Have your people call my people, and we'll do lunch...or a meeting...

After serving the local church for over 27 years, I have come to a rather startling conclusion:  I don't like meetings.  Well, to be honest, I don't mind meetings entirely, I just want them to be productive.  Let me explain.

A little while ago, I was asked to sit in on a meeting at a local congregation.  It wasn't your typical meeting.  By that I mean, it actually had an agenda, and the leadership of the meeting kept to the agenda.  More importantly, they decided at the outset of their meeting, that their agenda was going to be full, and that there was no room for anything new to be added onto the agenda.

It started off well with prayer (as all good meetings should), asking that God guide their discussion, and open their hearts to see the movement of the Holy Spirit, but as soon as the prayer was over, it quickly turned to a business meeting only.  No more reference of God, Jesus Christ, or the Holy Spirit, entered the conversation from that point forward.  In the midst of a difficult discussion, where there was obviously some tension over a disagreement regarding a plan of action, at no time did the leadership (nor anyone else on the committee for that matter) offer to pause, seek guidance from the same Holy Spirit that had been invited into their midst, and discern God's will for the direction they were to take.  It was all very orderly, and very business-like.

One of the things that I was taught early on about church meetings is that if we don't start in the right place, we aren't going to end up in the right place.  That is, if we don't start with reminding ourselves from the outset that, as a committee, we belong to God, and are called together to serve God's purposes, and then continue to remind ourselves of this fact throughout the meeting, our agendas quickly become expedient ways to achieve our own objectives, and not God's will.  We become self-serving.

A case in point: One of the first congregations I served as a student pastor was a small rural church in Nebraska.  (The membership of all the committees was essentially everyone in the church - that's how small it was!)  And the church met monthly to handle all of its business after worship on the second Sunday of the month.  Each meeting was allowed to last 55 minutes.  (And by 55 minutes, I do not mean 56 minutes!)  The reason?  Everyone had brought along food for the Second Sunday Potluck, and no one wanted to eat cold food!  If anything came up that was not handled in that 55 minute time frame, then it was tabled until the next month's meeting.  Needless to say, decisions were not made quickly in that church.

Not once did anyone say, "Wait a minute!  I believe that God is calling us to do something about this situation right now!"  Instead, the aroma of the green bean casserole and the fried chicken would lead the meeting to a quick adjournment.

Meetings in the church should be about the Kingdom!  When the Trustees meet for example, the focus should not be on whether or not an Alcoholics Anonymous group (or any other groups!) should be able to meet in the church because some are afraid they might smoke too close to the front door.  Or whether or not the children's ministry is marking up the floors by sliding the chairs too much.  Ministry in the Trustees ought to be about what can be done to make ministry more accessible to those who have not yet heard of the saving grace of Jesus Christ.  Not less accessible in order to save on the maintenance costs of the facilities.

Likewise, Finance Committees ought not be worried so much about "deficit budgets" (where the projected income as determined by the number and amount of "pledgers" meets the requested spending amounts from the various ministry areas) and more on how to inspire people to see that God's vision for the ministry of building up the kingdom of God involves the commitment of disciples who are willing to do what it takes to introduce people to Christ.  The amount of "red ink" or "numbers in parentheses" in financial summaries should never be the determining factor of whether or not to do God's will in making disciples for Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.  Whenever this happens, the symptoms run the clinic and treatment plan - and not the other way around.  Instead, the role of the Finance Committee is to support the ministry areas of the church in an effort to invite people to catch the vision of kingdom building. Unfortunately, most finance committees only see bottom lines, and tend to become much like other businesses, seeking a profit or at least a balanced budget as their objective.  But the kingdom cannot be measured by balanced budgets or profit margins in this world.  The balance is only recognized when the harvest has come in - and its yields will be greater than ever imagined - only for those whose faithfulness to God's calling is upheld.

Missions Committees ought not be so concerned about who gets how much money from the annual budget, but more about how can we help every person in the pews to be inspired to make disciples.  Mission work is not just for the handful that sits on the committee - but for every person who has become a Christian.  We all pledged to uphold the Church by our prayers, presence, gifts, SERVICE and WITNESS.  The same can be said for Education, Evangelism, Outreach, etc.  Every committee in the church is designed to serve the mission of the Church - to make disciples of Jesus Christ so that the world can be transformed into the Kingdom of God.  That's what we pray for every time we say the Lord's Prayer: "...thy will be done ON EARTH as it is in Heaven..."

