Memories and Stories…

 

Memories and Stories…

              Last night I woke up with the lyrics from an old Mac Davis song running through my mind. “Memories” was released in 1970 on his album, “Song Painter.”

Memories pressed between the pages of my mind

Memories sweetened through the ages just like wine[i]

               Funny how memories will sometimes just appear out of nowhere… a familiar song, a particular feeling, the smile of a child playing nearby, an elderly couple holding hands as they slowly stroll down a sidewalk together… Sometimes it’s a fragrance -  fried potatoes with onions do it to me every time! Suddenly I’m traveling back through time to when I was a youngster camping with the family. Dad is standing by the old Coleman stove outside the tent, and the sizzling sounds of cooking oil potatoes and onion slices makes my mouth water, and my childhood return so quickly.

              Sometimes it can be listening to an old story told by someone whose decades have far outpaced mine, reminiscing about a moment in time way back when. Their eyes light up, like they’ve just run into an old friend, and they try to pick up where they left off when they were last together. I try to picture the scene, and imagine I’m there with them. But it doesn’t take long afterwards that I start replaying the familiar stories of my own family’s memories – of people I have never known as they had gone on to glory before I was born.

              And before too long, I realize that I have just traveled down the memories of my own life. Birthdays, anniversaries, children’s parties, graduations, weddings,… they all seem to waft gently through my mind.

              I try to savor each moment as they appear, holding on just tight enough to try and recall the sounds of voices, the colors of clothes worn, the smell of the perfume or aftershave of loved ones that have long since departed.

Quiet thoughts come floating down

And settle softly to the ground

Like golden autumn leaves around my feet

I touched them and they burst apart with

Sweet memories

              As I reflect on these moments, and try to trace the pathways in my mind that led me down these corridors of my past, it dawns on me once again just how treasured these momentary blessings are to me. I cherish them deeply and gently put the back in the folds of my memories, and pray that I never lose them.

              It may seem odd to reflect on things like this. (And perhaps that’s because I’ve always known I was somewhat odd.) Still, I believe there is a reason for these events that come about when I take the time to be quiet, to be still, and to just listen. It brings me right back to those times in my life when I was blessed beyond all knowing at the time that what I was hearing and experiencing was the pouring of the sacred stories of how my family came to be. Not just the tales of my mother and father as they courted one another before marriage. But how our families came together, generation after generation. The incidents that peppered the years that led this one to that one, this family to that family, and how they all played a role, not just in creating my DNA, but in establishing values, traditions, faith.

              Sitting at the feet of my grandparents and hearing them tell of things that happened during the Great Depression, or during the War, or even stories of their parents and grandparents. These are chapters in my own life the meaning of which I have yet to fully realize. (One might say they are my prequels!) And there are some stories that came from other relatives in the family tree that have come down to me that have shaped me in my own life in ways I have not yet been able to express.

              Just recently, I was rummaging through our little safe in the closet where I keep important papers, insurance documents, passports, car titles, and the like. I came across a letter that my Dad’s oldest brother, Kenny, wrote to me while I was on a spiritual retreat back in 1992. In it, Kenny shared with me that it was always his grandfather’s (my great grandfather’s) wish to have a preacher in the family. Kenny remarked that he came close, but was never ordained as a pastor. He served most of his life as a volunteer at his church in Florida, but never felt the call to ministry. He told me that I had finally fulfilled my great grandfather’s wish. I never was able to meet him, as he died some years before I was born. To think that I had a distant relative who prayed for a pastor in his descendancy. And God called me.

              I then find myself wondering (as I wander through these “pages in my mind”) if my own children and their generation will ever find this to be meaningful, too. Truth be told, my kids have found some joy in trying to piece together how they came to be, and I find joy in their endeavors.

              The idea isn’t new, by the way. It’s as old as Moses, and even before. The idea of tracing one’s stories back through time is not just the work of genealogists, but is a helpful way to understand who we are and how we got here. More importantly, it enables us to ask the theological question: “Where is God in all this?” It gets us to ponder not just our histories, but our sacred stories as well. These are the ones that have shaped us and our moral compass. They’ve helped define who we are, what our values and beliefs are all about, and why we do the things we do. The German phrase for these sacred stories is heilige Geschichte. It literally translates as “sacred stories” – the stories faith that have impacted and shaped our lives and identities.

