Of Gifts and Guessing

I have a unique talent which was developed over years of practice.  I can pick up a beautifully wrapped Christmas present, assess its size, feel its weight and with a slight shake of the package, tell you what is inside.  I do not know the exact percentage of accuracy in on my guesses, but it is pretty high.

I could tell you this gift of prognostication came naturally, but it did not.  It was developed over the years by sneaking into my mother’s bedroom and looking at the gifts before they were wrapped.  Knowing what was going into the boxes before they were incased in printed paper, ribbons and bows gave me an opportunity to develop knowledge of what each item felt like when it was in the box. This greatly increased my ability to guess what was inside of packages where I did not know what was inside.

On the odd occasion when I did not get to the presents before they were wrapped, and I could not guess what was inside, I would carefully unwrap the package, take a peak, and then rewrap it with such precision that no one could tell I had ever touched it.  This of course was an awful practice, I do not recommend it, but it did further develop the ability to judge what was inside. It also taught me how to wrap packages very neatly, a skill I still employ every Christmas.

I eventually give up the practice of peaking at the gifts before they were wrapped, and I have not unwrapped a present and rewrapped it since my sophomore year of high school.  Part of the reason for my change in behavior was because I was convicted of how wrong my actions were, and part of it was because I became so very good at guessing what was inside, I no longer need to rely on this shameful practice. My reputation, however, still precedes me and my children will accuse me of wrong doing if there is any suspicion I may have had access to any unwrapped gifts.  Sin does have its consequences.

Eventually, I even gave up the practice of guessing, though I must admit I am tempted to pick up a package and shake it from time to time.  I could see how the joy of giving was robbed from the giver when I would pick up a gift, feel its weight, shake it, and guess what was inside.  They would delight when I was wrong, but when I was right, they would be deflated.  Watching their joy leak out like the air from a balloon which has had its knot untied and the lip released is not a good feeling.  No longer wanting to steal their joy, and cause such disappointment I decided to give up guessing.

Before I did, there were of course times, even when I employed my best my efforts and skills, I could not guess what a present held.  If I had not reformed my ways and I had been shaking presents and guessing what was inside, this Christmas I would have been stumped.  My son Michael gave me a gift I would have never guessed in a million years.

The package Michael gave me contained a dagger which was fashioned to resemble a weapon which might have been used in Middle Earth, the mythical land from Lord of the Rings. Now, I think most men I know would tell you that a knife is always an appropriate gift.  Maybe it is not always needed, but it is always wanted, and enjoyed. A smile came across my face as I removed it from the box.  With anticipation, I gripped the hilt in one hand and the sheath in the other and proceeded to draw the blade from its scabbard.   You can imagine how surprised I was when I could not separate the two.  I made a comment about it not coming apart and with a bit of disappointment, assumed it must be more of a showpiece than an actual dagger.  I thanked Michael for the piece of decorator art, but I must admit I was a bit puzzled at why he thought this was a gift I needed.

My bewilderment was offset by Michael’s excitement.  He proceeded to tell me why he gave it to me.  He told me it was indeed an actual a dagger, but he had found a way of bonding the blade and the sheath together so they could not be separated.  He explained he had been watching me for the past two years and had witnessed occasions when I had the opportunity to retaliate for the harm done to me, but chose instead not to. He knew I had the means to do so, but did not.  He likened it to having a dagger at your side and leaving it in its sheath.  He said he believed it took greater strength to keep your dagger in its sheath than it does to draw it, and he wanted to give me a gift which let me know he had seen such strength in me.

Immediately my confusion turned to understanding, and what moments early seemed an impractical gift now held great value.  You can imagine how humbled I was, how honored I felt and how precious this present instantly became to me. 
I wish I could say my heart was always in alignment with the sentiment Michel expressed.  It was not.  There were times when harm was done and I wanted nothing more than justice, but, even though I am by no means perfect, by the grace of God and the empowerment by the Holy Spirit, I have been able to keep my dagger sheathed.

This ability was not born out of an exercise of strength, but in a desire to live in the Kingdom of God now, a kingdom where enemies are forgiven and blessings are given to those who curse you.  To do so it has been necessary to cultivate a willingness, not to deny my desires for fairness and justice, but to acknowledge them and turn to God in trust, knowing He may be about something far bigger than I can see or understand. 