Committee work is essential.  But it doesn't have to be boring!  We just need to remember to keep the main thing the main thing!  And turn to God often.  And pray.  And listen for what God wants us to do.  And we might just find that we'll be even more effective (and dare I say, "efficient"?) in the long run.

See you in Church!

Grace and peace,
Brad

"Staring at the rock at my feet."

I'm struggling today.

Not because of all the work that the RIM I class did on its mission project at the Corredor de Esperanza (which was absolutely amazing and fantastic!).  Not because I got up this morning at 3 am to take my parents to the airport to board a plane for California to visit with my sister for the next several weeks (I'd do anything for them!).  Not because it is pushing 90 degrees here, and I'm sitting in front of a little 4 inch fan that is trying as hard as it can to move some air around (Ok, this one I admit has me down somewhat!).  But I'm struggling today.

I'm struggling today because of what has been building and building for the last several months, and will not stop until it has gotten in the face of every United Methodist in our Conference (SWTX) and the whole of the Church.  I'm struggling today.

I'm struggling today because of the amount of rhetoric and argument that has not stopped nor waned in the least concerning the desire by some for schism.  I'm struggling today.

I'm struggling because I want more than anything else to know that the church I love and have devoted my entire adult life to serve will be around for my grandchildren to  come to know Christ in.  (I'm even struggling because I know that sentence was wrought with grammatical errors, and I don't even care enough to fix it.)  I'm struggling because I cannot locate my copy of Phyllis Tickle's book which looks back historically and remembers that about every 500 years or so, the Church goes through a major upheaval and forever changes.  And I am on the sidelines, desperately trying to figure out where I stand...  I'm really struggling today.

Orthodoxy has always had a strange attraction to me - perhaps because I have so loved history, and I have long desired to be counted in that number of saints who have marched in faith across the generations of time.  I have found great comfort in knowing that there has always been a remnant of the faithful, who have struggled to hold fast to that which was taught from the beginning.

And at the same time, I have found that progressivism has a certain appeal - taking the timeless truths of Christ and finding new ways to share them with a new people who are unaware of them, brings me a sense of excitement.  Finding new ways to convey these truths has tickled that part of my soul that makes me want to giggle with joy and anticipation.

But today, I'm struggling.  Having read several posts and the plethora of comments by dear friends who I hold in high regard, I hear the sighs of despair emanating from my own lips.  I have stood at the altar, and have spoken the words of institution, knowing that I am not worthy to do that very task, and I wonder about whether I am worthy to judge another.  I miss the old liturgy that spoke of not "...trusting in our own righteousness, but in Thy manifold and great mercies."  I have stood there very well aware of my own sin and sinfulness, "...not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table."  My sin was enough to warrant a cross.

I find myself as another one in the crowd, staring down at the rock that I have just dropped.  And I'm wondering whether I should just walk away quietly, or what...  Oh, I was ready to chunk that thing!  I've been told that I have a pretty mean curve ball (which was never what I wanted to throw before!).  And I had my target in sight.  But I heard a whisper in my ear that said, "This isn't what I want."  And I recognized the voice.  The whisper was a clear and concise reminder of just how sinful I am - Orthodox or progressive.  And I have to admit, for the first time I think I understand what's been missing in the conversation.  (Oh, we've danced all the way around the barn in a wonderful two-step of rhetoric and verbosity.  But we've never really said it out loud - point blank - in so many words.)  We all truly do stand in the need of God's grace and mercy.  And we are not truly Christian - no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves or others - until we have truly surrendered all that we have and all that we are to Christ, and put Him at the center of our lives.

I truly do not wish this post to turn into another in a series of one side versus the other - I've had quite enough of that for one lifetime.  (And, truth be told, I haven't heard anything new from either side that might make me want to come down firmly on one side or the other.  Instead, I think I'll just stay around for a while, looking at all the rocks that folks have dropped at their feet.  Especially the one at my own feet.  And maybe, just maybe, if I'm quiet enough, and listen hard enough, I might just hear some word of grace, healing, comfort, and hope from the One who continues to patiently draw in the sand.