              It is why our Scriptures are replete with genealogical lists. It isn’t just to be able to name all the people in the family tree. It is to remind us that each person in that family tree has a story – a story of how God encountered them, interacted with them, and how they responded, and sometimes did not respond to God. Each sacred story serves as a reminder of how God has always been with us, and just how precious and sacred our lives are because of God’s love.

It may sound strange, but the older I get, the more I think about and treasure these precious memories and stories. There have been family members in my lineage who were not always as blessed to be able to remember them. Dementia, including Alzheimer’s disease, has been active in our family’s lives just as it has for so many other families across the generations. For me, there is a treasure in the memories, and the thought of losing such that cannot be measured in dollars frightens me. So I am grateful for each and every memory as it comes to mind, and for each story that reminds me of who I am, and whose I am.

Sweet memories.

---

[i] “Memories” was written for Elvis Presley’s comeback TV special, aired on December 3, 1968 on NBC. Davis himself would record it as well on his own album “Song Painter” in February 1970. 

 Written by: Billy Strange, Mac Davis

Lyrics © DistroKid, BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave.

A Shepherd's Lesson

  There’s an old shepherd with five sheep dogs meandering about the side of a hill not far from where I’m sitting. The sheep seem well-behaved enough – none

At Castelnor, Romania

are nibbling their way lost at the moment. The dogs slowly saunter around the flock, making sure that they meander together, in one large herd. Occasionally the lead dog will stop, sit down, or maybe lie down, giving the rest of the herd a chance to catch up. The other dogs slowly, calmly walking around the outside of the herd keeping everyone together. And the Shepherd, he just moseys alongside the herd, carrying his stick, as if this is all routine, which I am pretty sure it is. Monotonously so, perhaps.

I have often thought of those images in scripture whenever I encounter such scenes in real life. And I think of the more familiar passages first – Psalm 23: “The LORD is my Shepherd; I shall not want.” Or sometimes I imagine the shepherd bending down to retrieve that one lone sheep, lifting it up onto his shoulders, and carrying it back to the fold. Maybe you have as well.

I imagine that little if anything has changed in the last 2,000 years or more. Shepherds guide their herds from one pastureland to another, day after day after day. The wind, a dog barking to scare away something it has perhaps heard, the bleating of the sheep as they trod along en masse, and of course the bell. That monotonous bell! 

        And yet, some how I believe it is somehow comforting to the sheep that this clanging noise is nearby.  There is an assurance that I’m not too far away, that there is safety in numbers, that the shepherd can still see me. “I AM the Good Shepherd. I know my own, and my own know me.”

It is hard to really dwell on these kinds of things in our fast-paced, urgent, “get-it-done-yesterday” world. We move so quickly through our lives, noticing something as slow-paced is most likely a blur on our way to somewhere else that we’re probably late for. And all the while, the Good Shepherd is looking for us – searching high and low, wondering where we’ve wandered off to this time. 

What does it take for us to slow down in our lives a bit? To take a break from the real monotony of trying to get ahead, or even stay above water? To actually look up from our fast-paced lives, listen for the Good Shepherd who is calling our name? Maybe there is something to this shepherding thing. Maybe we indeed “like sheep have all gone astray.” 

        Perhaps it’s time for us to once again rejoin the herd of Christian sisters and brothers, to follow the Good Shepherd, and to know what it means to “lie down in green pastures,” be led by the “still waters,” and know what it feels like to have Him “restore our souls.”

        See you in Church!

Need...

"I need a vacation."

"We need to add bread to the grocery shopping list..."

"I need to get the tires rotated and balanced on the car."

"You need to find a different hobby - needlepoint shouldn't be so dangerous."

Needs. They are all around us. Our world dictates that there are times when something falls short of expectations, and we find ourselves stopping what we're doing and entering into problem-solving mode. It happens all the time.