There were times when I found myself wanting to pull the dagger from its sheath.  When this feeling would come over me, I would cry out to God and ask for help in trusting Him. 

Scriptures like Psalm 27, which begins with the words, “The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid?” and ends with the hopeful declaration, “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord” became the place I would turn to reorient my heart to the reality God could be trusted and would provide the help I needed to keep the blade in its scabbard.

While my emotions may have been bidding me to take out the blade, I knew in my gut, exercising this kind of trust and choosing to wait on what God might be doing was the only way to experience the fullness of life which is available to us.
This life is something I have been growing into over the past two years.  I did not start out where I am now, and I am quite certain I have not yet arrived where I will one day be, but having said this, there is something deeply meaningful in being presented with a gift which gives evidence those closest to you can recognize who you are becoming.

Despite the gift guessing skill I developed in my youth, I had no way to discern the contents of this package by its size, shape, weight or any amount of shaking. In truth, even if I could have detected the box contained a dagger, I would not have had any realization of what was really being given to me. I was being told by my son he could recognize the source of my identity and strength, and a willingness to turn to in trust to the One who can not only help, but rescue.

Of all the things I have longed to impart to my son, these make up my deepest desires and hopes. Knowing he has seen them not only gives meaning to the gift, it also makes the journey of the past two years that much more precious, for the fruit it is producing is some of the sweetest I have ever tasted.  I am indeed seeing the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

It was a very good Christmas!

The Dreamer in Me

I have been a dreamer all my life.  When I was a child, my favorite book was called Me and My Flying Machine by Mercer Mayer.  It was the story of a boy who went into a barn and built a plane out of old scrap wood and bushel barrels.  This winged flying contraption then lifted him into adventure.  I spent many of my summer days out in the neighborhood collecting scrap wood to build my own mode of transportation from which to explore the world.  I was smart enough to know I would not be able to fly, but that did not stop me from constructing go-carts which would take me down the road and into adventure.  

As I got older, and wood got harder to find, I began to entertain other dreams.  I dreamed of things like walking the Inca Trail, hiking with my son on the Wonderland Trail, Kayaking with the whales off the Johnston Straight, and going on pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.  I have been a lucky man.  These dreams and many more have come true.  In fact, I have been so very fortunate in seeing my dream become reality that my wife now gets a little worried when I begin talking about something which seems a bit outlandish.  Where the wives of other men might just let the idea hang in the air, knowing in just a few days it will probably be forgotten, Tammie knows if I start dreaming about something, there is a good chance it is going to happen.   

This can disturb her at times.  I see her get particularly unsettled when I talk about living in a house that is only 500 to 700 square feet.  She also gets a bit anxious when I tell her by the time we retire, I only want us to own what will fit in two backpacks. She has not yet adopted these dreams as her own, but I keep trying to win her over.

Before you get too worried about Tammie, if you know her, you also know she is no pushover and will not be cajoled into doing something she does not want to do.  The fact she possesses this strength is probably why she is free to allow me to dream.  She knows I will not move forward unless she is all in.  This is because one of my biggest dreams was to marry someone just like Tammie, and all other dreams play second fiddle to her.

Recently, I have had a new set of dreams being birthed within me.  They have not come out of children’s books, or hiking magazines, but out of a deep desire to see what I read in scripture lived out.  They might seem like the stuff of fairy tales because they may be seen as coming from a far away Kingdom.  This realm, however, is not one which existed in some distant land or long forgotten memory.  It is not a place relegated to a future hope.  It is a kingdom which is available and present now.  This fact excites me.  Knowing, at this very moment, we have the capacity to enter its dominion and live as its citizen inspires me.  The journey there is a far better than any of my old go-carts could ever deliver.  When I dream of what it would be to live in this present kingdom:

