Irony

I'd just published my post about my church turning fifty this weekend (see "She's Gold that Doesn't Glitter" below) when I got an email just moments later - literally. I want to share it with you. I'm on a distribution list at Willow Creek Church and the pastor their, Bill Hybels, sent this out:

Dear Enews Friends, Today is October 12. That might not mean much to most of you but for a small band of us it is a date we will never forget. It was on this day 32 years ago that a handful of people unloaded a truck outside the Willow Creek Theatre in suburban Chicago, took a deep breath and trusted that someone would show up for a church service. One hundred, twenty-five people did and we were thrilled! We were less thrilled when attendance dwindled to embarassing levels later on, but let's focus on the positive for now. That opening day is emblazoned on my mind. We worked ourselves into near exhaustion preparing the room. We cleaned, set up a few lights, patched a sound system together and pleaded with God to be gracious. One distinct memory that I carry is that I was not pleased with my sermon. We had all worked so hard and sacrificed so much and prayed so fervently...and then came the much anticipated inaugural message. Frankly, it was weak. I had never given a Sunday sermon before and it showed. The fact that anybody came back the next week is positive proof of the grace of God.

Bad preaching aside, October 12 was a watershed day for us. We had dreamed so intensely about starting an Acts 2 church. We had sold tomatoes door to door to raise the money to rent the theatre. Lynne and I had signed personally to pay for our tiny rented offices on Vermont Street. All of us in that core group had invited everyone we knew. And all of that activity culminated on that brisk, sunny day in early October.

Fast forward... I am sitting at a desk right now in downtown Moscow preparing to speak to hundreds of Russian pastors about the local church being the hope of the world. Wrap your brain around that irony. Three decades ago our two countries were squared off against each other with an intensity that threatened the existence of the entire human race. If you would have told me on October 12, 1975, that Willow would someday be a flourishing ministry on 200 acres of land, with state-of-the-art facilities and four regional campuses, I would have wondered what you were smoking. Further, if someone would have told me that we would be entrusted with a worldwide church renewal ministry that would train hundreds of thousands of pastors and church leaders all over the globe, I would have known for certain what you were smoking (and that you were inhaling!). And, if someone would have said that on October 12, 2007 I would be in Moscow preparing to train pastors at a Willow-sponsored event called The Global Leadership Summit, I may have been tempted to take a puff myself (but I would never have inhaled). All this to say that on this day I am undone by this whole thing God birthed in a movie theater. As I type this on my trusty BlackBerry, I fight off tears of sheer gratefulness that God included me in such an odyssey...words fail me. You should all know that the three buddies that sold tomatoes with me and worked every bit as hard as I did in those early days are still on staff at Willow--Joel Jager, Scott Pedersen and Tim VandenBos. True heroes who are rarely recognized but should be permanently inducted into Willow's Hall of Fame. Scores of others who were in the theater on that October day in 1975 are still serving in our church as well--Dr. B, Laurie Pedersen, Nancy Beach, Scott and Jan Troeger, Bruce Horgan...the list could go on. There are Elders and Board members who serve us today that found Christ in the tacky seats and sticky floors of the Willow Creek Theater. Who would have thought... Ecclesiastes 3:1 reminds us that there is a right time for every purpose under heaven. On this sunny morning in Moscow, it is the right time for me to sign off and fall to my knees and say for the ten thousandth time...Only God.

Happy Anniversary, Willow! Bill

Now let me be clear - I like Bill Hybels. I figure he's the worlds best actor or the "real deal" who has inspired lots of churches get out of their velvet ruts. I lean toward "real deal." I admire the work of Willow Creek and am thankful for all they've done. I've used various Willow curriculums and I've learned much about leadership from Hybels.

But let's be honest. There are thousands of unsung churches out there who do the good work of God week in and week out. There are capable and caring ministers out there who are giving it their all to 50 people, who live in parsonages that most of you readers wouldn't tolerate as housing. They preach masterful sermons, pray faithfully by sick-beds, and labor long among the poor. These churches and their pastors will not get national recognition, in fact most weeks the pastors will go without congregational recognition.

The problem is that our church culture in America has put so much stock in the mega-models that we now equate successful churches with places like Willow Creek and Lakewood. But there is more to being a successful church and successful pastors than the numbers.

I had lunch yesterday with nine other pastors here in Houston who shared, to a degree, this lament. We, to a person, were discouraged about our church's economic struggles and our institutional stability. We griped about our fatigue with denominational infighting. And, with only one exception, every pastor at the table described in some fashion how a mega-church had leeched away his church members. It reminded me of the small town business owners I knew when I owned a main street restaurant...they all bemoaned the arrival of Wal-Mart and what it would do to the small town economy.

"Consumer" religion is an easy target. After all, if restaurant chains that peddle crappy (but consistent) food in a Disney style atmosphere can make gads of money, it would make sense that a franchise style church should be equally successful in attracting people who go for the trendy comidas y bebidos. No slams here, just reality. Some people really like chain restaurants (I wonder if sociologists have cross-tabbed this: the percentage of Ruby Tuesday customers who go to a mega-church?).

But I think that perhaps "consumers" of religion are too easy a target. Perhaps we clergy-types have some burden of guilt, too. Careful self-examination will possibly bare the truth that it is often our ego's that drive much of this. After all, there is a lot of head-rush in being invited to preach or write because you have a large or growing congregation. There's a lot of "mine is bigger than yours" stuff going on at most pastors' meetings when the inevitable question comes, "What are you running?"

Worship attendance at my place hovers around 320, sometimes we hit 400. My answer to the question is always, "We have about 75 who are really committed." Inevitably, my church is the "smallest" and the other guys treat me better, more like an equal. And I like that, because i am their equal...but they wouldn't think so because they have 200 in worship.

I'm looking for some help here, because I'm sick of it being about the numbers. Tell me if you're bothered by these same things (Now the sarcasm kicks in):

• It's not really about us making ourselves popular through our preaching, it's really about "being relevant."
• It's not really about solidifying the church so we'll have a good paycheck, it's really about "giving to the kingdom."
• It's not really about wooing people and manipulating them with ear-teasing, it's really about "authentic conversation."
• It's not really about building a name for our preaching-selves, it's really about "spreading the word."

So, I'm gonna start making good on a promise I made to myself years ago. When I said "yes" to what I perceived to be an invitation from God to be a vocational minister I did so with two conditions:

1. I wouldn't be slick like all the other preachers. I'd be who I am, take me or leave me.
2. When it stops being fun, I'm getting out. I really mean "joyous" here b/c not everything in ministry is "fun," nor should it be.

In the last few years I've found myself polishing my words a little more carefully, trying to keep everyone in the church happy. And fun? This numbers thing isn't fun. And it isn't ministry. And lately, much of what we do in church isn't fun. But if I'm gonna survive in this work for an entire career - and that's questionable at this point - I'm going to stop pretending to be someone I'm not and I'm going to do those parts of ministry that I do best and bring me joy.

Anyone care to join me? Hey Hybels, you in? Hey Joel Osteen, want go to lunch next week and talk about what you're doing in ministry that brings you joy? Or how about you, regular church-going Christian? Do you have the guts to visit your pastor and say, "let's stop counting and start having fun/joy/meaning in ministry?"

She’s Gold That Doesn’t Glitter

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought - October 12, 2007

Maybe you’ve met her. She looks pretty good for fifty. Her joints sometimes bother her, and she could stand some improvement to her physique, but she doesn’t really show her age. And if you’re into comparisons, she’s really a young thing next to some of the ones she runs with.

Outer appearances aren’t the only measure of her worth. On the inside she is full of all kinds of beauty. If you knew her history, you’d know how she’d spent a lifetime trying not to judge others, welcoming some into her life that weren’t always welcomed elsewhere. She’s patched up her share of lives, that’s for sure. A little cash here for someone who has lost a job, a little food there for someone who’s having a hard time making ends meet. She’ll cloth just about anybody who shows up, and sometimes opens her doors for complete strangers. She can be a risk taker from time to time, but she’s not a sell out.

She’s also been great to her children, very nurturing. She taught them life skills and nurtured her faith in their lives. As teenagers, they actually like to hang around her, and her “all grown up and moved away” children still come around to see her almost every Sunday. She’s fed them thousands of times, sometimes with food and sometimes with the Word. She has encouraged and forgiven, mended and sewn, served and saved.

Some think it scandalous that she is still a bride “in waiting” after all these fifty years, yet she’s no single mom. Her groom is always helping her do these things I’ve been talking about. He’s a first class husband-to-be, some would say he’s the best possible choice for a husband in all the world. He goes by lots of names. The old-timers called him Joshua, in Greece he picked up the nickname “Christopher,” but most folk around her house today just call him Jesus. Maybe you know him, and maybe you know his fifty year old bride named Willow Meadows Baptist Church.

Her official birthday is tomorrow, October 13. It was on that day in 1957 that the Willow Meadows Baptist Chapel first met in the cafeteria at Red Elementary School. We’ll celebrate her birthday this Sunday with a special worship service at 11:10 a.m., and a luncheon to follow. We’ll have a special guest preacher, Dr. Charles Wade, who is the executive director of the Baptist General Convention of Texas. We’ll sing our praises for the past and we’ll say prayers for our future, for we, Willow Meadows Baptist Church, are that bride of Christ. We may not always glitter like the things of the world, but with God we are golden.

