Apocalyptic Reflections

It is 'that' season of the church, although most people do not know it. The morning readings are from the Apocalypse of John. The end of the liturgical year is fast approaching. The Sunday Gospels have been looking at the last things. Parables of waiting, parables of judgment, parables which draw our attention to the broader horizon.

The last two mornings I have been hit by the power of the chapters from the Apocalypse. Revelation 20:12 "And the dead were judged according to their works, as recorded in the books" is stunning in its simplicity and its sublimity. Thinking about facing God and being held accountable for everything in our lives is frightening. Last week I celebrated two funeral services. In those services we pray God's mercy on the departed. If we are going to be judged, then praying for mercy is a very good idea. In my prayer time I pondered my life. As the years stack up, so do the multitude of sins. I think of all the things written in my 'book' and I think of God's face as He recounts to me all that I have done.

Yesterday in the gymn I met a man who seems pretty optimistic about it all. He told me that he was mad at the minister at his church whose last sermon was about parents not bringing their children to church. The minister said it was a bad thing, this fellow seemed to think it was not so bad. He shared with me that he used his Sunday to coach his kids teams and spend family time. I listened, as I often do when people I do not know share their opinions. I am thinking there was little I was going to say to convince this fellow that church was part of the deal. He told me, "if you do half the stuff I do, when it comes to judgment you will be okay."

I am not so optimistic. Most of us probably overestimate how good we are and many of us forget how bad we can be. But it is larger than that, than a simple list of good and bad. There is a sense of the whole body of work. What is my life's aim? What have I done with all I have received? I often wonder, if all the world was just like me, would it be a better or worse place? Inhonesty, I think all the world is like me, and that is why it looks like it does. I wonder, do I seek God's heart with all my strength? I answer, "no, not really, not all the time." It could lead to dispair, but it doesn't.

Today's reading reminds us of our hope. "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth" (Rev 21:1) No offense to the world's leaders, but all they will accomplish is temporary solutions (which will create a new set of problems rather quickly). Our hope is in God's gracious act of re-creation. The things we know so well are all fundamentally broken, but some day the new and improved will arrive. There is a  different way of living in the world when you have that hope. It motivates prayer and it increases the desire to live like a citizen of the Kingdom. It also frees one from incessant worries about judgment. God is merciful and His intent is for salvation, not just for sinners, but for all creation. Those who love Him, even if imperfectly, will know that joy of life for evermore. A happy thought on a dreary, rainy Fall day.

Eyes to See

We studied Revelation 4 today in High School Sunday School. Prior to reading the text we enterred the church and walked through the physical plant. We looked at the pews, the place we "live" in the world, we ascended the stairs to the choir. Here is the church at prayer and worship. We call out our praise and thanks to God, we sing His glory, we beg His mercy and forgiveness, we ask for His providential provision. We continue the climb and come to the altar, we kneel and reach out to heaven's Lord. We look at the altar where Jesus has spread out a banquest feast, a table of nourishment, and we see the cross, the meal is a share in His death and resurrection: His body, His blood.

The tragedy is how often we fail to "see" what we see. Our eyes and hearts cannot penetrate the mystery. we are weary and distracted. Our senses dulled and our spirits diminished. There is a glorious reality which our sight does not penetrate. O for the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the heart to know and worship and obey. Reading Chapter 4 of the Revelation (literally, "the unveiling") was a reminder that we live in a world much richer than we can imagine. In praying and opening ourselves to God the heavenly worship going on all around us can be discerned.

We modern people live in an age of radio and tv. We know, even if we do not think about it, that programs are swirling all about us at every moment of each day. Right now the room in which you sit has songs which cannot be heard, games which cannot be watched, programs which cannot be enjoyed, because you are not tuned in. With a radio or tv you can suddenly enjoy these and more. Our faith and spirituality work the same way. we can hear the unheard angel choirs with faith, we can understand the voice of God by listening, we can know the truth, that God is in His heaven and all is (will be) right with the world.

Today I am more aware. As my son said in class, "Church is boring when we aren't paying attention." Wisdom! When we are attentive and giving ourselves, we might catch a peak into the glory that surrounds us. I pray that all of you had that sort of experience today in your place of worship. Now we begin a new week, a chance to pray, to study Scripture, to serve in His Name---a chance to prepare again for the Sunday gathering!