• I dream of a place where it's people who are known by their love and humility.
• I dream of a community where unity is not built on conformity, but on love.
• I dream of living alongside those who understand what it is to forgo being served, in order to serve.
• I dream of a gathering of people where selfish ambition is be supplanted by selfless love.
• I dream of a place where people exercise their freedom in choosing to sacrifice for their brothers and sisters rather than indulge their own desires.
• I dream of a group of people who do not cut others down, but build them up.
• I dream of being part of a people who are so rooted and grounded in their identity, as dearly loved children of God, when they are wronged that they have the capacity to turn the other cheek and bless those who curse them.
• I dream of a place where love covers a multitude of sins.
• I dream of a place where people have enough understanding of the human heart to know when people behave poorly it is often a symptom of a deep wound which they carry with them, and rather than simply trying to correct the behavior, they recognize God’s invitation to partner with Him in healing the heart.
• I dream of a group of people who understand the issue is not what we eat or how we celebrate, but of righteousness, peace and joy.
• I dream of a place where anger, slander, malice and bitterness are put off and repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration win the day.
• I dream of a community where all who enter find love, acceptance and peace.
• And I dream of a place where perfect love cast out fear, and trust is ever present.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture.  At least I hope you do, because I have been imagining just such a place, filled with just such people for quite some time, and I am hoping there are others who have been dreaming of the same things.

Every dream I have ever had which has materialized, whether it was building a go-cart out of scrap wood or walking 500 miles, did so because at some point I had enough belief it could actually happen that I started to live as if it would.  I think the same is true with these dreams.  They way they will become reality is if we simply start living as if they are not only possible, but can and will actually happen.  

I also know seeing these dreams come true is going to cost, not just time and effort, but my own desires, comfort, feelings of security, and at times my own sense of what is fair.  I believe, however, it will be worth whatever price is exacted, for what ever is lost, is sure to be gained in a good measure, pressed down and overflowing.  I believe it, but I also have to pray, "Lord, help my unbelief" because at times, in the short term, living like this seems to cost more than what is gained.

Then again, attaining any dream requires a season where you walk in the hope of what could be, rather than what you see.  Would you dare to hope?  Can you dream of what it would it be to be part of a community of people who lived out these dreams?  I can, and often do. I imagine it would be powerful and life giving.  I know it would be healing.  It would be full of peace, joy and love.  It would also be filled with abundance, beauty and freedom. In short, it would be heaven on earth, a dream come true, and because I have a thing for seeing dreams become reality, I intend on living as if they will.

I hope you do too!

My Mentor, Wayne Henthorn

Yesterday, I had the privilege to speak a few words at the funeral of my mentor and friend, Wayne Henthorn.  I was asked to speak from the perspective of a staff member of the church.  I was blessed to serve alongside of him for over 20 years.  During that time he passed on to me much of his life and calling. 

If Pastor Keith, the man I wrote about last week, taught me how to pastor, Wayne taught me how to lead selflessly, and love sacrificially.  Given the few minutes I had to speak, I could in no way capture all of what Wayne meant to me, and to the church where he invested his life, but I tried. Here is what I shared.

Not long after I came on staff at Bethany I started meeting with Wayne for mentorship.  We met for years. In our times together, Wayne imparted his knowledge of the church, what he had learned about leadership, and what he was still discovering about following Jesus.

Some of what he shared was simple and practical like: Do the hard things first, there was no reason to be worrying about them all day long. 

Some were convictions like: Purpose over preference.  What was unique about Wayne’s leadership was he did not call people to give up their preference, without being willing to lay down his own. No one gave up more of their own desires during Wayne’s tenure as elder chairman than he did.

Then there were the things Wayne was willing to die for, like Unity.  Having endured the hurt of the church split in the early 1980’s, he never wanted the body to go through that pain again. 

Wayne would say splits do not happen because of the congregation, but because of the Elder board. Maintaining unity at the board level was his highest calling. I remember planning for the construction of the Foxhoven Ministry Center.  At the meeting where we first proposed the project, one of the elders had significant reservations.  We did not make a decision that night. Wayne fully supported moving forward, but he was unwilling to run over a fellow Elder to make it happen.  After the meeting, I asked him what we would do if the man could not bring himself to support the proposal.  Wayne’s answer was emphatic and immediate, “We will not build it.”  He knew unity was more important than getting what he wanted.   He also knew as the Elder Chairman, he had to lead by example.

Wayne’s leadership created a very stable environment in which the staff could carry out our calling.

Wayne often said his job as Elder was to remove barriers for the staff.  Sometimes this meant building walls in the pastor’s office to make room for a sectary.  Sometimes it meant taking the hard meeting so the pastor would not have to.  Sometimes this meant, as Wayne would describe it, blocking down field so the staff could move the ball.  Because of Wayne’s willingness to serve the staff in this way, he took many hits on our behalf, in the process he freed us to do the work of ministry. 

