Unknown user or password incorrect.

My assistant at my old church emailed me earlier this week and asked if I was ready for her to remove my email account from the system.  I told her yes and promptly forgot about it.  Thursday night I logged in - or tried to - only to find that I no longer had the old email account.

The blue web page had only one line of text on it:  Unknown user or password incorrect.

Suddenly I'm an unknown user on that old email account, and it caused the strangest rush of grief.  I'm really gone.  I can't go back.  Another piece of my identity as pastor of Willow Meadows Baptist Church is gone.  

I love where I am.  It's a great fit and I'm really thriving at FBC Gaithersburg and happy to be back in the metro DC area.  But I gave nearly seven years of my life to serve the people of WMBC and it's something more than eerie to read Unknown user or password incorrect after logging in to a webmail account almost every day for nearly 2400 days.

Leaving WMBC has been one of the hardest things I've ever done because our family has become enmeshed with the many families there.  Like one of those tentacled brain tumors that cannot be extracted without damaging the brain itself, I'm wondering if full extraction is ever possible?  Will the pain go away?  Can I ever leave another church again?  

"It's too painful," my wife says.  "I don't have many more of these moves in me."   She's not talking about packing and unpacking either - she's talking about leaving the people we love.

And that's substantially more substantial than changing addresses, email or snail mail.  I can't imagine a day when the people of WMBC say Unknown user or password incorrect to me, and I know I can't say it to them, or the many friends we've shared life with in Houston.  But my old email account reminded me bluntly and coldly that I am no longer the pastor of WMBC.

And my training as minister reminds me that we grieve much because we have loved much. 

The Strangest Moment Arrived

Someone very close to me told me about a long over-due conversation that happened for her this past week. She commented to me that during the conversation she realized she'd reached a certain point in her life where - and this is my paraphrase - the need to please had been overtaken by her need to be herself. It struck me as a beautiful mark of maturity and self-confidence - something I'd already seen, but now she saw for herself.

I'm left contemplating: Why does it take so long to see the good stuff in ourselves? That we are confident, remarkable creatures imbued with God's very nature? That changes come about in our lives that indelibly mark us, often for the better, but only to be realized later?

Do you ever have moments when you realize "you ain't so bad?" They are gifts, and we should receive them as gentle reminders from our heavenly Father that we are “enough.”

Kate Light has a great poem called There Comes the Strangest Moment that describes this moment of truth.

There comes the strangest moment in your life,
when everything you thought before breaks free —
what you relied upon, as ground-rule and as rite
looks upside down from how it used to be.

Skin’s gone pale, your brain is shedding cells;
you question every tenet you set down;
obedient thoughts have turned to infidels
and every verb desires to be a noun.

I want—my want. I love—my love. I’ll stay
with you. I thought transitions were the best,
but I want what’s here to never go away.
I’ll make my peace, my bed, and kiss this breast . . .

Your heart’s in retrograde. You simply have no choice.
Things people told you turn out to be true.
You have to hold that body, hear that voice.
You’d have sworn no one knew you more than you.

How many people thought you’d never change?
But here you have. It’s beautiful. It’s strange.

– Kate Light

Blog Recommendation

If you're a poetry, photography, or aphorism fan, take a look at this wonderful website -

Austin Granny

Women

It is interesting to speculate how it developed that in the two most anti-feminist institutions, the church and the law court, the men are wearing dresses. — Florynce Kennedy

Table Manners

Did your mother or father teach you table manners? In my family the rules were pretty much like everyone else’s: no elbows on the table, close your mouth when chew, don’t talk with food in your mouth, and so on.

One rule was especially important. We weren’t allowed to wear hats in the house, especially at the supper table. To this day I cringe at the sight of a man in a hat in a restaurant or any other meal table. I don't know why, but I’ve been programmed. It’s a rule. Period.

This Sunday’s Gospel lection is Luke 24.44-53. The context for this passage is a dining table. Jesus appeared to the disciples on that Easter evening, but they were scared to death of him, thinking they were seeing a ghost. He let them touch him, but they still didn’t believe it was him, so he ate a piece of broiled fish to prove he’s real. Ghosts don’t eat fish, did you know that?