"The truck needs to be fixed if we're going to use it this weekend." 

"The kids need new shoes before school starts."

"I need to pay the rent/utilities/car payment/tuition/etc."

Sometimes, needs are not so routine and obvious. Occasionally, they're of a more serious nature...

"You really need to have that tooth looked at." 

"You need to make an appointment about that cough."

Needs come in all shapes and sizes; in all manner of importance. And yet there is one need that far surpasses them all. When it comes to our brokenness, pain, confusion, anxieties, our bodies, minds, and spirits - there is truly one need that outweighs them all. 

Jesus knew this. And he shared it a lot with those with whom he encountered. "Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing" (Luke 10:41-42). 

I have travelled this journey of faith since my baptism in 1965 (and truly even before that through my parents' care to keep me in the company of believers). Along the way, I have found that it is easy to get distracted, to veer slightly off course, to become convinced that in order to continue the journey of faith, I need to accomplish this or acquire that. Detours are intrusive to remembering the primary issue of the faith - to keep Christ central in one's life.

As I have grown in the faith (admittedly, there is still a LOT of room to grow yet!), I have come to discern that there is truly only one need - and it always leads to the foot of the cross of Christ. I do not need a good moral teacher, although I have had many in my lifetime and I am thankful for each and everyone of them. I do not need a prophet who will point me in a new direction when I am stumbling around, even though at times I've needed a sign pointing me back to the pathway of faith. 

No, what I have come to believe is that there is only one thing that I absolutely NEED: I NEED a Savior. I cannot save myself from my sin. I cannot redeem myself from my failings with God. I cannot do it alone. And I cannot use a substitute - any substitute for God's grace in Jesus Christ. I will never be made right on my own. And the only pathway that will bring me wholeness is the one that leads me to the foot of the Cross of a Crucified Redeemer Jesus Christ.

In essence, I have learned through grace and truth that my task as a Christian is not to save anyone else from their sins - only Jesus can do that. But my task is simple: I am called to lead people to the Cross of Christ. I trust that God's Holy Spirit will provide the salvation, as truly only God can. I trust that Jesus' death on the cross, and his resurrection and ascension are truly enough for the salvation of the world. I trust that in bringing people to the Cross, God will bring to completion the work that was begun in each of us in Jesus Christ. It is not my own doing - it is God's and God's alone. My calling is to show people the way to the Cross. 

And the only reason I can do that is because someone did it for me. Truly this is all I will ever need. 

What about you? 

See you in Church.

The Main Thing...

 "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing." - Stephen Covey (I think he said it; I cannot recall if it was original with him. Still, this saying has always resonated with me. Main things are so difficult to track these days. It is hard to keep the main thing in the forefront when there are so many other worthy distractions that clamor for our attention.

Like trying to focus on one event at a Three Ring Circus - we are confronted with a plethora of things happening right before our eyes. Clowns, elephants, horses with riders, daring young men on their flying trapezes, vendors hocking their wares of peanuts and popcorn, oversized brightly-colored cannons shooting helmet-clad daredevils high into the air across the canvas canopy of entertainment...There are so many things happening all around us - sights to see, noises to hear, and smells to, well,...smell. And all the while we are attempting to focus on one particular part of the show.

Our world is filled with circus-like atmospheres of entertainment, information, persuasive arguments, and commercially-designed enticements to capture, if not our harried attentions, at least our pocketbooks and wallets. Oftentimes it is even manifested through horrific and tragic events that not only capture our hearts, but also awaken fears that we thought had been buried so deeply within our psyches that we are shocked with they are dragged to the surface. And we wonder how can this happen? Especially here? Now? In this day and age?

But it has.

Again.

And once again, we are confronted with the onslaught of movements and arguments and cries, and calls for "something to be done!"

"How many more before we do something?" We see and hear it in the streets, those clamoring with a sense of absolute urgency to do something - anything - even if it is wrong - to make this nonsense stop.