What many may not know is how creative and funny Wayne was.  He supported the church and his bride by building many of the sets for the Children’s musicals.  He built backdrops for the worship services and made sure his house was appropriately decorated for any party which was thrown there.  Few knew the care and creativity Wayne would put into creating a space where people could hear the Gospel and celebrate with one another.  Sometimes, he was also roped into being the MC or doing a monologue at a church event.  He had a dry, witty sense of humor which could fill the room with laughter

After Wayne’s passing, someone said to me they hoped to finish as well as he did.  I smiled, remembering Wayne tell me how he drove the bus for Bethany in the early 1970’s, bringing hundreds of Children to Church.  While they were in Sunday School, he and some of the other drivers would skip church and go to breakfast.  I was shocked, the Godfather of Bethany skipping church.  I was also encouraged to know this dark secret of Wayne’s past.  It meant he not only finished well, but he finished better than he started. 

Maybe you have driven by the Bethany over the past few years and seen Wayne standing in front of the church with a hose in hand.  Taking care of the flowerbeds was anything but a demotion for Bethany’s finest elder chairman, it was a very tangible opportunity to walk in his father’s shoes, the man who had modeled for Wayne what it was like to lead, serve and die to himself. His father served in leadership at Bethany at the board level, but he would also come down on Saturday nights to water the plants and sweep the front sidewalks.

While Wayne was tending the flowers, he was also thinking about this church.  As he tilled the soil, he prayed for the ministry, leaders and people of Bethany.  This church and its people were always in Wayne’s thoughts and prayers.  In them, he had invested much of his life, for to them, he had given his heart.

While Wayne will be missed, his legacy lives on in those into which he poured his life.  I am thankful to have been one of those people.

Keith Wells is the Real Deal

I did not know much about Keith Wells when I first started attending Bethany Church.  I was too interested in a college student named Tammie to pay him any mind. I knew he led us in worship, and as he did, he worshiped.  I knew the church had stood by him when his wife made the choice to leave. I knew he wore his wedding ring long after she left because, despite all the pain involved in the breakup of his marriage, he had made a covenant commitment to his bride and he would not be the one to sever it. I knew he held on to hope there would be reconciliation and the relationship could be restored. I also knew he loved people and hugged a lot. This was all I knew in the beginning and in some ways it told me all I would ever need to know about the man. 

In Keith, I saw a man who worshiped God with his whole heart.  I saw a man who was willing to hope and trust, even in the darkest of circumstances. I saw a man who was willing to remain faithful long after most of us would have removed the ring from our finger and moved on with life.  It was a powerful example to a young man who was still learning what it meant to follow Jesus and trust him with his whole heart.

                                                                                                                                                                

After graduating college and finding a job hard to come by,  I was offered a chance to make a little money working as the handyman at Bethany.  If you have ever worked a job like this you know how it lets you see the attitude and character of those who are above you.  You quickly find out who is arrogant and who is not.  Keith was not.  There was nothing I had to do in my job which Keith was not willing to do himself.  Like the one who was willing to get up from the table and wrap a towel around his waist and wash the feet of his disciples, Keith’s identity was so securely anchored in the Father's love there was nothing which was beneath him.  He knew who’s he was and this knowledge gave him the capacity to serve without reservation.  

Years later, I would watch him lead worship in the service with great delight and an hour later find him caring for the physical needs of one of his adopted sons, with the same enthusiasm.  In one instance, he stood before a congregation.  In the other, he was behind the closed door of his office. He approached both opportunities to serve as an act of worship.  Watching him live like this was both instructive and beautiful.

After I moved into an administrative role at the church, we went through a summer of transition.  Four staff members left in a very short period of time.  It was the first time I had experienced such change.  I did not know how to walk through it.  I invited Keith to lunch and asked him how he weathered such storms.  He told me, “Ronnie, I do not serve any man.  I honor the leadership God has placed above me, but I keep my eyes focused on Christ. He is the one I serve and follow.”  Keith was not giving me the “churchy” answer; he was sharing with me the perspective with which he ministered.  I knew when I heard it; I needed to make it my own.  I was privileged to watch him live this out for 28 years as a congregant and fellow staff member.  In the process, I discovered Keith was the real deal.