Happy 50th Willow Meadows Baptist Church!

Grace & Peace,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly column by me, Gary Long. I’m the pastor of Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. You can learn more about WMBC at our website, http://www.wmbc.org/. I’m a polite guy, so if you want to be added or deleted from this mailing, just contact me at glong@wmbc.org.

Almost Vacation Time

Just a little longer and I'll be on vacation, where this sight is a daily occurrence. I probably won't be posting much during the next few days but hope to come back with stories galore.

I Can Already Taste the Relaxation

Hey, the big stores have the Christmas Crap on display already, so I thought it would be ok to talk about Thanksgiving in September. So why the talk about thanksgiving? I'm preaching about the 10th leper this Sunday (see the "At Second Sight" post below), so I'm working on counting the things for which I'm thankful.

One of the things I'm thankful for is the holiday of Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. Things are calm at church, the kids are out of school, the wife is relaxed. On top of that, there is no gift-giving to distract us from a great feast, giving thanks, and taking note of people we love. It's a perfectly relaxing time and the UNC basketball season is just getting underway, who could ask for more?

Add to it the family that comes to see us, like this guy:

That's "Uncle Jack" who is always asking good questions like "Does life imitate art, or art imitate life?" He'll be here for T-giving with his wife, "Aunt Debbie, the house-elf" and we're all looking forward to it.

I'm also thankful for meaning in my life and work, healthy kids, great friends.

How about you?

Bad News

It's just about lunch time...

Smooth Operator

I’m not sure if the news is big nation-wide, but Priscilla Slade’s trial here in Houston is certainly a hot topic these days. She is the former president of Texas Southern University and is being tried on “two counts of misapplication of fiduciary property of more than $200,000.” Prosecutors allege that she used more than $500,000 of the public university’s funds for personal expenses, including a bar tab over $140,000.

Allegedly, Dr. Slade entertained staff and friends on TSU’s dime, throwing extravagant parties in her 17,000 square foot home that featured, among other things, a sofa paid for out of university funds and worth more than my two cars put together. There is more: manicures for the staff, extravagant trips, center court seats for Houston Rockets games. All purchased with money that came from the Texas taxpayers’ pockets.

The details about her “mis-expenditures” are readily available on the web and in the news, but the highlights alone are enough to cause some serious head-scratching. A public university president is a fiduciary for the state’s money – meaning basically that we trusted her to handle it well. Just how did this happen? And what was she thinking? Dr. Slade is a trained CPA, did she really think her gross abuse of public money would not come to light eventually?

Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Or maybe she picked up her methods from the Bible.

Take a good look at one of the hardest parables Jesus ever told and you’ll see what I mean. In Luke 16.1-13 we read the story about a mid-level manager who knew the boss’s axe was going to be swinging at his feet soon. So he invited in all the people who owed his boss and cut their debts substantially. Misapplication of fiduciary property, I think it was. Cut a few hundred gallons of olive oil here, a few hundred bushels of wheat there. He was thinking if he cut the debts of those who owed his master that when he got fired, those people would take care of him. Pretty crafty.

And Jesus praises this dishonesty, as does the manager’s boss. It makes no sense to me. What can Jesus be thinking? I’m not saying Dr. Slade deserves praise, in fact I’m angry at her. But the fact that Jesus tells the story tells me that the children of light should probably borrow some methods from the culture, as well as be willing to take some initiative and dramatic action for the sake of the Kingdom.

Luke 16.1-14
The Parable of the Shrewd Manager
1Jesus told his disciples: "There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. 2So he called him in and asked him, 'What is this I hear about you? Give an account of your management, because you cannot be manager any longer.'
3"The manager said to himself, 'What shall I do now? My master is taking away my job. I'm not strong enough to dig, and I'm ashamed to beg— 4I know what I'll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.'
5"So he called in each one of his master's debtors. He asked the first, 'How much do you owe my master?'
6" 'Eight hundred gallons of olive oil,' he replied. "The manager told him, 'Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it four hundred.'
7"Then he asked the second, 'And how much do you owe?' " 'A thousand bushels of wheat,' he replied. "He told him, 'Take your bill and make it eight hundred.'
8"The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. 9I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.
10"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much. 11So if you have not been trustworthy in handling worldly wealth, who will trust you with true riches? 12And if you have not been trustworthy with someone else's property, who will give you property of your own?
13"No servant can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money."
14The Pharisees, who loved money, heard all this and were sneering at Jesus. 15He said to them, "You are the ones who justify yourselves in the eyes of men, but God knows your hearts. What is highly valued among men is detestable in God's sight.

At Second Sight

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought for 9.28.07
On Friday mornings I usually give you some type of illustrative “just a thought” to get you thinking about the sermon for the coming Sunday. Today, I want to challenge you to think more deeply with me than usual. Hang with me – deep thought may hurt on a Friday but it will give you a new way of thinking about life, faith, and the things that matters most to you.

Take a sip of coffee and read on.

Paul Ricoeur was a French philosopher who combined high-brow philosophy with hermeneutics - a fancy word for “how we interpret meaning from things.” His lifetime of teaching and writing helped a lot of preachers understand how to interpret things to their congregations, especially the Bible. One of his greatest concepts is how we come to accept or reject ideas. If you over simplify his concept, it works like this (advance apologies, Dr. Ricoeur):

1. When we encounter a new thing or idea, we are naïve about it and must work to understand it. Makes sense, ay?
2. Then we think about the idea, we test it against what we already know, against history, science, and so forth. Still making sense?
3. Finally we come to appropriate the idea for ourselves and something happens at the end of that – we come to hold the thing or idea not based on factuality but on its very existence. That state is what Ricoeur calls “second naïveté,” meaning that we accept an idea because it just is.

I thought of “second naïveté” in preparing for this week’s sermon about the tenth leper who returned to thank Jesus for being healed. You’ll find the story starting in Luke 17. 11-19 (copied below). It is a story of healing but, more importantly, it’s a story about seeing. The first sighting in this story is done by Jesus. He sees the lepers – really sees them – and gives them instruction to go to the priests.

Then the second “seeing” occurs: “… and as they went, they were cleansed. One of them, when he saw that he was healed, came back, praising God…”

It’s a story about Jesus seeing the human condition of the lepers and the one leper truly seeing his condition as a healed man and returning to give thanks. I imagine that the leper went through all three of Ricoeur’s stages of appropriation of the idea healing and came back with excitement and gratitude because his healing didn’t need to be proven by history or science or fact. In his mind, the healing just was. The existence of healing was all that mattered and reveling in the fact fashioned him into a remnant of “thanks.”

Oh that we would be that thankful remnant, too.

We have all been “seen” by our God in our human condition. We have also “seen” all that God has done for us. But for “seasoned” Christians it is possible to lose sight of the grace and restoration that has changed us and we do well to go back to that place of “second naïveté” and take a second look at how much we’ve received. That’s where the seed of gratefulness in all of life is planted, tended, and blossoming.

I’ll be preaching a sermon called At Second Sight this Sunday at 9:00 a.m. worship gathering called Jubliate! We’ll gather also at 11:10 a.m. for Overflow where we’ll be wrapping up the sermon series Desperate Sex Lives by talking about marriage and forgiveness. If you’re in Houston this weekend, I hope you’ll join us.

Grace and Peace,
The Tenth Leper Leaping

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly column written by me, Gary Long. I’m the pastor of Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. You can find former editions of this column at http://www.thefellowship.info/resources/for_you/notasermon.icm, that’s the website for the good folk at the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship.

Luke 17.11-19

11Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. 12As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance 13and called out in a loud voice, "Jesus, Master, have pity on us!"
14When he saw them, he said, "Go, show yourselves to the priests." And as they went, they were cleansed.
15One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. 16He threw himself at Jesus' feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.
17Jesus asked, "Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? 18Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?" 19Then he said to him, "Rise and go; your faith has made you well."

The Best Spanish Words

I feel like I should tell you the outcome of an earlier post entitled Lo siento. I followed through on the offering of an apology. And I'm glad I did it.

My wife helped me cobble together a few words of Spanish that I hoped, along with a forlorn look, would convey to some of our subcontractors my heartfelt regrets for blowing my cool last week.

I had been going to the house once or twice a day to check on progress, usually early in the morning on on my lunch break. But after my blow up I didn't go to the new house for two full days while the workers were there because I dreaded seeing those guys. I felt like a third grader on the school bus taking home an "F" on a spelling test. When finally I could put it off no longer, I went to the house and sought them out one by one.

My tongue tangled as I offered the Spanish apology, and my hands were hot with shame as I offered it out for a handshake. All three of the men shook my hand and smiled. One said, "De nada."

I found the last one quietly sanding the base board on the stair well. After my "speech" he said in broken English something to the effect of, "No problem, it happen to all person."

Latching on to his response, I tried to explain that I was tired, I was stressed, and so forth. He smiled and nodded like he understood, but he didn't. It was all lost in translation, but not from English to Spanish. It was lost in the translation from one economic strata to another. It was lost in the translation from my stress about a the color of my floor to his stress about making ends meet. It was lost in translation because there was no real reason for me to behave like a horse's ass.