And if we are brutally honest with ourselves - I mean, truly, deep-down, BRUTALLY HONEST - we can even agree. It must stop. This cannot go on. Enough is enough.

Arguments and debates rage once again - both sides calling for rational action that will make this senseless tragedy somehow end. Each perspective armed with statistics and slogans, arguments and polls, demonstrating just how foolish it is to accept this as the new norm. And they are both right. This is America. This is not some third-world country where fighting in the streets is seen day-in and day-out. This is the land of the free. This is the place where dreams can come true. This is the place where everyone should be able to grow up, work hard, and make a place for themselves. The outrage when lives are cut short is justified. This should not happen here.

But, again, it is difficult for us to remember: "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing."

Emotions run rampant when we are accosted with such a moral outrage. We demand immediate action and justice. We demand changes.

We demand, because we are known as a people of action. A nation that gets results. It is in our DNA.

But, "...the main thing..." keeps coming back and haunting me. And the "main thing" I keep seeing is that we've completely turned a blind eye to the source of these crises.

We've forgotten how to care. We've stopped thinking of the "other". We've turned so far inward into our own little lives that we've neglected the soul who is searching for meaning right next to us.

A few weeks ago, I was watching a television show on automotive restoration. A team of mechanics were sent out to a home where the parents of a deceased veteran of the war in Afghanistan were wanting to restore their late son's car. The son had bought the car as a means of dealing with his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which he had developed after his multiple tours of duty in war-torn Afghanistan. It was supposed to be therapeutic. It was going to help him return to "the real world" again by helping him get his mind off of his PTSD. Seemed like a good plan.

But the shadows kept haunting him. The nightmare wasn't going to be left behind him on the battlefield. It followed him. Everywhere.

And when a problem arose with this project car, or some other setback happened, he took his own life.

Like so many other soldiers who return home haunted by what they had experienced overseas.

I sat there crying. Watching a car show, I cried.

I cried for his parents. They were trying to save something from their beloved son's life that was positive, knowing that there were demons hiding in his heart and mind from the horrors of war, but also knowing that they had no idea just how scary those demons were. And so to honor his memory, they wanted to get this car running. As a tribute to him, and all that is good and noble in their son's life.

I sat crying because I cannot even begin to know or understand what those demons are like, or how absolutely dark those shadows are that can cloud out the brightest day. I do not know. I cried because I wanted so desperately to let that soldier know that there is a hope that can see him through that darkness, but totally ill-prepared to help as I have not been there myself. I cried because I do not want anyone to ever feel as though there is no hope.

And it dawned on me. The problem we have with our world today is not too many guns, nor even is it that we have turned our backs on those who struggle with the multitude of forms of mental illness. The problem is that we have forgotten how to offer people hope. We have forgotten how to talk with and listen to people who are struggling. We've forgotten how to care. We've forgotten that compassion is far greater than any drug that can be manufactured to help combat loneliness, despair, depression, anxiety, or any other affliction that can rob people of a sense of worth. We've forgotten how to relate to one another.

Scriptures are replete with teachings about the necessity of being in right relationships with God, others, and ourselves. When we put ourselves first, we find that the whole of creation gets out of balance. We push and shove; we elbow our ways through, around, and over others with little regard of what their world is like at that moment. We've forgotten that we are created to be in relationship with one another.

Instead, we hide behind "social" media (how is it truly "social" if we're not actually interacting with one another in person? We're just pushing buttons on a computer or tapping letters on a cellphone! That's not interpersonal!). We believe that because of the technology, we are freer to share what we really think - and damn the one who disagrees with us!

And that's where all this begins to break down. We've forgotten how to think about the other first. And truth be known, we've forgotten this because we've forgotten how to relate to the One who created us - who taught us simple ways to live, so that we'd learn to respect one another, honor one another, value one another.

What is missing in our culture today is not another law or set of laws restricting this or punishing that. What is missing is our ability - our willingness - to engage the other in compassion. We don't need another law. We need to care.

Mercy...

 

O Lord have mercy!

O Christ have mercy!

O Lord have mercy!