Grace and peace, Y'All!
Brad

An Interest In the Savior's Blood...

And can it be that I should gain

an interest in the Savior's blood!
Died he for me? who caused his pain!
For me? who him to death pursued?
Amazing love! How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
Amazing love!  How can it be
that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?
     - Charles Wesley, 1739

As the events of the night unfolded, he was betrayed, arrested, and thrown into a cistern/prison in the basement of Caiaphas' palace.  In darkness, he spent the next several hours while the high court of religious authorities could be assembled for a quick trial.  When he was finally brought up out of the darkness, he was accused of things that made no sense.  The Architect of the Universe was on trial for claims that he said he could tear down the Temple and rebuild it in three days.  Single-handedly.  The King of Kings and Lord of Lords was being accused for claims that he was usurping the throne of the Jews.

When they weren't getting anywhere with the drummed up testimonies, he was finally asked point-blank: "Are you God's Son, then?" to which Jesus responded, "You say that I am."  The leadership determined that they didn't need to go any further.  They took him to Pilate.

By the end of that day, he had been convicted of a crime for which he was not guilty, sentenced to death, executed, and buried.  A common criminal.  "Good riddance," they thought.  Now we can get back to business as usual.

What would become the source of the doctrine of salvation became the inspiration of a personal reflection of Charles Wesley's admission of the nature and power of grace.  "Amazing love! How can it be that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?"

That one lone act on the cross became for Wesley the identifying core of his own understanding of salvation.  The sacrificial act of Jesus paid the atoning debt that no one else could pay, and further secured for Wesley the ability - the possibility - to approach the Eternal Throne with holy boldness and "claim the crown, through Christ my own."

What began as a day fraught with tragedy for those early followers has become a day to be remembered as the day when God crossed the boundaries of sin and sinfulness to restore humanity.

This is the definition of Grace - amazing, powerful, and life-giving.

See you in Church!

Grace and peace,
Brad

"The Morn of Song"...

"Though with a scornful wonder we see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed,
yet saints their watch are keeping; their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song."
                    - "The Church's One Foundation" - verse 3.  Words: Samuel J. Stone 1866

I have difficulty with these words.  Not because I disagree with them, but because I know their truth.  I have felt the pain of the Saints who have labored and given their lives for the Church.  I see the things that are tearing the Church apart: the decisions, the issues, the conflicts, the disagreements.  And I hear their cry.  I hear the change in the language that we once used to avoid: the name-calling, the labeling.  And I hear their cry.  And I, too, ask, "How long?"

Over the last few weeks, it seems as though the conflicts, the name-calling, the posturing and the defensive positioning, have given the Church more than just a black eye.  We've done damage to the Kingdom.  We've disrespected the Saints who gave their lives for it.  We've taken for granted the Cross.  And I hear their cry.

Whenever a conflict arises, the optimal thing to do, according to the experts, is to look at it as a challenge for growth.  "We can grow from this experience" they say.  "We can look at it as an opportunity" they say.  But the one thing that I find missing, the one thing that is sorely absent, is the act of penitence.  What have I done that has caused this rift?  Where have I been a part of the injustice?  Where did I benefit from or cause pain to another?

Please do not get me wrong.  In no way am I suggesting blame or fault.  Nor am I seeking to affix the proper victor's wreath to either side.  I am merely asking the theological question: Where is God in all this?

I remember reading years ago, although I cannot recall the source, that a reporter had once asked a question of the late President Lincoln during the height of the Civil War, a question of theology.  The North and the South had both claimed they were fighting for "right" and claimed God to be on their own side during that great and bloody conflict.  The reporter asked Lincoln which side he believed God to be on - the Union or the Confederacy?  Lincoln, so I recall, pondered the question for a brief moment, and then responded in his typical folksy way, but with all the sincerity he could muster, "I believe that God is at the side of every widow, and orphan, and childless mother and father."