Baseball, Baptisms, Bye-Byes

Last evening I watched the end of the season. A year ago my son was injured, a broken bone in his arm, and he was living the misery of not being able to play.  Nor could he enjoy his summer vacation. It was an unpleasant time, compounded by the fact that the injury had been preventable.

A year later things had changed. My son's new team came into this weekend on a sixteen game winning streak. They had captured a consolation and three straight tournament championships. An up and down team was suddenly on a roll. We came into this State Championship weekend hoping to continue our winning ways. Our plan played out as we made it to the semifinals. Our ace was on the mound as we played the number one team in the state. This was the game which we had to win. Unfortunately, things did not work out. I arrived late, the score board said, 2-0 and we were nothing. My son was at bat, worked an eight pitch walk, proceeded to steal second and third and he came in on a ground ball. 2-1. We were still in this. Their next at bat they scored. Now it was 3-1 and our ace was struggling.

In the third inning my son walked to the mound. The plan had been to use him in the championship game if we made it that far. We were off the plan, our backs to the wall. Two strike outs and a bouncer back to him (sandwiched around a wicked line drive base hit) and we were back in the dugout. He had 'the look' in his eye. I knew he was going to carry us. We would not go down without a fight.

In the seventh inning, losing 4-2, we sent up our last three men. Each tried his best and each failed. The other team celebrated wildly. We walked off.

Suddenly, I found myself wandering around, shaking hands with moms and dads with whom I have spent so many hours the last nine months. Many of them were strangers when we first gathered as a team. We had shared in the joys and misery. We suffered as one or another child went hitless, made a crucial error, or pitched poorly. We yelled, for each other, when a child came in 'throwing cheese' to retire the other team, or laced a key hit to drive in the needed runs. Thirty five times we won. Sixteen times we lost. Always we did it together.

The hitting coach has the boys make a cross where they stand, to make sure their feet are in the right place. He made a theological connection with life. We stand on the cross of Jesus in everything. Their cheer, "1-2-3, for Him" was meant to shape their minds and imaginations around the concept of Jesus' Lordship. That everything we think, say or do is from Him and for Him. As I shared with another dad, I hope those words were not an empty phrase, lost in the repetition. I have reason to believe they were not. The team was made up of good kids. Each boy was someone you could be proud of. They were well mannered and lots of fun. So were the parents. I really liked them all and got close to a few.

We were made up of a hodge podge of denominations, but everyone was serious about their faith. One boy was Jewish, he often asked me to lead the prayer. There was no screaming at umpires or embarassing behavior. I liked that.

Spending a weekend at a baseball tournament can lead you to lose track of time. You are sort of in an enclosed world, cut off from the wider world. All you know is what is going on in front of you (and how cold or hot you are). My weekends, of course, are different, because I have church services. Another place where the focus is different from 'daily life.'

Yesterday morning we baptized a baby. As I said the prayers over him I choked up. I am sure being so tired had a part to play. I get emotional when exhausted. Some of it was the realization, for a moment, of God's relationship with us. The sheer beauty of a baby. The wonders of a family and love. The sacrifices people make for their kids. The wonders of a gathered assembly, praying and praising, welcoming someone new to the family. I caught myself, regrouped emotionally and continued. But I could have been a water fountain if I hadn't.

Afterward, I realized, again (for the hundredth time) that God does me a kindness by leaving me at arms length. Whenever I get close I weep:  Joy, awe, love, gratitude, wonder, all these and more, sweep me away into tears. God gives me distance so that I can function. So that I can love, honor and serve Him.

Saying good-byes yesterday was like that. There was a sadness in my heart. Some of these people I may never see again. Their will be tryouts for other teams. People move on. What we had this year will not be repeated. I am thankful to God for the beauty and joy. I am thankful to the kids and parents who made each weekend pleasant and fun, even when we lost. I am thankful to God for good-byes (including baptism: where we "die" with Christ so we can rise with Him). Each good-bye, each ending, is the transition point to a new beginning.