It was not too many more years before I was given a position at the church where I was responsible for the staff.  How in the world could the former handyman hope to be able to exercise authority and responsibility over Keith Wells?  What I found when I moved into this new area of service was how supportive Keith was to my leadership, and how gracious he was in allowing me to lead.  He was patient with me as I grew into my role.  He supported me.  He encouraged me.  He would listen to me and point me back to Jesus when things got heavy and burdensome.  While we did not always agree, we were able to walk in unity because our relationship was not born out of our roles and responsibilities.  It was centered in Christ’s love and the interdependence we shared as brothers and members of his body.  These were things Keith modeled and which I grew into.

The day leadership told the staff I was being let go was a very hard day.  After staff meeting, I went back to my office.  I was feeling lost and rejected.  Keith followed me.  He closed the door behind us and embraced me.  We wept.  He affirmed me and spoke belief over me.  He admitted his confusion in the circumstance and told me he would never choose what was happening.  It felt good to hear someone say it and know they meant it.  He then called me, as my brother, to put my trust in Christ.  Jesus was the one to focus on, not on the circumstance.  This message had been Keith’s gift to me throughout the years, and because of the consistency of seeing him make this choice in the hard circumstances of his life, in that moment it had power.

When I heard the news about Keith being let go I went to his house.  He was not home, so I camped out on his front porch and waited for his arrival.  I wanted to follow him into his house, close the door behind us, embrace him and weep.  I wanted to speak words of affirmation and belief over him.  I wanted him to know I was with him, just as he had been with me. 

When Keith and Barb finally arrived home, we embraced on the lawn and then we went inside.  We talked for hours.  We did shed tears, but there was also laughter.  I was able to speak belief over him. I affirmed all God has done and will continue to do through him.  When I finally left, however, I had the oddest feeling. I had come over to encourage and lift up my brother, and somehow I left feeling as if I was the one who had been encouraged and lifted up.   Somewhere in those hours of conversation, Keith had imparted to me once again the hope and trust which has been such a constant part of his life in Christ.

I was given a copy of the letter which had been sent out to the congregation.  It said leadership felt they could no longer employ two worship leaders and they made the hard decision to let Keith go.  This was hard for me to wrap my mind around, because I never thought of Keith as a worship leader.  Yes, I know he led worship at the church for over 40 years, but I still never thought his primary role was putting together a service.  I have always thought of Keith as a pastor, who happens to lead worship.  His imprint on the body was always so much greater than the service he led on Sunday, no matter how good it might be.  

Keith’s true gift to the body was as a shepherd who cares for its people as Christ would.  He creates communities where everyone was welcomed, accepted and loved.  In being part of one of these, you tasted what the Kingdom is meant to be and what a leader who is entrusted with a portion of the Good Shepherd’s flock ought to be. As a leader, Keith models a life of commitment, grace, service, humility and intimacy with Christ.  Because of the way he serves, the communities he creates, and the character he demonstrates I honestly do not think it would have mattered what role Keith played on the staff. In any position he would manifest the love and compassion of Christ, lead people to grow in their experience and knowledge of Jesus, and encourage their growth into his likeness. This is what every pastor should strive for.  It is what I see in Keith. It makes him valuable.

I am a better pastor and follower of Christ for having watched him and serve alongside him. He helped me understand that being a pastor was a calling not a job, and caring for the people in the body of Christ was not a burden but a great joy. Watching him, I saw what it looked like to ground everything you did in love.  I also learned to look to Jesus in every circumstance and to find joy in him.

For all these reasons and so many more I celebrate my pastor, mentor, brother and friend. Here is to you Keith Wells.  I stand with thousands of others in declaring our admiration for the man you are, our gratitude for how God has used you to help us become more like Jesus and above all else, our affirmation that in you we see the image of Christ. In you I have always seen the traces of the sacred.

P.S. If all this were not enough, Keith also makes the best chocolate chip cookies ever. 

In N Out - that is what California is all about!

When I was walking the Camino de Santiago we would often sit around in groups at the end of the day having a glass of wine and getting to know one another, especially early on.  We would ask simple questions like where are you from, or why are you walking the Camino.  If there were other Americans, from other parts of the country, in the group as soon as I mentioned I was from California one thing would come up, “In N Out Burger”.

Despite the fact we have miles of beaches, wonderful National Parks, landmarks like Hollywood and the Golden Gate Bridge, what most people who have visited California from other parts of the Untied States talk about and long to return to when they come back to California is “In N Out Burgers”.