There comes a time when we must stop trying to prove the other wrong as we seek to be proven right.  There comes a time when we must begin to ask the right questions: How can I be most faithful to the one who disagrees with me?  What am I seeking in my heart - to be right, or to be a servant for the Kingdom?  Am I putting my own desires, my own agenda, my own wants and needs ahead of Christ's calling?  Where am I willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of the Kingdom and Christ's Church?  Or to paraphrase Bonhoeffer, "Where is the cost of my discipleship?"  How am I leading others to Christ Jesus with all that I have and all that I am?  How am I responding in grace?

I am not naive enough to think for a moment that what I've said here will change those who are so deeply entrenched into their positions that they cannot see the other's point of view, and begin an honest, listening dialogue with each other.  But I am hopeful.  Trench-warfare scenarios do not last forever.  Truces come, and the fighting ceases.

At least that's what I've been told about the real reason for this Season of Advent.  There is a light coming into the world.  I pray that it will be one that will soften the hardest hearts, and bring about a peace that passes all understanding.  Mountains will be made low, and valleys will be lifted up.  Rough places will be made smooth and the crooked ways will be straightened.  This night of weeping shall not last.  Soon there will be a morn of song.

Grace  and peace,
Brad

Old and New Traditions…

Our family just got back from our traditional Thanksgiving Week campout.  We spend the few days before and after Thanksgiving in our travel trailers in an RV park nearby our home, so that we can spend some time “away” without having to take several days to “get there and back.”  We enjoy the time together, Jan gets to try new recipes for the big meals, and we all get to set around a campfire in our portable fire pit every evening.  Usually my sister flies in from California, and Jan the kids have the week off from school.  It is a relaxing time to catch up on what’s been happening with everyone, and we get to just chill.  It is truly a time to remember for what we are thankful, and why.

Traditions are funny things, aren’t they?  You try something once, and if you really enjoy it, you wind up trying to duplicate it, or even improve upon it.  Before you know it, you’ve begun to plan on it, even count on it happening again and again.  Planning a Thanksgiving getaway usually begins in late August, and we start looking at a map.  “Where can we go, that we don’t have to travel too far?”  Before long, a destination is chosen, then the menu planning begins.  I can almost see the wheels turning inside Jan’s mind as she begins to plan out the meals, draft the shopping lists, and organize the spices that she will need to take along.

A new tradition has come about in recent years that I did not plan on, but happily have assumed.  For years, whenever my family went camping, we always had fried potatoes and onions for most meals – especially for breakfast.  Dad’s famous recipe included using an old Coleman stove that had never been cleaned – he said “it added flavor to whatever you cooked on it.”  As the years went by, I bought a stove similar to his, and began to help him do the morning cooking – eggs, bacon, or sausage – it didn’t matter.  Then eventually, I took over the morning fare.  Someday, I hope that Braedon will take on this tradition as well.

Traditions have a way of growing on you.  Before you know it, they shape you, mold you, and fill you with meaning that cannot be easily described.  As soon as we get home from thanksgiving, the next set of traditions are started – decorating the house for Christmas.  It’s all a part of getting ready. 

Which is what Advent is all about.  It is about getting ready for the coming of the Christ Child in our midst.  We make room, we decorate, we prepare, we clean, we start our lists – not just the ones involving baking, and mailing Christmas cards.  But the real lists.  The ones that we need to keep that will remind us of who we are.  And whose we are.

Scripture reminds us of the ways that Advent explodes onto the scene - it doesn't!  We want fanfare, and we get modest hints.  We want the glorious, the fantastic; but the Prophets share the secrets of what is to come.  We want the message to be clear and concise; and we get cryptic, almost hidden allusions to what is about to happen.  "Behold! A young woman is pregnant and is about to give birth to a son, and she will name him Immanuel (or "God is with us"). (Isaiah 7:14, CEB).

Somewhere, there are shepherds - perhaps not looking after actual sheep - but shepherds nonetheless.  They are keeping silent watch.  Waiting.  Anticipating something remarkable.  And alert.  Somewhere there are star-gazers, fortune-tellers by trade, who will be made aware of something spectacular, and it will turn their lives upside down.  Rulers will find that their power and their thrones will be no match for what God is about to do.  Poverty and suffering will be faint memories of the past, like mists that disappear in the morning sun.  And people will begin to sing songs that the heavens will hear, and the choruses will be full, and the Son of God will arise.  But it will happen, suddenly.  Without provocation.  Without warning.  In the twinkling of an eye.  And then our traditions will begin to make sense.  And our worship will have meaning and purpose.  But in the meantime, keep faithful.  Be mindful of the traditions that have shaped you in the faith.  