I knew it was lost in translation so I gave up, and went back to the phrase I'd learned. Lo siento. I am to blame. Mea culpa.

He shrugged and went back to what he knew. "De nada." His eyes and slight smile told me that he got the message, so I quit.

The taste of grace and regret mixed in my mouth on the way home, oddly enough like new paint and the dust of wood being sanded. The words "de nada" are all at once bitter and sweet and they are the best Spanish words I know.

Start Me Up

The day we are born, argues Rob Bell*, we newborns cry because we sense that we are disconnected. We travel through life and discover that we are disconnected in a thousand ways from each other, from God, from ourselves, and from our world.

Is it possible then, that there is a spiritual side of our sexuality that is about reconnecting with our humanity and the humanity of others? Is it possible that the temptation to sex outside of the covenant context is really about our deep spiritual hunger not to be lonely, not to be isolated, not to be disconnected?

If I’m right then it’s easy to see why sex sells so well. It is physically gratifying and has the potential – in the right context – of being spiritually sating. It’s also easy to see why we struggle with addiction to sex and its commercial substitutes like pornography, prostitution, and strip clubs. Ultimately, sexual temptation is the temptation to trade God for a God-substitute. The illusion of intimacy is at once convincing and appealing in a disparate existence.

The haunting Kris Kristofferson tune Help Me Make It Through the Night sums up the longing for connection that I’m talking about:

Take the ribbon from your hair,
Shake it loose and let it fall,
Layin' soft upon my skin.
Like the shadows on the wall.
Come and lay down by my side till the early morning light
All I'm takin' is your time.
Help me make it through the night.
I don't care what's right or wrong,
I wont try to understand.
Let the devil take tomorrow.
Lord, tonight I need a friend.
Yesterday is dead and gone and tomorrow's out of sight.
And it's sad to be alone.
Help me make it through the night.

The challenge for Christians, if we’re honest, is that we want something we can see, taste, or feel and God’s presence in our lives doesn’t always provide that in the way we’d like. Sexual temptation is all around us and to deny we struggle with this is one of the best ways to give such temptation power.

So if you’re in Houston this weekend, join us on Sunday at 11:10 am for worship. I’ll be preaching a sermon entitled Start Me Up and I’ll toss out some ideas for how you and I can deal with our all-too-human sexual temptations. It’s part of a four part series called Desperate Sex Lives and will continue through the end of September.

Directions to my church can be found in the link on the sidebar.

Tempted like you,
Pastor Gary

*Rob Bell is the author of Sex God – Exploring the Endless Connections Between Sexuality and Spirituality. The idea I mention is found in chapter 2, “Sexy on the Inside.”

Lo siento

If you don't want to see the human side of a pastor, stop reading now.

Ok, you've been warned.

So I finished prepping the concrete floors for stain about 2am on Wednesday morning. If you've been keeping up, you'll remember that I was set back on the project because I injured my thumb on Monday and couldn't work with the concrete grinder very well.

On Wednesday at 8am I walked through the house with one of the subcontractors, pointing out to him the freshly prepped areas and stressing the importance of keeing them clean and free of paint, sheetrock mud, debris, and so forth. Apparently some things were lost in translation with my Spanish-speaking friend.

I worked at the church all day Monday and checked in on the house about 5pm. A quick walk-through revealed that the shower pan in the master bath was installed and that tile work was proceeding well. It also revealed that the carefully prepped floor in the master bath had not been so carefully treated - sheetrock mud was splattered everywhere in the room.

And I lost it.

I literally came unglued in an old-style red-neck hissy-fit that would've made the dysfunctional side of my family proud. I did a quick check and could count on one hand all the times I've lost it like this in my entire life. I just don't normally blow it like this.

I cursed. I yelled. I chewed out every worker in the house. Fortunately, none of them spoke enough English to really get what I was saying. They basically got this message: patron es loco.

I was so angry I even through one of my very best UNC hats on the floor. If you know me personally, that should be your biggest sign that there was a huge vergence in the force. Then I stormed out.

I'm going to learn from this, I know it.

First, I know that, in the words of Rob Bell, "This is really about that." "This" was not really about the mess. The mess could be cleaned up easily in a half hour or less. No one had committed an injustice against me, no one was sabatoging me, no one was trying to cause me more work intentionally. I was really angry about the whole process, the delays, the fact that we're in a rental house and have to move twice, and that I can't deliver a sleep-over party promised to the Brother who turns 10 today.

"This" was about "that" and the presenting issue was only a symptom, not the cause.

Second, I know that I have to apologize, probably in Spanish, to the people I blew it with yesterday. I'm dreading it. I woke up this morning nauseated by my memory of the blow up, literally sick to my stomach with remorse and contrition.

As readily as I can own my failure to myself (and ironically on a blog to God-knows-whoever-reader-you-are), I'm having trouble with the fact that I have to go to real people and say I'm sorry. A real apology has to be offered to real people, and I'm saddened at me because I'm discovering that deep down I have a dangerous hubris. I know that a reluctant apology is not truly an apology, so I'm praying that I get my heart behind my practical theology on this one.

Maybe you could pray, if you do such things, that I would do the right thing with the right motivation.

Sweet Dreams and Concrete Machines in Pieces All Around

I've not been posting much lately because the Longs are moving to a new house. We've nearly finished remodeling a large old home in Southwest Houston, but we sold our old house and had to be out the day after Labor Day. Alas, a double-move.

I've done a few small parts of the renovation myself and I'm about to tackle the flooring. Flooring is one of the last things to be done and I'm resurfacing some of the concrete floors in preparation for staining them. So I rented a couple of big concrete grinders, the heaviest of which landed on my right thumb while loading it up yesterday. It made my flesh "flap" and dripped blood steady for the better part of two hours.

Needless to say it still hurts and I didn't get finished with the floors. Hopefully I'll finish tonight!

Thanks for continuing to read this blog. Please be patient, I'll be back in full swing soon.

Reversing Course When You’re Wrong.

Eric Brinker had to reverse course on a major issue last year – snack mix.

He is the director of brand management and customer experience for Jet Blue airline. He had switched the usual snack, Munchie Mix, to a healthier alternative in response to the request of some passengers. Little did he know he would incite a near riot.

Customers complained vociferously, writing things like, “[Munchie Mix] is the only reason I flew Jet Blue!”

So he back-tracked with a “Save the Munchie Mix” campaign that read, “Some pinhead in marketing tried to get rid of the Munchie Mix.”**

Brinker is not the first corporate guy to lead a change that later necessitated a reversal. Remember “New Coke?” Or “Pepsi Clear?”

The granddaddy of product flops was the Edsel. Never heard of the Edsel?

The Edsel was rolled out by Ford as a mid-priced luxury car. For weeks before it hit the market on September 4, 1957, Ford promoted “E-Day” in newspapers, magazines, and all three television channels nationwide. Folk stormed dealerships on E-Day, but rolled right back out as soon as they saw the Edsel.

The reasons for rejection were many. For example, the push buttons for the automatic transmission were placed right in the center of the steering wheel – right where’d you reach to blow the horn. Some said it looked like “a Mercury sucking a lemon.” What’s worse, a lot of the cars were delivered with a list of missing parts taped to the steering wheel. Mix in an economy that was fading into recession and the fact that the Edsel was made for richer times and you can predict what happened even if you weren’t alive then.

Within three years the Edsel limped into the scrap yard on the two wheels of bad design and bad timing.

Bad timing and designs aren’t limited to the business world. Just ask the prophet Jeremiah. He had a front row seat for one of the great “Edsel” moments of Israel’s history. Idolatry and apostasy had diverted Israel away from Yahweh, the covenant, and the law. The people didn’t see that their hopes, ambitions, and dreams had been completely misplaced as they’d whored out their trust in God to other gods “who are not even gods.” Jeremiah urged them to turn back to the ways they knew before it was too late, before their failure became epic in scale.

What are the “Edsel’s” of our own lives? What are the dramatic or not-so-dramatic failues you need to reverse course on and put in the past? I hope you can find ways to lean from your “Edsel’s" and have the courage to make the necessary changes.

This piece was based on Jeremiah 2.4-13.

The "F" Word

The F Word

Amy Biehl would have been forty years old at the end of August. In the early 1990’s she was a student of Stanford University doing Fulbright Scholar work at University of Western Cape Town in South Africa, and as an anti-apartheid activist she met an untimely and grisly death. On August 25, 1993, a mob of angry blacks pelted her car with rocks, someone hit her in the head with a brick and dragged her from the car. She was beaten and stoned and stabbed to death by her attackers as they hurled racial slurs at her.

Her death was common in those dark ages of apartheid, but this story has an incredibly uncommon ending. You see, four men were convicted and condemned to life in prison for their crime. But remarkably, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission recommended their pardon after serving only five years. Even more astounding is that Amy’s parents supported the pardon. Peter, her father, took the stand as a witness at the hearing and said this:

“The most important vehicle of reconciliation is open and honest dialogue...we are here to reconcile a human life which was taken without an opportunity for dialogue. When we are finished with this process we must move forward with linked arms. ”

The courts granted the pardon for all four men. The story doesn’t end there.