Last year I sat, a knot in my stomache, as my boy sat on the bench, his arm useless, watching his team, unable to give them the pitching and hitting they needed. This year in the last game, I got to watch my son, the heart of a lion, throwing pitch after pitch, even though worn out and drained. He made me proud. Last year I would not have even fantasized such a thing. I try to imagine what next year will be. Who knows? But all of it is a foretaste of the Kingdom. Every good-bye we make in Christ can be the door to a new life. I learned a lot yesterday. In church at a baptism and at the ball park. Loss and gain. Endings and New Beginnings. Community and love. Friendship. Hope. All of it a grace and gift. It is the sort of thing that makes you smile, that leads you to shed a tear, that makes you think about how great God is. 1...2...3... "For HIM!" That is what I will try to do today. Everything, for Him.

chill of night

I was in Jackson Tn last night, watching a baseball game. The recent cold front which wreaked havoc across the country and unleashed heavy rains here locally had left chilled temperatures in its wake. It was odd feeling slightly chilled, aware of the impending 90+ degree forcast for the next few days. I knew it was going to be hot even as I knew, at that moment, it wasn't hot yet. It was almost chilly.

My phone rang and I assumed it was my wife checking on the score. I did not recognize the number, and a woman's voice asked, "Is this Jeff? Jeff from St. Andrew's?" I identified myself and she said, "I need you to pray." It was a parishioner who is also a friend from high school. I asked if it was her father (he has not been well). No, she said, it was Steve. He did not wake up.

Steve, her former husband, was also her high school boyfriend. Steve was one of my friends, too. We spent much time together in our Senior year. It was two weeks ago that I got a message that Jim had died. Another classmate. Jim and Steve. Monday is the first anniversary of the death of Sheila. She was a parishioner and taught at the elementary school. She taught both my kids and both my kids loved her. So did everyone else. we were the same age. She was a beautiful person, totally. I had the honor of celebrating her funeral service. It was sad because of the loss. There is hope, too. My whole family still misses her terribly.

My dad died twelve years ago this weekend. Memorial Day was when he had always gathered all the grandkids for a weekend of pure decadence. (That's right, donuts for breakfast and endless fun, games and junk food!!!) My two came too late to enjoy that fun, although my daughter did get to have a mini-version once. My son spent one Memorial Day weekend with dad. Dad's last. Son was just shy of two. I still can see him, tapping my dad saying, "grampa, grampa"....

Memorial Day is a time to remember those who gave their lives for our freedoms. My dad was in the navy. I grew up around people who had served. A couple were war veterans. SO many livfes have been handed over in wars. Terrible carnage and loss. So many suffered so much, for us.

Last night, a pleasant night, had a chill. It was a reminder of death. Some people prefer not to think about death. It is hard to ignore when you get a phone call that someone else you graduated with has died.

This weekend we need to be aware that life is a gift. We need to spend ourselves for others. There are many ways to do that. We also need to be greatful for each day. There is no way to know if today is the last day.

Jesus, the resurrected one, the dead-but-now-He-is-alive one, reminds us that the chill is not the whole story. Last night it was chilly, today hot and sunny. Some day death, but in the future LIGHT and SON! Never remember loss without embracing hope of life. As if to sacramentalize that, little baby boy lies within my wife, ready to burst out at any time and declare, "LIFE!"

Transition into Summer (and new life)

Yesterday my son graduated from 8th grade. There were some four hundred kids in his class. The ceremony was very nice and we were spared the indignities of people blowing horns and screaming out names. It is nice on occassion to see good manners. I understand the whole "isn't it funny to yell" thing, but at some point it stops being funny and becomes irritating.

From 6:00pm to 10:00pm they had a party, with about 100 kids present. I was one of the paretn chapreones. I watched them wandering around in the spacious yard. There is an awkward grace in thirteen/fourteen year olds. They are blooming into adults and have an innocent beauty about them. They are also infinitely frustrating, seemingly incapable of conversation much of the time. It is, therefore, good to speak to other parents of teenagers and know that they all experience the same thing. Most of us old timers were also able to recall that we were similar when we were that age. There is something to developmental theory. It is important to let them be kids.