He then gives a table talk. Around the meal he opens their eyes to the reality of the resurrection, then he opens their minds to the story of scripture, and then he opens their hearts to the world’s deep spiritual needs. Those three things served as the outline for a sermon I delivered at FBC Gaithersburg on April 26. And that table sets the context for what Jesus says next:

Luke 24 (NRSV)
24:44 Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you--that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled."
24:45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures,
24:46 and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day,
24:47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
24:48 You are witnesses of these things.
24:49 And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high."
24:50 Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them.
24:51 While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.
24:52 And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy;
24:53 and they were continually in the temple blessing God.

Jesus leaves the table, leading them out to Bethany.

But not all meals are so pleasant. Sometimes people leave the table in anger. Robin Williams describes Thanksgiving dinner in his Episcopalian home. “Dad has a few gin and tonics and then confesses, ‘You know I never loved you mother.’”

To which Williams responds, “No Dad, I didn’t know that. But she’s sitting right there, why don’t you tell her again.”

Ever been at a table with an argument going on? My whole gut seizes up and I can’t eat. The table is no longer a table, but torture. Some of my worst memories of childhood were flare ups around dinner that made me lose my appetite completely.

In Homiletics I read this related piece about a meal that went awry because of an argument:

In his book I Never Forget a Meal, actor Michael Tucker tells of an incident in his family that forever changed the way he looks at cooking and hospitality. When he was young, his extended family gathered for Passover. His mother and sisters, who worked very hard on preparing holiday meals, also tended to be emotional.

At this particular Passover, which took place at his uncle’s house, an argument broke out between his mother and his uncle over whether the Seder liturgy should be read in Hebrew or English. The tensions rose ever higher. Some people sought to defuse it with humor, to no avail.

His mother left the table.

His uncle, too, left in anger — getting into his car and driving away from his own house.

Tucker’s mother ran outside, into the night. While the men searched for her, the aunts wrapped up the uneaten food. The children sat there in awkward silence: scared for their mother, but also embarrassed by her “crazy” behavior.

From that day on, the family disintegrated. Never again was there a happy holiday meal involving the extended family.Tucker explains in his book that he now understands why he has a passion for cooking. He is trying to finish that meal, once and for all. It is “to finish that meal with grace and calm and convivial family conversation, with laughter and warmth,” he writes. “Mostly, I think about warmth; so that I can melt away the cold of that uneaten dinner.”— Michael Tucker, I Never Forget a Meal (Little Brown, 1995).

You’re probably wondering, how does this all tie together? It’s this: Jesus didn’t leave the table in anger, and in fact left us with the Holy Spirit as an aid to living and loving. Jesus didn’t split theological hairs at the table, he communicated, taught, and affirmed.

Jesus took care of some unfinished business at that table, but there is an unfinished meal for us Christians. The Lord’s supper is never finished, never complete.

• Until we have made emotional, physical, and spiritual space for everyone at this table, the kingdom of God is just an abstract concept.
• Until we can eat in peace with all those around us, the kingdom of God remains distant.
• Until we can get over our petty differences with fellow Christians, there will be no dessert.
• Until we get the table right, our families will be in disrepair, our lives will be a clumsy clunking, and our future will be hazy and uncertain.
  

The table is metaphor, of course. What we’re really talking about is your willingness to welcome the stranger, to feast with foe, and live at peace with the difficulties that all our human relations present us.

So here are some questions for reflection:

1. Who is at your table that wasn’t there a year ago? Last month? How can you work to make sure they are welcomed in an ongoing way?
2. Why did it take Jesus eating food for the disciples to see that he was real? What is the “magic” that happens around meals?
3. Who has tried to elbow their way to your table, but you thwarted their efforts? Is your exclusion a sin?
4. With whom would you be unwilling to share the table? Why? Will that ever change?

My Final Email

Iknow all about the last will and testament. I’ve read them, written one personally, and as a minister I’ve helped folk with theirs. A friend recently introduced me to a whole new level of “last words” with the website “My Last Email.” It’s a website that allows you to write your own obituary and read or add to the obituary of others. What caught my attention is the option to send an email to loved ones after you die!

Their marketing schtick goes like this:

The two longest words in the English language are “If only.” We may regret not telling someone how much we love them, or regret the harsh words we once had with a friend. We regret not letting friends and family into our lives a little more and sharing our thoughts and feelings with them. “If only I had told them”, “If only they could have known.” And once we die that opportunity is lost – but it need not be. Here at mylastemail.com we offer you the opportunity to make that “If only…” into a reality.