It is hard to blame them.  This hamburger joint, which was established in 1948, uses only fresh ingredients (even cutting their own fries as needed), makes every hamburger to order and simply tastes great.   There menu is simple, because they simply know what they do well and they stick to that.  What is not to like?

I know people for whom, when they travel to California, the first place they head after leaving the airport is to an In N Out.  While they are in California they will eat multiple meals there, and when they leave, they start talking about their next trip and their next Double Double.  Given this fact, it should not have surprised me how many other Americans found my access to In N Out Burger as the best part of my being from the great State of California.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are other hamburger stands and I imagine there are people who are just as loyal to them.  In fact, here in California, you will often see a row of fast food restaurants, often several hamburger joints, one right after another.  I imagine there are people who are loyal to all of them.  Others examples might be, “Five Guys Burger and Fries” or “The Habit”.   

There are differences between these establishments and there is room for honest debate.  For example, where as In N Out has a simple menu, Five Guys allows you to put just about anything on your burger.  Some think the creativity afforded by Five Guys makes it a better hamburger place. 

My wife, for example, likes a Five Guys hamburger with cheese, A1 Sauce, and grilled mushrooms,   You cannot get this at In N Out.  If you asked for it the guy, in the white shirt and red apron with the big safety pin holding it up, behind the counter at In N Out would probably say something like,” I am sorry we do not have A1 Sauce or grilled mushrooms.  If you had your heart set on A1 and mushrooms, this would be a disappointment for sure.  You might even counter, “Well that is how I like my hamburger and that is what I want, couldn’t you make an exception?” 

At In N Out the answer would be, No.

Maybe you are persistent and go back and forth for a few minutes and a line begins to form because it is taking too long to place your order.  Eventually, the man behind the counter might, in the kindest way possible (because that is the kind of people In N Out hires) suggest you head over to Five Guys, because that is the kind of burger they make. 

You might be unhappy about this, but you have to admit it seems fair.  It is a hamburger stand for heaven sakes and here in America, especially in California, we have lots of choices when it comes to hamburger stands.  If you do not like the burgers one place serves you simply go to another which suits your taste.

You simply do not see this in Europe.  Maybe this is why the Europeans seem to think the enthusiasm for In N Out Burger is a bit overdone.   If you come across a burger place in a city in Spain, and you really want a hamburger, you had better stop and eat, because it is likely you will not find another soon.

The experience of the scarcity of these kinds of restaurants in Europe, now that I am back at home, has caused me to notice here in America our fast food restaurants are built in clusters.  You will find two or three on a major corner or several of them in a row on a street.  This is purposeful.  Social scientists have theorized if you place a variety of choices in a central place, people will be willing to drive there to do business.  In this case, each restaurant will likely have more business, even though they are next door to their competitor, because more people are willing to drive to and frequent the area.

While noticing this, I have noticed something else; our churches are built the same way.  You will often find two or three on a major corner, and I know of several streets near me where there are four or five churches in a row.  It is almost as if our churches have recognized the marking strategy of the restaurant industry and decided to employ it when choosing a place to locate their buildings.  I guess the thinking is, you are more likely to drive to church if there are lots of churches in the area.

Unfortunately, churches have not stopped there.  Many have also adopted the attitude of the guy behind the counter who says, “Sorry we do not make it that way here, maybe you need to go to another restaurant.”  This is perfectly legitimate for someone who is making hamburgers, a place where they produce a product for you to consume.  This, however, is not the purpose or function of the church.

The church is described in scripture as a body or a family.  Both are images of interdependent systems which do not function as effectively, or at all, if you start removing their parts.  In fact, when talking about these images the Bible speaks of the stronger members of the community serving, sacrificing, and even giving up their freedom for the sake of the weaker brothers.  It speaks of those members of the body which seem to be weaker as being necessary and those parts of the body we deem as less honorable are being given more abundant honor.  

These are not descriptions of places where products are created to be consumed, but communities in which people are valued, grown and matured. The Bible, it seems, has made no provision to say to your brother, if you do not like it there is another church down the road you might want to try. 

It must grieve the heart of God that we build our churches and pattern our behavior after the hamburger stands which surround us.  The Church is not an organization dedicated to meeting a market demand.  We are a people, set apart by God, which has been charged with making his Kingdom known.  This community is to operate on a completely different economy than the world which surrounds it.   We are to live up to the high and noble calling which we have been given, not employ the strategies and practices of our favorite fast food chain.