 

I pray this evening for a community who will never know the answers to the most basic, fundamental question: Why? Attempts will be made, offerings and reasons shared, opinions will be bandied about, but none will satisfy.

 

I pray for families that will never be the same again. For parents who were planning summer vacations and camps, but are now planning for funerals and memorials.

 

I pray for teachers and school administrators who have just begun to find some semblance of normalcy after having empty classrooms and desks from a pandemic, but who will now face empty desks for an entirely different reason.

 

I pray for trauma surgeons and medical teams who have had to deal with working on tiny bodies who have been torn apart by bullets, and then have to tell their families that there was just too much damage, too much blood-loss. "I'm sorry" just doesn't seem like it is ever enough.

 

I pray for churches and congregations where pastors, children's directors, and Sunday School teachers will struggle to be present for families that will never hear that laughter again.

 

I pray for all those who will play on the pain of such tragedy so that political statements and opinions will be raised, rather than choose to be with and comfort those whose lives have been so violently devasted in this despicable act.

 

And I pray for that one family that will struggle for the rest of their lives, second-guessing, broken-hearted, wondering why.

 

Lord, I pray. I pray not because I don't know what to do, but because I do not know where else I can go than to You, for You alone are holy.

 

Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer. In Christ's holy name I pray. Amen.

New Wineskins

 

              “And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but one puts new wine into fresh wineskins.” – Mark 2:22 NRSV

              I must admit that I am not a connoisseur by any means. I know basically about the three colors of wine, and that I don’t usually drink wine much at all. I know that it comes from grapes, and that the fermentation process involves a lot of transformation from grape juice to wine. I can tell you about the story of Welch’s Grape Juice (originally called non-fermented wine) and that Mr. Welch was a Methodist. Still, I don’t know much about wine.

              And yet, in Jesus’ day, wine was very much a staple of every day life. (Water, it turns out, was not purified then, and tended to cause more harm than good.) So when Jesus is asked by some folks about John the Baptizer’s disciples and the Pharisees practicing the spiritual discipline of fasting while Jesus’ own disciples didn’t fast, Jesus answered them with the teaching about how silly it is to fast while you are with the Bridegroom. That’s like not wanting to eat a piece of the wedding cake because you’re on a diet! It’s not only wrong, it’s downright rude! When the Bridegroom has left, then you can fast.

              But then he goes further. And he teaches them with two examples. First, the idea of sewing a patch made of new cloth onto an old coat, which would be poor judgment. The first time the coat is washed, the new patch will shrink, and make a bigger hole. Second he talks about wineskins and wine.

              As I said above, I don’t know much about wine, but I do know that when grape juice begins to ferment, the process usually makes the juice expand. Old wineskins (used ones) have already reached the limit of their expandability, thus making it highly likely that new wine would split the skins, wasting everything. (Not just the wine, but the time and investment of growing, harvesting, and pressing the grapes to get the juice is wasted as well.)

              Why is Jesus telling this story? Perhaps it is because he’s not talking about just fasting, patching up old coats, and new wine in old wineskins. Maybe there’s something deeper her. Maybe there’s a lesson for us all in this short little verse.

              Mark’s gospel was written to his own church at a later time than Jesus’ day. His gospel was written not to individuals, but to the whole church. The various parts of this teaching can be interpreted in many different ways, no doubt. But the way that I have come to understand this particular passage of scripture, especially since it is so early in Mark’s gospel, has to do with the way things had been, and the advent of this new Kingdom of Heaven.

              If the old wineskins relates to the ways we’ve “always done things,” and the new wine is the life in the Kingdom of Heaven that Jesus is introducing, we’re headed for trouble. The thing about Jesus’ Kingdom is that it is going to grow and grow and grow. And it is so expansive that it will never work in the systems and patterns of the ways we’ve always done things. It is going to take a major shift in our understanding of how things work in order for us to adapt. It is going to take new wineskins, wineskins that will expand with this new, ever-growing and fermenting Kingdom that we’re being introduced to. The same old same old isn’t going to cut it anymore.