It sounds kind of creepy, I can only imagine the "weird factor" of receiving an email from a dead friend. But it’s not altogether unlike the words we find in John 15. Part of what the Bible scholars call Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse,” it’s a kind of “last will” from Jesus to his disciples, and a kind of “last email” to us today.

If it’s Jesus’ last email to us, perhaps we should read it closely, pondering and treasuring what he is still saying to us. Perhaps all of scripture should hold us captive in the same way? What would you see differently if you read the Bible this way?

Not my last email,
Pastor Gary

Long Story, Short is a column I write on Friday to get you thinking about church on Sunday. If you'd like it sent to your email inbox, let me know at glong@fbcgaithersburg.org. I really like to hear from you, and frequently your responses wind up as a living part of a sermon on Sundays. For example, my friend Thom Gagne wrote this story in response to this week's thoughts:

Hey Gary,

Last Thursday morning my Dad died. I flew home from Mauritania N Africa Thursday night with my 15 year old son Elliot.My wife Connie stayed behind to finish closing down the house and the Cafe.

Your " My Last Email" bit on your blog became especially poignant.In 1991 my folks were traveling back from Florida and stopped in Atlanta to visit my brother Martin. My Mom was near the end of a twenty year battle with cancer. Knowing that she would precede Dad in death, she had a wish for his eventual memorial, which she entrusted to my brother.

That day as Dad and grand kids went outside to sit in the sun, Mom called Marty to the side.She handed him an old copy of the collected works of Shakespeare. She explained that she had purchased this volume for Dad early in their marriage, but that he had never read it. It would become readily apparent however, that she had.

"Turn to page 1086" she whispered.

There Marty found the following underlined passage:" ...and when he shall die, take him and cut him into little stars, and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will fall in love with night and pay no more worship to the garish sun." Romeo & Juliet - William Shakespeare

I just thought you would appreciate this,
Thom

John 15:9-17
9As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. 10If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. 11I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

12 ‘This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. 14You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.

Who do you say that I am?

I was visiting an old, dear friend the other day: Parker Palmer’s Let Your Life Speak. In it, Palmer points out that Douglas Steere, the Quaker teacher, was fond of asking the question, “Who am I?” He liked it, I think, because it led him to the question, “Whose am I?” I raise these two questions because as I mature in my life and in my faith, I’ve come to believe that there is no self-hood outside of relationship.

We begin as children by relating to our parents. We gain nearly all of our identity from them as young little people. The circle expands slowly to include our teachers and then our classmates. By the teenage years we are finding all of our identity in the words others use to describe us. That’s probably why “cut-downs,” as we used to call them, hurt so badly, and are hurled so frequently in those angst-filled adolescent years. I remember once realizing that one of the ugliest girls I ever knew as a teenager was ugly because of her words. I don’t mean curse words, but her insults to others. I understand now, sympathetically, that she was just working out her stuff, just like the rest of us.

By the time we make it to adulthood, we’re not really improved in this respect. We’ve simply learned to block out some of those words, and turn to the mirror for a little more of an identity fix. But still, we try on different masks, imagining ourselves as being better or worse than we really are. Anne Lamott expresses this in Grace Eventually when she wonders why we look at pictures of ourselves that are years old and think, “I was beautiful,” but never think that about ourselves in the here and now.

Our identity is a thing which we chase after and grapple for throughout every stage of our lives. We long for identity as a sibling, or as a child of someone, or even as the parent of someone. I go to the little league field and watch all these dads yelling at their kids, or cheering for their kids, living out their unfulfilled childhoods right there on a miniature baseball field. I’ve seen grown men yelling at their kids for messing up on the field and it makes me want to cry for the kid who’s out there just trying figure out their identity as a kid and play a sport that’s nearly too awkward for their little bodies.

I’ve seen grown women primping their daughters for dates or saying, “You’re too thin,” or more likely, “You’re too fat.” You’re too this, you’re too that. Mom’s and dad’s working out their identities like this, always thinking they are to blame for their kids’ mistakes, and ready to take all the credit for their kids’ glories and accomplishments.

Who am I? It’s a timeless question that evolves into “Whose am I?” because of the interconnectedness of our mis-woven identities. You tell me who I am, and I’ll tell you who you are.

I think Jesus natively understood this when he said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” He continues in John 15.5, saying, “Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” There is a statement of identity that changes everything. If you know much about grapevines, you understand what he’s saying. There’s no fruit in our lives if we’re not connected to the true source of our identity, a very rootedness in God.