The Apostle Paul puts it this way in Ephesians 4: “I implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as also you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is over all and through all and in all.”

Again in Colossians 3 he says: "So, as those who have been chosen of God, holy and beloved, put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience; bearing with one another, and forgiving each other, whoever has a complaint against anyone; just as the Lord forgave you, so also should you. Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body; and be thankful."

It seems it is in unity and love, not in diversity of choice, that we live into our calling and manifest the Kingdom of God.  I wonder what the result would be if this is what we called people to, rather than presenting them with the choice of simply going on the next hamburger stand, I mean church, down the road.

Hats off to You!

Friday night, my wife and I went to the volunteer appreciation dinner for an organization call Pathways.  It is a group which is dedicated to providing service to the terminally ill and compassionate support to grieving families. My wife has been serving with them for the better part of a year.  Because of the nature of the support you offer as a volunteer, you do not necessarily see the others who also serve.  This was the first time she saw so many of her fellow workers in one place.

It was a nice evening.  They had a local dance group entertain us.  They served dinner, recognized each volunteer, gave away small tokens of appreciation, and recognized a few who have gone above and beyond the call.

The table where we sat had two other volunteers and their guests.  One was a lady who needs someone to drive her anywhere she goes, but she still serves by going to the hospital and meeting with people and their families who need the support Pathways offers.  She received a volunteer of the year award.  You could tell it meant the world to her.  Even though we only shared a few minutes at a table together, I must confess I was quite proud when they announced her name.  I hoop and hollered on her behalf.  She blushed.  What can I say, you sit at my table, you become my people.

The other volunteer at our table brought, as her guest, the women she serves.  Watching them interact, you could tell there was a significant bond between them.  I will share a bit more about that in a moment, but for now all I can say is, their interaction spoke of a much deeper commitment than simply giving a few hours to help someone in need.  You could tell they shared life, and it was beautiful.

After the awards were all given out, Meg, the woman who coordinates it all, transitioned to a much more poignant part of the program.  It was the time given to recognize those whom they had served who had passed this last year.  She mentioned the honor my wife had of being present with the women she served as the lady made the journey from this life to the next.  She acknowledge this is not the everyone’s experience by mentioning another volunteer who left the person they cared for in good health, only to find they had passed two days later.  No matter what the circumstances was at the end, they wanted to take a few moments to remember those they had served, and loved.

Because last year the candles set off the fire alarm in the venue, Pathways decided to have vases where flowers would be placed, representing each life which was lost.  Meg then read off each name.  There were 22 clients who died this last year.  It was powerful to watch each caregiver make their way to the table, select a flower, and then place it in the vase.  It was especially so when the name of the lady my wife served was called, and she got up to take part in honoring Neva.

A few moments later, the lady who was sitting across the table from us, who had brought the women she serves, stood at the reading of a name.  She walked forward, placed a flower in a vase and then made her way back to our table.  When she arrived she bent down and hugged her guest.  It was the wife of the man whose name was read.  Their embrace was one which spoke of a shared journey through the pain of watching someone you love take the hard road home.  It also spoke of their shared commitment to walk the next stage of life together.  It was a privilege to sit so close and watch this sacred moment.

James tells us in his epistle, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”  By orphans and widows, I think he means those who do not have the ability to care for themselves and who do not have the family to step in the gap.  I have a feeling he would not mind one bit if we expanded the definition to include the terminally ill who find themselves with the same need.  What I witnessed in that room was religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless.  Witnessing it, the pollution of this self-centered world seemed so very far away.

You might notice in the picture some pretty colorful hats.  The theme for the evening was "Hats off to You," and to make it fun, we were asked to wear our favorite hat.  I did not wear a hat (rebellious from my youth, what can I say), but this fact in no way diminishes my desire to take my hat off to these people for their willingness to give far more than a few hours a week.  They invest their lives. They willingly enter into a stage of life which promises much joy, but which also promises the reality of loss and the pain which accompanies it.  They give selflessly and in the process they impart much value to the people they serve.  They are a gift, and their lives are a example to us all.

I take my hat off to them.

Residue

The church we have been attending has a table, just as you walk in, with name tags and markers on it.  Each Sunday, as we make our way into the service we stop and write our name on an adhesive tag and stick it to our chest.  In a community, with lots of new people this is helpful.