I pray that this Advent season will somehow bring back some of the old traditions – the ones that molded and shaped you into the faithful disciple you are now.  And I pray that this Advent season will also instill in you some new traditions – ones that will shape you and nurture you to grow even deeper into the spiritual being you were created to become. 

Get ready.  God is doing something new – again!

Grace and peace,

Brad

The new Catacombes

I have just returned from a two-week, whirlwind tour of the Footsteps of Paul throughout Italy, Greece and Turkey.  We landed in Rome, took a quick bus tour through the city, saw the Pantheon, and boarded a cruise ship that would be our home for the first 9 days of the tour. We set sail toward Sicily, where we viewed an ancient Greco-Roman amphitheater, a couple of churches, and a wonderful view of Mt. Etna.  Got back on the ship, set sail for Athens, where we disembarked for a quick tour of ancient Corinth and then Athens, especially Mars Hill (see Acts 17:15ff for where Paul spoke the Greeks' statue to an "Unknown God"), the Parthenon, and a spectacular 360-degree view of the city of Athens. Back on the bus, back to the ship, and we set sail overnight for Turkey, where we visited ancient Ephesus and Miletus.  Back on the ship, then sailed to Crete for a quick half-day excursion, and then back on the ship for a full-day and a half at sea back to Rome.

When we got to Rome this time, we were actually allowed to tour for two days.  We saw the Vatican (were standing in St. Peter's Basilica while the Pope was officiating at Mass), and all the artwork, including the fantastic Sistine Chapel.  (As Steve Martin would say, "did you know that he painted that whole thing in one stroke?")  We also visited St. Paul's Cathedral, where his remains are entombed; saw the Forum, and the cistern/prison where Peter and Paul were both imprisoned;  the famous Coliseum, and several more churches/basilicas/cathedrals...

From Rome we went north to Assisi (my favorite town!), where we saw St. Francis' remains entombed in the church there; plus Ste. Clare's church and her remains.  Then on to Pisa, (where they do not know the wonderful old hymn, "How Firm A Foundation") to see the banana-shaped Leaning Tower; then on to Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance.  After Florence, we traveled back to Venice, where we toured the city, saw the canals, and realized that it has become so expensive in Venice that they people who work there are forced to commute in from outlying areas.

Throughout the whole trip, the thing that occurred to me most often was that we were visiting places that not only shaped human history, but also our faith's journey.  We were seeing the places where the Church grew up, as it were.  We were witnessing the Church's growth from infancy to adolescence to adulthood.  We saw places where Christians literally lived and died for their faith.  Not just the biggies like Paul and Peter; but everyday, ordinary people.  Christians like you and me.

The most spectacularly moving place for me was when we visited the Catacombes in Rome.  We wandered around in the catacombes beneath the city for what seemed like hours - the places to which Christians fled to escape persecution - the places where the faithful came to bury those who had died.  Every where you looked, there was a crevice dug into the walls where there would have been a body laid.  In some places, whole rooms were carved out for large families.  The bodies of the faithful would have been buried on these shelves, then covered over with tile or brick and sealed with a home-made mortar.

Wandering around in the places where people huddled for fear of their very lives.  To think that Christians, who were suffering such great persecution at the hands of heartless, cruel, dictatorial leaders, had the courage to continue to meet together in these dark tunnels beneath the earth's surface in order to encourage each other to hold steadfast in the faith, it shook me to the core.

Ironically, there are still places in our world where Christians meet in secrecy.  While on the cruise ship, I encountered my Stateroom Attendant, who asked me in the hallway, "Are you a Christian?"  I responded, "Yes, I am."  He then invited me to come to a small worship service where some of the crew would be gathered.  He asked me to bring a message of hope - to a tired, yet truly faithful crew.  Crew members from all over the world worked on this ship, over 1,200.  Only a handful were dedicated to helping to hold one another accountable in their walks of faith. The worship service was on the second deck, near the bottom of the ship, and it was to be held at 11:30 pm.  In so many ways, I was going back in time, traveling down to the catacombes of the Ship.