Two of the four men are now working for the Amy Biehl Foundation. Easy Nofemela and Ntobeko Peni have dedicated their lives to the work of the foundation – to prevent violence among youth in South Africa. Linda, Amy’s mother, says,

“I have come to believe passionately in restorative justice. It’s what Desmond Tutu calls u-buntu: to choose to forgive rather than demand retribution, a belief that ‘my humanity is inextricably caught up in yours’…I can’t look at myself as a victim – it diminishes me as a person. And Easy and Ntobeko don’t see themselves as killers. They didn’t set out to kill Amy Biehl. But Easy has told me that it’s one thing to reconcile what happened as a political activist, quite another to reconcile it in your heart.”

This is the same hard truth that Jesus taught about forgiveness. He hinted at the wideness of God’s mercy for humans when he said we should be generous in forgiving one another “seven times seventy.” He illustrated uncommon determination to forgive rather than demand retribution when he stood silently before his accusers and later died an innocent death. And in the story of Peter – the disciple who thrice denied Jesus only to be later forgiven and restored – we marvel at how the gospel of grace forever changes the course of a life.

The amazing power of the gospel of grace lies in this one truth: That the reconciliation of all three of these men – Easy, Ntobeko, and Peter – led to them change from within and become champions for the vision of the one they’d betrayed.

So what about you and me? Do we champion the cause of the Christ who has forgiven us much? Are we as quick to forgive others as we should be? Do we see how failing to forgive others diminishes us as a person? And having been reconciled with another, how do we then “move forward with linked arms?”

I think we need to "Drop the F bomb" more often.

The Ever Emergent Church

Some people talk about the movement called “Emergent Church” but I am growing to resent that title a bit. You see, in my way of thinking, the church has always been emergent, being reborn and reshaped to work in the culture thrust upon it since 2000 years ago when Jesus said to Peter, “Upon this rock.”

Emergent means that it is unfolding, being unveiled a little at the time – and that seems to be God’s secret formula. And the real secret in the secret formula is that nobody knows the full story. Only God. Even Jesus said he didn’t know the details about how the kingdom of heaven would finally come about.

What’s true is that we live in between times, and that in between these times the light is shed slowly on the path before us. I'll be "emergent pastor" for a moment and tell a story about what I mean.

Growing up in southeastern North Carolina, I lived across a cornfield from my cousin, Brian. One night I was sent by my father to Brian's house on an errand. I was walking the corn field on a new moon in November with a kerosene lantern (yes, I really had a lantern for camping, and besides, what 10 year old boy doesn't like to play with fire and fuel?).

It was a completely dark night, the clouds snuffing out all the stars. For you city folk who have never seen full darkness, you need to know that a cloudy night on a new moon is so dark that you can't see your hand in front of your face. Friends, it's so dark you couldn't scratch your...ok, that's a little too genuine for this blog. The point is that was terrifyingly dark.

That walk was scary, I tell you. There was no beam of a flash light to shine way out ahead, only the radiant glow of the lantern that would iluminate about four feet in front of me and that was all. Slowly the path opened up for me, but only as I moved forward. I imagine today what I looked like that night from my cousin's porch, a soft circle of emergent light, slow and steady moving forward to light my little corn field world.

That seems to me to be the way the church moves through time. A journey that is in some generations sometimes plodding and plotting; in other generations it is erratic and radical reform. Nadirs and wagon ruts, she still moves forward, emerging, emergent. There has never been a time when the church wasn't "emergent."

So, to my friends and colleagues who are on the razor sharp front of "where" the church is headed next, please redefine things carefully and choose your terms and labels with equal caution. The church as "emergent" is not new, she is doing as she always has.

All that Junk in my Trunk

I have to rant. I seldom do this, so grant me this one moment.

I publicly criticize stores like Lifeway because they market so many Christian trinkets. I thought/hoped that some of the postmodern/emergent Christians might be feeling the same way, sick and tired of the crap that marketers try to pawn off on us in the name of Jesus.

Check that ideal at the door, though. I just leafed through the latest issue of Relevant magazine, a publication I’ve enjoyed in times past. Maybe the magazine has always been like this, but for some reason this week it really struck me how commercial and “hip” the Christian faith is presented on those glossy full-bleed pages.

The issue is more ads than content and the content that’s there is poor. Most of the writing is so overwrought as to be exhausting and the 20-something expression of Christianity on the pieces seems a lot of fluff, not to mention more than a little pretentious – and a little bit of that goes a long way. Even the interview with Anne Lamott was disappointing (sorry, Anne, love your books – love it, love it, love it – but you came off flip and scattered).

And then there are the products being advertised. The message on the products is anti-consumerism, pro-orphans, live like Jesus, and so forth. All good ideas, but still I’m being asked to buy CD’s, t-shirts, attend music festivals, and buy Christian-designed art and blue jeans. The product and advertising contradict the message. Someone is profiting from competing interests and the suffering of orphans ought not be putting funds in somebody’s pocket.

I believe in Christianity being relevant. Connecting Christ to culture is good. Helping Christians see Christ in culture is great. No problem there at all, but it seems to me that Relevant has missed the point that relevance is not a tool, a raison d’etre, or a goal. Sorry to the gang at Relevant, I don’t see any difference between you and your publishing predecessors from modernity.

In all fairness to the gang there, there may not be a postmodern philosophy in your goal to be relevant, so I tread carefully in my waters of assumption. Plainly, there is no deconstruction of faith, just a slick new way of pushing the same products as those who brought us CCM and all that Jesus junk.

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk down in my trunk?

See, I’m relevant.

The batter swings and the summer flies

– from the pop song The Riddle

Sports enthusiasts are mourning the tragic deaths of two coaches. Thirty-five year old Mike Coolbaugh died after being struck in the neck by a foul ball while coaching first base for the Tulsa Driller’s, a minor league baseball team. Skip Prosser, the 56 year old head coach of the Wake Forest University men’s basketball team died in his office yesterday, apparently of a heart attack.

I don’t want to offer commentary on the safety of baseball or the stress of a division I NCAA coaching job. Plenty of pundits will do that. Today I am simply reflecting on things in light of my faith.

First, both of these guys were doing something they loved. Coolbaugh floated around the minors for a decade and only played 37 games in the “big show” of Major League Baseball. When he died he was a hitting coach for a minor league team in Oklahoma, and while I’m no expert on coaches’ paychecks, I have a sneaking suspicion that he was not in the same pay grade as Barry Bonds and the boys. Yet there he was, his last day of life on earth – doing what he loved. The same is true for Skip Prosser, he died doing what he loved.

Second, we know what they loved doing. We are clear on their priorities in life. One of Prosser’s players was quoted saying, “It's tough for me right now. I can't explain it. Here today, gone tomorrow. The one thing about Coach Prosser is that he cared about his players — and would do anything for us." Similar quotes abound for Coolbaugh. These guys loved the game and saw coaching as a way of pouring themselves into others’ lives.

Third, we know that time that matters is in short supply. It’s an unpleasant reality, but death is inevitable. How will I prioritize and spend my one and only life?

It reminds me of the story about the rich young man who came to Jesus asking, “What good thing must I do to inherit eternal life?” Stay with me and you’ll see why.

A conversation ensued about following the commandments wherein the young man claimed he kept all the important ones. So then Jesus said he should go and sell all his possessions and give to the poor, and then spend his time following Jesus. You might guess that the young man walked away saddened because he didn’t want to give up his great wealth.

Some interpret this as a story about money and possessions. I read it beside these coaches’ deaths as a story about priorities. Jesus was asking the rich young ruler to make following him the top priority in his life – beyond his wealth and beyond the commandments of Judaism.

First

Numero uno

The “main thing”

I don’t know if Prosser or Coolbaugh were men of faith but I do know what their priorities were. The haunting question for this pilgrim is, “If I died today, would people know clearly what my life priorities were?” Will they know that I tried hard to follow Jesus, love my family, and serve the world?

Sudden deaths, as well as encounters with Jesus can:

• bring our priorities into focus,
• help us admit that we do have a list of priorities, and
• confess that sometimes those priorities get out of whack.
  

We’ll talk more about life priorities by looking at this rich young ruler in worship on Sunday at Willow Meadows Baptist Church. If you are in town please make worship attendance a priority in your life and join us at 9am or 11:10am.

See you Sunday,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly email from me, Gary Long. I’m the pastor at Willow Meadows Baptist Church, on the web at www.wmbc.org.


Matthew 19.16-30 New International Version

The Rich Young Man
16Now a man came up to Jesus and asked, "Teacher, what good thing must I do to get eternal life?"

17"Why do you ask me about what is good?" Jesus replied. "There is only One who is good. If you want to enter life, obey the commandments."

18"Which ones?" the man inquired.

Jesus replied, " 'Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, 19honor your father and mother,'[d] and 'love your neighbor as yourself.'[e]"

20"All these I have kept," the young man said. "What do I still lack?"

21Jesus answered, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."

22When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth.

23Then Jesus said to his disciples, "I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. 24Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."

25When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, "Who then can be saved?"

26Jesus looked at them and said, "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible."

27Peter answered him, "We have left everything to follow you! What then will there be for us?"