I connect this thinking to a poem I read in Billy Collins’ Poetry 180 – A Turning Back to Poetry.
Dorianne Laux wrote "Singing Back to the World":

I don’t remember how it began.
The singing. Judy at the wheel
in the middle of Sentimental Journey.
The side of her face glowing.
Her full lips moving.
Beyond her shoulder
the little houses sliding by.
And Geri. Her frizzy hair tumbling
in the wind wing’s breeze, fumbling
with the words. All of us singing
as loud as we can. Off key.
Not even a semblance of harmony.
Driving home in a blue Comet singing
I’ll Be Seeing You and Love Is a Rose.
The love songs of war. The war songs
of love. Mixing up verses, eras, words.
Songs from stupid musicals.
Coming in strong on the easy refrains.
Straining our middle aged voices
trying to reach impossible notes,
reconstruct forgotten phrases.
Cole Porter’s Anything Goes.
Shamelessly la la la-ing
whole sections. Forgetting
the rent, the kids, the men,
the other woman. The sad goodbye.
The whole of childhood. Forgetting
the lost dog, Polio. The grey planes
pregnant with bombs. Fields of
white headstones. All of it gone
as we struggle to remember
the words. One of us picking up
where the others leave off. Intent
on the song. Forgetting our bodies,
their pitiful limbs, their heaviness.
Nothing but three throats
Beating back the world – Laurie’s
radiation treatments. The scars
on Christina’s arms. Kim’s brother.
Molly’s grandfather. Jane’s sister.
Singing to the telephone poles
skimming by. Stoplights
blooming green. The road
a glassy black river edged
with brilliant gilded weeds. The car
an immense boat cutting the air
into blue angelic plumes. Singing
Blue Moon and Paper Moon
and Mack the Knife, and Nobody Knows
the Trouble I’ve Seen.

For these women, singing the old songs pushed back against all those things that sought to define them and their identities. I like the poem because of its pervasive sadness and close staring into the mirror of life, but yet an unyielding belief that the songs fought against all of those things.

For me, when the madness of the world brings that pervasive sadness, I find the reminder that I am a branch on the vine restorative. But I wonder about you? What do you do to “sing back the world” when it becomes too forceful in it’s forging of your identity?

Palmer concludes his thought on Steere’s questions with this:
“As I learn more about the seed of true self that was planted when I was born, I also learn more about the ecosystem in which I was planted – the network of communal relations in which I am called to live responsively, accountably, and joyfully with beings of every sort. Only when I know both seed and system, self and community, can I embody the great commandment to love both my neighbor and myself.” p. 17

So, some questions:
1. Do you sense that you are your true self most days? When does that happen? Where?
2. Do you buy the idea that our identities are shaped by competing factors around us? By others around us?
3. How does the phrase, “abide in me” work to define our identity?
4. How might we more closely “abide” in Jesus?
5. Have you ever been “pruned” by God? How did that feel?

Of Vines and Pruning

On my grandfather’s North Carolina farm were two grapevines that seemed twenty feet tall in my child sized memory, but only six or seven in reality. The thick scuppernong vines draped heavily over a trellis of six creosote posts. Tough hulls protected the fruit, and you had squeeze the sweet innards in your mouth. They were pure sugar shots, especially good when the cool morning lingered in them. My cousin and I hid beneath to eat grapes in the shade, or fill our ball caps with grape bombs, climb high in the magnolia tree, and see who could spit the hulls the furthest.

Sadly, only one of the vines remains, the other fell victim to bad pruning by a renter after my grandfather died. Perhaps they thought the vine an eyesore and cut it all the way down to its main trunk. Or maybe they pruned unknowingly into the current year’s new growth. Whatever the reason, they didn’t know how to carefully prune a scuppernong vine.

I’ve been thinking about that vine this week as I’ve prepared a sermon from John 15. It’s about Jesus the vine and us the branches. Jesus talked about grapevines to say that God is the vintner who prunes and shapes the vines to bear good fruit. Unlike that renter who pruned my grandfather's vines incorrectly, God prunes perfectly, shaping us to bear the good fruit of faithful and fearless living into a world that desperately needs the sweetness of the gospel.

I wonder, where do I need pruning to bear better fruit? What can I do to be more deeply connected to the vine? How can I “abide in Jesus” to produce sweetness in the lives of others?

On Childhood

Kinky Friedman wrote in Texas Monthly (November, 2008), "...children are dreamers who never sleep..."