Yes, the sites were all delightful, inspiring, and awe-filled.  But the best sights to see were not above ground. Yes, there are still catacombes.  And there are still Christians who are gathering to help encourage one another, teach each other, and support each other in their efforts to be faithful witnesses to our Lord Jesus Christ. They were hungry for a word of faith from someone outside - a word of hope, a word of encouragement.  So I shared that.  And I was the one who was truly blessed.

Grace and peace,
Brad

Breathing...

Ever watch a child try to hold his/her breath?  It is rather humorous to watch!  They take a deep breath, puff out their cheeks to full inflation, and then begin to change colors!  Parents of old  would panic and do anything to get them to breathe again, usually culminating in cowing to the child's wishes (mind you, my parents never did.  They just waited until I gave up, or passed out on the floor and started breathing on my own automatically).

A few years ago, I taught a class on Spiritual Disciplines, and introduced to the class the notion of the Breath Prayer.  It is a discipline that reminds the individual to be aware of the ever-present love of God.  It is a short phrase or two, usually with the first part of the phrase being quietly said while inhaling, and the second part being quietly said on the exhale.  Repeating the phrase several times tends to calm the spirit, and bring peace and the knowledge of the presence of God.  It can be any sort of phrase that will draw one into the presence of the Living God, and bring about a sense of peace while dwelling in that presence.

My breath prayer is relatively simple, and one that is modeled after many familiar ones: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."  Breathing in after the first phrase, out after the second, in on the third, and out on the fourth, brings a rhythm to me that reminds me of God's presence and instills a holy peace.

Lately, I have been traveling a lot.  In the last two weeks alone, I have been in Chicago, El Paso, and Dallas; each trip for a different purpose due to my relationships with three different functions I serve within the Southwest Texas Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, or for my new position as Executive Director for Oasis International Missions, Inc.  Next week I will be in Kerrville, then the following week in Houston, and after that I will be traveling overseas to Southern Europe.  Again, each trip is for the many different roles that I portray within the greater relationships that I have with my new job and the Annual Conference. The travel is kind of fun, but meeting people and sharing with them what I do for Oasis is absolutely fulfilling in a way that I have missed.

 This morning's devotional reading was a single verse from Paul's second letter to Timothy, in which he said simply, "Remember Jesus Christ, who was raised from the dead and descended from David.  This is my good news" (II Timothy 2:8, CEB).  Paul was reminding Timothy to keep his eye on the most important aspect of the ministry.  Forget Jesus, and you've forgotten what your mission is all about.  Keeping your mind and heart on the most important person keeps us focused on what's essential.

Interestingly, I have found that my breathing had become labored lately.  I noticed that I was having a hard time taking a deep breath. Sleep wasn't coming as easily for me as it had in the past. I was struggling, and I couldn't figure out why.  Yes, my travel schedule was full, and sleeping in strange hotel rooms tends to rob me of a good night's sleep, but I was having trouble focusing on what was before me.

Until I read this morning's devotional and scripture.  And it dawned on me.  I had forgotten to breathe.  No, not the mechanical, physiological breathing process.  I had forgotten my breath prayer.  And in so doing, I had literally starved my spirit of the life-sustaining power of the Holy Spirit.  Remember when God created all there is - including humanity?  "...the LORD God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land and blew life's breath into his nostrils" (Genesis 2:7, CEB).  God gave us the breath of life - the life spirit that comes from God's own breath.

While I had been running around, I had realized that I was tired, because I was "holding my breath" so to speak.  I had forgotten to breathe in God's Spirit/Breath, and was suffocating.  Once I came to my senses (difficult to do when you are faint from not breathing right!), I breathed in and out using my breath prayer.  And I realized that God was still near, waiting on me to run out of breath, collapse, and ultimately come to him again.  Which I did.

And now that I'm breathing again - my soul is not nearly as tired as it was.  (Who knows what color I was turning before I finally came to my senses!  No, wait.  God knows.)  Keep breathing, folks.  In and out.  Be filled once again with the Life Breath of the One who loves you most.

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God..."

Grace and peace,
Brad