28Jesus said to them, "I tell you the truth, at the renewal of all things, when the Son of Man sits on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 29And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother[f] or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life. 30But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.

The Best Day of My Whole Life

At Ocean Isle Beach, NC the week of July 4th my father and I rolled out his old fishing boat. It's about 13 feet long and has been in the family since I was a teenager. That makes it, ummm, something more than 20 years old.

It has a smoking motor, a crack in the inside hull lining, and a plywood motor-mount. She's a good little craft with "men" and "ladies" stickers on either side of the stern, but honestly she's seen better days.

But with The Younger Sister and the Brother on board, you would have thought we were on the QE II. They loved the boat ride down the intracosatal waterway and they didn't even notice the big luxury fishing and ski boats flying by and leaving us bobbing in their wake.

Kids are that way.

They don't seem concerned with the things upon which we grown ups fixate. A simple boat, a beautiful sunny day, people you love, and the salt and sand there for the enjoyment. It was all about the thrill of being on the water with their dad and their "pa" and the possibility of catching fish for dinner.

It was in the midst of learning how to cast her rod that the Younger Sister taught me a thing or two about life. She looked up at me with those big browns and said, "Dad, this is the best day of my whole life."

We didn't catch any fish big enough for dinner, but I got the message from God. For one moment in time I was without doubt that I have netted the best catch in life in that one moment, brilliant and shining and radiant.

I believe and pray that all three of my kids will have more "best day of my whole life" type days, but I sure hope the Youngest Sister always remembers this one. I know I will.

Preaching Gig

I'm preaching at a cool church on Sunday night. My church will worship with City of Refuge, pastored by my friend Rev. Rufus Smith. Hope you'll investigate this innovative multi-cultural church at www.cityofrefuge.org. We'll gather at 6pm, if you're in Houston, please join us!

You Say It Yahweh, I'll Say it Mine

I'm stunned. I just got the news that Doug Marlette, the creator of Kudzu was killed in a car wreck yesterday while on his way to help out with a high school production of a musical based on his cartoon strip.

Marlette's cartoons were brilliant. They were warm with humor and affection for human life and they were seasoned with his genious satire. The affable "Reverend Will B. Dunn" tried his best to show us the higher road, but didn't always pull it off too well - an accurate depiction of the church.

I've been a fan of the cartoon for ages, and about two years ago my dad gave me an autographed copy of his novel The Bridge. That novel meant a great deal to me, not just because it was a gift from my dad, but because I identified deeply with the character's chase for family history. I particularly liked the way Marlette painted the South in his cartoons and his books. It was pointed and sometimes painful, but it was also true and beautiful at the same time.

My favorite strip was a Sunday edition where Rev. Will B. Dunn (allegedly based on Will Campbell and James Dunn) was preaching and naming the names of God according to the great theologians:

Mysterium Tremendum
"Unmoved Mover"
"Ground of all Being"

and then his closing line, "But you say it Yahweh, and I'll say it mine."

May God rest your satirical soul, Doug. You said it your way.

The Poison is Working

My friend Tommy says that coming back to work after a good vacation is like taking a poison back into your body. Your body fights it, but it's too strong - eventually you succumb and the poison takes over until you're numb and go mindless back to the work at hand.

Today, the poison is working. Back to the grind.

Everybody's Got a Hungry Heart

Written July 4, 2007

I was alone watching the charcoal burn down enough to grill the steaks here on vacation last night. I watched a kid of probably 13 or 14 ride his bike around the circle of beach houses something like 12 times in a 6 minute period. He scanned all the houses, watching the various people and he looked lonesome. What was he looking for? Company? Friendship? Someone to ride along? Someone to stop and talk to?

I've seen the same kid several times already this week doing the same thing. Lonesome and restless he was looking for someone to hang out with, something new, something exciting, so he pedaled on. Everybody’s like that in some way, especially the restless ones – always looking for the next thing, the next friendship, the next thing to conquer, the next possession to obtain.

There’s little contentedness in life for a restless person, and this kid’s got it bad. Riding that bike around the circle of beach houses, he looked like some adults I’ve seen going around the big circle. Always pedaling harder and harder – if they just go around the circle one more time they’ll find something new, something exciting, something to satisfy that hungry heart.

Only thing is, kid, that’s an illusion. What little satisfaction for the hungry heart exists is elusive, so you just keep riding around the circle until you realize it’s not on this block. So you move on to the next circle of little houses. And when you conquer that one you realize there’s no satisfaction there, so you move on to the next one. You find bigger circles to pedal around madly until, if you're lucky, you realize that no loop is going to satisfy the hunger.

You might expect the preacher to talk about the satisfaction that God brings. You might expect me to talk about the “peace that surpasses all understanding.” You might expect me to quote Augustine with, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in thee.”

But not today. Today I’m content to sing along with Bruce and just be a hungry heart with that kid.

Lay down your money and you play your part, everybody’s got a hungry heart.

This past Sunday at Willow Meadows Baptist Church we had a great preacher, Brent Walker, from the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty (BJC). If you were there, you know how well Brent helped us see the tensions of piety and patriotism in America today as well as the importance of religious liberty.

I have long believed that religious liberty is the first and greatest freedom we Americans have and because of that belief, I have been a long time supporter of the Baptist Joint Committee – an organization that works hard on behalf of Baptists around the world to defend and preserve our religious freedoms.

So here is the request: Please make a pledge to the BJC this week.

Here’s why it’s important to do it this week. On Friday, June 29, Babs Baugh of Texas announced a $500,000 gift to the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty. Why? To help build a Center for Religious Liberty in Washington, D. C., a critical project launched by the BJC. Then, Babs announced another piece of stellar news: The Baugh Family will match every dollar pledged or given to the BJC for the Center by July 15.

Today is July 10. You and I have only 5 days to double our money for religious liberty! A simple twenty five dollars becomes fifty, and a million dollars pledged becomes two million!

The cause is not just for Baptists – it is for anyone who believes that religious liberty is precious and would like to see it preserved. You who know me and my preaching know that I seldom ask for money unless I think it’s important. This cause is definitely important. Do it for your children and grandchildren so that may also worship freely in this great nation.

Contact Brent Walker today, and give him your pledge amount. His phone number is 202.544.4226. His email is bwalker@bjconline.org. You can also contact me, if you have any questions or would feel more comfortable in discussing the matter with me personally at glong@wmbc.org or 713723-2870.

Ahhh, the salt breeze

The Longs have just finished up a week of travel from Houston to Atlanta to Southern Virginia to Northern Virginia to Washington, DC to Ocean Isle Beach, NC. We've visited two church families we've served before WMBC and I attended the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship annual gathering.

Lot's has happened, so I'll be posting much in the next week. For now we are all glad to just "be" on vacation.

Tomorrow is my first shabbot in a long while, so I'm planning to worship in the Big Room with the sand between my toes while the surf teases and "ebbs" me on. I come to the sea needy in my soul and empty in my imaginative resevoirs. Thus, Psalm 69:

33 The LORD hears the needy
and does not despise his captive people.

34 Let heaven and earth praise him,
the seas and all that move in them.

See you around the dunes.

Get Home Soon, Daddy

It's Father's Day this weekend, a time to celebrate dads and their dadliness. For some it's not so great - either dad was absent or dead or worse. For this dad it is a time to realize how much I need to improve in my dad-hood, and frankly it seems to be getting harder and harder each year.

I found this poem in an old email, I think my friend Marvin Hines sent it to me. I wanted to use it for a meditation in the worship guide this Sunday but our worship pastor ixnayed it. She thought it was a little too depressing. I find it convicting and compelling. Hopeful, in a weird way.

By Reid Bush, from What You Know. Sorry, Reid, I didn't get permission to publish this, but maybe it'll a) Help a dad to wake up or b) Help you sell a book.

Where are MenWhen they're Not at Home?

Different places.

Some are out at the barn checking on the mare that's about to foal. I know, not many now. A few.

Some are running down to the corner store to pick up something they forgot. Be right back.

Some are in offices practicing pitches. Spiels.

Some are phoning from offices—saying they'll be late.

Of course, many are dead. You suddenly think about them because you're back where you haven't been in 20 yearsand go to look them up.
But they're not there.
Just some widows.

But most are way off somewhere searching for fathers who were never home enough.

Who's the Prodigal?

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought

When the Rolling Stones recorded Prodigal Son in 1969, the tune and lyrics were already at least 39 years old. And when Robert Wilkins – blues singer cum preacher – wrote that same song as That’s No Way to Get Along in 1928, the story line of the human condition was already at least two thousand years old.

Jesus told the story of a son who got his piece of the inheritance early and squandered it, only to return home to find his father waiting to restore him fully into the family. We resonate with this well-worn story because it resonates with our experience. It’s all there: teenage rebellion, alienation from family, experimenting with different lifestyles, the fallout of reckless living, the fond recollection of home, the self-awareness of adulthood, and the joy of homecoming. The Prodigal Son is a beloved parable and it is truly timeless.

But the name is all wrong!