The night before I read the book Peace in a Mad Dog World which I mentioned in my last blog. The author had done a reading recently so I heard some of the highlights then. I also have had several friends rave about it. Warner Davis shared his youth in Beligan Congo. Stories of snakes, killer insects and wars were part of his childhood memories. I look at my own son, who has gone to school, lived in middle America and played baseball. He has had his own share of adventure. Once in second grade his mother called me on the last day of school at 4:30. He was being taken to the emergency room. I looked at my watch and said, "He has only been home for ten mintutes, what could he have done in such a short time?" He had been hit in the head with a baseball bat, opening a gash above his eye. I was amazed by his quiet courage as they cleaned him up and sewed him up in the ER. He has had the struggles with friends and self all children have, but for the most part, not many lions or pythons in his experience.

We live in a Mad Dog world. Things can go haywire fast. I got an e-mail today from a minister who wants me to know that many people have received visions that the Memphis area is about to be hit by a killer earthquake. Dozens of people, it seems, have seen a vision of a huge explosion in the Gulf of Mexico which will trigger a devastating earthquake. Well, we have seen actual tornados wipe out communities to our east and west the last couple of months. As earthquake is not unimaginable here, we live on a major fault line and there have been expectations of "the big one" for decades. I hope the visions are not based on actual events soon to unfold in West Tennessee. I hope the earth stays quiet.

Graduations are emotional for me. I reflect on all that has been and I ponder all that can be. Some of those youngsters will end in tragedy, others will achieve amazing things, most will live lives of mild interest. All are capable of relationship with God. Some will walk with Him, others walk away, most will walk around Him, weaving back and forth as the situation warrants. Perhaps we will have a pleasant future, or maybe the visions will come to pass and our life here will be more similar to the chaos of the Belgian Congo. I do not know. I do know that Jesus is Lord in either case. Preparing for the birth of our second son next week, I am very much pondering transitions. I submit all of our lives to Jesus. I try not to fear all that could go wrong. I try to enjoy the moments given in each day, especially the awkward grace. Summer is here, today, for us in Collierville, TN. School is out. Possible adventures lurk ahead. Some dangers as well. I pray for the Lord to guard, guide and grow us.

Life in constant transitions....

Kids and the Faith

Spent the morning at the Middle School in the refreshment tent for my son's class. Eighth grade has one week left and today was field day, the kind of day that makes kids enjoy school. After several days of really chilly weather it is back near 80 and sunny. Lovely.

When I woke my daughter this morning I said to her, "This is the day the Lord has made." The response, "We will rejoice and be glad in it." I am sure it is from a psalm. The monastic flavored seminary education I received has forever shaped me. This is the sort of thing that was said. It is part of a spiritual discipline. I rarely feel like I  have done a good job raising my kids in the faith. We don't do family bible studies or family retreats. I try not to be overbearing about the faith with them. On the other  hand, I do witness by my behavior. They see me in prayer and they see me in the Bible. My hope is that the example speaks louder than words. I have found them reading the Bible and I know they do Bible study with our church youth group. Questions they ask and statements they make indicate that they are formed by the Christian faith.

Yesterday driving home I heard "The Bible Answer Man" show on the local Christian station. They were talking about some recent surveys which indicate 78% to 90% of Christian kids leave the faith now after they leave High School. It made me sad, as my two will be in that age group in the next few years. Being a parent means letting go. You cannot make your kids believe. You cannot make them love the Lord. I wonder if our generation has done a particularly rotten job of handing on the faith, or if there is more going on? As a youth minister in the 1980's I did far more for kids than any priest ever did for me. I do not know how many of those kids are believers today, but based on Facebook many are. I also think it is harder now, for lots of reasons. The environment seems more toxic. But reading the Bible you get the impression that toxic is the normal environment in every age....

Life is grand, a wonderful gift. I tend to worry and wish I had more enthusiasm. I am greatful for field day and pretty weather. I am glad my daughter is on retreat this weekend. I am glad I get to preach three times. I am glad that our God is kind and merciful. And active among us. I know it is a struggle, but sometimes I just want to sit around feeling glad. SO I will!

Hanging by a Thread

Last night we were bombarded with a series of storms. We were warned that a tornado was very likely. Again and again. As I sit writing this morning the last of the storms is arriving. West of us, in Arkansas, there have beend deadly storms and tornadoes. Further south, in Texas, they suffer a severe drought. My yard is like a soaking wet sponge and we have multiple flash flood warnings. In Texas they worry about wild fires and dry grass.

