managing work time and hours as a professional in ministry is a constant struggle. I don’t know many pastors who work less than a 45 hour a week, with many working 50 or 60 hours. Being “busy” and over-worked is the norm for most in ministry (as it is for many in our busy-ness focused society).

After 7 years of being in ordained ministry, I still have difficulty understanding just why so many pastors feel the need to work more than full time. While I have never heard anyone articulate it this way, I suspect…

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Fear and Dread

“Overcome with fear and dread, they fled from the tomb.
They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.”
Mark 16:8 Common English Bible

There are a lot of emotions that we associate with Easter and the Resurrection of Jesus. Joy, celebration, happiness, and awe are just a few that come to my mind.

However, no matter how long my list of Easter emotions gets, I seldom end up with “fear and dread” on it. And yet, that is exactly how Mary Magdelene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome are described as feeling when they found the empty tomb and heard the message that Jesus had risen from the dead. They not only felt fear and dread, they were overcome with it.

We know that the women did not keep complete silence about the event as Mark says in his account – how else would Mark have known unless the eye witnesses told him? So perhaps the mention of being overcome by fear and dread was a way for Mark to explain why it took a little while for the report to spread. Truthfully, I don’t know and I am not sure that we can know. The ending here is filled with as much mystery as, well, as the Son of God.

The more I think about it, though, perhaps fear and dread are pretty common emotions when God shows up in a powerful way…

We sat in the sanctuary of the little country church and were just about ready to wrap up our Wednesday evening Bible Study when the doors at the back of the sanctuary opened. Standing in the doorway in a suit jacket three sizes too big and a tie that was older than my twenty-five years was “Jack” – one of the community’s heaviest drinkers and partiers.

I watched as he walked from the back of the church to the front row and swallowed hard as I wondered what was going to happen next. He paused by the front pew and said, “Preacher, I was wondering if you all would be willing to pray for my little boy. He’s four years old and the doctors have found something on his brain and they are doing surgery on him tomorrow. I know I’m not a member or anything, but I wanted to stop by and ask you to pray.”

There was a silence as I tried to figure out what to do with the group of “veteran Christians” watching their young pastor. As I started to ask the group what they would want to do, Miss Virgie, an octogenarian with both moxie and faith stood up and said, “Well, preacher, it looks like we got some praying to do. You get Jack up to that altar and we will gather round and have a good ole fashioned prayer time!”

Yeah…I did what I was told. I didn’t mess with Miss Virgie. That just wouldn’t have gone well.

It did go well for Jack’s son. Surgery was a wonderful success and the next year the little boy headed off to Kindergarten absolutely no different than his peers.

We saw Jack occasionally at the church. He’d sneak in late and sit in the back – or at least as far back as the regular members left empty seats, that is. He wasn’t regular, but people stayed in touch just like they do in small town WV.

I share this story with you because I have to admit that when I first saw Jack framed in the light of the opening door of that little church, the first emotion I felt was something akin to fear. I was afraid about what would happen next. I was afraid of the change that would come to this little congregation. What would transpire when what John Wesley would refer to as a “gross, scandalous transgressor” mixed among the familiar  “reputable and decent sinners” (also Wesley’s words) that made up the congregation?

I didn’t know and I was a little afraid.

I also must say that I dfear-of-changereaded this appearance as well. Change is hard. Change is not fun. Change is, well, change! And sometimes we just dread it.

But when God shows up at the tomb of his Son, his only Son, and brings Resurrection to this world – that’s a big change. No wonder the women were afraid. No wonder they were overcome with dread.

When Jesus shows up in the lives of those we, well, aren’t quite comfortable with in our comfortable little lives, there can be fear. There can be dread. All because everything is about to change.

Remember that the next times something gets changed around you. Fear and dread were part of the Resurrection story – and no story could have been better for our world than that one. Its why we call it Good News, you know!