Check me on this, but I can’t find the word “prodigal” anywhere in the Bible! Now I’m no etymologist, but if I’ve got the word right, it means “extravagant or lavish” more than it means “wasteful.” So if we’re going to call anyone in this story a “prodigal,” shouldn't it be the father who dons that title? The father’s kiss was a sign of reconciliation, the new shoes as a sign of freedom, and the ring a sign of authority. The father’s feast was a sign of joy, the best robe a sign of honor. It was the father who played the prodigal.

This Sunday is Father’s Day, a good chance for us to remember this story and look for some practical ways we can “prodigally” love our children. I’ve thought of at least five ways to do that, can you come up with some of your own? I’ll share them with you as we wrap up our series Wireless Families – Doing Family God’s Way in a World that Pulls Us Apart. The sermon is entitled Wireless Prodigals and is based on Luke 15-11-32.

With Extravagance,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly e-column I produce for my church family and others who are interested. I’m the pastor at Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. You can learn more about the church at http://www.wmbc.org/. You can subscribe to recieve this email directly at glong@wmbc.org.

Presidents - Real and Pretend

Our church teamed up with Westbury United Methodist Church to put on a wonderful concert Sunday night. Traci and I took the three kids and sat about halfway back so the younger two wouldn’t be a distraction to others.

Since the younger sister is taking violin lessons in the Suzuki tradition, she was especially attentive as the strings warmed and tuned to the pipe organ. Soon enough, the first conductor, a friend of mine named Randy Zercher, came out to introduce and direct a Schubert mass.

He came out in his tuxedo and as he expertly explained the importance of the piece we were about to hear, the Younger Sister grabs me by the arm to pull my ear down to her whispering mouth. She asked, “Is that man a president?”

I breathed my answer back in her ear, “Nope, he’s the conductor. All the musicians dress special to let us know how important the music is.”

“Oh.” She whispered. Her brown eyes turned back to him there on the stage and she pondered it a moment or two. Then, no longer whispering she asked, “Are president’s real?” She said it the same way a kid asks you, "Are dragons real? Are monsters real? Is the Easter Bunny real?"

“Yes,” I whispered back. “President’s are real.”

That’s the right answer for a six year old girl who doesn’t yet need to worry about the things I worry about. But the real answer is, “Yes, some of them are real, my child. And some you wish were only a nightmare that ends at daybreak.”

The God of Evolution

The Creationists are at it again. In a news story I recently learned about a museum in Kentucky that has dioramas with Adam and Eve alongside dinosaurs "cavorting" together. In terms of exhibits, this is a pretty good one. I mean the photos just smack of realism.

The Creation Museum in Petersburg, KY is set to open next week. The museum has a theological agenda of teaching that the earth is about 6,000 years old and that dinosaurs roamed the lands at the same time as Adam and Eve. It's a jab at evolution, and it's a really good art instalation, but I still don't get it. What's the problem with believing in both the idea that God created the world we know (and a few we don't) and in the idea of natural selection/evolution as outlined by Darwin et al?

I grew up in the household of a father who was both farmer and chemist. Faith and science blended nicely before my eyes. I learned on the farm that a faithful planting, fertilizing, and watering mingled with a mysterious germination and miraculous growth to yield a fruit. The process called for something from both God and farmer.

But I also saw a scientific side to it, and never once saw a disconnect between The Farmer's Almanac with it's pithy and sometimes Biblical quotes and the Chemical Engineering News that graced our mailbox each month. There was God-mystery in both, and I discovered at an early age that God was a genetic engineer who used amazing processes to bring about the world as we know it and that those holy processes line up with the knowledge that scientific pursuit yields.

Leafing through the pages of my father's technical journals I didn't always understand the world but I never felt threatened. Similarly, my small hands would dig tunnesl in the dirt rows of the corn and soybean fields and knew that the earth was a precious and holy thing. Though I didn't understand why I perceived it as holy, I never felt threatened by it. So why do we Christians get wrapped around an axle by scientific theory?

I believe both ideas - that God made us and that evolution is accurate scientific theory. Some of my more conservative Christian brothers and sisters disagree and try to claim a place of primacy in the created order that we humans do not rightly deserve. I think they have a real problem not being the center of the universe, but if the Christian theology that so many rabid Christians espouse is true then it is God that is the center of the universe, not us. We are, in keeping with the imagery of Scripture, nothing more than clay in the hand of the Creator, and if the Creator chose to arrive at my bodily expression by way of clay-mation and evolution, then so be it. What's the conflict?

What Kind of Death Are You Choosing?

This work week has been book ended by two different kinds of funerals.

The first, on Monday, was your basic "most dreaded" scenario for a minister. Part of the reason it's "most dreaded" is that I didn't know the man all that well. I've been pastor at his church for five years, but he's been bed-ridden for all of that time, refusing visits from me or our deacons who take communion to our homebound church family. That made it difficult to eulogize him gracefully or accurately.

The other part of it is that not many others knew him, either. Aside from his wife and two adult children, there were a total of 8 people at the funeral, counting me and the pianist. It was truly heart breaking for me to watch this widow grieve virtually alone. Perhaps he just outlived all his friends who might have come to his funeral. I don't think that's the case, though. The surviving family seemed so oddly out of synch in how they communicated with others that I suspected their eccentricity explained a little about why the chapel echoed when I spoke. I and they moved stiffly through the liturgy, we each speaking holy words of care and consolation ringing hollow in a relational vacuum. It was empty.

The second funeral was different. Not just because the main sanctuary was respectably full. Not just because I knew this woman more personally. Something was different, and I'm not able to put a finger on it. The liturgy lived, the holy words of care and consolation were spoken from a relational context, and those same words fell on ears that knew them to be true - not because they were spoken more eloquently or passionately, but because they were drawn from the same deep well common amongst our congregation.

Neither of these people chose their death, rather their type of death chose them. The man in the Monday funeral died in his sleep of old age, "not with a bang but a whimper." The woman in the Friday funeral died after a hard fought three year struggle with cancer. But whether they went gently into that good night or whether death was fought - well - to the death, the result is the same and neither of them could stop death's advent.

But more of us choose how we'll leave this life than you'd think. All of us want to end on a high note, a blaze of glory, or as a widely watched "season finale." My father says he wants to die at age 93 having been shot by a jealous husband. I suppose that's not a bad way to go. But most of us choose the death of a thousand cuts, making small decisions, taking tiny actions that lead us up to and over the brink of oblivion.

So this lonely afternoon in my study, I turned aside from preparing a sermon for the weekend to ponder - "What death am I choosing?" Is it bold and faithful? Or is it slow and timid? Or more importantly, what life am I choosing? Am I squandering precious moments and experiences, stuck in self-absorption, arrogance, and jealousy? Or am I choosing a life that means something, gives something, leaves something worthy behind?

Falwell's Farewell

I'm probably going to get criticized, but I have to say this. I think it's a good thing for the Christians in the United States that Jerry Falwell has gone on to the next thing for him. While I'm positive that many Christians were aided by his brand of religion, I'm also confident that many non-Christians were driven away from the faith because of his divisive, insipid, and frequently ungraceful commentary.

There was something about his career of mixing politics and religion that created a noxious aphrodisiac of power and contributed to an overall loss of gentility in public discourse in our country. Forget his offensive conservatism. Forget his embarrassing abuse of the Scriptures I consider sacred. Forget the whole idea that his spiritual heritage as a Baptist includes countless men and women who have died for the separation of church and state that he tried to destroy. Forget the hatred he promoted toward gays and lesbians. The bottom line is that his public persona had a swagger of arrogance completely contrary to the humility that I find in Jesus. He fanned flames of hate-mongering and tacitly approved the abuse of humans in the name of Christianity.

I know what many of his supporters will say - look at all the good he did. But good at what cost? Isn't there a point in time at which we have to ask if the hatred he incited was an offense to the Gospel? Isn't there a sense in which his attempts at a prophetic word were an abuse of his ordination?

I never met Dr. Falwell personally, but I did live in his shadow. My first pastorate was in Skipwith, Virginia. It's about 90 miles or so from Lynchburg. The name of my church was Liberty Baptist Church, and folk often confused my church for his. I guess they thought that since he was president of the university that his church would be Liberty Baptist.

About three times a year I would receive mail addressed to my church intended for Thomas Road Baptist Church. The letters always contained money, usually a pretty good sum of it. One of the checks I remember in particular was for $1,000.00 and the "For" line on the check said something like this: "Political action fund against gays."

I wanted to shred it up, but I did the right thing. I properly forwarded it on to the Thomas Road Baptist Church, assuming they would know which designated church fund for which that was intended.

I haven't thought about that misdirected mail in years. But today I am thinking about it and wishing the people of this world - especially the Christians in our world - were a lot less hate-filled. I don't know your religious views on the gay question, and I'm not sure I'd want to know, anyway. But I do know that what Anne Lamott once wrote is true:

You can safely assume you've created God in your own image when it turns out he hates all the same people you do.

I don’t know the private Jerry Falwell, I’m sure like all leaders of mass movements he would be charming and disarming in an intimate conversation. But I do know the public Fallwell, and he was not a gentleman. He did not display the grace of God very well.

Bonoprah

Bono and Oprah are two of the most powerful figures in the entertainment business. So naturally, it caught everyone’s attention when they “went red.” They are two key celebrities affiliated with the RED campaign, an idea to brand products and give proceeds from the sales to fight diseases – specifically HIV-AIDS - in third world nations. On the surface it seems like a good idea to “do the Red thing,” but I have my questions.