Fr. Rene has lost power again. He has been on and off like a third world country the last couple of weeks. He lives in an older part of town where the trees are very big and the power lines are in the air. He has a generator which has saved his freezer full of food, but it has been tough on him.

As we sat eating dinner yesterday evening with my in-laws, celebrating a pending birthday, it was surreal. Great food and fun conversation, all the while the TV at the end of the room showed the approaching storm. Sort of like life, you know something is coming, but in the meantime enjoy what you have. When we arrived home we emptied out the closet and filled it will pillows and blankets and in went momma and the two kids. I recalled the news stories about flattened homes and wondered if we would end the night in tragedy. I said my prayers and waited. In the end, it was like all the other storms. Wind. Rain. Threats. Nothing more.

Power outages, sudden death from the skies, floods and drought: they are all a reminder of how fragile life is. A friend of mine frequently says, "We live in stick houses with a brick veneer." It is a reminder that things often look more solid then they are. Eventually, one of these storms is going to be the real thing. Even so, odds are good that I will not ever be harmed by one. Yet every storm, ever power outage, every flood is a reminder that our pleasant lives hang by a thread. It would not take much to turn our lives into a struggle for existence. We are so dependent on so many things 'going right.' We are dependent on others. We are dependent on God. It is a good reason to pray and a better reason to thank God.

Pitchers and Catchers Report

Spring Training is a metaphor.
While there are no doubts that some baseball teams are better than others, in Spring Training everyone is still even. No one has won a game and no one has lost a game. In Spring Training it is time to refocus and work hard. It is a time of hope because every year there are some teams which surprise. Every year someone is much better than expected. Every year there is hope that this is the year that we do it!

Spring Training is a time to learn to play together. No matter how hard you work on your own, it takes a team to win. Meshing my skill set with your skill set allows us to achieve more. Interdependence is a reality and we need to live in the real world.

Spring Training is a time to focus on fundamentals. One of the most amazing truths about baseball is this: no matter how long you have played you still need to go back and practice the fundamentals. The foundation of our life also requires constant attention. Sometimes ego makes us ignore the basics because it is 'the basics' and we want more. In the spiritual life we are all beginners!

Lastly, Spring Training is SPRING! Spring and Lent, Spring and Easter, Spring and New Life. The words just go together. So now is a time to rekindle hope, to refocus on making the main thing the main thing, to renew our working relationships in concert with one another and a time to commit to achieving our ultimate goal (union with God and each other forever).

Even people who do not care about baseball can care about the metaphor. The metaphor of baseball provides us with an insight into life. We "play the game" of life and even if we are deadly serious about playing, we still need to enjoy it. Thirty teams start the season, only one team wins. Play to win, but even if you lose enjoy the game. You can build characater in disappointment just as you can in success. Players get hurt and careers end suddenly. Never forget how fragile it all is. Never take anything for granted. Today may be your last chance to "run and hit and throw" (whatever you do).
Before every game say a prayer of thanksgiving: for the sun, for the birds, for the other players and for the chance to be on the field. What ever your "field" is.....
Play ball!

Thanksgiving

I am not greatful by nature. I worry. I look at what is not done yet, or what needs to happen. I analyze threats and look at trends. I read and study and pray and try to do what is right. Some of that is because of my genetics and some is because I am a first born. Some of it is choices I have made and some of it is the type of work I do. Some of it may  be just plain habit.

Today I was reflecting on the different kinds of people. Many focus on what could be, others on what was. Some like to talk about their aches and pains while others are stoic and silent. Some hunger for more while others work hard to get it.

There just do not seem to be alot of people who are constantly greatful. Even as I sat this day in prayer identifying all the things I am greatful for: eyes to see, ears to  hear, I can walk and I have people who love me, I have a place to live with running water. I make enough money to eat and travel and live in wonderful comfort. I really have a great life. Yet even though I am aware of all that I do not have a tsunami of jubiliance and thanks flowing out of me at all times. Maybe once we are in God's presence in the Kingdom it will  happen. Maybe some day my emotions will be at full blast when it comes to crying out thanks. Maybe some day every inch of me will radiate with thanks. I hope so. I truly do. For now, I am pledging today to say thanks and to be aware of my blessings. That is my base for sprining into more exhuberant gratitude.
I am thankful that there are people who read what I write! Thank YOU!