Ahhh, the child like faith.

Ever Seen a Ghost?

Once as a teenager I saw something that I can’t logically explain other than to imagine it might have been a ghost. I wasn’t hallucinating and it scared me to death! I don’t tell that too often, basically because Christians don’t talk about ghosts too much.

There’s no shortage of them in scripture, though. For example, Saul goes to see the witch of Endor in 1 Samuel 28 and she channels up a dead Samuel for him. I’d be willing to bet a small corner of the farm that your pastor has never preached on that passage! Over in the gospels the disciples confuse Jesus for a ghost on more than one occasion. And Jesus tells them in Luke 24.39, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”

The Bible doesn’t skirt the issue, and Jesus partly defines what a ghost is by saying what a ghost isn’t. The point of the passage is that Jesus is showing himself as a real body, resurrected, back from the dead. They thought he was a ghost, so he let them touch his hands and feet. They remained skeptical, so he did something no ghost could do – he ate a meal with them. Broiled fish to be exact.

With a human, bodily action, Jesus opened their eyes to a new realm of possibility. They were in joy and disbelief. And I’m left to wonder if maybe, just maybe, their joy and disbelief is something we might borrow as we ponder our modern day living? How can we remain daily dullards in light of the resurrection of Jesus? Do your eyes need to be opened to impossibilities of life that God can make possible? Have you lived too long without the sense of wonder, joy, and even disbelief that God can do anything?

Perhaps our faith might be better lived if we thought we’d just seen a ghost!

Squinting at the mirage,
Pastor Gary

Long Story, Short is a column I write to get you thinking about the sermon on Sunday. I preach at First Baptist Church of Gaithersburg, Maryland and if you’re around at 10:30 on Sunday mornings, join us there for worship. You can find other stories about life, love, and levity at my blog To the Lees.

Luke 24:36b-48

36 While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’* 37They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38He said to them, ‘Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.’ 40And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet.* 41While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ 42They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43and he took it and ate in their presence. 44 Then he said to them, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.’ 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46and he said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Messiah* is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses of these things.

Updates and Transition

For those of you who've been reading my stuff over the years, thanks!   There are lots of changes in the works for me and my family.  I have resigned my post as Senior Pastor at Willow Meadows Baptist Church in Houston.  I will be assuming the pastorate at First Baptist Church of Gaithersburg, Maryland in mid-April.  My last Sunday in the pulpit at WMBC will be April 5.

I'll be posting more details in the coming days.  For now you may still correspond with me at glong@wmbc.org.  I will continue blogging here, and you can look for a new weekly email column in mid-April.  I hope you'll keep reading.  I have new titles for this blog in the coming weeks, including "Daily Specials May Vary," and "Hey, Catholic Boy."  

Grace & Peace,

gl

Relaxtion Technique #1

If you guessed this to be in the Florida Keys, you're right.  This is at Fort Jefferson, in the Dry Tortugas.  

The picture doesn't do it justice!

Rise Up

Bruce Springsteen's music is pretty much the soundtrack of my life.  At 16, I didn't know where I was going, but I knew for sure I was "born to run."  It was only in adulthood that I began to understand the prophetic voice that Bruce brings to rock-n-roll.  Right now it's Friday morning and I'm working on the Sunday sermon as I hum a song by "The Boss."  It's the stirring "My City of Ruins" about Asbury Park, a resort town where he'd hung out as a kid (Lyrics included below).

The song is laced with gospel, and begins by mourning the neglect of the city that has become a place of "ruins."   The chorus comes in strong with hints of Nehemiah, imploring the city to "Rise up, rise up, rise up."  Another verse turns to lament a lost love, and the awareness of how neglect led to the "ruins" of the relationship.  

It is the final chorus, though, where the gospel shines through in a prayer for strength, faith, and love that he might use his hands to build up what has been torn down.  It's a fitting song to listen to while you read Isaiah 40.21-31, which ends with, "but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles;  they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."  

Isaiah believed in a time when the people of Israel would indeed "rise up" and live in God's might, power, and strength.  He also knew that sometimes we get weary pursuing justice, sometimes we fall, and sometimes we can't make it on our own strength.  The good Word for Sunday's sermon is that no matter how tired you are, God does not grow weak.  God will indeed help you "rise up."

I hope you'll join us for worship this weekend.  Traditional liturgy is at 10:45.  Not-so-traditional is at 11:45.  No matter which service you attend, I'm praying you'll lift your face to the heavens and "rise up."