Bono explained the campaign this way, “Some people won’t put on marching boots, so we’ve got to get people where they are at, and they’re in the shopping malls. Now you’re buying jeans and T-shirts, and you’re paying for 10 women in Africa to get medication for their children with HIV” (quoted in Relevant Magazine, May/June, 2007).

My concerns are several-fold. First, I believe I can make a pretty good Biblical case that buying more “stuff” isn’t good for a nation of people who already live in a culture of excess. Then there’s the whole false sense of having done good. Have I really done something special by buying a “RED” iPod rather than the white one? And lest we miss this little ethical quandary, there’s the mix of consumer frenzy, corporate profit, and fund raising. Aren’t the big corporations just riding a “feel good for buying” wave to sell more of their stuff and increase their bottom lines?

As people who allegedly build our lives based on Biblical principles, we Christians are called to care for the world by taking up a cross like Jesus, not by taking up our shopping bags. I was troubled by this same issue when President Bush told us the very best thing we could do for our nation in the wake of 9/11/2001 was to continue spending. Even in the church, this is present. The issue is similar, yet even more theologically complicated in the church by “Prosperity Gospel” preachers of the cable-TV ilk and the mega-church on the corner that has turned our faith into one more consumer choice to make.

Commitment to following Christ is something more than our consumer choices. Following Jesus has to be something more than the “hip” church we choose, or how our T-shirt touts our cause in some chic/pop/relevant way. Commitment to Christ must mean something more than just the things we choose to buy, wear, eat, or drink. It must be more than all those things and yet include every one of those things.

In Matthew 10.32-42 Jesus talks about commitment to his cause. He gives startling and difficult words, saying, “Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.” In other words, commitment to Christ supersedes all things. He follows on by saying, “…anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”

Matthew 10.32-42
32"Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before my Father in heaven. 33But whoever disowns me before men, I will disown him before my Father in heaven.
34"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. 35For I have come to turn
'a man against his father,
a daughter against her mother,
a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—
36a man's enemies will be the members of his own household.’

37"Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; 38and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. 39Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

40"He who receives you receives me, and he who receives me receives the one who sent me. 41Anyone who receives a prophet because he is a prophet will receive a prophet's reward, and anyone who receives a righteous man because he is a righteous man will receive a righteous man's reward. 42And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward."

My Theme Song

I've been to quite a few Astro's games over my five years in Houston. One of my favorite parts is when an Astro's batter comes up to the plate his favorite song is played to "juice" him up to hit. I spend too much time wondering how these hitters chose these songs, especially since it's not appearing to help them this season.

I've decided that it would be good liturgy to have the same thing happen when someone steps up to lead in worship. For example, the scripture reader for the day could have their favorite song played as they walk up to the pulpit. Imagine hearing Blondie's Rapture just before a reading from Revelation or Daniel. Or how about Money from Pink Floyd while the offering is collected? And for the deacon who prays that day, how about Me and Missus Jones? Even the pastor who stands up to preach can pick his or her favorite song.

I'm searching for my favorite song. Could you, my dear readers who NEVER leave comments, take a moment to pick a song that you think might be an appropriate segue into the sermon? Currently I've got Sexy Back on the top of my list, but I'm open.

And all the while the clock is ticking

A few Friday's ago I borrowed a classic drop-top from my friend Rusty. I could write bunches about that friendship, but that's for another post, probably to be published posthumously. Nonetheless, the occasion was the Belle Ball for the Older Sister. She had a dress, a date, and a corsage.

And I had the keys to a '77 Caddy Cabrio.

I drove the Older Sister and her boyfriend, along with another couple, down to the Aquarium restaurant for the dinner and dance. We met up on the front step of her boyfriend's Bellaire mini-mansion, and we went through all the rituals of picture taking in various poses and pairings. But of all the photos, this is my favorite. It just captures the whole "moment" for me. The dress, the corsage, the Caddy.

She's almost 16.

We went to the Department of Public Safety yesterday to get her Instructional Driving Permit so I can teach her how to drive. We have to go back on Friday because she didn't have all the documentation to prove she is who she says she is.

She was bummed, justifiably so, but she didn't read the fine print about what she was supposed to bring to DPS, so it was only right she has to go back. She was so bummed out that she actually let me hold her hand across the armrest on the way home, just like when she was a little girl. I kissed her hand and told her I was truly sorry. It was just a little lie.

Like any parent, I'd like to protect my kids from disappointment, but a part of me was glad she couldn't get the permit. Not because I'm vindictive or cruel, no. But because it makes it three more days before she can get her license to drive alone, three more days that she'll depend on me for something. Three more days that I can hold on to the idea that I'm younger than I really am, three more days I can sleep at night without worrying what time she'll get in, three more days I'll have some say over where she goes and with whom.

And yet. And yet I am eager for her to grow and thrive and change and mature and become independent. It's the horrible beautiful fine line of parenting that, when walked, strikes the balance between freedom and boundaries, sailing the open seas and staying near familiar shores. It makes me pray for my kids, and all the parents I know who are doing their dead-level best to make the most of every teachable moment in the hopes that our kids won't repeat our mistakes, will build on what we give them, and learn that the ever-present clock is all the while ticking.

At the Impulse of Thy Love

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought, April 20, 2007

In the movie Napoleon Dynamite, Pedro, a high school kid, is running for class president. In his election speech he promises, “If you vote for me, all your wildest dreams will come true.”

It’s a funny line because of the absurdity of the promise, and it’s not too far off from what some religious leaders will tell you in order to raise funds. I know of preachers who have actually said or written things like:

“If you give money to the church all your financial problems will disappear.”
“If you tithe to the church, God will bless you.”
“God won’t bless you if you don’t bless God.”

It’s the same thing as Pedro’s impossible promise. I’m not saying that God won’t bless you if you give. What I am saying is that too many preacher-types have manipulated too many faithful people with empty promises. “Give so you will get.”

I believe that every Christian should financially support their church, but not because you’ve been beaten over the head with the Bible, the church budget, or the pleadings of a poor preacher. There are preachers who guilt you into giving money to your church. I’m not one of them. I’ll leave guilt up to you and the Holy Spirit. The bottom line for me is that if “God loves a cheerful giver” then you shouldn’t be manipulated into stroking a check for the church. Nor should you be tricked into giving so you will “get back” from God. You should give generously because you believe in the work of your church. You should give out of a realization of what God has done for you. In short, God gave, we give in return.

Frances Havergal had the same idea in mind when she wrote the great hymn Take My Life, and Let it Be Consecrated. One line reads:

Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of thy love.

God made every resource that the planet earth has to offer, including that twenty in your wallet and the direct deposit your employer just dropped in your checking account. God has done some pretty cool things for you, including breathing life into you and sustaining you to this point. So when this preacher encourages you to give generously, either to my church or the church of your choosing, it’s because I want you to do it at the impulse of God’s love, not because of obligation or guilt or false hope.

That’s the sermon idea for this Sunday at Willow Meadows Baptist Church. I’ll be preaching a sermon entitled At the Impulse of Thy Love based on John 3.16-21. It is the beginning of a three part series about your finances, the church finances, and how the two should meet. We’ll also be praying for the families connected to the Virginia Tech tragedy and remembering those students. Join us, if you’re in Houston, at either 9am or 11:10am.

Impulsively,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly e-column written by me, Gary Long. You can subscribe by emailing me at glong@wmbc.org.

John 3.16-21 – NIV
16"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. 17For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. 18Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God's one and only Son.19This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. 20Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. 21But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God."

A Hokie Prayer

To our friends in Virginia and those connected to the Virginia Tech tragedy: the Long family mourns with you and prays for you. I have no words and even if I did they would not be adequate.

Sleep Sweetly, My Children

So we're prepping dinner tonight and the whole family is gathered. It's a sweet time of the day in our house when the work is done for the day and we're all just happy to "be." Traci is dishing up some beautiful tortellini and I'm slicing fresh bread while the kids are munching on a salad.

The Youngest Sister randomly pops out with, "I know why you and Mom can watch grown up movies."

We're on the edge of insight here, I just know it.

"Why is that?" I inquire.

"Because you two sleep together and don't get scared," she replied.

"Why do you say that?" I pried.

"Because when I'm scared I get in your bed and after a while I'm not scared anymore because we cuddle," she said, big brown eyes dancing and delightful.

"Yeah, I used to come in your room when I had bad dreams and lay with you a while," added the Brother. "That made it better."

Good advice. Maybe the best we can do, even as adults, is to cuddle up with someone when we're scared.

Today I almost wrecked Dora the Explorer when a rear tire blew out on the Gulf Freeway, just outside the I-610 loop. I was moving along at 70 mph, in the middle of heavy traffic when I felt the rear end start coming around on me. For some unknown reason I did what they said to do way back in Driver's Ed. I steered into the skid and only when I regained control did I slowly hit the brakes. The other drivers must have seen the swerve and the ensuing smoke because they gave me room and I managed my way across three lanes to get to the shoulder.

I came to a stop, got out, and in a cloud of tire smoke I assessed the damage. Quickly, I began the tire-changing process, with a portion of my SUV's rear end sticking out into the passing lane of the freeway. I was sweaty scared.