              The Bridegroom is here – Jesus. And the wedding is now. It is not time for fasting, it is time to celebrate. The Kingdom has come, and is breaking in upon us as we speak. If we’re so stuck in our ways that we cannot see this new life upon us, everything we are trying to hold on to will literally burst around us, and we’ll lose everything. (“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain… Those who try to keep their life in this life will lose it, but those who are willing to lose their life – read ‘spend it’ – for my sake and the sake of the gospel, will keep it for eternal life.”)

              We’ve seen some hard times over the past several years. It has been difficult. Even scary. But God isn’t done with St. Luke’s yet. There’s still more ahead of us. 2022 will be the 75^th Anniversary of St. Luke’s. Think about that for a moment. Seventy-five years! Can anyone begin to count the number of people who have ventured through these doors, sat in our pews, worshiped and learned about Jesus throughout these seven and a half decades? Is there a way to put a number on that?

              And what of the next seventy-five years? And beyond? How many people will wander in, searching for something that will help them make sense of their life and this world? How many people will hear – some of them for the very first time – about Jesus Christ, and what he did on that cross two thousand years ago? How many children will come through these doors, sit down in those colorful little chairs in the classrooms and hear about Jesus, Noah, Jonah, Abraham, Sarah, David, Peter and Paul? Is there a way to begin to guess that number? God knows. And God knows each and every name.

Since Easter this year, St. Luke’s has had over twenty new people come to join our church. This is 16% growth in just five months! It is time to see this new thing that God is doing among us! It is time to put away our fears and anxieties, and to begin to grow again. God’s vision for this congregation has yet to be fully realized. God is not finished with St. Luke’s. God is just getting started!

But we’re going to need to get rid of our old wineskins, because this new wine of God’s Kingdom is going to burst our old ways of doing things wide open. And I’m getting ready for it. Are you?

See you in Church!

 

 

Unwillingly...

 

May 24, 1738, Paragraph 14:

“In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate-Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation: And an assurance was given me, that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.” – John Wesley’s Journal Entry, Wednesday, May 24^th, 1738.

As I write this, today is May 24^th, “Aldersgate Day,” an unofficial holiday in United Methodist circles that commemorates John Wesley’s transformative moment in which he felt his “heart strangely warmed.” Each time I read this passage on this date every year, I am struck by a different word from Wesley. I have found comfort in his emphases on “my,” “mine,” and “me” in his realization of his own salvation. That somehow, he understood clearly that Christ’s death had eternal consequences for him, some 1700 years later.

I have found interesting that the passage being read was not even from the Epistle to the Romans, but was actually the editorial preface for the Commentary on Romans written by Martin Luther. That, even outside of Scripture, one can find the stirrings of the Holy Spirit.

This time around, another word jumped off the page to me: “unwillingly.” When one usually thinks of John Wesley, “unwilling” is usually NOT a word that would be used to describe him. Authors and scholars have long viewed Wesley as a go-getter or spirit-driven man, having ridden on horseback over 4,000 miles every year for 50 years. “Unwilling” seems an out-of-place descriptor for such a dedicated servant of God.

However, one needs to know that he was not always so gung-ho. Wesley suffered from a huge sense of defeat in his efforts to bring Christianity to the Georgia colony just a few years prior. He struggled with his faith, his purpose, even his calling as a result. Still, he would find encouragement from his brother Charles, and a Moravian pastor, Peter Böhler, that he met on the voyage back to England, to keep searching, preaching, and praying. At Charles’ invitation, John went “unwillingly” to a bible study in a house church on Aldersgate Street in London on that evening. And there, he would experience something more than just an intellectual exercise in theological bible study. For John Wesley, his faith jumped to life through the power of the Holy Spirit. And truth be told, the world hasn’t been the same since!

The question today is, what are we missing when we are reluctant – even ‘unwilling’ – to heed the invitation of the Holy Spirit’s promptings? And what difference might it make for our family, our church, our neighborhoods, or the world if we would just heed the call of the Spirit? It only takes a little effort to step out in faith…

See you in Church!