Listening for the sweet bells of mercy,

Pastor Gary

Isaiah 40.21-31

21 Do you not know? 
       Have you not heard? 
       Has it not been told you from the beginning? 
       Have you not understood since the earth was founded?

 22 He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, 
       and its people are like grasshoppers. 
       He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, 
       and spreads them out like a tent to live in.

 23 He brings princes to naught 
       and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing.

 24 No sooner are they planted, 
       no sooner are they sown, 
       no sooner do they take root in the ground, 
       than he blows on them and they wither, 
       and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.

 25 "To whom will you compare me? 
       Or who is my equal?" says the Holy One.

 26 Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: 
       Who created all these? 
       He who brings out the starry host one by one, 
       and calls them each by name. 
       Because of his great power and mighty strength, 
       not one of them is missing.

 27 Why do you say, O Jacob, 
       and complain, O Israel, 
       "My way is hidden from the LORD; 
       my cause is disregarded by my God"?

 28 Do you not know? 
       Have you not heard? 
       The LORD is the everlasting God, 
       the Creator of the ends of the earth. 
       He will not grow tired or weary, 
       and his understanding no one can fathom.

 29 He gives strength to the weary 
       and increases the power of the weak.

 30 Even youths grow tired and weary, 
       and young men stumble and fall;

 31 but those who hope in the LORD 
       will renew their strength. 
       They will soar on wings like eagles; 
       they will run and not grow weary, 
       they will walk and not be faint.

My City of Ruins     

 There's a blood red circle

on the cold dark ground
and the rain is falling down.
The church door's thrown open
I can hear the organ's song
But the congregation's gone,
My city of ruins
My city of ruins

Now the sweet bells of mercy
drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner 
Like scattered leaves,
The boarded up windows, 
the empty streets,
While my brother's down on his knees
My city of ruins
My city of ruins

Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up 
Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up

Now there's tears on the pillow
Darlin' where we slept,
and you took my heart when you left.
Without your sweet kiss
My soul is lost, my friend
Tell me how do I begin again?
My city's in ruins
My city's in ruins

Now with these hands,
with these hands, with these hands
with these hands, I pray Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for the strength, Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for your love, Lord
With these hands, with these hands,
I pray for your faith, Lord
With these hands,
With these hands,
I pray for the strength, Lord
With these hands,
With these hands,

Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up

A Hammer in Heaven

It is earth's loss and heaven's gain that Millard Fuller has passed away.  You may not recognize his name, but I bet you recognize the organization he founded:  Habitat for Humanity.

His life included giving away his fortune in responding to the gospel of Jesus Christ with a kind of radicality I rather envy.  

His life also included creating an organization that has helped more than 300,000 people own a decent home at an affordable price.  

His vision mobilized countless people (like me) to give up Saturdays and vacations to labor alongside other volunteers to build houses and help improve the lives of others.

Most of us will live our lives today focused on feathering our own nests,  but if you're reading this, stop and take a moment to learn how Millard engaged the world with his faith.  Then appreciate your own house and the abundance of your life.  Then ask God to show you ways to help others around you.  

Jesus told his disciples at the last supper, "In my father's house are many mansions.  I go there to prepare a place for you."  Call me hokey, but I've got this strange hunch that Millard is working on one of those mansions in heaven for someone else right now.  Millard heard, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."  Then he picked up his hammer and went to work building a house for someone who will be joining him later.      

Sin Management or Careful Discernment?

There are a lot of occasions when I can't tell the Christians apart from the non-Christians.  At parties, grocery stores, courts of law, even in church.  Seldom do the actions of Christians distinguish them as Jesus followers.  We are these walking contradictions to grace.  For example:

We preach a gospel of grace that is inclusive of all - yet our churches are frequently cliquish and exclusive.

We preach against marriage rights for homosexuals - yet our divorce rates and adultery indicate we don't know much about heterosexual covenant keeping.

We proclaim that Jesus became powerless on the cross  - yet are unwilling to give up our own idols of power.

It's impossible to measure the distance between what we do and what we say we believe, partly because we have made following Jesus about sin management instead of a life of careful discernment.  We have exchanged Jesus' radical way of pursuing the spirit of the law for the actual law, perhaps because quick absolutes are easy to grasp in a life that moves at warp speed.  The problem is that absolutes don't flex, and they certainly don't allow for grace.  And, oh by the way, the law is impossible to keep.