Traffic was swerving around me, horns were blaring, and I knew I was in trouble. I'd hardly pulled out the jack and begun to lower the spare when I heard a revving Harley behind me and looked back to see an HPD mounted cop. He was soon joined by a Motor Assistance Patrol and we were shielded from the traffic while I went about my fearful chore with a little more calm than before.

I hurried along competently, but I certainly didn't earn a spot on a NASCAR pit crew. Finally done, I trotted down the shoulder to the HPD officer, eager to thank him for getting there very quickly. I began to speak but he cut me off, "Let's move on before we both get hit."

His eyes betrayed him. They said: This is dangerous. Let's get out of here. If I'd known how scared that policeman was, I'd have been more scared.

One day I'll tell the Sisters and the Brother how scared I really was, but for a while, it's probably best that they don't know. In this season of life they need someone around them who doesn't seem scared. Someone who can blanket them strongly and take away the fear. Someone in the night-land they can go to when the dreams are as dark as a new moon.

You know, someone they can cuddle with.

Sleep sweetly my children, while you can, for I'm afraid that someday you will understand my words.

T.G.I.M.

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought, April 13, 2007

The call to be a professional minister has sometimes been a struggle for me because I enjoy being an entrepreneurial businessman. I had a lemonade stand as a kid, and sold greeting cards door to door beginning in the third grade. I have moved in and out of the church and business worlds having owned a restaurant/coffee shop and a landscaping business. These experiences have formed my theological conviction that ministry does not happen exclusively inside the walls of a church building.

For example, when I owned the restaurant I found that I did far more pastoral care for my “regulars” than I did as a pastor. I learned that a short exchange over the counter with a regular customer provided me an excellent opportunity to bring a word of grace or to help someone going through a hard time by reminding them, “God is on your side.” I learned that I could do more to influence public policy in my small town as a business owner than as a pastor. I learned that providing a place of social interaction for teens was not only good for business, it was good for their safety and development. It was wild and liberating to do ministry in Jesus’ name and in my own way, free of the traditional boundaries the church naturally makes between herself and the culture.

Now I’m a pastor and most of my work is tame by comparison. I deal mostly with people who are already Christian and I try to equip them for doing ministry outside the church. Some days I feel like a caged tiger, antsy to be earning my bread in ways that allow me more interaction with people who are outside the influence of a local church. At times I am jealous of you who don’t get paid to do ministry, but do it anyway. There are things you can do that I can’t do as a pastor. As a part of your daily living and daily job, you stretch calling to mean more by taking your faith into the public forum.

Maybe you’re stuck in a dead-end job, or maybe you’re just frustrated by the system. Maybe your career is great and your future’s so bright you have to wear shades. I want you to know that God can use you in all those situations, so see where God is working and see your work as a way of joining God’s work. All around you are people who are knee deep in a river and yet dying of thirst. You can help people to find the true water for which they thirst by being Christ’s presence and by being attentive to God’s leading. When you see work through those lenses the mantra becomes T.G.I.M. “Thank God It’s Monday!”

T.G.I.M is the title of the sermon this Sunday and it’s about finding God’s calling out of the sanctuary and into the work place. It’s based on scripture from I Peter 3.13-22, with a special focus on the sentence, “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you the reason for the hope you have.” I hope you’ll take a Sabbath rest this Sunday and worship God with the local church of your choice. If you are in Houston, join us at Willow Meadows Baptist Church at either 9am or 11:10am.

Taking care of business,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly email written by me, Gary Long, pastor at Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. You can subscribe or unsubscribe to this list by contacting me via email at glong@wmbc.org and you can learn more about my church at www.wmbc.org.

No Bones About It!

Not a Sermon - Just a Thought, April 6, 2007

The Lost Tomb of Jesus aired on March 4, 2007, on the Discovery Channel. The documentary asserts that five bone boxes found in southern Jerusalem in the early 1980’s are the mortal remains of Jesus and his family. If the claim is true, it has the potential of upending the claims of Christianity about Jesus and his bodily resurrection, a belief which is central to the faith.

There is too little time here to critique the documentary from a scientific, archaeological, or historical view – after all, this a thought, not a sermon. I’ll leave that to other scholars who have done it exceedingly well because here’s the bottom line for me: You can’t prove the resurrection.

We can take a cue from the historical claims of those who witnessed the living Jesus after the event of the cross. But even the historical claims of the gospel writers and historians are not enough to completely fill in the blanks of this story.

Sure, lots of writers like Lee Strobel (The Case for Christ) make an intelligent and investigative claim that Jesus lived, died, and came to life again. But Strobel and the gang are nothing more than the opposite side of the coin to The Lost Tomb of Jesus, The DaVinci Code, or The Bible Code. They all aim to prove or disprove something that people of faith take as the work of God, something that we take on faith, not as head knowledge.

It all comes down to a person’s experience with the resurrected Jesus. It is a spiritual thing that surpasses objective knowledge. I take the central teachings of Christianity as true, not because a great scholar proved it to me, but because I once was a sinner who did not know about forgiveness and eternal life. But I had a religious experience that I can only describe as mysterious yet real. I can only tell you that I believe in the resurrected Jesus because I have personally experienced the resurrected Jesus.

We all lose our faith from time to time – I pray that this weekend’s celebration of the resurrection will be a resurrection of things dead or dying in your soul. I’ll be preaching a sermon from Matthew 28.1-15 entitled No Bones About It in worship at Willow Meadows Baptist Church this Easter Sunday. We gather at 9am and 11:10am and you are invited to join us.

Faithfully,
Pastor Gary

Not a Sermon – Just a Thought is a weekly e-column by me, Gary Long, pastor of Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston, Texas. You can subscribe or unsubscribe by emailing me at glong@wmbc.org.

I Can’t Make You Love Me

A Maundy Thursday meditation

Bonnie Raitt soulfully sang, “I can’t make you love me.” She’s right. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. I can’t make anyone love me, and wouldn’t want to try. I want my wife, my family, my friends to love me because they choose to. But Jesus took a different approach to this issue. At the Last Supper he tells his disciples “Love one another.”

He didn’t say, “Love one another if you feel like it.”
He didn’t say, “Love one another if it’s convenient.”
He didn’t say, “Love one another if the other is pretty.”
He didn’t say, “Love one another if they love you back.”

His mandate to love (hence the name Maundy Thursday) is not conditional and it is not optional. Christians are called to this higher kind of love. We are called to serve when we’d rather be served. We are called to give when we’d rather take. We are called to pour out when we’d rather drink down.

This is a difficult Word because not everyone is lovely or loveable. The reputation of Christianity is muddied by those of us who claim the name of Jesus and tried to close our eyes to love. Those of us who would follow Jesus must follow this rule of life, being mindful of the words of 1 John 4.8: “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

If you’re in Houston, I invite you to join us at Willow Meadows Baptist Church at 7pm this evening as we observe communion and foot washing in honor of Jesus’ Last Supper during our Maundy Thursday Service. Our worship service will be a rehearsal for the real life of serving one another in the here and now world and in the kingdom of God to come.

In these final hours before the crucifixion,
Pastor Gary

The Lees of Desire and Yearning

I'm reading thirteen moons by Charles Frazier. The jury is still out on how good a story it is, but so far the writing is breath taking. Better than Cold Mountain; more alive, more poetic.

In the first chapter the main character, Will Cooper, is an old, old man, feeble and nearly bed ridden. "There is no scatheless rapture," he says. "...even when all else is lost, there is yearning. One of the few welcome lessons age teaches is that only desire trumps time."

I'm only 36, and though ancient to my children, I'm young to a lot of people. I feel young to me. I don't know what it means to be old, but I'm far enough along the journey now to understand what it means to age. I hope Will is right. I hope that yearning persists, that desire does trump time.


A lot of what I see as a pastor suggests otherwise, though. What I see suggests that most souls die long before their bodies, that desire and yearning are a commodity of the young. What I see suggests that passion proves faltering when dreams die. What I see suggests that vision and possibility seem less important for most of the aged than for the young.

There are exceptions, of course. Take one of my church members. He is in his 70's, he dances competitively, and he visits our church members in the hospital every day. In many ways he's younger than me and passion still has a grip on him. But the average middle class American seems so lulled into complacency that living life is more maintenance than anything else. It is a taming by way of easy life.

This I cannot take. This way I cannot live.

- Desire means that no matter how many times you read The Old Man and the Sea, you still believe he might pull that fish in.
- Yearning means that no matter how many times you watch The Blues Brothers you laugh at the "Orange whip" line.
- Desire means that no matter how many times you've held her, you want to do it again.
- Yearning actually means that my favorite joke about the Scotsman and the steering wheel sticking out of his kilt is always going to make me laugh when I tell it.
- Desire means that no matter how sleepy I get, I'm always willing to shoot one more game of pool, linger in that conversation just a few ideas more, and to argue politics with you even when we agree.

I cannot imagine a life without yearning and desire. Will Cooper gives me hope that ahead of me still lies years of wanderlust, adventure, restlessness, and hope. When that ceases, someone please take me off of the ventilator. Until then, I want to live life to the lees.