Most Sundays, as my wife and I are walking to the car we remove our name tags and fold them in half, allowing them to adhere to themselves, rendering them harmless.  Several weeks ago, one of the tags slipped through our little ritual.  It not only made it all the way home still attached to my wife’s shirt, it somehow was able to hang on long enough to make it to the laundry basket, where it stayed bonded to the fabric until laundry day.

I do the laundry in the house, mostly because of my mad folding skills.  I am also good at stain removal and sorting cloths into appropriate piles.  What I am not good at is checking pockets or, as I have recently discovered, removing name tags.

You would not think failing to remove a name tag would be that big of a deal, after all they peel off so easily only an hour after you put them on.  Heck, sometimes they even start to curl on the edges before you are ready to remove them. 

Not checking for name tags is a bigger deal than you think.  I am not sure if it is the days and days they sit in the laundry bin, or if the glue is activated by water to form a more secure bond, but I do know if you leave a name tag on for several days and then wash it, it sticks far better than you can imagine.

When I went to fold the cloths and discovered the shirt my wife had been wearing the prior Sunday still had a name tag attached to it I simply pulled it off.  Well, that is at least what I intended to do.  It gripped better than had when it was new.  While the paper peeled off, it left behind a film of glue which was unsightly and gave no indication it intended to become detached.  Bummer!

If water had given it super strength not normally seen in a name tag, I hypothesized another round in the washer might just release it.  No such luck, it just balled the glue up into clumps.  I then tried to roll these tiny balls around until they fell off the fabric.  This removed about half the glue, but there still was an outline where the tag had been and a significant amount of glue remained.

 I repeated the wash and rub process several times, but the glue could not be fully removed.  Eventually, I had to give into the fact the shirt, because of its contact with the name tag, and the experience of being bonded together in the water of the washer, would never be the same.  I threw it out.

This should not have surprised me.  Glue is supposed to bond things together. There is a commercial currently running where it shows one brand who’s strength comes from moving beyond the surface of a material and penetrating the pores to create a stronger bond.    In fact, glue which bonds like this often becomes stronger than the material itself.  Glue two pieces of wood together and try to break the joint.  What you will often find is the wood itself will give way and break before the glue joint fails. I think this is how all glue works, especially when it is given time to cure.

Next week will mark the one year anniversary from when I was told I was being unglued from the community where I served.  I had cured there for a very long time.  The initial tearing off of the tag was harder than I would have imagined, and it left glue stains much like the one on the shirt.

 I spent the first few months washing and rubbing, trying to remove any remnants of the glue which remained.  I was successful at balling up some of it and discarding it, but I could not fully remove it all.  At about the six month mark there was no longer any large globs of glue present on the fabric of my heart, but you could still see discoloration between the threads caused by the adhesive.

 If this had been a shirt, I would have long since thrown it away, but it is my heart and I cannot fulfill the call of God on my life without it, so I kept on washing and rubbing.  At the 10 month mark I would have told you all traces had been removed, there was no longer any glue left.   This felt good.  It felt like being freed. I was sure I had reached a significant bend on the road to healing from the loss.

I have often reminded others, when they are approaching the anniversary of a significant loss, not to be surprised if the feelings and emotions come back to them.  I have friends who talk about feelings out of sorts, not knowing why.  When they stop to think about it, they realize they are near the date when the loss occurred and they are able to make sense of what they are experiencing emotionally.  While the tag may have been ripped off, and they have done much work to remove the residue of the glue stain, when the anniversary comes around it is as if a stronger light illumines the fabric of their heart and the outline of the tag is once again able to be seen.

This is exactly what this season feels like for me, and while it makes me feel sad, I do not wish it away.  I am done washing and rubbing.  I am content to carry with me any remaining residue for the rest of my life.  What remains is a reminder of how significantly attached I was to a people.  I never want to forget that.  I want to remember the mark it has left on my life, because it reminds me not only of the loss, but of the love which was present.  For in truth, love is the glue and having once loved you simply cannot ever erase the mark it leaves.

I have hope the Lord will be gracious to me and once again place me in a community where I can become attached to a community of people where together we learn how to live and love like Jesus.  I desire to be with a people in community where we can glue ourselves to one another with the bond of love, where we can know the joy of being firmly connect, and of seeing others grafted into our clan. 

The glue which remains is a reminder it is indeed possible.