Paul dealt with this in his letter to the church at Corinth.  It appears that they were struggling with whether or not it was right to eat meat that had been used as a part of pagan sacrifice ritual.  It all seems strange to our modern ears because we mostly buy our meat at a store, but pay close attention, because the case makes extremely clear that careful discernment about right and wrong trumps moral absolutism.  

Paul says that the meat ought not be a problem because those pagan rituals mean nothing, and, after all, the Christians there knew there is only one true God, so the meat was fine to eat.  Except for one little caveat.  Paul points out that not everyone had this knowledge, and so everyone must be careful "that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak."  In other words, if eating the idol meat might cause problems for others new to the faith, don't do it.  The fact was that love for others had to trump freedom to eat the idol meat.  The implication for us?  We must question our moral proclamations as Christians and admit that not everything in life is so black and white.  

Sometimes the answer to "is this right or wrong?" is "it depends."   

And "it depends" means we have to think carefully, pray carefully, and live carefully.  "It depends" is a heavier burden than strict adherence to the law because it requires that we ignore the sound-byte theology of pop religion, and engage in the utterly serious question of, "Is this right or wrong for me in the here and now?"  To fail to ask - and answer - this question is a diminishment of Jesus' grace that frees us from the law.   It is a stark refusal to appeal to love, rather than knowledge or law.  Hence, it is always easier to manage sin than to discern carefully.

This Sunday our church family will renew our covenant with one another.  It's something we do every January.  The sermon is going to hover over the issue of careful discernment because it is the task of any congregation trying to faithfully follow Jesus.  We'll talk about how to walk this path of discernment together in a sermon called Wii Church.  It's based on 1 Corinthians 8.1-13.  Bring your Bible and join us at 10:45 or 11:45.

Carefully,

Pastor Gary

Nathaniel and Barak

Nathaniel and Barak

The lectionary assigned us John 1.43-51 for this Sunday when we will be two days out from the inauguration of our nation's 44th president.   Is there a connection?  

Christian Century reported this week that Jacob Javits, a Republican senator from New York, predicted in a 1958 essay that America would elect it's first black president in the year 2000.  While Javits was off by 8 years, his prediction was right on one front.  Kavits wrote that, "despite his other characteristics, he will have developed the fortitude to withstand the vicious smear attacks that came his way as he fought to the top of government and politics."   You can read it for yourself in Esquire.

Just four days from the inauguration of our country's first black president, I have been reminded by a new flurry of racist emails and jokes about the President-Elect that our nation is still a long way from being unified on matters of race.  Whether you are a Democrat, Republican, or neither, it's time for us to enter into some honest dialogue about our differences so that we can find some operational ground where we have similarities.

Nathaniel, when hearing about Jesus from Philip, asked, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?"  It was a slur against Jesus based on Nathaniel's prejudices.  He took the reputation of Nazareth as a whole and hung it on the individual named Jesus.  Nathaniel had an awakening, though, and the proclamation he makes after his encounter with Jesus is "You are the Son of God!"

This is not an exact comparison because Mr. Obama is not the Son of God and he may end up being the worst president in US history.  However, Nathaniel exposes the need in all of us to examine our prejudices and make a conscious effort to withhold forming our opinion until we get to know a person.  As Nathan gawked in wonder at who Jesus really was, Jesus told him, "I will show you even greater things than these."

So, this Sunday we're going to talk about discipleship, and how following Jesus begins with examining our inner stuff that must be changed.  We'll start with our prejudices, look for God in some unusual places, and try to accept the fact that God wants our faith-lives to evolve from where we are.

If you're in Houston this Sunday you are invited to worship at Willow Meadows Baptist Church at 10:45 or 11:45.  And if you're off for MLK's holiday on Monday, I challenge you to make it more than another day to lounge around and barbeque, but to find a way to work for equality.  We are diverse by design.  

Jesus Calls Philip and Nathanael - John 1

 43The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, "Follow me."

 44Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. 45Philip found Nathanael and told him, "We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph."

 46"Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?" Nathanael asked. 
      "Come and see," said Philip.

 47When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, "Here is a true Israelite, in whom there is nothing false."

 48"How do you know me?" Nathanael asked. 
      Jesus answered, "I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you."

 49Then Nathanael declared, "Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel."

 50Jesus said, "You believe^[a^] because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You shall see greater things than that." 51He then added, "I tell you^[b^] the truth, you^[c^] shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man."

  

Another take on Israel

So many in my Christian circles automatically jump to the defense of Israel given the current news.  I'm still undecided about who's right and who's wrong in the current Gaza occupation.  I do know that I hear a lot in favor of Israel, so for another side, I include a quote that came in today's email via Sojourner's.  I welcome your thoughts on this: 

Most people agree that Israel, like any other country, has the right to defend itself from outside attacks. However, in this unequal conflict between Israel and Hamas, Israel, as usual, has overdone it. When it comes to dealing with its enemies, Israel has a pattern of being extreme. “An eye for an eye” does not satisfy. It has to be more like one hundred eyes for one eye and one hundred teeth for one tooth.

- Alex Awad, dean of students at Bethlehem Bible College in the West Bank of Palestine. (Source: God's Politics)

The Historical Timeline of the Nativity

Or, How Are Parents Supposed to Know all this Stuff?

A new tradition for the Long family is watching the feature length live-action film The Nativity somewhere around Christmas each year. It's a great film for giving kids a visual on the Lukan birth narratives.

We watched it last night and somewhere around two thirds of the way through the Younger Sister asked, "Was the Ice Age before this, Daddy?"

I stifled my giggle and replied as flatly as possible, "Why, yes, it was."

She's seven now, so the question didn't really surprise me. It was cute that she knows enough history to ask the question, but not enough to place the two pieces in a contextual time line. You child development specialists could have a field day on that. But I think the more telling part of the story is not her question, but me stifling my giggle.

Why did I do that?

I didn't think long about that question. I know. She's the youngest of the three, and she's not acting like a little kid much these days. I stifled the giggle in the same way I push down on top of her head teasingly and say, "Stop growing up!" I stifled the giggle - probably mistakenly - because I like that fact that she knows some things but still needs me to place them in context for her. I stifled the giggle because of my own need to be needed.

I suppose we spend much of our parenting years in this important work of contextualizing life: helping kids make sense out of pain, plugging the holes in the meta-narratives, and answering those most important questions about love, sex, faith, power, and, yes, even where the Ice Age falls on the timeline relative to the birth of Christ.

Two Kinds of Waiting

You just wait 'til your father gets home!"  

Bill Cosby in a stand-up routine once told about coming home from work only to be greeted by his wife with the words, "I want you to go upstairs and kill that boy."  I've waited in my room, nervously knowing that my posterior was going to meet an inanimate object at the end of my father's arm.  I usually deserved it, too. 

That's one type of waiting.

There's another type of waiting, a glad kind.  It's what I experienced when my father took a business trip.  He'd be gone for several days but upon returning, he almost always bore a souvenir of some sort.   One time it was a piece of petrified tree from California, another time a perpetual calendar from Niagara, a pencil sharpener in the base of the Empire State Building, or a bag of volcano ash from Mt. Saint Helen.  No matter where he went or how long he stayed, I knew my dad would return to his family bearing gifts.  Those gifts were neat, but the real power was in how they conveyed a deeper truth:  He'd been thinking of us while he was gone, and had definite plans to return.

We Christians wait similarly.  We've been taught that though Jesus ascended to heaven, he is planning a return, and at that return he will bring about justice and restore God's rule.  That's a heck of a gift to bring your children after a celestial business trip.  Chapter three of a letter in the Bible entitled 2 Peter deals with how it is that we are to be found waiting.  Again we have two types of waiting - as those who live with no regard to holiness and may expect punishment for our deeds, or as those who pursue holiness and can expect to take part in God's great kingdom.  

In Advent, we celebrate the first arrival of Jesus by celebrating his birth.  But we also celebrate his impending return.  Peter suggests that as we await that return we should "...strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish...and forewarned."  The promise of Jesus' return is good, but there is a darker, nearly foreboding side to the promise:  How we wait matters. 

I'll be talking about this further in a sermon this Sunday(12/7) at Willow Meadows Baptist Church.  If you're in Houston I hope you'll join us for worship at either 10:45 or 11:45 that morning and see what all this "waiting hype" is about.  In the mean time, me and Richard Marx will be - 

Right Here Waiting For You,

Pastor Gary

And no, Richard Marx will not be singing at our church this Sunday - that was my attempt at humor involving a rocker from the 1980's - although it's debatable if Richard Marx could be accurately called a "rocker."  

For the Record

Rich Cizik's forced resignation as director of the National Association of Evangelicals was just plain wrong.